The break up

I've not blogged in ages. Over a year or so in fact. The reason? Privacy. I was simply involved with guys who could and would google themselves on the internet and would not be happy with what they found. I've always been an advocate of not getting too serious with men. They always had their faults; their nose was too big, they weren't into horror films, they clicked their knuckles... And then it happened. I fell in love. It wasn't love at first sight... In fact anything but. He was a pretty boy, I was used to rugby players with broken noses or tall giant men with egos the size of Russia not some boy band type who wore Thomas pink shirts and offered me a drink not from a mug. But he seemed sweet and when whispered to in a school yard fashion that this boy had taken a fancy to me I had pushed for further conversation. I convinced myself he was a player, his friends appealed at me to give things a go. Take note here because this fact comes back later to bite me on the ass. I allowed him to take me out and things progressed into love. At least on my side. I was disgustingly smitten. Breakfast in bed, hanging up his washing, booking his favourite restaurants and sporting events. What did I get in return? The occasional nod of approval, the pat on the head... The comments through his housemate that we had things in common and I was pretty. But never a direct comment. This was my first love. My silly reckless gullible moment. I chose to ignore the signs. His snap at me in sainsburys about being too loud, him shhing me on the street for a crude joke, his blatant disregard for my affections. It wasn't long before I found myself like a small child begging for attention and approval. I trode on egg shells, begged him for sexual interaction (again alarm bells?! Begging a guy really?). And then it happened. Two weeks after my birthday. A weekend during which I was smothered in affection, spoilt and satisfied that things were right again... I was dumped. By text message. Later to be confirmed by phone. Six months ended at a rate of 40p. I was winded. Friends had often relayed painful breakups and if I'm being honest I had always dismissed them. In fact the words 'man up' come to mind. But the pain was indescribable. I had a wax booked, I afterwards told the waxer to advise anyone who had just been dumped to have a wax for the pain was largely decreased. I arrived home afterwards and collapsed on the floor into tears. Like a ragdoll I refused to eat or move. A heap on the floor. My family nudging me and treating me with tea. Every object reminded me of him, every song. It hurt. It physically hurt. My heart stung and I felt sick. This was why they called it heart ache. I turned to booze but this numbed nothing. I prayed that I would go to sleep and wake up back to my old self. The non believer in love. In hindsight it took time. And friends. Brilliant friends. Friends who would tell you to stop being pathetic, who issued you challenges and distracted you with silly masks and parties with better looking men. The pain was gradually disappearing two months on. And then I saw it. The new girlfriend, and the weekend break. Just two months later. A virtual slap. The sore heart returns as do the insecurities. But all I can think is that I've finally gone back to my blog and such dastardly acts have meant that I feel no guilt in publicly writing this. Just a shame I didn't name drop eh A...