Breaking patterns, not hearts

Writing here has helped me.
Probably a lot more than I initially thought it would. This blog and you lovely people have seen me get through the different stages of my broken heart, you've left comments that have made me feel less alone and you've made me feel hopeful.

And now I think it's time to move on. I want to stop dwelling, I want to stop lingering in post-breakup territory. I want something new. So I will leave this chapter and move on to a new one, one which hasn't got traces of those dark months lingering in the background. It may be sporadic at first, as is my fist wobbly steps out in this new life of mine. There will be laughter, tears and more than likely some music and wine. Follow me, if you want to. If not. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

Walk on by

I saw drunken facebook photos of him this morning.
All I could think was "He looks wasted and happy"
and "Thank God that's not my problem anymore".

In repair

One thing that all of these "Heartbreak blogs" seem to have in common is the fact that we're ambivalent as hell. One post we will be crying our hearts out, the next we're filled with hope and renewed energy.
I guess it's a fair reflection of the process.
It;s never calm, we're never completely OK. It can be months and suddenly that feeling will prick you and you will bleed a little.
I guess what I want to say is have patience with us. We know we will be fine in the end. WE KNOW. We will be OK, we will love, we will laugh, we will forget. Once the wound has healed and we can wake up and go a whole day without thinking about it we will be fine.
Until then just have patience. Pull up a chair, pour a glass of wine. Talk. We would be there for you so please just put up with us for a little while longer.

Sadness is my boyfriend, oh sadness I'm your girl

I can honestly say that I wouldn't change a thing or do a single thing differently.
Because every little mistake, every step along the way and every disastrous relationship has left me with some of the best possible friends any person could have. And I am so grateful.
Wouldn't change a thing.  

As clear as day

Last night was one of those nights. You know, when all you want to do is hide under your duvet and cry yourself dry?
I know every day can't feel like a new beginning. The feeling that I am OK won't be steady at first.
I'm not even upset about him any more, not him alone anyway. I am upset that I thought we had something different. I am upset I built my hopes around him only for them to crumble.
I feel left out when I see friends and family do so very well with their lives, jobs, loves, children... and then I feel horrid about the feeling of jealousy. It's such a dark feeling and it doesn't do me any good.

In the midst of it I could still feel some little hard nugget of my soul which refuses to give in to that feeling or to the tears. I haven't cried over him for a long time now, all because that little piece of me which manages to stay strong. Like a diamond core in my heart which wants to turn the negative feelings into fuel. Which refuses to panic over money, work and love but breaks all the worries down into fragments which can be dealt with one at a time.
It's that little part of me which has ensured that I'm OK. That's the part which made me get up in the morning and go to work in the middle of the worst time of my life. The part which made me shake things up and leave. The part which perhaps this time next year will be stronger, bigger, more developed. Next year when I can look back at this and feel like I did good.

It's creeping up

I'm starting to feel a little bit angsty at the thought of my boxes, my stuff, which is still all packed up and standing in my old living room. Near him. With him, every day.
He is meant to arrange for it to be shipped over, but so far it's still on the other side of the North Sea.
That angsty feeling isn't about the STUFF. It's not me missing my winter boots, by books, my trinkets and scarfs. It's more about the fact that it's THERE. Like an anchor weighing me down, tying me to that place. It's like I can't move on whole heartedly when a part of my life is in heavy duty card board boxes in my old flat.

Why he hasn't arranged the shipping yet I don't know. Probably a combination of lack of time/lack of money/lack of will power. And I'm not angry with him, I know full well he is doing me a favour by arranging it for me. I'm saving money, but I'm not saving hassle. I don't think he knows how it affects me, and I don't even know if I want to tell him about it. My feelings are mine and mine alone and even the negative ones are not his to share any more.

I will tell you all my sins after several large gins

I disappeared for a few days. Took a train across the country and drank over-priced beers in hotel bars. Danced until all my carefully applied make-up was nothing but a memory and my twisted ankle was twice the size (do not trust stairs, they're out to get you). Never once missed him or wanted him to share my moments and new memories. Drank red wine and ate ice-cream. Met new friends. Hugged old friends. Got lost, got drunk, got happy. Felt at peace in some way, felt relief. Missed the West Coast and felt more relief (if I miss it it might be right for me). Took a train back home. Allowed the rhythmic thumping and pounding of the rails rock me to sleep. Stepped of in a new-old kind of city.
A city I might want to make mine, job and house market allowing.

It's been a good few days.

The streets will lead me anywhere but here

It's weird to think about my "old" life now. To think that I used to include him in all my decisions and go to him with my worries. When we talk now it's via wobbly skype-calls. All smiles and unsaid words, for both of us.
Every decision I make now is down to me and me alone. It's almost a relief to have no one else to take in to account. It's also a little bit empty.

That’s what the water gave me

I'm slowly making my peace with my home town (we have a fraught relationship).
I can feel that it's a whole new healing process I didn't even knew I needed to go through. I never understood that I had to forgive the cobbled streets, the salty air, the streets with so many memories linked to them. I just LEFT and hoped that it would be enough.
It never is, it seems. You actually have to work through every kind of breakup, including the ones with cities, places, countries. I always knew I'd be back sooner or later, just not.... This soon. Not under these circumstances.
I enjoy forgiving these streets. I enjoy seeing my town for what it is instead of everything is wasn't. I hope that I can look back at my former relationship the same way eventually. At the moment I can feel anger bubble up inside of me, anger directed at little things he did ages ago. Times when he didn't care enough, times when he let me carry the both of us. Times when I could have done with something more than what ha gave me. It's like I'm angry at the person he was then, while being able to stay amicable with the person he is now.
It doesn't even make sense. To be so angry with someone and still care. To have internal monologues where I scream but still never feel the need to when I actually speak to him. To miss someone and still be glad that it's time to move on.
We're such complicated creatures. Maybe I should just quit the human race all together, join a pride of lions and roam the savannah (as long as there's spf 50).
Maybe I should just stop thinking about him.

Take me anywhere but home

I'm curing that old familiar Sunday-angst with cups of strong coffee and a big bucket of white paint.
The latter is obviously not for snacking but for re-decorating my brother's room. Little by little it's being turned into a studio for my Dad. A place to paint, create and enjoy the view of the fields and apple trees.

I wish I had a safe place to call my own. I love that I can stay here, heal here, but I miss having my own space to hide in. My own books up in the shelves, my own food in the fridge. I gave all of that up as I was terrified of becoming something I didn't want to be. I gave it up as I hated the thought of changing nothing but my relationship-status and I was afraid of falling so deep into the darkness that I would have winded up calling round to his flat at 3 in the morning, drunk out of my mind.
So I gave it up to start again, and when the rainstorms and thunder wakes me up early in the morning and you can smell the garden and the ozone as you pull your window shut it's not that bad.
I just need to find a new city.

