I’m writing this 13 hours after me and my (ex) boyfriend broke up. I just had to take a 3 minute break to cry because that’s the first time I’ve said ex. I’m sad. I’m really, really sad. I wanted to write this because I feel an overwhelming pressure to be ok. I should be strong, unharmed, and surviving on sheer stubbornness and willpower. I’m not. I’m sat in my bed with soaking wet hair after sitting on the floor of the shower sobbing for an hour because I saw his toothbrush on the side.
I feel like a raw nerve, electrified and sensitive. I feel like someone’s ripped a plaster off a fresh wound and now all that’s there is blood and glue that’s lost its stick. I could sit here for hours and describe how I’m feeling. It’s like every sad song Taylor Swift has ever written. All I can smell is the bacon he used to cook for me and all I can taste is bitter cappuccinos. I can see a polaroid picture on the wall from here. It’s overexposed and nobody else would even know who it was, but I know it’s him in his hometown, grinning at the beach he took me to for a picnic.
I don’t know what to do. I have a bag of things he left here but it’s too soon to give them back to him. I have a box under my bed filled with things from us. Fairground tickets, metro stubs, half the link of a chain he broke when he took me to the arcade. The other half is in his wallet. I wonder if he’s thrown it away yet, or if he’s going to. I hope he doesn’t. I’ve got laundry of his that’s still wet, that’s how recent and fresh and raw this pain is. I can’t even change my relationship status on Facebook because he already did it, less than an hour after we ended. Bit shit really.
My room smells like watermelon perfume. It was his favourite. I don’t think I can ever wear it again.
I feel like this is a very vulnerable and exposing blog post, but I don’t know why I feel like that. I don’t know why sadness should feel so secret and shameful. Nothing good has ever come from me keeping my sadness hidden. Admittedly, not a lot of good has come from me exposing it either, but people are people and everybody cries.
I know, logically, that I’ll be ok. One day I’ll be living in a big city with a sofa that I bought myself and all those grown-up things like job security and emotional stability. I know I’ll feel ok, but right now it feels like all my life is ever going to be is this. Wet hair and a stuffed unicorn he won me, sat on my bedroom floor while I decide whether to give it back to him or not.
I’ll probably regret posting this in the morning, but I won’t delete it. I want to remember this feeling. For now, though, I’m going to try and eat some toast and listen to a playlist of all of Taylor Swifts most depressing songs.