One Year

That morning, I was the girl on the train who started crying for absolutely no reason.

Remember it? I do, it was a year today. I remember that horrible, awful feeling in the pit of my stomach which told me my relationship was coming to an end. The culmination of months spent worrying, panicking, being snapped at, then hearing reassurance that slowly got less and less convincing. I remember the last ditch attempts to make myself indispensable. I remember buying him things, researching gifts he’d like. That morning, I'd looked at a nice chess set which was about £40 and nearly bought it so we could play together. I don’t even like chess. I remember realising with a pang that there were no more events that year for us to attend together, that if something was to end, now would be the time. As if something as simple as a weekend away or joint invitation would change the fact that you don’t want to be with someone any more.

I remember being angry because I’d been right all along. I’d been insecure for months, questioning his feelings for me, yet every time he told me ‘Why are you crying? Don’t be silly. I love you’. But I knew it all along. You can always tell can’t you? Deep down, you know when things aren’t the same, when things start getting unbalanced. Someone once told me ‘one person always loves the other more in a relationship’, and my firm denials at the time had since withered into something resembling agreement. It used to be equal, but now I loved him more.

Now, a year on, I know you should never have to ask someone ‘Why can’t you act like you love me?’, and you should end it right away if their only answer is a shrug. If it happened again tomorrow, I’d have ended it the minute he shrugged. Sod the two weeks thinking time, what was I on? Why on earth would I have wanted someone to act like they loved me? It just shows what I would have put up with a year ago.

My favourite article was right, you do have to wallow & crash. For me, the crash wasn’t immediate. The bit where you cry all the time and stop eating, that’s not the crash. You think it is - but really that’s just shock. If you’re at that stage right now, here’s the bad news: the worst is yet to come. The crash is the bit where you think you’re alright, so you start contacting them more. You start doing all sorts of silly things, writing emails, texting, meeting up. I started crashing about 5 months after the break up, and didn’t stop until August. If you’re really lucky, they play along too. Before you know it they’re recommending albums on the basis that you’d once have listened to it together, and you’re responding with a smiley face and a kiss. That’s when your head really gets messed up. If you’re exceedingly fortunate, you get to top it off with a one night stand. Don’t worry, we were far too sensible for that.

You start wondering how you’ll ever get over him, whether he’ll ever leave your mind completely, whether you’ll ever get back together. Then a friend – one of his best friends -will say something blunt, like ‘come on, babe. It’s been 10 months. You must have moved on? Like, not with someone else...just in yourself?’ And even though you haven’t, it’s a wakeup call. You were expecting them to entertain your heartbroken thoughts like everyone else does. Next thing you know your whole outlook has changed. You realise it’s been all these months yet you’re still blaming every bit of bad luck that comes your way, every bad mood, every unhappy turn, on the fact that you’re not with that person any more. You realise you’ve got to take responsibility for your own happiness, and stop attributing it to someone else. The minute you do that, you’re sorted mate. Sorted.

“Then suddenly something as incidental as the sunset will catch your eye, and before you know it you'll be out there, heart racing, ready to take the plunge all over again”

True, that.