Late nights and dry martinis

I feel blessed that I have such amazing people in my life.
Don't get me wrong, I always felt blessed. I am lucky enough to have a lot of close, smart, funny, kind and lovely friends and family members in my life. People who will sit with me and talk about the important things, listen to my stories about heartache and drink wine with me until the small hours. They will also happily talk about nothing and just watch the world go by. Either way, I am lucky to be so loved.
I do feel loved. Not a day goes by without me feeling loved. Someone will tell me that they miss me, someone will tell me they're happy to see me. I guess what I'm trying to say is that in spite of missing that couple feeling I can see just how blessed I am.

But I must say, that doesn't stop me from going though my afore mentioned amazing friend's lists of facebook/twitter friends to double check if they know someone snogable. Just in case.

Coffee makes everything better

After 2 massive cups of coffee I would probably be able to take over the world. Today I stuck to inland revenue and 3 of the local advertising firms (but with all the energy I had I could have wrestled a grizzly!).

It's sunny outside and still about 20 degrees. The harvest has started and the evenings smell of... well, wheat, oatmeal, sunshine, grass, smoke. It's that summer vs. autumn smell that is one of my favourite smells in the world. Riding my bike from the shop I made a mental note of how I felt in that very moment.

I feel OK. I feel better. In spite of thinking about him every hour of the day I feel OK.  

Also:

It would be a hell of a lot easier to get myself sorted if I only knew HOW THINGS WORK IN THIS COUNTRY.
It makes me feel like a complete idiot sometimes. If I had moved across the globe or even to another European country I would have cut myself some slack, it takes time to figure out how the system operates in a foreign country. But this is MY country, my homeland.
But I have never truly been a grown-up here. I guess a lot changes in 7 years.

Momma said there would be days like this, there will be days like this my Momma said

I think I compare myself too much.

To others, to friends, family and complete strangers.... I can't help it! A few months ago I read in some glossy magazine that in the age of facebook/twitter/instagram it's easy to get a warped image of how the other half lives.
I'm guilty as charged, of facebook-envy.
I can't help it, I stalk the pages and fill up with a sense of being incomplete, not fun enough, not brave enough, not pretty enough. I feel like my life is a complete failure and that everyone else is having a FUCKING GREAT TIME.

I'm sure they have shit days too though. Don't they? They must. Days when they feel lost, fat or lonely. Surely everyone feels like this sometimes?
I had a friend who once said that she could put up with our shit job and the general feeling of being adrift if only she had someone to come home to. A man.
I feel myself sympathising more and more with her now.  I'm so used to being someone's girlfriend, so now that I'm not I feel like half a person. This is most likely linked to my facebook-envy as well, we live in a society which puts being a COUPLE on a pedestal. It's a sign of success somehow, someone LOVES you.
So when you're a serial monogamist like me finding yourself single feels like a failure. I know full well how horrid this sounds, but at least writing it down helps me to realise just HOW ridiculous it is.

Man, sometimes I really think I need a hard slap across the face.

"The age of anguish is over"

"I love that we can do this"
He said as we rounded up our Skype conversation. I smiled in agreement and he continued:
"As long as you're ok with it, I really don't want to cause you anguish. More anguish I mean..."

You know those moments when you hear yourself say something and in that very moment it's like a light has been switched on? An aha-moment I suppose? It's an odd sensation, almost like an out of body experience, or like you're your own therapist.

"Well, darling, I think the age of anguish is over. It's time for progress now. Repair and renewal."
And I smiled again. As I said it I realised it was true. The anguish, at least the one related to my broken heart, is over. We spoke for half an hour and I never once felt like my stomach was about to turn into ice, or like my face would crumble and leave me crying. I felt calm. The sight and sound of him made me feel happy,  but more because I can really see us being friends once this whole thing has passed.
But I felt safer in myself than I have in a long time.

The age of anguish IS over. It's time to heal, without him. I will most likely have days when I feel like calling him, when I miss him and feel sad. But at least I have had this one moment of clarity, my aha-moment.
It's starting to happen. The whole healing thing everyone tells you about..
'Bout bloody time too.

Getting there

One might say I'm emotionally unstable.
Just a wee bit.

Autumn is drawing closer, I can feel it in the air when I have my morning coffee in the garden. Taste it on the winds.
I think that autumn is more of a chance for a new start than New Years. Maybe that's part of why I'm feeling so fragile. There's almost a pressure to get it right. Or maybe my hormones are just going crazy after nearly 10 years of being on the pill. Maybe I'm just a little bit mad.
Either way. A cry, a chat and some soup helps.

Oh my dear lord I need to be able to turn my brain off

I don't know why I thought this would be easier back here. Job hunting is soul crushing no matter in which country you live in.

Like clockwork I start to miss my home on the other side of the North Sea. I miss Scotland, I miss my friends, I miss the comfort of knowing how things work. It's that 'fight of flee' instinct kicking in, and all I want to do is flee. I want what I know and what I trust.
Filling out all these forms and confronting all these practicalities makes it feel so final. Like there's no return.
My boxes are still in Scotland. My books, my winter clothes. Is it too late now? Did I make a rushed decision?
Or is it just fear? Basic, gut-wrenching fear of the unknown and of failure? There's so many question marks and I feel like I'm going to be sick.
I want to talk to him about it, and at the same time he's the reason why I'm in this situation.
Life.
Is.
Too.
Fucking.
Hard.

I just want to hide away and watch ever John Cusack film ever made and for the world to become less difficult to navigate. I want to turn off all my feelings and thoughts and stop weeping.
God dammit, I just want a hug.

Operation LIFE, day 1

I have called every single governmental office/organisation that people normally try to avoid speaking to (in Sweden, that is, the UK ones might have the pleasure of talking to me tomorrow) and what can I say?
Getting back into the game after 7 years abroad is difficult. Getting hold of someone who wants to help me with my student loan repayments is even harder (how on EARTH am I meant to pay them back without an income?). There's not enough coffee in the world.
I have very little clue as to how things work here, I'm not even written on a Swedish address. I don't have money, I don't have work, I don't have time to sit about and wait for the right form to be sent out to me, or for the Swedish student loan people to go about their insanely dated ways of dealing with repayments (meanwhile they add more late charges to my loan).

Basically, this sucks.
But it's getting done, and there's very little emotional space to feel anything else when you're wanting to bang your head against the wall in pure frustration.
Please, please, please, let me get what I want.

Sundays. I fucking hate Sundays

Today's not been a good day for me, in spite of a massage and sunshine.
So screw it, I will just have to shake it off. It will feel better. IT HAS TO.
So sweet dreams lovelies. Here's to a new week, a new day and sun-warm skin.

