Last Sunday I awoke with a headache like no other. I could
feel brain cells dying off, limbs aching and a thirst that was seemingly
unquenchable. Also, alongside these horrible physical pains, there were some
far more prominent emotional pains. A whole plethora of them, gathering inside
and conspiring to make me feel worse than I ever thought possible: fear;
mortification; embarrassment and a slight dose of self-pity. Last Saturday I
cried and cried, and cried some more. These tears weren’t caught by a grubby
toilet, or on the shoulders of kind friends (not all of them anyhow) but they
splashed onto my poor, unfortunate ex-boyfriend.
The Saturday that came before the Sunday was beautiful, a
day of celebrating my dear Rhiannon’s birthday with two hours of bottomless
prosecco and sweet apple and ginger mojitos. Her friends are as lovely as her;
I had a grand time getting to know them. We moved on from bottomless brunch to
a bar where there was a possibility of free or half-price drinks if you rolled
the dice right. It was a dangerous game, and by the time we moved on to our
final destination I was well and truly wasted. I could be prim and proper and
say I hadn’t been that drunk in a long time, but honestly I came close to it
the night prior – not with such consequences, but Friday definitely gave
Saturday a run for its money.
I had been there a few minutes when I spotted his friendly,
familiar face. At first it was all very civilized and adult in the way some
exes can be – ‘How are you? What have you been up to?’ but then things, for me,
disintegrated rapidly. I became incredibly emotional, apparently just at him
being in the general vicinity, and felt the most overwhelming need to confess
to him how much I truly loved him. I didn’t do this in a calm, dignified,
composed manner. I spluttered and stumbled over my words. As mentioned before,
there were tears, and no shortage of them. I was seemingly set on embarrassing
myself that night. The one consolation I have in this tragic little story is
how kind he was, as ever. Rather than walking away and dismissing me as a silly
drunk, he listened to my shambolic rambles and hugged me. I can only imagine, (as
it’s rather hazy) that this made my heart hurt a little more, as whatever or
whoever ended our conversation, I cried for the next 20 minutes. I called my
sister, who sweetly calmed me and sent me a bunch of gifs to make me smile. The
amazing friends I was with consoled me further and wiped my face dry. All the
love to them all.
I write this for no reason apart from I want to console
anyone else that became an emotional wreck last night, and feels they may have
ruined their lives along with their liver. I mean no harm by writing it – to
add to the excruciating embarrassment, ex has a new love and I truly am still
in shock that I found it acceptable to put him in the position I did. If you
happen to read this – so sorry lovely. I blame the ironically named Bar Soba,
along with some emotional issues that I’ll swiftly be addressing.
Heartache is awful, and it can take its sweet time with you. Just when you think you’ve moved along, it ruthlessly stabs you in the back when you look into their eyes, and the love you once had flickers through you. Memories can play their tricks on you though, if you think they’re the only one for you – no. This world is full to the brim of lovely people, so realistically there is someone just as fitting for you, perhaps even more so. If you feel broken, give yourself an abundance of time, be kind and patient. If they move on before you do, be gracious, and don’t look at their Instagram – it’ll give you nightmares. As time slips by, peace will return to you. You’ll regain the pieces of yourself you lose. Whether it takes 3 years or 3 months to overcome the loss of love, have courage. It may feel like your world is ending, but as long as you’re waking fresh in the morning – you have a chance to reshape your world.
