Tag Archives: heartbreak


6 Mar

I’m pretty confident that nobody will read this post since I disappeared off the face of the earth for 18 months. I can’t just waltz in and out your blogging lives like this.

If anyone does read, I wanted to update you on life because this sad little blog has a happy, happy ending.

And I’m going to write more. I’m going to write my happily ever after. But today – for reasons I won’t go into – I read a few old posts. They broke my heart. For myself. For poor, agitated, heartbroken me just trying to get through the day and living the agony out here on WordPress. And for those who went through it with me, with their own scars to bare. And for anyone putting jaunty little terms such as “How can I get over a broken heart?” into the Google and landing here on Pizza of Doom.

I am struggling to even remember how to use WordPress. It’s been entirely too long.

But the short version of the past 18 months is this: I am living in Brooklyn and working in Manhattan. I don’t miss London, but I do miss my friends. Work is great. I’m traveling a ton. I’m getting pretty good at copywriting in American English complete with missing “u”s and “z”s over “s”s. I’ve made great new friends. I’ve put on a humiliating amount of weight, but – hey – the food in this country is too delicious and plentiful. I’ve also met a wonderful creature in the form of my boyfriend. The love of my life – my best friend and absolute soul mate. He was made for me. I truly believe he’s the reason I had to go through everything I went through. To get me to here. Both physically and emotionally. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with him.

My dear blogger cats, I hope you are all doing wonderfully. I wish happiness and love and amazing things for all of you.

And I promise to start a new blog. Maybe something a little lighter like being a Brit in NYC. I don’t think pain and sadness becomes me. Damn, maybe I’ll just blog about The Bachelor. What those girls could learn from me…


Putting my heart back together

28 Dec

I haven’t blogged in a long time.

My apologies, but I needed a bit of a blogcation. In truth, I’m not sure whether I should continue to write here on Pizza of Doom, or set up some new place to post all my ramblings. Not because I don’t love what I’ve created here – I do. But because my life is finally moving on.

This week it will be 17 months since the man I loved – the man I thought I was going to marry and have beautiful children with – ate half a pizza and told me he had never been in love with me. What followed was nothing short of hell. I didn’t know true heartbreak before this happened. I didn’t understand trauma, or depression, or myself.

I remember when, five years ago, a friend of mine had her engagement called off. Her boyfriend of five years had met someone else. That first week after it happened, I reassured her, and I told her, “I promise it will never feel as bad as it does right now.” I should never have said that, because I realise now that she was still in shock. She was still processing things. Her pain would come to a sharp climax sometime later, and then linger for months that turned to years. I want you to know that this friend got married (to someone else) just before Christmas. She has a baby girl. She’s very happy now.

I think my pain was at its worst for the duration of the first six months following the Pizza of Doom. Oh, you can read that pain right here on my blog. But, what scared me, was when a year later – even over a year later – the pain was still here. I thought it would never go away.

Then, all of a sudden, something shifted. Funny how it happens. One day I thought to myself, “Hmmm, you haven’t cried in like two weeks – weird.”

There’s a passage in The Kite Runner by Khaled Hussein that explains how it works with my eloquence than I ever could:

“I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.”

Now, I’m not sure that I’ve quite reached forgiveness. But I’ve reached contentment.

I refuse to feel sorry for myself that I’m still single at 32. Yes, the world is f***ed up for the fact that nobody celebrates you past graduation unless you’re getting married or having kids. But I don’t need to let that drag me down. I’m lucky. I can travel. I can buy things. I can live and create the life I want. And, if someone comes along, fantastic. But I can’t just sit here waiting.

I’ve started making changes. I’ve booked a trip to Japan. I’ve cut my hair (which I hadn’t had cut in nine years). I’m swimming and doing yoga and making sure that I celebrate things for myself – because nobody else will.

And, here’s something, I’m going to Japan on my own. It makes me slightly anxious, but it doesn’t scare me. Before, it would have. Before him. While we were together. Immediately after. I wouldn’t have had the confidence or the guts to pack up and head to the other side of the world for a month. Now, I do.

You see, this experience has changed me. It has totally changed me. All for the better. I am more sure of myself and comfortable in my skin than I have ever been. I’m resilient. I’m empathetic. I like myself a lot. If I do meet someone, if I do one day get to be a parent, I’ll be all the better at it for this experience. I guess it’s our darkest moments that test what we’re made of. Here are some Ted Talks to illustrate my point.

So I need to make a decision as to what to do with my blog. It will be here forever in cyberspace, hoping to offer comfort and advice and reassurance to poor broken hearts who Google points my way.

But I’ve finally put my own heart back together.


10 Aug

It’s all been happening here at April Towers.

Everyone tells you to redecorate after a break up. I wanted to. Oh, I really wanted to last August. But since I was incapable of standing for longer than twenty minutes or so, it made DIY a little tricky. Where do you find the wherewithall to pick wallpaper when you erupt into tears while trying to choose a shampoo?