Fucking word

"But I'm too much of a coward to say anything."

Red wine and cowboys

They say that when God closes a door he opens a window.
Well. I don't believe in God. I don't believe anyone closed that fricking door but me. So here I am, not trying to find the open window but knocking down a whole damn wall. Changing everything. Some people say I'm brave but I feel scared as hell and a little bit foolish.

Sunday is the kind of day when I think about my failures and death. Angst and my broken heart. Lost loves and my student loan.... You know, that kind of cheerful stuff. It used to be a day of all day cuddling on the sofa, a roast and general smug-couple quality time. In all fairness this new life is a lot healthier. Less pork crackling, more yoga. (woo-fucking-whoo).

I don't know if I'm brave or foolish, I don't even know where I will live in a months time. Hell, maybe I'll move to Argentina and live of red wine and take myself a cowboy-lover. Maybe I decide to grow up and act my age. Right now I just want to turn my brain off, forget about my feelings and soak in a tub of gin.

"That terrible, secret feeling of being alone when you're with someone"

"You look really pretty. I bet you have Swedish guys dropping at your feet."

I don't know why he's saying things like that. Is it to find out if I'm seeing other guys? Or is it just to be nice, to patch up the wounds he has caused me? I don't know.
I know he fancies me, even after he made it clear we couldn't have a future together I knew that. I know he still does. Obviously that doesn't make me feel WORSE.
But I don't know why we are playing this game, being so nice, nearly flirtatious. Are we just THAT mature that we can break up without a single fight?

I can't help but feel that it's like he knows he's made the biggest mistake of his life but he is too stubborn to ever turn back and change his mind. There are some things you can't change your mind about.

Yesterday I saw 70ish people from my Grandfather's side of the family. Loads of great aunts and uncles, cousins and second cousins, loads of little blond children running wild on a football pitch. It made me realise that I want that too. The family. The children.The feeling of belonging, pride and unconditional love.
Not now. Not within the near future. But I DO want it.

He could see it in me and that is what tore us apart in the end. Not lack of love, not fighting. The fact that he can't ever see himself wanting to be a father. He has no biological clock, he has had nearly 37 years to figure that out.
And when I was a student, ignoring real life, it was fine. But it was like he could sense that damn biological clock ticking ever louder, could feel our time running out.
He said he didn't want to deprive me of the chance to live that life.
Instead he decided to deprive me of him.

Go to sleep my little baby

I got lost in a sunny city for a few days.
It is becoming a bit of a morning routine to wake up and wonder which country/city I am in. Once I manage to figure it out I make coffee and drink it slowly, taking stock of my emotional state, judging my stability with every sip while twisting my hair around my fingers.
I spoke to him for ages today and throughout the whole conversation we both smiled (Skype is a wonderful thing). I'm not sure this whole smiling thing is good.

Being loved is such a drug and I crave it more than I crave anything else.
And I love him, I still do. I don't know just how I love him, or if loving him automatically means wanting to be with him.
I just know there is nothing I can do about this feeling.
So I guess I have to get lost in more sunny cities, guess I have to focus on me, and see if this feeling fades away eventually.
I just can't turn it off.

You've done alright, darling

My younger cousin got hear heart broken by a boy she loved a few days ago.
I made me realise how far I've come. How fucking weird a a breakup really is, how it affects you body and soul. You start of thinking you will never ever be OK again. Never laugh, love or live.
But somehow, against all odds, your survival instinct kicks in.

Yes, the thought of him still gives me that sinking feeling, but at least I'm not chain smoking, crying hysterically and gulping for air. I don't feel like I'm falling down a pitch black pit of darkness. Rather than falling I'm walking along a long road, unsure of the destination but more sure of myself.
I obviously still feel sad. It's mourning, at the end of the day. And I do find myself humming along to "Never ever" by All Saints (the 90s has been my breakup drug of choice).
But yeah, I have managed to get myself together to a certain extent.
Now, on to the rest of it. Like loosing loads of weight, cutting my hair, discovering new cities and making new friends. Piece of cake (cake I can't have).

How I fool myself

Everything I say is true. I DO want to move on. I DO feel like I should erase the memory of him. I DID feel lonely.
Still doesn't stop me from feeling happy when he sends me a text or sad when he tells me he feels low.
Because humans are the daftest animals on earth.

Sunshine

Sunshine, wine and escapism. Realizing how LONELY I was with him. Going for a swim in at a quiet lake, eating grilled corn on a cob and sleeping in. Having long discussions with him in my head (which will never happen in real life).
It's like I'm on a holiday from life.
And yes, I WAS lonely with him. So even though I miss him I'd rather feel lonely when I'm actually on my own.

How lucky are the dead!

Too much time to think about death, failures and how my life compares to those of others. The ANGST made a spectacular return yesterday and it's that familiar dark feeling gnawing on my heart. The stinging tears, the shortness of breath, the feeling of being utterly LOST.
If it wasn't for the fact that this is a familiar feeling I would blame it on him, but angst is my old pal. We've hung out before. Such a crap companion.

But I can't help but to doubt my decisions.
If I had stayed in Scotland I would probably have a full on depression/fatal liver issues by now. But at least my failure would be far away from everyone, they wouldn't know how shit my wage was, how much mould there is in Scottish bathrooms, how horrid the men I could pull really were.
They would not be able to see my failure, I would still be living abroad (which, in this part of the world, is still seen as an accomplishment).
Now it's like I'm on show. The only one of the kids back on the west coast. The only one without a job. The one with all the wasted potential.
Fuck this. I really need a job.

Well, Miss Parker, I think we could have been friends.

"I was always sweet, at first. Oh, It's so easy to be sweet to people before you love them."

Note to self:

Do not blog/tweet/facebook/text after the type of alcohol intake Friday and Saturday involved. It's better for all of us this way.

Dancing//With tears in my eyes

Going out in Gothenburg was probably one of the best/worse things I could have done.
Amazing, because the drinks were free, the sun was shining, the friends lovely and because it was the first 'going out'  night since me and my ex broke up.
Bad because it made me realize I don't WANT to kiss someone else but him yet, most men in clubs are sleaze bags and well... shots of cinnamon whiskey will make me feel like throwing myself out a window, no matter who buys it for me.
3 hours sleep and a massive family reunion in the sun later I feel oddly optimistic. Maybe it's the sun, the love I can feel from my extended family. Maybe it's the fact that my best friend in the world is flying over in a months time (!) or maybe it's the dry martini I had with my mum while watching sports (I never watch sports... What's wrong with me?) but I feel OK. Right now, I feel good.
I feel optimistic, lucky and brave. Silly and reckless and blessed. I feel like a fricking catch to be honest.


