This is potentially the kind of post that should stay safely hidden somewhere in a tumblr archive from 2009.
In fact hosting this pity party on my blog is almost akin to waving a massive ‘feel sorry for me flag’ and inviting you all to join me in my self-indulgence. But I'm going for it regardless, because I'm crazy maybe?
Break-ups are a funny one aren’t they? I feel like I can finally say that now I’m over 6-months into my first ever real proper one. And totally not funny like that video of the sky dancer flying into the fire, but funny like ‘I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing here and I’m not ok’ funny.
I thought I was doing well. I thought I’d passed the point of crying to Taylor Swift songs in my car and I’d moved onto feeling occasionally wistful and only crying once a month. Clearly I was wrong.
The worst part is the dreams that stick with you the whole day. You wake up feeling sad and then struggle to shake it for a good few hours. Then, once you’re no longer on the verge of tears, suddenly it’s bed time and there’s a lot of time for thinking.
There’s also the times when it hits you that actually ‘he’s not my boyfriend anymore’, like reality has come along and given you a quick punch in the stomach as a friendly reminder. And of course I know that. I know that we’re not together anymore. It’s not my job to worry or to make sure that he got home ok or that he’s eating enough vegetables but it’s hard when you still really really care.
I know I’m probably doing it all wrong. Because the elusive ‘they’ tell you not to try and be friends with an ex. But then how can you not be when neither of you were at fault and there was no bad blood and the last thing you want is for that person to not be in your life anymore because he was basically your best friend, even if you didn’t realise it at the time? They tell you it shouldn’t be done. At least not for a while. But there’s that part of me that just wants to prove ‘they’ wrong, because I never liked being told what to do anyway.
I’m sad and frustrated and impatient, because there’s nothing I can do. And, if there’s one thing I hate more than slow walkers and mushrooms, it’s not being in control. Because I can’t fix it. No matter how many times I daydream about making it work and it all being ok again, I know I can’t fix it. And no matter how often I tell myself I’m doing well and ready to move on, I know I can’t do that either. Now I’m stuck in some sort of weird emotional limbo where I don't know the rules and have forgotten the dress code and I don’t think I like it.