A year later, I can do it. Top of my list is replacing my carpet. For regular readers – yes – the same carpet that he trod paint into.

But it struck me that Pizza of Doom itself also needs a little spruce up. After all, times have changed. I’m a year on. And while I’ll admit that I cried a lot this afternoon, I’m changed for the better and stronger than I’ve ever been.

So I’ve rewritten my ‘About’ section to keep up-to-date. Like Grey’s Anatomy, I hope that Season One was just the foundations for what is going to be an increasingly exciting, heart-warming and fascinating tale. Minus the bombs and planecrashes and all.

I think I had to change on the inside before I could change on the outside. Today I even considered a new haircut. But, let’s not get crazy. My hair is already fabulous.


I long for chocolate, love and cuddles

10 Mar

Oh dear me.

As the months have rolled on since the pizza of doom, the lbs have rolled on too. The old heartbreak diet (and distinct lack of pizza) knocked a good 16 lbs off me in a really short period of time. I was the most miserable I have ever been in my life, but I could at least get into my skinny jeans.

These days I don’t think I could fit an arm into my skinny jeans, let alone two legs and a bottom.

So, seeing as the weather has taken a turn for springtime and I’m feeling fresh (if a little lonely) after the split from Irish Two, I have decided to try and look non-grotesque when I hit the beach in seven weeks and four days. Not that I’m counting down to my next holiday or anything.

It feels so unfair, though. No boyfriend. No cuddles. No sex. And now no chocolate.

What’s a girl supposed to do for fun?

Am I officially ‘losing it’?

4 Sep

So. After three sun-drenched days on holiday in Nice, I’m starting to feel…worse. Wait a minute, I am not supposed to be feeling better? This trip was “just what the doctor ordered”. Well, not the doctor, but the telephone counselling woman my work’s HR department hooked me up with. I don’t even work there anymore, so it’s pretty decent of them. Anyway, back to the holiday.

We head home tomorrow. I don’t know if it’s been going out for meals and looking at the menu, eyes filling up as I remember looking at menus with my ex (I’m embarrassed to say this has actually happened to me), but I miss him more and more.

Today we went to Cannes. That’s two hours on the bus each way from Nice. That’s four hours of my life that my backside isn’t getting back. Anyway, we arrived in Cannes and all I could think is that his parents used to have an apartment there. And I miss his parents, damnit. It’s not even just him.

Also, the food in Nice is awful. Ugh. And everywhere – absolutely everywhere – seems focused on producing pizza. Not what I needed right now.

I really want to keep my blog upbeat and to turn a corner and feel better and realise this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me etc. etc., but I have to tell you I feel lonely and I also feel like an emotional nut job who is never going to get over this. In ten years time I’ll be holed up in my flat – catless because it’s too small for a cat – muttering about the love of my life never loved me back. I can’t believe it has all ended this way. I can’t believe it has been nearly five weeks. I can’t believe I start my new job on Monday.

I have a feeling of impending doom. In a really bad way.

Some (more) musings on Teen Mom 2

1 Sep

OK, I have a wedding this afternoon. Before I start psyching myself up for it, I’m enjoying my coffee and Teen Mom time on the sofa. 

American readers, please bear in mind that I’ll be a few episodes behind you guys. So excuse me if I’m going over old ground. 

Right then. Leah is married and hassling Corey for more child support. Fair enough.

Adam continues to treat Chelsea like crap, and he and his new girlfriend are spending time with Aubree. Chelsea gets through the episode without crying. Go, Chelsea!

Kailyn and Javi take a trip to Vegas and decide, seeing as they are there, they might as well check out a wedding chapel. In the end they decide to hold off as Kailyn refuses to get married til he puts a ring on her finger. Good girl.

And Jenelle. Oh, Jenelle. After getting engaged in the last episode, she and Gary have been fighting. The episode begins with him kicking the door down. Charming. He then appears to have attacked her by trying to throttle her with some bed sheets. Wow. But they make up and he gives her a puppy to say sorry. As you do. Another fight breaks out and she heads to her Mom’s house, and calls Kieffer for some deep chat. There is so much wrong with this that I don’t know where to start. I’m extremely concerned about the welfare of that puppy.

I’m trying to find some life lessons to take from all this, but I’m daydreaming about sitting on the sofa at my ex’s house, explaining the intricacies of the relationships to him while we watched Teen Mom together. 

I can’t stand this feeling anymore.

Anyway, time to plaster on a smile and get ready for a wedding. Wish me luck.

Goodbye, August. You’ve been horrible.

31 Aug

Tomorrow is September. Well, good riddance to August 2013 which has been , without doubt, the worst month of my entire life. Not only did my boyfriend get back from New York and break up with me, I had a bladder infection, my final project in my last job ended up a disaster, and ants moved into my coffee machine (true story).