This totally has NOTHING to do with my favourite band tweeting me back after my road trip dvd-tips.

Nothing WHATSOEVER.
(I just love them so much. AND ALSO, dry martini. Yumyumyum).

Focus, for Christ's sake

When other people talk about their boyfriends I can feel a stab of pain. Maybe jealousy. I don't want to feel it but somehow it's like I'm excluded from this club of happy people, a club I used to rule and now I'm cast out.
All I can do is send my CV to every job available in my newly chosen cities, hope for money, friendship and love and for adventures which will make these last few months worthwhile. I've been home for 2 weeks now, single for a month and a half, and I'm only just starting to feel strong enough to smile.

I want to talk like lovers do

I spoke to him twice last night. A bad phone call and a better Skype call.
The distance makes it easier for me to see him clearly, to see his flaws as well as his good sides. It also makes it harder to for me to trust a word he's saying.
But I think the distance is a good thing. The lines becomes clearer and the feelings cooler. When you haven't got that constant oxytocin rush of being physically close it's easier to look at a realtionship with clearer eyes.

And truth is I don't miss him half as much as I miss my friends anymore. I don't miss being in that relationship. What I miss is his voice, his touch, his body next to mine at night. The comfort of his arms when I'm upset or lost, the light in his eyes when I make him laugh.
It will take some time to stop missing that, but I know that too shall pass. It always does. Someone else's eyes will light up at the sigh of me and someone else will have the arms to comfort me.
I know I want his friendship. I want to be able to sit down with him over a glass of wine in a few years time and feel like I can tell him everything about my life. I want him to meet my future loves, be a part of my life.
We were always good together. I hope we can be good together as friends as well. It might be naive to hope for that kind of friendship, but naivety is all I've got to hope for at the moment.

I want you to want me//I need you to need me

I'm developing a slight tan over my face and chest. My hair is even blonder, my skin has more of a glow and my body gets to move again. Walk up to my grandparents, swim in the ocean, ride a bike in the wind and the rain. The salt in the air leaves a thin layer over my skin and hair, I breathe in the North Sea daily.
My jacket becomes a sail when I cycle home and I'm pushed forward.

So, the amount of wine I drink and the occasional cigarette might keep me from becoming a bronzed gym bunny-goddess (HA!) but the air, the grass under my bare feet and the salt sea is helping. It makes it easier to take care of my body while my mind stays numb.
And so what if a new perfume and a time booked with the hairdresser isn't the cure for all that is hurtful. It sure as hell doesn't make it worse.

The comfort of clishés

There's something about knowing that other people have felt the same way you have which is oddly comforting. Something about other people telling you that in spite of the pain, the heartache and the hard work you will wake up one day feeling OK.

You're my star, I pin you to my chest

I wish I could have all my friends in one room. I miss my UK friends so much it hurts, hurts more than I thought it would. I'm used to having them round the corner, used to weekly meet-ups and gossip sessions. Used to the support and the outlet.
And as I can't imagine flying back over until this wound has healed or until I have a plan (this whole life thing is turning out to be a lot more complicated than what people made it out to be) and feel strong enough to bump into him without a full scale panic attack I'm having to count of cheap flights for them to come over here.

SO. Really. Scientists really need to get on the case and provide me with some form of teleportation device. Preferably before the end of the week.

There's no men in this town

I need some kind of cheap closeness to start stamping out the physical memory of him.
But there is no one in this town which could live up to my (increasingly low) standards. No one who catches my interest what so ever. And maybe that's a good thing, I guess that at the end of the day you're not meant to pee where you eat.
Still.
I wish this feeling would stop affecting me like an open wound and develop into an itchy scab you want to pick until it falls off and your new, pink skin is visible. I want to leave the heavy, panic inducing feeling behind and feel happy again.
I'm so sick of missing him.

Please please

 

I just want to snog a strangers face off.

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

Translating my CV from English into Swedish makes me realize how long it has been since I first left this country. Nearly 7 years in Scotland. 5 flats, 3 boyfriends, several jobs, 1 degree and many tears and laughs later I find myself here. Back home in my parents kitchen (I'm damn lucky they're the kind of parents who happily mix he g&t's and pay for me to hang out in Berlin), where it all began.
I guess people might wonder why I decided to leave, it probably seems like a rushed decision to pack up and move across the North Sea.
It wasn't.
I always knew that if me and him broke up I would need to leave in order to get over him, in order not to sink in to the darkness and drink myself into oblivion. My previous breakups were never this hard, I made the decision to leave those men (boys). I was happy to. I guess a way to explain it is that my last breakup song was "Dog days are over" by Florence and the machine, while now "Shake it out" might describe me better. (describe where I am NOW that is. Before it would have been some kind of depressing 90's mutant of a tearjerker tune).

So I left.
I was sick of the rain, of the rubbish in the streets, of the lack of jobs and the rate of pay.
Sweden is like a safe bubble, nothing can touch me here. And once I'm strong enough I will venture back out into the real world.
But tonight I'm drinking wine in my garden with my oldest friend. And life could be a hell of a lot worse.

"Too young to hold on and too old to just break free and run"

Now, when I cry, it feel like I'm doing it because I should. Like I should get it out of my system.
I've shut down the part of me that cared about him. I avoid thinking about my old home, my old life, my city, my streets. Try to focus on the green grass underneath my feet, the 80s club night in Gothenburg, the wine by the sea, the universities in other countries.
I can feel the stress of what I should do pile up inside of me. I should do so very much... I should apply for schools, jobs, flats. I should know what I want to do, who I want to be. I should act my age and not ten years younger. Maybe I should find a nice guy, a decent job, a home and start a family. Get a car, a garden, a pet. Catch up with my friends who have children and husbands.
Or maybe I should say screw it all and move to a new city, go dancing, drinking, laughing, crying. Find a new love every week and squeeze the most out of my 20's.
Both options have some appeal. Neither one feels right.
So what the hell.
It must start to make sense eventually? Until then I might enjoy the sunshine, have a glass of red and flirt shamelessly with strangers (and cry myself to sleep as I'm mourning the loss of a life).

I am guided by this birthmark on my skin

Berlin in the summer is like a massive playground and although I knew he was returning to the UK and our empty flat I couldn't cry. It was too sunny, I drank too much beer and I had too many thoughts of what this city might be like once the summer ends and the 'real' life starts back up.
Is this where I am meant to be? Is this where I should have my boxes shipped, is this where I will feel happy again?
Happiness eludes me, it's like I'm empty. Maybe because there is a massive void where my love for him used to be, an emptiness. Not having somebody to love is heartbreaking (Freddie Mercury was right all along) and such an unfamiliar feeling after years and years of being a girlfriend.
I'm empty. Not even his voice makes me feel anything, not even sadness. Maybe that's a good thing. But I miss my feelings. I miss looking myself in the mirror and seeing light behind my eyes.

