Being Alone

I used to think I was good at being alone. I’ve always been a fan of my own company, too much time spent around people leaves me feeling like I need to sleep for three days, and there’s not much I dislike more than small talk.

Turns out there’s a big difference between being alone voluntarily, and not having a choice in the matter.

Thanks Bristol for the super Instagrammable sign.

Thanks Bristol for the super Instagrammable sign.

I like to think I’ve handed this whole breakup thing as well as I can really. I’ve only cried in public twice, and I’ve channeled all my energy into having long self-indulgent crying sessions to Taylor Swift. Yet I’m finding it surprisingly hard to be on my own.

It’s the little things, like not having someone to browse the ASOS men’s section for. It’s missing the walking hand in hand, and trying to squeeze two hands into one coat pocket when it gets cold. It’s the not being around for birthdays. It’s the dreams where everything is normal and the few seconds after you wake up before you realise everything isn’t. 

There's not a lot of people in my life that I'm really close with, mostly because I am awful at any kind of keeping in contact and things, so losing one of the few people (maybe the only person) who I'd willingly actually talk to about feelings, is pretty tough. 

My previously single friends are all in relationships. My Wagamama intake has halved (there's only so many times you can drag you best friend to eat katsu curry in a month). I'm not sure who I'm going to watch Peep Show with when series 9 finally decides to show up.

I miss having a person. But, for now, at least I have a cat.