Escape

09/01/2015 § 1 Comment

I woke up the next day, happy

and the next

and the next

and each day the happiness stayed.

What’s wrong with me? I though, as the days and weeks rolled by. Why am I not a miserable wreck crying over tubs of Ben and Jerrys? Aren’t I meant to make some dramatic choices like strings of one night stands sans condoms, or shaving my head? Instead I came home from nights out alone or with friends, and continued to grow my hair longer, a few shades of blond lighter.

Why? This is someone who for two years I’d been completely emotionally invested in, who I’d loved so intensely that I’d (a previously independent as fuck lady) dreamt of marrying and housewife-ing, I’d (previously anti-children, not as in I wish they didn’t exist, but as in I want them far away from me) imagined having kids with. Etcetera et embarrassing cetera.

It took a while to realise my lack of grief was because I’d already mourned. I’d already gone through the grieving process in the months leading up to it. The person he’d insidiously become had destroyed my self-confidence, self-esteem, and excitement for life and I’d already known I had to get out of the situation and felt the corresponding emotions.

The problem was, this knowledge came with the naivety of first intense love. Nothing was stopping me leaving but I’d put the bars up on my own cage, believing that without him I’d never be happy. I couldn’t have been more wrong, the life I entered into afterwards proved that.

I’d created a rock and hard place in my mind. I was lonely, crying most days and not understanding the reason why, believing without him I’d be even more lonely. From the minute I ended it I haven’t cried once, for any reason, in two months. The loneliness went, and it’s pretty clear where the source of it came from! I thought he¬†filled a thousand roles in my life, but like a belly filled with poison there was mass but no nutrients, and the smaller healthy portions of love from my friends could not find their way in. As soon as I left, they could, and they filled me.

Of course I missed the good parts, and the version of him I knew in the first six months of our relationship. But I’d been missing it long before the end, and in truth I missed it a lot more when I was still with him than I did after the break up.

I could have beat myself up for putting up with shitty behaviour for so long, but I don’t blame myself. I’d never been burned like that before, it was an entirely different kind of shit to anything I’d been used to and I had no defence mechanism for hurt from someone I love. I’d never let anyone in like that before. He was someone who knew most of my soul and that shit’s hard to release. Like a frog in a slowly heating pan of water, I was boiling but didn’t realise I had to jump out.

Everything’s always clear in retrospect.

I even became (and still am) one of those irritating people who go ‘aww’ at cute couples at restaurants without feeling bitter, and that’s surely not natural for someone fresh out of long term misery. By the laws of balancing, this bonus must mean bad juju somewhere, misery on happy future days, it’ll come back to bite.

The bad juju continues in the euphoric mornings I experienced often in the first few weeks which were not dissimilar to being on ecstasy. This excess of happiness will come and shit on me one day, my superstitions tell me. I even got scared I was using up my serotonin levels and actually tried to make myself more miserable. But the lows, in the dashes they came, were bearable and understandable.

Discoveries:

1. Just how much I am capable of being emotionally drained by a person, I didn’t realise it was possible.

2. I am capable of being in a long term monogamous relationship with someone, and be happy and satisfied providing they’re the right person (which he, very clearly, was not).

3. Sulkers, whingers, and self-pitying people are to be avoided in future romantic endeavours.

4. As above, people who cannot handle my sexual past, present, and possible future.

5. Recent sex has taught me my vajay¬†problems were due to lack of good foreplay and emotional connection with my partner, and I’m actually completely normal in the natural lubricant and orgasm departments. What a relief! It’s something I always suspected, and having it confirmed was a great feeling. It’s not that my ex was bad at sex, he wasn’t, but he stopped caring or putting in the effort in the last part of our together. Probably because he hated me (lol).

5. Not really to do with the break-up, but a recent thought. My relationship with food and sex are, in a way, my soul. I should be proud of them and enjoy them without guilt. Currently, I do.

Where Am I?

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