Bad liver and a broken heart

In a weird way this is probably the most free I've ever been, or ever will be.

"People are always saying you should be yourself, like yourself is this definite thing, like a toaster. Like you know what it is even."

3 days back in Sweden. I'm starting to feel some kind of... calm? I guess that's it. The immense LIFE-stress is subsiding and my heart, which has been on par with the one of a hummingbird, is starting to go back to a normal heart rate. Swimming in the sea, burning my legs in the sunshine, drinking red wine with my auntie and sitting in my friends house feeling welcome and missed. Riding my dad's bike back home from town at 1am, in the pitch black with the sound of the wind and crickets drowning out whatever feeling I'm still carrying with me.
I could even read the text I got from him without dying a little bit.
I'm sure there will be more of that dying feeling though.
I think of any life-changing event like this as a massive earthquake. Destruction, ashes, fires and tears. And just like with an earthquake there will be a series of mini-quakes following. The big quake will set of more destruction, perhaps not as dramatic or devastating, but enough to leave you feeling winded and scared.
So I guess at the moment I'm enjoying the cal before the next mini-quake. Gathering emotional supplies and strengthening my defences.
 On Monday I will drive down to Berlin. Maybe that's my next city.

Lucky strikes reminds me of my friends down on the west coast

Back home.
Home, where after a while you lose track of the days, and eventually don't know if its sea water or tears causing that salty taste on your lips.

Darling, darling you're good to go

Packed, all cried out and ready for the next step. Sort of, anyway.
It's almost more difficult to say goodbye to my friends than it was saying goodbye to my ex. Maybe because NOTHING GOOD will come from saying goodbye to my amazing, lovely, clever, all round best friends. Nothing whatsoever. So I'm hoping for plenty of Scandinavia-trips for them, och plenty of UK trips for me. And less tears. I'm so sick of the tears.

He called me today and it remains so hard to hear his voice and not get completely taken over by love.

"This life has been a test. If this had been an actual life, you would have received instructions on where to go and what to do"

Opening up my windows, wide to let the air in. It's raining, again and the sky is dark grey. The weather is so insanely depressing and I guess this will go down in history as the summer which never really started. "Summer 2012: The most depressing few months of your life!"

My mum is arriving today. My clothes are packed. I could do with a g&t and got an overwhelming urge to dress in flannel and listen to grunge (that last bit is probably linked to my 90s binge).
I have this need to re-invent, refine myself. I want to throw my clothes away and buy a whole new wardrobe, (I guess that is breakup 101?) but what if I do in an emotional fit of insanity and then regret it once I come to my senses again? I'm slightly concerned I will wind up taking the kitchen scissors to my hair and go back to some kind of weird 90s grunge goth look. Loads of eyeliner and dark lipstick.
Better stay away from my kitchen drawers and my wardrobe.

If all else fails I'm moving to Kiruna to work in the mines

I need to stop focusing on the things I will miss and shift my focus onto the things which I will be happy to fly away from (see: rubbish in the streets, crap job, the snoring and the lonely Saturdays).
It's my last few days here and I still can't allow myself to break down and cry, I can't stop and feel how much it hurts and I can't allow myself to stay in bed with the duvet over my head. I'm terrified of letting go and feeling all this SHIT that's surrounding me. I don't want to and I simply can't afford to.
So yeah. Shifting focus. Bad things. Like his constant farting and the rain.

Curing heartbreak with falafel

Packing is a lot harder than I thought it would be. It actually physically hurts and I just want to lie flat on the floor and cry whenever I find something which reminds me of us. I Christmas card addressed to the both of us, a print out of flight information, a receipt from a restaurant... Every little find hits me like a slap in the face and leaves me angry.
Yes, angry. I feel so royally pissed of that I hurt in this way. That I thought we were in it for the long haul, that I thought I had found my rock.
He's not my rock.
He might become a friend, but as far as trusting goes that's pretty much gone. So yes, I'm pissed off, hurt and mad that it didn't work out. And I'm furious at myself for being so deeply affected by it.

Having insane period pains and an all-mighty hangover doesn't help either. Cheers, universe.

Part 2

So part one of this breakup is over. Now I've got the rest of my life to deal with.
I can't believe it's been a month since that discussion, since those words were uttered and we stared down the depths, right by the end of a huge fucking emotional cliff.
A month of tears, talking and planning. Of avoiding, confronting and holding on.
Now he's away from the UK for 10 days and I have the flat to myself, to pack, drink and cuddle my friends. To watch all of "My so called life" and stare at a map, trying to figure out where to go next.

I'm sitting about in my robe eating Japanese rice crackers, looking out the dirty windows and trying desperately to feel anything. But I'm numb and all I can feel is that I'm thirsty. Not angry, sad, melancholic or upset. Just thirsty.
The fact that it's that basic feels oddly comforting.

Goodbyes

Tonight's the last night.
And all I want to do is run away and hide in a dark room.

Ew ew ew.

Happy looking couples makes me want to scream. Scream, drink gin and turn into a female version of Dylan Moran in 'Black Books'.

All I want is to hide in Stephen Fry's library and have him read to me while I drink gin

I don't understand how I can love him so much and at the same time just want to erase him from my memory.
(Well, don't be silly, of course I understand that, I'm just not happy about the whole god damn situation).
I find myself waiting up for him just to make sure he's had a good day and at the same time counting down the days until he's gone and I can start the process of getting over him. It's hurtful, confusing, painful and pretty much sucks more than I could ever imagine.
No amount of cheese toasties and episodes of My so called life will help.

Meh.

Tear it up, bring it down, start all over again

One of those mornings when I just wanted to weep into my pajama sleeves and drink cold tea. Or watch WW2 documentaries and eat cereal. Either way I didn't want to go to work and deal with people's petty issues, but what choice have I got really.
The time is running away and before I know it he will be on a plane to the other side of the world, I will be on my own with my boxes and bags, with my fears and hopes and general misery. And when he gets back I will be in a different country, taking refuge in the Swedish countryside while taking stock of my life (LIFE. What. The. Hell).

Being close to him is still the most natural thing in the word to me, it has been since we met and this is how we've been since we met. Now, if I was staying here this would become an issue. I can see so clearly how we would fall into old patterns, re-hash old feelings and end up resenting each other.
I don't want that to happen, I don't want to resent anyone. I just want to wake up and feel content and happy. Fuck it, I just want to wake up and feel ok.
There is something about this which feels strangely empowering, while at the same time leaving me incredibly powerless. 
It's like I am two different people; the strong, sensible, hopeful woman with gallows humour and a strong belief that everything is going to be ok, and the scared as shit, red-eyed heartbroken girl who wants to hide underneath the duvet.
Meh.
MEH! That's all I can say. I will now turn my brain off for the evening and watch the history channel until I fall asleep on the sofa. Enough thinking for one day.

