Seven Days - A Lizzie Olsen Story

Sunday

There's always that sentiment, so delicately shared when someone is going through heartbreak that, "In order to get over someone, you need to get under someone else."

Despite the good intentions with which this suggestion was put to me, I just didn't see the sense in it. Giving myself away to someone, just for a night, to then follow it with an awkward exit and subsequent future uncomfortable interactions, well it just didn't feel like a solution for me.

The first week was bad. Without being too dramatic I would even say it was horrific. Getting out of bed was a near impossible task, and anything beyond that was a write off.

I didn't really understand why I was so upset, and that was part of the problem. The relationship was over long before I called time on it, and so surely I should have been relieved right? That's what I thought would happen, but for some reason I grieved. Not so much the end of the relationship, but more so the end of that chapter in my life.

Among the sadness and everything else negative about it, she and I had our moments. Our life together also had some great experiences and good times, but just not enough to make all the bad worth it.

For the first few days, friends surrounded me and slowly I began to smile and laugh again. The pain still radiated through me, but it was littered with moments of joy and normality. Enough to tell me that I would make it through this, and that it was the right decision to end it.

Before long though, life caught up with everyone and I was alone again. I had taken some time off work, but even when I got back to my daily responsibilities I worked mostly from home, so my interaction with other humans was fairly limited.

My mum called often, I could tell she was worried about me so I made sure to sound as normal as I could when we spoke. Mums always have this way of knowing when something isn't quite right though, despite our best attempts to keep them from having any reason to be concerned.

She would often suggest different things for me to try, almost as though she had done a web search for combatting heartbreak. Some of the more frequently mentioned included:

- Go for a walk, or run
- Treat yourself to something you've wanted for a while
- Take yourself on a date night
- Spend time with friends and family
- Keep busy with hobbies

All fairly self explanatory, but not of huge interest to me. I figured that I was on my own now, so may as well get used to it. She didn't want to push, but dropped little hints here and there, forcing me to continually reassure her that I was okay. Maybe she thought that if I could convince her, I would eventually convince my own brain that everything wasn't completely fucked.

My best friend Olivia though, well she wouldn't accept my wallowing. She worked in film, and spent a lot of time travelling so when the shit hit the fan she wasn't here to visit. Despite this, and her busy schedule, she called every day, and made sure to text me lovingly each morning to tell me to get my ass out of bed and into the world. I wasn't sure if she meant to literally get my ass into the world, or if it was poorly phrased. Neither would surprise me.

I found myself in bed on this particular Sunday morning, wondering to myself as to why I had not received my usual text from her. It had become a bit of a daily ritual for me to wait for her text and then rise to meet the day. She was always up in the early hours due to weird call times on set. As I considered her to still be asleep, perhaps on a day off, I decided to treat myself to another few hours of kip. I had no plans today anyway.

As I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing, I was interrupted by an aggressive knock at my flat door. I was initially confused, as mostly everyone I knew was working or too far to visit unexpectedly, and as I dragged myself from my duvet towards the door, my confusion quickly turned to panic.