Three months, my friends. It is totes offish three months since the pizza of doom. Whenever I think of that night, it gets hard to breathe. I feel so embarrassed for myself. So humiliated. So desperately sad for the girl cleaning her flat, shaving her legs, and getting cocktails ready for her boyfriend coming back from working abroad.
I’m also pissed off that I paid for the pizza.
My friend Kate came and stayed with me that night. I didn’t sleep at all. I stayed up emailing people to tell them what had happened. Goodness knows why, but it made me feel better somehow. I was desperate for anyone to respond. Then I counted down the hours until it was acceptable to phone my parents (luckily they wake up around 6am so I didn’t have to wait too long).
I was crying so hard on the phone I could hardly get my words out. And then I felt guilty about worrying them. And worse for feeling guilty. I booked a flight to Scotland. I walked around the park with Kate, then got a taxi to the airport. The whole day is a blur, but I remember the taxi driver singing along to reggae music. And I remember downing two vodkas on the plane.
Everything tells me that this was probably the worst day of my life. But, honestly, I can’t remember that much of it.
I would never have expected to still feel this bad three months later. Yesterday my entire day revolved around getting my nails done. I cried all morning and all evening, and went to bed rereading ‘It’s Called A Breakup Because It’s Broken’ for the seventh time.
I was starting to worry about all this crying. It’s like being trapped. Forced to replay the same memories over and over and over and over. And I don’t know how I’m ever going to get over him or when I’m going to get a break from all these memories.
So I turned to Google for answers, and stumbled upon a forum of people discussing the ‘3 – 4 month post breakup’ stage. What I’m going through is not unusual at all.
Once the shock wears off, you have to face the reality that this is what life has in store for you. Every day the hope you had left that things will work out diminishes. And, however amazing your friends are, as time goes on you are less entitled to be injured.
Life goes on. Whether I’m ready or not.
I’m also realizing that I’ll never be exactly the same person again. Which is annoying because, before I met him, I was a really happy, independent, ambitious girl. I’ve started to question things. Not just whether I’m smart enough or pretty enough or at all lovable, but also the things that I believe in.
I’m not sure anymore whether I believe in marriage or lifetime love. I’m not sure I want to get married and have kids, even though it’s everything I’ve ever wanted. I can’t eat pizza anymore. Or listen to The Civil Wars. And New York is forever ruined for me.
They say a break up causes you to grieve. Genuinely grieve.
I think grief travels a wiggly line. It sets off in one direction, and twists and turns and goes back on itself. Kind of like a scribble, really. And eventually, yes – eventually – it ends up near the point of departure. ‘Near’ because you’ll never be exactly the same again.
But I’m going to get as close as I can. I don’t care how long it takes.
Tags: break up, breakup, broken heart, exboyfriend, grief, healing, insomnia, love, moving on, pizza, relationships
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