Monday, 23 January 2012

Keep In Touch

When you’re developing a relationship with someone new, you have a wonderful opportunity to set the tone for the entire thing. If you do this properly it could well be the making of it.

Being foolish, however, can lead to all sorts of problems.

You will remember, I imagine, that boy who broke my heart a couple of blog posts ago. For the purposes of this thing, we will refer to him as Stretch. He was (and still is, because I am yet to attack him with anything) remarkably tall, and that is as good a reason as any for a nickname.

At the beginning of our relationship, which wasn’t a particularly long time ago, the communication between the two of us was CONSTANT. Usually, I am not a massively texty person. I have friends who I have known for years who have never received a single text message from me, and others who have only received one when I’ve needed a favour. Quite frankly, I can usually do without the hassle.

This was obviously different, but I suppose most new couples text like that, don’t they? Non-stop. Smiling and giggling away at their phones. You’ve seen them at train stations and stuff, I’m sure. Takes a lot of effort not to push them off the platform, doesn’t it?

ANYWAY, since we broke up, I had sort of been expecting our texting style to change. I thought we might text less, at least, and perhaps distance ourselves a bit. That didn’t happen. In fact, for the most part, nothing has changed.
Well, that’s not true. Once or twice a day I have a breakdown and tell him I never want to speak to him again, but other than that we’re still pretty much the same as we’ve always been.
Or we were. Until this weekend.

(I would like to direct you to the first paragraph of this blog. It is a very wise thing that I’ve said there. Very wise. It applies directly to what I am about to say.)

For the past couple of days, the communication between us has been fairly minimal. In all honesty, I haven’t been handling it well. There’s a little voice in my head telling me I’m overreacting and that he is a single man now – perfectly entitled to his own life and to talk to (or ignore!) whoever he likes.
BUT ACTUALLY if that’s how he wanted things to be, he could have instigated that at the point of our break-up. He had the opportunity to completely rewrite the rules of our relationship, but he chose not to.

I am of the opinion that you can’t text someone constantly for weeks on end, and then reasonably expect them to sit back and accept that you just can’t be bothered anymore. You can’t expect them to assume that everything’s ok and to leave you to it without some sort of explanation.

If you have demonstrated to someone that you will never let a text message go unanswered, and then go off-radar for so long that the poor unstable sod (read: me) sends you twelve messages in a row – only for you to IGNORE THEM COMPLETELY - I don’t think that’s ok.

I will not be made to sit here and feel like an abandoned little psychopath because someone got a better offer. And I won’t be told that I can’t be upset about it, because I can. And I am.


Thursday, 12 January 2012

Ten Stupid Things

The other day, Vanessa of Nightmares & Boners posted Ten Stupid Things I’ve Done To Try And Get Someone To Go Out With Me. I thought it was delightful.

So, in the interest of cheering myself up a bit, here are the Ten Stupid Things that I've done to try and get someone to go out with me.

*pause for effect*

10. Pretended I had a more exotic surname.

9. Dyed my hair dark brown, because the object of my affections had once vaguely referred to a celebrity he fancied and she just happened to be a brunette.

8. Read a book about Samurai Swords.

7. Watched the Saw films. Or tried to. There was a thing involving an eyeball and a spoon that nearly made me pass out. I had to admit defeat at that point.

6. Bought a leather jacket and developed an attitude problem, because I noticed that the object of my affections was listening to The Distillers.

5. Pretended to be four years older than I was.

4. Did a Psychology degree.

3. Spent three days eating basically nothing so that I would look thinner when the object of my affections came to see me. Two hours after he arrived, I fainted quite dramatically and chipped one of my front teeth.

2. Pretended I had met someone else to provoke furious jealousy.

1. Pretended that I liked salmon, so as to appear more sophisticated and worldly. As it turns out, you cannot force yourself to swallow something that you find so repellent - especially without chewing it - because of a little thing called a gag reflex. Who knew?


Wednesday, 11 January 2012

It's Not You, It's Me

I imagine that, by now, you’ve all read my last thing. If you haven’t, I wouldn’t bother. Depressing is not the word.

I thought I’d better explain it a bit. I wasn’t going to, because I thought it was fine to just write about it and then go back to being miserable and broken-hearted all by myself. However, it seems that people are actually interested, so here we are again.

