So, it's New Year's eve. I've begun the day bracingly with a bout of crying (still rather in shock about what turns out to have been a big party last night), now me and my latent rage are going out to spend the day as planned with these 'friends' of mine. It's going to be great, I'm sure. Then the evening shall be the scary couples party so that I could escape before having to spend the New Year next to my ex. Not that he sees it as a problem - he's fairly jolly about the whole thing - he gets to see me occasionally without any emotional investment - basically been his aim for the past year.

I'm dreading the whole affair and if I had a flat of my own I think I'd go and spend the night in it with a bottle of whiskey. Anyway, I'm going to attempt to scotch the self-pity and total fury at the bastard, bastard Durham group ('we'll look after both of you' - bullshit) and also anger at Adam for expecting me to be so fine with my not being invited. And for then expecting hangover sympathy this morning. To  be fair, he's spent way more weekends with them than I have and would never normally have minded, but feels a bit different when Fish is invited, while I'm stuck in happy-couple-hell ("gosh, isn't it great how well-balanced our relationship is").

On the good side, a storm is actually brewing (what's that called - dramatic something - where the scenery mimics the characters' emotions), so I'm going to buy some breakfast and try to stop feeling so crap. It's one day and one night. I can do it. I feel like the little choo choo train from Dumbo. Here's hoping 'I-think-I-can' becomes 'I-thought-I-could' before too long.

Happy New Year, satsumas and black tea.

The Break-up Blues (probably part one of many)

So, it's now been just over a month since we broke up. Turns out the duvet and sobbing was yet  to come (oh joy). It's been a tricky few weeks. Whereas Fish has carried on living in the same flat for the duration (which, to be fair, has its own problems) I have been in Farringdon, staying with my best friend who is about to leave the country and live in New York for two years. Tonight, the members of mine and Fish's 'mutual' friend group are out with him for final drinks in a pub we used to go to lots. NFI, alas. It really hurts (poor old Maisie's seen enough of me sobbing on her to last for some months) but realistically I always knew he fitted into that group better than me, I just enjoyed being part of it.  I've never been very good at groups,  but there's something seductive about them - the blissful loss of responsibility, even though it often ends up making me feel a bit miserable. My friends tend to be closer, but sadly also are more emotionally intelligent and functional than many people in the Durham lot, and thus are now all in committed couples. Basically, bugger. This is going to be very hard. I have almost no single friends, and those I do have are mostly better friends with my ex.

I'm not really sure what to do now, but thought I'd write about it in case it helps. I'm thinking of developing a hobby, perhaps? Something other than reading and writing. Knitting? No, too spinstery and also I'm very bad at it. Perhaps jewellery design? I could start selling my stuff in my spare time and then go and live in Notting Hill. Or sports? It worked for my other friend, though admittedly she did discover she was gay after bonding deeply with the female football team. Although I'm open to that option in theory, in practice it's scuppered by a) my appalling hand-eye co-ordination and b) my total failure to fancy women. Anyway, whatever hobby it is, I won't have to keep it up for too long. Soon people will start getting divorced - maybe I'll get a better one on the second go around and then I can pour all my love and hope and energy into him once again, leaving me drained and less attractive, laying the ground for our inevitable break-up. An excellent plan, no?

So, I'd decided to try my hardest not to be bitter. It's proving tricky in the face of tonight's friendship fail (even though I wouldn't have actually gone, hearing about it second hand is a bit of a kick in the teeth at a time when even the slightly autistic but loveable Durham lot must be able to realise kicks are unhelpful). Also that I'm still so confused as to how it all got fucked up. I know we were miserable, and that I'd been quite miserable on and off (mostly on) for a year, however I don't really understand why/how it happened. Perhaps it's easier for the person who found they weren't able to give enough than the person who wanted more. Or different. Eugh. I don't know what I wanted, but I know I wasn't happy with him - and that he did try at the beginning to make it better. Still want to kick him a bit though - I could have broken up six months ago, still had my best friend in the country for longer and be a bit saner by now if he hadn't continued to insist he loved me and wanted to stay in the relationship. Plus, wouldn't have had to get through Christmas and the killer limbo days in between. It's a lesson, perhaps, in not handing all the power over the ending to the other person.

I do really hope that I find somebody else. I can't imagine who that would be as he's the only person I've been in love with. Somehow, by the end, his personality became stronger and clearer and mine went all weird and wishy-washy and needy. I feel like my world has collapsed and every horrible belief I had about not being that interesting/clever/important to him turns out to be true. It still isn't entirely real. Sometimes there is relief too, and I certainly don't want to be back with him as it was - it was Horrible. But I wish very, very much that I didn't have to lose so much about my life, especially since he seems to have lost so little. Just me, and that feels like very little indeed. I feel so stupid for sticking around until my last bit of power, dignity and pride had been dragged through the dirt. I should have trusted my instincts - why had I lost the confidence to do that? I suppose I just so desperately didn't want what they were telling me (he has lost interest, you aren't clicking, he isn't the one for you) to be true.

Anyway, I'm going to try and write a bit every day. Mostly this has just depressed me, unfortunately. Let's end with a list of positive things:

1. I had some really good Beef Rendang this evening (Banana Tree)
2. He was a truly crap boyfriend for most of the last year - you shouldn't be made to feel like a nuisance when asking for support. Hmm. Slight fail on the positive there... I'm no longer with him?
3. It's raining quite awesomely outside
4. I'm regaining some measure of self-control
5. I have a new flat, with a balcony, which I get to move in to on the 6th.
6. I have very, very good friends,  even if their lives are horribly complete and perfect
7. I have a brand new job to explore in the New Year
8. My brother is awesome

You're supposed to cry for days, I understand. Curled up in a duvet, sobbing and forgetting to shower. For me it's more like being on hard drugs. I'm up, overwhelmingly relieved to be free, then down, surrounded by the detritus of our life together and unable to believe the devastation we've wrought. It's my last night in the flat tonight before moving out to Maisie's spare room for a month. Fish and I finally split up. Four years of living together and such an entangled life. We were really miserable though, it was the right decision but god I miss him. He wasn't ultimately to give me what I need, nor I him, but I love him so much and right now, wrapped in a duvet that smells like him, there's nothing I want more than for him to suddenly come through the door and cuddle me and the whole horrible thing to have been a dream.

Logic tells me that he hasn't come through the door and cuddled me for a long time since we've been together. Frankly, tonight, last night and all, having been on lovely Flo's sofa for a week, logic can go fuck itself. And I'm going to have some of Fish's lovely whisky.