plight of the broken hearted

Plight of the Broken Hearted

So. It’s Tuesday night and am sitting in my flat with a large glass of wine and pack of 20 Richmond Menthols (had to change from Marlboro Lights in attempt to prevent new chain smoking habit from resulting in need to re-mortgage.) Don’t actually like Richmond Menthol – though thinking about it, not sure I really like Marlboro Lights either, they’re just filling the void at the moment.

Void created by being dumped. Chucked. Kicked to the Kerb. By “love of my life” (or so I thought). Obviously got that one wrong, because if he was said “love of my life” I’d be with him now rather than drowning my sorrows with a cheap bottle of Pino (£4.99 from Tescos – had to change from the expensive stuff, reasons as above).

So yes, got my heart busted. And it sucks. Hard. And yes I know all the clichés – time’s a healer, if it wasn’t meant to be, plenty of fish in the sea blah blah blah. If I’ve heard them once I‘ve heard them a dozen times. And the suckiest bit is, I know it’s true. In my head that is. Wish the rest of me would catch up (repeat cliché stroke dodgy song lyric). Wish I wouldn’t jump every time my phone buzzes (kept on silent so I won’t listen out for it, but the vibration against the table is enough to set heart racing). Am fully aware he won’t call – can’t even answer my texts so off the cuff call is completely off the radar. But can’t help clinging to the tiniest hope that maybe he will…(disillusion).

So that’s it really. And now I have the troublesome plight of working out how to move on and get on with rest of life without said “love of my life.” Let’s make a start by not calling him that. Let’s go with Loser. The troublesome plight of how to get on with the rest of my life without Loser.

Going to be realistic about this. Set small goals – not learning to run before I can walk (suggestion of Mother). Baby steps. So let’s get through tonight. Got Richmond Menthols and Pino and whole host of Friends re-runs to get through (god bless E4+1, can’t concentrate so watching twice isn’t an issue). And goal for the night is not to call him / text / sit crying into my pillow. Quite hard goal actually. But feeling strong (ish) at moment – though is likely to change without warning (having PC on so can type is already a step forward – been avoiding it due to dangerous desire to look through old holiday snaps and torture myself with memories of old life with Loser). How can something only few months ago be so many lifetimes ago? Wow, profound moment there. I think.

10 past 9. Too early to go to bed, will only be awake at 2am with weight of heartbreak on shoulders. Must get through 2 more hours. At least. Two whole hours?! 120 whole minutes?? Holy Jesus. Maybe I’ll smoke another fag to stop the panic rising in pit of stomach.

That’s better. Relax as Nicotine coasts through system.

So yes heartbreak What a bitch. Help?