It's like, the new thing

I'm like TOTALLY dead on the inside (it's like SO hot right now).

And the city sunshine made me smile for a minute

Escaped Edinburgh for a day and winded up wandering the streets of Glasgow with two lovely friends. Glasgow Pride Festival was on and the sun was out, it was as if the universe tried to cheer me up. I actually felt content for a few hours.
And sitting on my sofa back in the flat that night, with a cup of tea, talking to him, I felt closer to OK than I have been in a while.
Don't get me wrong, I think that the real hard part has only just begun. The breakdown is still ongoing and the re-build hasn't gotten my emotional planning permission yet. But the stone is rolling and there is no going back, no wishing it was different (I don't want to wish my life away) and the time to pack is getting ever closer.
Holy shit I'm terrified. What the hell am I meant to do with my life? (Funny. I asked myself this months back, I guess now at least I'm doing something. Without him, but for me.)

Regrets collect like old friends//Here to relive your darkest moments

Balancing on a very fine line between anger and numbness.
Oh, anger would make everything so much easier... It really would! If I could hate him, think of him as a selfish pig who hurt me and laugh at his shortcomings, well. It would be easier. Breakups are always easier if one person is a total dick.
But as he's not it makes it more difficult. I find myself looking for reasons to be angry with him, and then pulling back like I've burnt my fingers on a hot stove.

Anger, I guess, won't give me anything in the long run. So screw it, I'll revert back to being numb, leave Edinburgh for the day and try to stay out of the rain (rain, rain, rain, I swear to God, someone in this country better be building an ark.)

True that

"Future me needs to go back in time and punch present me in the face".

Today: A list

• Today's mood: numb with a touch of gallows humour.
• Today's craving: Creme Fraiche. And yes, that's just odd.
• Today's insight: I could probably do with a week off from live, socialising, mainly lying underneath a blanket in my parents house while watching Midsummer Murders.
• Today's escape: HBO's Girls. It really is just as good as everyone says.
• Today's plan for the future: Copenhagen. Maybe Denmark is the place to be?
• Today's addiction: My Harry Potter audio books read by Stephen Fry. I have not gone to bed without listening to it since this all kicked off and although I think it has kept my insomnia at bay it has also left me being totally reliant on it in order to sleep.
• Today's procrastination: Mapping out the way the soldiers in "band of brothers" went on Google Maps. It felt important at the time.
• Today's best: I haven't cried a single time.
• Today's worst: That's mainly because I am dead on the inside.

Tea, sleep and that strange numbness

I think I'm writing here for me to have some kind of proof of what I can get through. You know, a play by play analysis of the breakdown of one life and creation of another. I guess I'm still in the 'breakdown' stage (while anticipating the creation stage with an immense sense of fear).
I have no real idea as to where I will live in a years time. That's terrifying, but in a weird way I guess its a good kind of terrifying. I could go to Paris. I could go anywhere, technically. And when again am I to have the chance to just leave?

I know that emotionally I have shut down, I don't have any desire to confront loosing him. I'd rather imagine the possibilities I could create from this shit situation.
So instead of diving into the emotional rabbit hole I'd rather spend nights with my friends, cheese and wine. Cry, hug, laugh and listen to music. Sit in pubs and avoid the rain. Think about other cities and other feelings which will develop at some point, once I'm past the numbness.
Oh. And watch crap telly. You really can't go wrong with crap telly.

Like my coffee

I guess I am a lot stronger than I thought.

Maybe I'll move to Paris and learn French.
Maybe I'll finally earn some money and spend time drinking coffee in my Grandmothers kitchen.
Maybe, maybe I'll be fine. It has to be OK, it WILL be OK.

In a years time

I'm counting on sitting in the sunshine in a new city and toasting my amazing friends while congratulating each other for getting over the summer of 2012.

My neighbours are trying to drive me crazy

I swear to God, this building is a mad house (the thought of the Swedish house in the country becomes more and more alluring). If the next door-guy isn't having a screaming, swearing hissy fit then it's the people downstairs singing Bollywood songs and BUILDING something loudly.

Anyway. I guess that's besides the point.
It's just over 2 weeks left now. How scary is that? I haven't even started packing (but I have written an insane amount of lists). For someone who loves organizing things I find it utterly terrifying that I have to re-organize my entire life. I'm trying to ignore the emotional aspect of it all and focus on the practical stuff (e.g. where to live) and so far it seems to be a decent survival tactic.
Because that is what I'm doing at the moment. Surviving.
And I guess that is why I'm writing about it here, putting it all down makes me deal with it in a different way from when it's all just up in my head. Maybe I'm selfish, maybe I should keep this private and apart from the blog world.
I know that some people who read this will know me personally, might know my ex, even if only on a shallow level. And some people who read this will never have met me, will never even exist in the same space as me.
But somehow I don't, can't care. This is how I survive and this is how I make sense of the world. It helps. And in the spirit of my new, more selfish way of thinking, that makes me damn happy.

Red wine, dancing and sleepless nights (oh, and a whole lot of horrid drunk men)

Last night I remembered why I don't really like clubs anymore. They make me fee old, in spite of some people in the smoking area being old enough to be my parents, they make me feel tired and you're confronted by some of the dregs of humanity.
But drinking red wine, singing along to Bon Jovi and getting ready with a group of friends makes it worth it. It makes me a little bit sad that the pre-party is better than the night out, in my current state of mind it makes me draw comparisons with relationships (the start of them being great vs. the confrontation with the worst sides of humanity towards the end).
Anyway. Enough of my bitterness (but numbness/bitterness is a hell of a lot better than constant sadness).

I should get back to writing lists and planning my packing. Like, what the hell should I do with my CD's?

The odd feeling of numbness

Second morning in a row I haven't woken up with a crippling feeling of sadness, loneliness and anger. No tears, even. Just... numbness.
In all fairness I prefer this, this is tolerable. My comfortable non-emotional state is only temporarily disrupted by the occasional shiver of fear.
But maybe fear is good too?

In the midst of this I have never once doubted my decision to go home, I have been 100% certain that I am doing the right thing all along. That doesn't mean I'm not TERRIFIED. I mean, come on, I'm leaving the city and country which has been my home for 7 years to go back home to a country where I have technically never been a 'real' grown up. I don't know how ANYTHING works in Sweden, I couldn't even tell you what a carton of milk would cost you.
And I am leaving my friends. My beautiful, amazing, loving, caring, intelligent friends.... Yes, there are equally lovely friends over in Scandinavia but my Edinburgh friends have been with me since the start of my 20s and we have been through so much together.
So of course I'm terrified. I could actually pee myself with fear.

