Two Can Be as Bad as One

Slowly, I’m getting angry.

I asked for time to grieve. What I have received is calls, emails and texts from him – and his mum, who texted me for the third day in a row this morning. (I’ve responded to her previous messages, but I’m just not sure what to say at this point.)

One of the emails from him refers to whether I can think through the haze of drugs I’m taking. Drugs? I don’t even taken Nurofen (Advil for you American readers!).

When I’m not angry I’m often incredibly sad. As a very wise friend (and luckily, I seem to have more than my fair share) said: “You have to mourn the relationship you’d hoped you’d have as well as the one you were in.” I wanted the nice Oxford-educated English boyfriend – the “darling” in that English accent. I wanted the cozy weekends in Devon and the family trip to Venice. I wanted to feel like there was a reason why I came all the way to London, and why I struggled so hard to make my life here.

I wanted not to be alone. But instead, he made me lonelier than I’ve ever felt in my life.

I remember fighting with him in Bucharest over New Year, which is – I think -- when the really awful fighting began. Bucharest is when I began to fear him, and fear upsetting him – when my stomach would begin to knot with almost every interaction. After he screamed at me that my feelings didn’t matter, he then suggested I leave the room. Which I did. I walked the streets numbly and aimlessly, mentally running through a list of people to call in my head and realizing I didn’t feel I could reach out to any of them. Friends had wanted me to leave him, but I hadn’t, and at times I’d been less than honest about what was going on with us. Or I just hadn’t seen the friends because I was at his place, an hour and a half from the center of town, or we’d just had a fight and he’d demand to know how I could be going out when we needed “to rebuild,” as he always put it. Often I didn’t even want to go out – if we actually went to a party (which was so very rare), I feared a row about my behaviour (BN2 always accused me of either flirting or leaving him for too long). And if I went out on my own and was coming back to his place, woe betide me for turning up late. (On Tuesday, I went to a friend’s birthday dinner and nearly cartwheeled down the street, suddenly realizing that – wheeeeee! – I could stay and chat to whoever I wanted for as long as I wanted without anxiously checking my phone to try to determine from his text messages whether he’d be in a forgiving mood when I got back.)

I must start listing all the things I already don’t miss to look at in weak moments. Because – despite the above – there are plenty of them.

For now I just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other, I know, and put some distance between us. Frankly, I feel a bit like the premature baby doctors try to keep in the womb for as long as possible – every hour makes the baby a little bit stronger and able to survive on its own.

* * *

I have been so grateful and actually even humbled by the support I’ve gotten from my friends – especially because I’ve been a pretty crappy friend myself the past few months.

One of the things that kept me in the relationship was fear of being totally alone, because I really was that cut off. But everyone has been amazing.

Trust. As I know I've said before, I need to learn some.

I wrote to a friend – one of only a couple with any inkling that things were very grim – about how I felt like a little sapling trying to withstand gale force winds.

She wrote back: “You may be a little sapling tree, but they are stronger than the hurricane because they can bend without breaking. Besides, you’re not alone in this. All your friends are here for you.”

* * *

Speaking of trust: Last night I had dinner with a friend who has shared in the weight loss saga.

We met up at Selfridges and she suggested looking for Victoria sponge cake, which she knew I’ve been wanting. I was hungry for dinner and panicking slightly at having to contemplate cakes for fear I would want them all, and that very minute.

There wasn’t any Vicky sponge – but there were some cupcakes. She bought us each a small one.

The sugar hit me with a jolt. Yes, I could have eaten 10 of them, but in fact, I only had access to one.

I was okay. (Yes, I eat foods like chocolate almost every day, but chocolate is not actually a trigger for me. I love cakes, and one of my favorites is vanilla or yellow cake with buttercream frosting. Actually, scratch that -- I like any kind of cake except if it's got alcohol in it -- I prefer to keep my alcohol and my pudding separate, but then again I always was the kid who didn't like any of the parts of my TV dinner touching any of the other parts!) Working out how I could sneak back to the shop later for more – something I almost certainly would have done years ago – didn’t even occur to me as something I could have done until this morning.

I wrote to my friend this morning that I was glad we’d had the cupcakes – because on my own, I’d have talked myself out of it, and maybe even binged on it. Not last night and maybe not this week, but the climate of denial would be there for a binge to take root.

I need to trust that one unplanned cupcake – and I think that’s what’s key for me, is that I freak out slightly with the unplanned – does not mean I will lose control.

I need to live a little. I’m looking forward to it.