Filed under: LOVE, Relationships | Tags: alcohol, beer belly, break-up, drugs, LOVE, violence
One of those nights when only the realisation that my tea has gone cold denotes the passing of time.
I feel as if I may have cheated you with the short excerpt from M’s life earlier. I don’t have many details about the last episode that I can share, but I can give you some background. M’s dalliance with her ex/fiance (from now on referred to as J) began around 4 years ago.
4 years of will they, won’t they, on again, off again. 4 years of tension, arguments, disagreements, alcohol and drugs. 4 years of emotional distress, fading self-confidence and a desperate desire to be loved. Really LOVED.
I’m lucky enough to have been truly, deeply loved once. I’ve had songs written about me, notes left on my pillow, a whole catalogue of in-jokes. I know what she wants, I understand what she craves. J has no idea. J is in his mid-thirties, unemployed, and living rent-free with a mate. He has a child from a previous relationship whom he consistently ignores, forgets and avoids. J has debts and drug issues and, as we’re discovering, a tendency to deal with issues using violence.
‘Use your words.’ Not something we should ever have to ask of grown men.
I know that love isn’t perfect. The fantasy might involve white horses and gallant knights (or at least a steady income and GSOH) but in reality, love sometimes lives at home with its mother, changes its underwear once a week and carries the beginnings of a beer belly with pride. I’m aware of all this, and aware that M needs to make her own choices (and mistakes), but a huge part of me wants to forbid her from going back to J.
Yes, that’s right – after all that’s happened, she still wants to be with him. I think she sees his violent outburst as the declaration of undying love she’s been waiting so long for.
I don’t want to begin to imagine what he might get her for Valentine’s.
Filed under: LOVE, Single life | Tags: bedroom, break-up, ex, family, pirate, violence
I’ve mentioned the breakup. It was amicable. The aftermath has been wonderful. The Pirate and I realised, a long time ago, that we’re not ’soulmates’. What we were then, and are now, is housemates.
I’ve moved back into the small bedroom (because I love the cheap rent, and because his huge TV wouldn’t fit in there anyway) and I’ve decided it’s time to make it feel like mine. I’ve been telling myself for the past year that my situation here is temporary; that I might get back on a plane and jet off into the sunset at any moment. Now I’m glad to realise that life here is worth sticking around for, and it’s time to make this house a home.
I’ve been picking up beautiful things this week, and reluctantly deciding whether they go in the office or in the house. Both places are starting to feel inhabited. Loved, even.
I spent the weekend with my wonderful grandfather again. It’s scary how some people in your life can fall by the wayside when one person is on the receiving end of most of your love and affection. I think I’m a better person when I’m single – more generous with my time, and my feelings.
The Pirate is fine. We chatted last night when I got home, sitting on his bed drinking Capri Sun. The main topic of conversation was my friend M, whose life is a soap opera. Her ex-boyfriend became her fiance for a brief moment on Saturday night. Yesterday he hospitalised the man M had been seeing since the break-up.
Somehow I think he wasn’t the right man for her.
Filed under: LOVE, Single life | Tags: break-up, LOVE, pirate, rebirth, single
There have been a few tears, a lot of laughter and numerous pots of tea this past week. All steps along the way to readjusting to single life, I suppose.
Truthfully, it’s been a magical week. I’ve woken up every morning ready to embrace the day, and enjoyed every moment. Ice cream in the park, alone. Lunch in town, alone. Reading all the books I’ve been meaning to. Smiling at strangers. Laughing out loud at… the weather, other people’s children, life.
I spent a few days with my wonderful grandfather, and was grateul for the fact that I could really give my attention to him the way he needed. In fact, I’ve been able to give myself more fully to everything this week - I have no distractions, no plans, no commitments.
I feel as if life is an adventure again. And that’s exactly what life should be.
I don’t want security, I don’t want romance, I don’t want monogamy. I just want to live every moment to the full, enjoy all my friends as I should, and treasure my family for the wonderful people that they are.
I might sound like I’m over-dramatising the situation when I say I feel ‘reborn’ – but it’s the only way I can describe this wonderful sense of freedom and energy that I have. People have commented that I’m glowing, and I feel as if I am.
SO, that’s it.
It was never perfect, no champagne breakfasts or impromptu getaways. Just lots of pints and late night takeaways.
But I loved him, and he’s decided to spread his budding wings and taste the beer somewhere else. I remember talking about how over protective his family can be, and asking ‘What’s the worst that could happen to him? He might fall off his stool.’
Because it was a relationship built on a damp foundation of spirits and soggy chips. Neither of us have a clear recollection of the first night we spent together, and I doubt he has any recollection of the last.
He ended it. ‘What’s the point dragging it out?’ he asked. What indeed.
I’ll miss it, and HIM, and those gorgeous jeans. And the thumb-wars, and the smile in his voice, and his unique combination of masculinity and sensitivity… a man who’d run from moisturiser, disinfectant or any hair product apart from Brylcreem* but who was once heard to say ‘I love hugs.’
A man who has made me happy, been my companion for almost a year, and was very definitely on his way to being my best friend. Just in time then.
A break-up is always a bit like a bereavement, my bereaved Grandfather once said. He’d know better than I would. But it’s not just goodbye to the pirate, it’s goodbye to the dreams. The family we imagined together, the holidays we planned, the life we wanted.
C’est fin.
*he’s Irish