But the easy way out is not always the right way, and maybe it's time for me to grow up and tackle life on my own. Which I'm doing by moving back to my Mum and Dad. Makes perfect sense.

Friday blues and a lengthy rant straight from the heart

You turned around to me and reminded me that Friday was coming up. Because I'm always excited about Fridays, about the start of the weekend and that feeling you get when you leave the office on a Friday afternoon.
What you don't seem to understand, or perhaps what you don't want to understand, is that that person you think of, the girl who would smile brightly and get excited about the Friday night, is gone.
She disappeared that morning when you sat down with a sigh and opened up your heart, when you let all your worries about the future spill out.
She's gone. I cannot muster up any excitement, cannot seem to feel happy in spite of the future not being all doom and gloom.

And you need to realize this, you need to understand that you hurt me to the point that you changed me. I know it's horrible hurting someone you love, no one wants to be the cause of tears. But you can't shy away from this. I AM hurting, and part of me hope that when I'm gone you will cry as much as I have cried in the last week.
That girl who got excited about Fridays is gone.

I's sure I will find back to that happiness again, and I am sure excitement will find me, but you will not be involved. You had that girl. You had ME. I looked forward to the weekend because it involved sleep-ins with you, glasses of wine, time to talk and stay up late. But that is gone now and that person is locked away deep within me. Maybe someone else will lure her out, maybe other kind eyes and soft hands can revive that person I was who got excited about the little things.
But not you.
And I can't let you miss what you gave up voluntarily.

The story so far

• See the relationship you thought was 'the one' go down the drain.
• Call mother.
• Cry a lot.
• Quit job.
• Quit lease on flat.
• Buy flight tickets.
• Buy too many shoes.
• Drink too much wine.
• Smoke too many cigarettes.
• Await departure date.

Then what? I need a god damn guide book, like 'post-breakup life for dummies'. Such a shame popular psychology makes me break out in hives.

The value of glam rock

In spite of starting most days with a long cry I'm trying hard to get some kind of positive attitude in place. I haven't been able to listen to good music since this all started, out of fear I would break down to some heartbreaking indie love song. So I have dived in to the murkier sides of the music industry, The 90s manufactured pop, the 80s glam rock, the EUROVISION. So although my heart might be going all "All by myself" a la Celine Dion on me I'm trying hard to at least make my head go in a more... Whitesnake direction.

It's not like I'm BAILING out of the country

I feel like I'm constantly on the verge of breaking down in tears, wobbling about in life while trying to function. At times all I want to do is run away and hide in a bar with my friends, the next moment I just want to pull the duvet over my head and sleep for days.
There's so much stuff I have to sort out. Phone, new number, packing, address changes, clearing out all my stuff, making time for my friends, going to work, keeping on top of money and NOT HAVING A TOTAL BREAKDOWN in the midst of it. I don't even know how do deal with most of these things, I mean, why on earth would I know about shipping things across the north sea?
Oh I don't know. All I know is that today is the kind of day when I'd be better off in bed.

The cure

Emotionally unstable, the joys, the joys...

I make jokes about how my next boyfriend should be a well-paid Michelin-star chef (or Johnny Depp) and then I burst into tears over a cup of tea.
Great.
Awesome.
Mood stabilizers, anyone?

One day, one day, I'm gonna be ok

It's still grey in Scotland. I'm starting to think my mood is affecting the universe.
"Do you feel sad?" I asked him last night.
"Yes." He replied and then we both stared at the ceiling. The impending feeling of THE END creeping ever closer. In a few weeks we will be in different countries, and going from seeing each other every day for 2 years to not seeing each other at all will be one of the most brutal changes I have ever gone through.
I'm grateful I can talk to him.
And I'm very aware I haven't got the sole right to misery, fuck me, misery seems to be all around at the moment.
But there's no two ways about it, this is my 20s trauma. My Chernobyl. My massive earthquake which will cause mini-quakes for months to come. I joke about it, I go out for drinks, I go to work and I drop comments about how much I'm looking forward to being back in Scandinavia and how life might be better over there, once I can wake up in the morning without an insane feeling of DOOM.
But I can't deny this is hitting me pretty hard.

That sinking feeling

Fuck this. One moment I feel near OK, then in a heartbeat I realise that in a few weeks my whole life will be completely different, and he won't be in it anymore. I won't be able to go to him with my problems or concerns, show him silly things which makes me laugh or rely on a hug for protection and comfort. It will all be gone, it already is. And it hurts so bad it makes me want to be sick.
I just want to be at home, safe and far away from this feeling. I want to hide, forget and stop feeling like this.
I feel angry that I prioritized his happiness when he couldn't find it in him to prioritize mine, that I saw a future in spite of somehow knowing it wasn't the future he wanted. I feel angry with myself more than with him and I am so sick of this pain. I know they say time heals but it doesn't heal fast enough.

Quit your job.

I don't know who I would survive this without tea

All I really want to do is sleep.
When I'm not sleeping I'm thinking, thinking far too much. The grey weather sort of suits my mood and I feel like the sky is mourning with me in a way, mourning what we couldn't have.
Little things make me happy at the moment, breakups leave you with a distorted perspective. Solving my mobile phone contract-mess felt like the greatest achievement ever, and buying 4 pairs of new shoes instead of food seems perfectly natural.
I guess I SHOULD focus on finding out which city I want to live in, if I want to study or work, what I want to work with, saving money for a flat deposit... But at the moment figuring out what to bring for lunch to work is hard enough.

One day at a time

Drinking tea, eating some breakfast and trying to find some normality in the midst of the chaos.
I have been speaking to my Mum A LOT this last week, and now it's getting to the point that we have started planning the packing, the practicalities, the future in a way. It will be mad moving back to Sweden, completely mad. I have spent 7 years in the UK and I guess I haven't got a Swedish mindset anymore, in spite of longing for home this place has been IT for so long.
I'm ready to leave, I really am. If I wasn't I would have looked for ways of staying here. But it would have been so hard, too hard, and I would have felt lost for so long. And I would have missed him far too much.
This is better. My brain tells me it's better and that it will be a good thing in the end. But bloody hell I'm so scared.

Living it up on a Saturday night

Sitting up watching 'Forrest Gump'. I guess I should avoid films which makes me weep but I think I'm pretty weeped out at the moment so maybe I'm safe. It gets pretty tiresome to cry after a few days, it drains you and makes you look horrid. And hey, at some point I must get my groove back on and get that newly single hotness on the go. (Not right now though, now I'm all about the pajamas, the sobbing and the dark circles).
I'm still thinking about him. Not in a 'why couldn't it be different' way, but in the sense that I care and want the best for him.
I guess I'm just a caring person, although sometimes (like right now) I can't help but wonder if it has caused me more grief than good.

