I need to embrace some Dr Edwards and get the f*** rid of his memory.
I need to embrace some Dr Edwards and get the f*** rid of his memory.
I found myself with no MTV favourites stored on my Sky box tonight. So I decided to tuck in to season 10 of Grey’s Anatomy.
Ahhhh, Grey’s. We’ve been through so much together.
If there’s one thing I have learned from Meredith and friends (including George, Lexi and Mark – God rest their souls), it’s that the tough times in life make you who you are. The traumas. The unexpected. The bombs, plane crashes, and crazy ass snipers. It’s how we respond in those situations that marks out the kind of people we are.
The day-to-day doesn’t challenge us or shape us. And you definitely couldn’t make ten seasons out of it.
I might still be going through the worst year of my life. But, keep watching, the best bit’s still to come.
Last night was fun. Irish Two and I remain friends without any benefits. He wasn’t drinking and let’s just say my hormones have been a little unpredictable since I have the implant taken out.
I’ll admit it: I’m a tad disappointed. I miss sex with him. It was fun.
But it meant a nice fresh start this morning, waking up alone, making beetroot and apple juice and settling down to catch up with Teen Mom Three.
And crying. And crying. And crying.
Apologies if you aren’t familiar with the show, or the girls of the third incarnation of it, but watching Mackenzie (cutest teen mom ever) deal with her boyfriend falling out of love with her is just too painful. At least she has time on her side. In fact I just Googled her and they seem to be married with a second baby. Which doesn’t explain why I’m still sitting here sobbing.
However far I come in this epic breakup journey, and however I feel day to day, it still really hurts. And I’m not sure that’s going to go away anytime soon, if ever. There are memories and pain and stress held within me, somewhere in the cells of my body. Now, I studied Biology ’til I was 16. I am no scientist. Although I have been known to diagnose patients on Grey’s Anatomy faster than the good doctors of Seattle Grace Hospital (or whatever it’s called since the plane crash). Anyway, I don’t really know how stuff like this works in the body, but if I think of all the millions of cells we’re producing all the time, I have to think I have a lot of cells and things that my body made while trying to force itself through the worst time of my life. They’re probably not in great shape. Not particularly fabulous building blocks for life.
You may remember that I had tonsillitis back in January. In fact, I had a lot of illnesses since the pizza of doom – further proof of my scientific theory. After the tonsillitis my throat still hurt when I talked too loudly or when I yawned. The doctor told me that the tissue was scarred. That it was going to hurt for sometime still. But it would get better. And it did.
I think my heart is scarred too. It’s damaged. And it’s going to take a lot longer for it to heal.
Til then I’ll keep crying over Teen Mom, and just about every other show I watch. Because with all that pain held inside, I like to think crying let’s some of it out.
Friday night and I have nobody to play with. Again. I was supposed to be going to Italy with him first thing tomorrow morning. He’s going without me. This is a lot to think about, so I’m watching old seasons of Grey’s Anatomy because I don’t know what else to do with myself.
It worries me, you know? So much heartbreak at Seattle Grace Hospital and yet they are all carrying on, performing surgeries, casually sticking knives in people’s brains. In my job, I can’t concentrate enough to write nice copy or a half-decent social media strategy. If lives were in my hands. Well. They’d certainly die.
It’s a funny old end to the week. Didn’t cry yesterday. Haven’t cried yet today, but I do feel it coming. I feel more distant from my ex. I still miss him like hell. I miss my best friend. I miss my boyfriend. But I don’t feel like part of me is missing. Or, at least I don’t feel that way as intensely as I did before.
These moments when you realise you’re making progress are so difficult to get your head around. Much as there’s relief that you don’t feel quite as horrific, there’s sadness as you grieve the relationship slipping a little further away. As I said to my counsellor the other night, I know in a year that this will just be something that happened. But that makes me sad, because that means he’ll just be something that happened. Or, as blogger buddy Intothebeauty put it, “I didn’t want to let go of the feeling of me wanting him”. That’s all I have left, after all. When it’s gone, he’s gone.
So rather than shutting it out altogether, I’m letting my mind wander a little around this trip to Italy that I should be going on. How he was invited to a friend’s wedding there and, at first, turned down the invite because he thought I wasn’t invited and we’d already have spent so much of the summer apart. Then we realised I was invited and excitedly booked flights and hotel. I bought a dress.
And as I write this, now I’m crying again.
I want to feel OK, but I don’t want him to disappear.
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