Tag Archives: birthday

Birthday benefits

3 Apr

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I had a nice birthday, buddies.

I’d kind of been dreading it. What’s the point of celebrating yourself existing when nobody loves you? I woke up on my birthday and cried before hoisting myself out of bed and into the shower, then the office.

As it turns out, my birthday was just what I needed to remind me that I am loved by some very wonderful cats right around the world. Messages. Calls. Cards. Gifts. All so so appreciated right now. And all made me feel like I’m worthy of that love.

My team got me TWO cakes. Mmm. A delicious working day.

My friend Kate gave me flowers and bought me dinner. No guy I have ever dated has treated me to that double whammy. She’s a pretty hot date too, let me tell you.

Did I think about last year having cocktails and steak with the ex? You know I did. Did I cry about that? Of course. But, did I have a nice birthday anyway? Yes.

It made me realise I can be in people’s thoughts and hearts without having a boyfriend. And I might not have been good enough for him, but I’m good enough for plenty of other people.

Birthday benefits, they feel good. Tomorrow night I’m having drunkenness with a bunch of friends and Irish Two is coming along.

I can’t help but wonder if he might have a few birthday benefits for me too?

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Happy Birthday to me

2 Apr

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Hello, 32.

Let’s make this a good one, please.

March

31 Mar

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When I spoke to my ex on the phone, five weeks after the pizza of doom, I cried a lot. I tried to express to him how unbearable the pain was. How deep the shame, the disappointment, the loss.

He kept telling me I would be OK. Condescending asshole.

And when he did, I cried even more and said, “I know I’ll be OK, I just wish I could wake up in March.”

This was back in September. After the break up at the start of August.

It never crossed my frazzled little mind that by March I would still be crying every day. That things would lift, but still feel ohsolow. That I would still think about him all the time.

No, I figured by March I would be fine.

It’s the last day of March. I don’t feel fine.

But tomorrow is April.

April is my month. April is springtime. April is lighter evenings and sunnier mornings and smells of grass that’s freshly cut. April is the run up to May. And in May I go on holiday. April is my birthday. April is Easter and visiting friends in Edinburgh.

And when my ex wakes up in the month of April, I know he’ll have to think about me – seeing as it’s my name and all.

I hope it hurts.

The unfathomable

27 Mar

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I’m working from home this morning before I go to the doctor to get this stick taken out of my arm. I woke up with really sore boobs again today. It is definitely the right decision to get this sucker whipped out.

Anyway. I digress. I need to stop talking about boobs.

I saw my counsellor last night and was probably the most teary I have been in a long time. And I confessed to her – the poor person who has to listen to my saddest little tales of self-pitying woe – that every night I come home, sit on my sofa, eat a Marks and Spencer’s kids meal, and cry and cry and cry.

We deduced that there are two main reasons for this.

  1. The time of year

I thought I was going to be in Japan with him right now. Last year at this time, he was about to move in with me for a month. And everything was amazing and happy and the best time in my life. Next week is my birthday. I honestly don’t even see the point in having a birthday. I have nothing to celebrate. Nothing. I can’t even say I’ve made it through the worst year of my life, because I don’t feel like I’ve made it through. How can I be eight months on from the breakup and tell my counsellor, “Yes, if he asked, I would take him back. I don’t know why. I love him.” His Mum bought me antique spoons for my birthday last year. It is the best present anyone has ever given me. This alone sends me into fits of sobbing.

  1. The unfathomable

What with the whole turning 32 thing, I’m questioning life. I have a career. I have an apartment. I have a good social life. I have lots of nice clothes and more bottles of Philosophy bubble bath than you can shake a loofah at. I would give it all up to meet someone. And I’ve reached the point that I genuinely don’t think that is ever going to happen. I look at my friends in their relationships – whether they’re just happy together, or getting married, or having babies – and it is unfathomable to me that this can happen.

 

For the most part I’m content. I’m enjoying work. MTV continues to produce shows that thrill me. But the moment I start thinking about stuff, I start crying.

I genuinely wonder if I’ve done something bad in a past life (because I can’t think of anything that bad that I’ve done in this life) to deserve this hopelessness.

But then I kind of believe that you only get one life. And mine is just not working out how I want it to.