"Come back strong"

Its the ups and downs that are really getting to me. A week of them now, a week of absolute heartache, uncertainty and very little sleep. It's mad how PHYSICAL the effect is, how I can feel it in my entire body.
I can't wait for the morning when I wake up feeling happy again, believe me I know it will happen eventually. There's just so many bumps in the road to happiness.

 I got a letter from my Gran today. First I thought I'd be better off reading it at my friends house as I was heading over there for brunch (and, as it turned out, a movie marathon and a take-away as well. Yes, I am avoiding being on my own, can you blame me?) but then I sat down and opened it up. And I found it hard reading it though my tears. I love her so much and I can't wait to fly back to her, to the same country as her.

I know I am lucky, I am surrounded by people who care, people who support me in my decision, people who will sit up with me until 3am and talk about LIFE, bitterness and the dreams of future loves and happiness.
I love my friends, they are loving, smart, amazing people. Moving away from this country will effect me in ways I cam never imagine. I wont be able to walk down the road and spend the day with them, arrange a night out spontaneously or see them just for one hour over a coffee.
I mean, all of these things are doable, but they will involve more work, more planning.
And that's scary. But at the same time I have to TRY making this shit situation into an opportunity. I have to. And I have to stay strong.

Thank God its been a week. A week which will never come back, a week which must be the low point from which I can work my way up.

I feel like destroying something beautiful

I feel like screaming at someone.

I which I could hate him, I really, really do. But my brain is telling me this is the right choice. That you can't stay together when you want completely different things. That it will be OK in the end, that maybe, maybe I will look back at this in a years time and feel like I was set free, like he did it out of love. I somehow don't doubt that he did it out of love, and a touch of selfishness, but mainly love.

But my heart is breaking and all I want to do is kick a puppy.

Ok, maybe not kick a puppy (oh my god I could never kick a puppy. Maybe a wall. Or my now former managers annoying face). But I want to stop happy looking couples in the street and tell them that IT'S ALL A LIE and that life is heartbreak and misery.

And I want to sleep. So badly.
And I could do with a Mcdonalds. 

LIFE. For fucks sake, LIFE

I'm in a weird mood today. I'm angry, sad, hopeful, sick and tired. I've been fighting my mobile phone provider and realised that I will probably be paying for a contract for about as long as my now ex-relationship lasted, in spite of not using it, in spite of not living in the UK.
I also got a tax-refund from inland revenue.
Like, WHAT THE HELL. It's like universe it TRYING to cheer me up while simultaneously pissing me off royally.
Now. Do I put it towards:

• my future phone bills
• my future flat
• wine
• loads and loads of new clothes which would make me feel better for about 15 minutes
• a weekend away from life

Oh. I just don't know. All I know is that I want to stop feeling like this, I want my heart to get in sync with my head and I want to start enjoying being in my own company.
(Good luck with that).

BROKEN HEARTS ARE FOR ASSHOLES.

FUCK THIS. There's not enough wine in the world.

My sense of humour is about as dark as my vision of the future

I must admit it made me feel a bit better knowing Johnny Depp became single around the same time as me.

For Christs sake.

Honestly.  LIFE.

After the last post

My mood took a major dive. Not that I was perky before, but there's something about putting things into words which makes you feel ever more. It becomes so real, and that it TERRIFYING.
So I sobbed hysterically and called my parents. My poor dad (who's not big on emotional outbursts) picked up and then spent some frantic minutes trying to find my mum until finally settling down and telling me that I could move to, you know, SHANGHAI or something. Which I guess is technically true.
Then my mum took the phone and we both wept a bit. Honestly, I don't know what do do without them both.

As you may understand I didn't feel on top of the world, so when my friend asked if I wanted her to pop over it was a real life line. The fact that she showed up with wine, cheese, crackers and cigarettes didn't make it worse. And we ranted, and we smoked, and we drank the wine and ranted some more until we could see some kind of hope/humour/possibilities in the whole mess which has been our lives during the last few days (I should add she broke up with her boyfriend during the same hellish weekend. THE UNIVERSE HATES US.)

Anyway. Today I was back to normal, e.g. weeping in the morning, feeling drained and hopeless and slowly building myself up to a fairly stable stage in the afternoon.
It has to get better. It needs to get better.

All I want to do is sleep, smoke, cry and hope I will be ok in the end

I'm not even sure how I'm functioning these days.
How do I get up in the morning, how do I go to work, how do I manage to smile... I'm really not sure.
I guess partly because I'm surrounded by friends who want the best for me, partly because although he is now technically my ex we love each other enough to do this in the most grown up way possible and still take care of each other.
And partly because I know I'm bailing out of the country in a few weeks.
The idea of being 26 and moving back home is making me sick, but not as sick as the idea of staying in a job I despise, moving into a shared flat with strangers and staying in the same city as him.
Because if I did it would be so hard.
So hearbreakingly difficult.
I had forgotten how much it hurts, this kind of breakup. My last ones were my choice and I left feeling liberated.
Now I feel crushed, scared and like I'm going to be sick.
But hey, I managed to eat today. Bring on the gold star (it was a kick ass salad, I'm sure vitamins are good for broken hearts).

How it happened

It wasn't the longest relationship I have ever had. But it was the healthiest, the closest the the one I thought was it.
So what happened? Life happened. And though I can't stand the idea of telling the whole story now the main issue was how we found ourselves wanting completely different things. Not now, not even in a year or two, but at some point we wanted different thing. Different cities, countries. A family.
And believe me, I'm not wanting to start dropping babies any time soon but if I would I figured it would be with him.
And since the thought of children is enough to drive him in to the darkest pits of despair it wasn't likely to be a story with a happy ending. So we talked, and talked, cried and talked some more. And then I realized that the only way I wouldn't sink in to a cliché breakup-depression was by changing everything.
Jobs, cities, countries.
So I booked tickets to fly home and I handed in my notice.
Bye bye, couple-life, Scotland, job that I hated and hello Sweden, living with my parents and starting from scratch.
I'm fucking terrified.

The background

It has been 6 days since it all began. 3 days since it became official.
It's odd how one short conversation, or even just a word, can rip the rug from underneath your feet to this extent. How one sentence links in with the next one and before you know it you are standing by the edge staring in to the abyss.
And I know it gets better with time.
And I know people go though these thing daily.
But in a matter of less than a week I have lost the love of my life and decided to leave the city I have called home for 7 years.
And you know what, anyone who tells me that time heals all wounds can go fuck themselves.