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.