Still, I’m trying to be positive. I’m looking for the meaning. So here are five (very important) things I learned this month.

1. This is what heartbreak feels like
I’ve broken up before. I’ve been dumped before. But I have never felt like this in my life. Thinking back to those first few days when I was unable to do anything, I hate that anyone has to go through this. Ever. I remember flying up to Scotland the day after it happened, wishing that the plane would just drop out of the sky. There isn’t a day I haven’t cried since the 2nd of August. I think it’s safe to say I have now experienced true heartbreak. Oh, and it’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

2. Trust your guts
I knew something wasn’t right with my ex, but he kept telling me he was just stressed at work. And from the start of our relationship he’d warned me that the summer would be stressful. Well, don’t I feel like an almighty fool for sending him chirpy, supportive emails with pictures of cats in comical poses? Don’t I feel like a mug for making him a Japanese-themed care package to take to New York? Don’t I wish I hadn’t welcomed him back with homemade cupcakes? He was miserable because he did not want to be with me. Fact. More fool me.

3. You know who your friends are
My friends have been incredible. I have a friend who texts me every day to “check in”. I have others who have had me around for lunch, or sent me flowers, or answered multiple “do you think?” emails during the working day, or made sure I have something to do on a Friday night. I’ll be honest, there are a few who I feel have been unsympathetic and haven’t really cared. But good to know who’s who on the friend scale. And, hey, I’ve also made a whole bunch of blog buddies who are some of the most supportive, lovely ladies I’ve ever come across.

4. Whatever your age, nobody looks after you like your Mum and Dad do
I can’t imagine what went through my poor parents’ heads when I phoned them sobbing and asking to come home. They have been amazingly tactful, supportive and kind. It makes me cry that they’ve had to see me cry so much. They are the coolest old people I know. Hands down.

5. Pull yourself together on the outside, and it helps on the inside
Wednesday was the first time I wore makeup since it happened. I’ve been living in glorified pyjamas. The first couple of weeks I showed up, more than once, at work with an item of clothing inside out. Today I got a mani pedi. I’ve reintroduced makeup. I’ve even taken to wearing clothes without elasticated waistbands (sometimes). It’s not going to change my life in a big way, but it helps. And my skin looks amazing after its detox.

So here goes. I’m shutting the door on August, four weeks to the day since the pizza of doom. I want to keep looking forward. I really do. But, if I’m honest, even after these lessons learned, I just don’t want it to be over. And I can’t help feeling if I could just go back to July I could change it all. 

Let’s hope September gives me a reason to stay in drive-mode.

I miss

31 Aug

I miss Friday nights.
I miss Pizza Tuesdays.
I miss Saturday mornings in each other’s arms.
I miss drinking cocktails.
I miss falling asleep with our feet touching.
I miss spooning.
I miss his friends.
I miss his family.
I miss our walks in Victoria Park.
I miss Broadway Market for olives and sourdough.
I miss his smell.
I miss kissing.
I miss that damn tattoo.
I miss chicken on toast, with the good mayo.
I miss checking out street art.
I miss listening to him play the ukulele.
I miss playing on the kids’ obstacle course in the park.
I miss brushing our teeth together.
I miss laughing.
I miss my best friend.
I miss everything.

Just when you think it’s going to be OK

29 Aug

I felt good last night. I felt really hopeful about the future and excited to have 11 days off work. 

Now I feel empty.

And I also feel fat.

Why does everything smell of my ex?

24 Aug

It’s been three weeks since the pizza of doom. I’m kind of surprised that I’m still incapable of pulling myself together. This morning I woke up and decided it was time to put his stuff in a bin bag and get it out of sight. It’s no fun seeing his protein bars in the fridge, his jeans hanging in my wardrobe, his aftershave in my bathroom cabinet. I felt positive about this decision. I would get my flat hetoxed. I would put new sheets on my bed. I would deep clean. Everything would feel fresh. And fresh would feel better.

Very ambitious. Very naive. Wow. I had no idea it was going to hurt this much. As soon as I opened “his drawer” the tears started. Big, ugly, sobby tears. My neighbour must have heard me howling, I’m quite sure. At one point I thought I was going to vomit from crying so much. 

Anyway. I’ve packed everything away. My flat is so teensy, tiny that I can’t really get “the bag” out of sight. It’s blatantly going to sit in my bedroom like a giant, mean elephant in the room.

I decided to keep going and clean out my entire life so have been through my wardrobes and drawers sorting clothes into ‘keep’, ‘bin’, and ‘charity shop’. Here’s the weird thing: all my stuff smells of him. Even things that I’m sure I never wore when we were together. 

I love his smell. I always did. 

Why is my nose torturing me? Does stuff really smell of him or am I imagining it? Can he smell me at his house? And when the hell is this going to get easier?

The thing is, I guess I don’t want everything to feel fresh. Because fresh means he’s gone.