6 months later...

Single. Today I felt acutely aware of how rubbish this state of being can be. Since moving house a month ago I have found myself spending the majority of my time by myself, which in turn has led to lots of thoughtful reflection on my progression from depressed potential lunatic to moderately upbeat potential psychopath, as well as a worryingly large amount of midnight baking (which I will elaborate on at another point). Why would anyone want to be single all the time? Sometimes I am wholeheartedly in favour of having no one to impinge on me doing exactly what I want, when I want to. I cherish the moment every morning when I roll over in my comfortable bed and there is no one next to me complaining that I'm on their side again. Unfortunately I also spend a lot of time (still) thinking about the break-up, and generally being a bit stupid (as all this thinking leads straight to ice cream land, and fat-day jeans come beckoning). This would be a bad day.

Which isn't actually that big a deal now. The bad days have become fewer and further apart, which is nice, but it does mean that when a bad day occurs (today was another classic: crying at TMF's 100 greatest love songs) it rather takes me by surprise. Possibly it was my own fault for not getting up and doing something productive with my time today, favouring the TV and Big Brother re-runs in my pyjamas instead. The lack of activity was, I am sure, the catalyst for the tearfest, although I imagine it would have been very amusing to anyone else, as the song happened to be 'As Long as You Love Me' by the Backstreet Boys. God is not without a sense of humour. In short, life rarely sucks, but when it does, it sucks in widescreen surround sound (snd very occasionally with synchronised dance moves and a key change for the final chorus).

But, this is a bad day. Some good days have been epic in terms of debauchery and merriment, namely the work day out a few weeks ago. I got shot in the behind at paintballing, then mauled in the street by one of the glass collecters on the night out. Both events ended in me having far more interesting bruises than everyone else, and the general sense that I had fallen into a hedge, something confirmed a week later by a very amused work colleague.

And so I return to my original point. Single. Is it working for me? Not really. I miss the companionship of a partner that cannot be fulfilled by the cat, even though he is more disposed to snuggling than the evil ex ever was. I miss having someone to call, knowing they have to pick up the phone and make me feel better. Mostly I miss having someone to miss when they're not around. And from this rather pathetic thought, I begin to worry that this is how Miss Havisham spent the first year of her slow journey into insane wedding dress wearing loonidom...

I think I need another cat.

I spoke to my best friend for the first time in a few months today. Two years ago she left the country with her fiancee to live in South Africa. She got married, had a baby, and came home about six months ago. She now lives about 200 miles away, and I rarely get to see her, as she has since had another child, my godson. As soon as I congragulated her on the new baby, she jumped straight in with the uncomfortable subject of how incredibly depressed I was last time I saw her. It had been a couple of months since the break up, and although I thought at the time that I was dealing with it, the realisation that she could clearly see how low I was made me suddenly feel incredibly selfish.
It has been six months, and I'm still not getting through this, and I'm forcing the people around me to cope with it all with me. I was staying with a friend about a week ago, and as usual was having trouble falling asleep. I got up to go downstairs and wihtout meaning to woke her up. She sat up with me until 5am hugging me and watching shit TV until I fell asleep, knowing that if I sat by myself I would probably curl up and cry like the world's biggest loser. And thinking about that now, is that so far from the truth?
Seriousy. If I were one of my friends, I think I would have given me a slap round the face by now. I irritate myself, so what does that mean they are feleing everytime I get weepy for the evil ex? Do people want to slap me? Probably.
So this is a new start. Or at least it will be until the next episode. Oh well.

So I'm not sleeping again, but this time I have company. I have been doing some work as well, but honestly gave that up a while ago, and substituted Facebook stalking instead. It's freaking me out that my ex is online, as he is normally asleep or ignoring me at this time of night. If I was a meaner person I would imply something about the state of his mental health to be trawling the net at this time of night, but that does seem a bit contradictory. Except of course that I know I'm a nutcase. He's still there...

I am definitely feeling less stressed out today, due in large part to having something to do. My job is intermittent to say the least, but it was a welcome distraction. I think I need more in my life to distract me, but all the coursework I have to do isn't that appealing...focusing my mind used to be a lot easier! I don't enjoy working anymore, I think I lost my drive a while ago, and now everything I do seems like such a big effort it can't possibly be worth it. I think this is called being a lazy twat. I'll look into that...

He's still there. Git.

The harsh reality that my partner left me nearly six months ago and I still can't sleep properly is looming over my head as I attempt, fo the fourth time this week, to go to sleep. Despite several rather enjoyable encounters with men of varying states of suitability and cleanliness my general attitude to my relationship status is one of constant frustration, and sometimes downright disappointment. I feel like I've been thrown on the unwanted pile, which might be a less bitter pill to swallow if I wasn't 21 years old. And forced to live with my parents. It matters to no one that in my head I'm a middle aged jewish woman who wants to feed people, and instead of being left to grieve for my stupid, worthless relationship, people seem to think I am 'getting over it', 'moving on with my life' and other such bullshit. There is no such thing. When someone leaves you, you do not get over it, you get used to it. Eventually you will be so accustomed to this new state of existence that it seems like the world has somehow righted itself, but it doesn;t make it real.

My partner did not take long to find someone new. She happened to be a very good friend of mine. They kept it a secret, safe in the knowledge that all of our friends would keep the secret too, as no one wanted to hurt my feelings. I doubt many of them cared that I had to ring him up and ask him who he was sleeping with, as I knew he was with someone else, and I knew all of our friends did too, but they all refused to tell me who the girl was. I don't think many of them ever understood how humiliated I felt, and still feel everytime I have to see pictures of them together, or hear about one of them. Most frustrating is the knowledge that, despite assuring me she was a fling, and nothing for me to get upset about, they are moving in together next year. In the street next to mine. Once again, no one felt like this was something I needed to know. As far as I know he is unaware that I had the pleasure of finding out via Facebook, his new girlfriend being either woefully indiscrete or pathetically shallow (her profile picture is the 'couple shot' that she changed the day he told me about her, which makes me veer towards the latter). I wonder if he plans to tell me before I bump into him walking down the street? With his track record for honesty, probably not.

I worry that my inability to let go of the anger will make my life more difficult than it should be. I feel cynical, and bitter. And old. And I still can't sleep.