I don’t want to talk about the relationship, because that’s too sad. And I don’t want to talk about how long it lasted, because it wasn’t long enough. In fact, I don’t particularly want to go into any detail at all, but I can at least tell you why it ended.

*sighs dramatically*

He ‘isn’t ready ’. His ‘head is all messed up after his last relationship’. He ‘doesn’t want to hurt me’. BASICALLY, ‘IT’S NOT YOU, IT’S ME’.

*screams forever*

Aside from being disgustingly upset, which I think we all gathered from the last thing I wrote, I am angrier than I think I’ve ever been. I'm angry with him, I'm angry with myself, I'm angry with EVERYONE ELSE.

We all know what ‘I’m not ready for a relationship’ means. It means, ‘I’m not ready for a relationship WITH YOU’. If you didn’t know that, I’m sorry, but it’s true and you need to be prepared.

If you are of the Crazy Bitch persuasion, as I am, you will come across this phrase once or twice a year. Probably.

Now, I don’t know how your Crazy Bitchiness manifests itself, but mine isn’t particularly unusual. I test people, I deliberately cause arguments, and I can switch from cute-and-cuddly to fire-breathing-bitch-face in a matter of moments. Usually for NO REAL REASON.

The thing is, though, there’s only so far you can push someone before they either push back or walk away.

And that’s what happened. I was mental for the duration of our relationship and he realised what he was getting himself into.

What a load of wank.


Tuesday, 10 January 2012

One Year On

Exactly one year ago today, I wrote my first real blog post and what was arguably the most difficult thing I’ve ever written. I told you all about the most important and devastating relationship that I’d ever had with a boy, and I told you how heartbroken it left me.

When I wrote it, if I’m honest, I was still getting over said relationship. Part of me actually thought there might be a chance that it could be resolved. I had vague imaginings of him turning up one day, flowers in hand, offering to start again. Part of me wanted that more than anything.

That part of me has finally, after a year and a half, become so small that I barely even notice it anymore.

I don’t know when it happened, really. All I know is that, one day, I woke up and realised that my heart wasn’t actually broken anymore.

The universe, it seems, wasn’t happy about that.

Mere DAYS after deciding that it might be time to meet someone else, I actually bloody did.

And I fell for him far more quickly than I would have ever thought possible.

In fact, I probably loved him immediately. It sounds ridiculous – especially because I told very few people about him, anticipating this very outcome – but it was a case of love-at-first-sight, if ever there was one.

It didn’t really hit me, though, until I was in his flat for the first time not very long ago.

Those of you who have experienced the pleasure of my company will undoubtedly be aware of my shameful habit of cluttering places up immediately upon arrival. I carry an enormous amount of paraphernalia with me, always prepared for the most ridiculous of emergencies, and I have no qualms about where I scatter it.
Upon entering his flat, for instance, I went straight into the bedroom to rid myself of the giant bag I was carrying. At the same time, I tossed my cardigan thoughtlessly onto the bed. Strange thing to mention, I’m sure you’ll agree, but wait!

A few hours later, after he had gone to sleep, I wandered towards his bookshelf in the living room. I had a notion that I could read one of the more impressive-looking books during the night (because, as you may know, I struggle to sleep during appropriate hours) and then stun him with my cultural knowledge over breakfast.
On my way to put my plan into action, however, I passed my cardigan – no longer on the bed, it was now hung on the back of a door, next to his jacket.

If I hadn’t already been completely besotted with him, that would have done it. I can’t properly explain why. Perhaps it was because he had hung it there, and I felt a little bit looked after. Or maybe it was the way my cardigan looked so small and feminine next to his jacket. Or maybe, and most upsettingly, it was because it looked so normal, as though it was supposed to be there, and that’s exactly how I felt when I was with him.

I didn’t stay in the living room for long after that. I missed him. I – cynic, scoffer, non-believer – was pining for someone who was only a room away from me. So I got back into bed with him, and ACTUALLY WATCHED HIM SLEEP. Love, it seems, is all about clich├ęs.

But, yesterday, things ended for good.

You don’t need to know anything else just yet.

Except that, for nine whole days of the New Year, I thought things were ok.

Happy Anniversary, me.