I had been home an hour since the wine club gathering, and poured my self another glass of wine. I felt sick. That's the funny thing about being with people while dying of heart ache. It take's your mind off it, though the numbing feeling is always in the back of your chest.
I looked in the fridge absentmindedly, pulling out a microwave Lasagna, not feeling the energy to cook, not feeling the energy to do anything but smoke and drink.
The microwave buzzed as it span my food around, I just sat and stared, feeling smothered, I wanted to get out. Out of this flat, out of London, out of everything. I wanted to rip the wallpaper from the walls and just tear my dress off in a fit of pointless anger, he'd stripped everything else bare. I was emotionally naked, nothing to cover up with anymore. He'd exposed the most intimate part of my being and walked away, leaving me to suffocate in an empty world. The frustration and bewildering confusion of it all was growing to be to much, everything ached like I'd been hit with a truck and just left on the road side. A crushing feeling, working it's way to your lungs as I began to cry in helplessness. I didn't ask to feel like this, it just happens. There isn't an easy or beautiful ending when this happens, when you loose such a big part of your life. The microwaved pinged and I pulled the food out, snapping my fingers away quickly, not realizing it would be very hot, I grabbed a plate and a tea towel, and some how managed to pour it onto the plate, I carried my wine and the lasagna into the living room and slouched down onto the couch with my feet up and switched the TV on.
Jeremy Kyle.
Yes! A sad reality show about drug taking couples, shit parents and unruly teens, let's watch other people and their dis functional lives, so I can feel hope in the fact I am not the only one.
"But he's the dad, I only slept with 'free' 'over' people." Some fat toad was all over my screen, her scrunchy on top of her head, in her finest nikey tracksuit.
If men want to sleep and have a child with that, then what the hell is wrong with a perfectly good woman like me?
Jesus Christ.
If you're wondering, the man in question wasn't the father, one of the other two unknown men she couldn't remember where.
I slapped the plate into the dishwasher and poured another glass of wine and ran a bath, setting my Ipod to shuffle, listening to Tina Turner, Frank Turner and Sara Barielles.
Some songs where bouncy and some where mildly depressing. The hot water was soothing, and temporarily healed me while in. The warmth gave me a strange calmness that I hadn't felt the past month at all. I got out and brushed my teeth, looking at my self in the mirror. I was bare, the towel wrapped around me, panda eyes and a tired sad face. The reflection was me at the moment, the real me. Not the sexy, confident and icy woman who runs a tight ship at the office. I was one push from falling off a very large metaphorical cliff. I was sort of hoping in the night some ghostly figure would take me upstairs for the big guy. Anything would be less painful than this. But if we didn't have this pain, we'd hollow and empty. It's what makes us human. It's so simple. We can't just mate and have offspring like most other mammals, our blessing is a curse. We're that intelligent it's a punishment. The beauty and sorrow of it has given our poets inspiration throughout the history of our race, love is the most powerful incarnation of attachment we have. It's what we all want to get rid of or get the most of.
Right now, I want to get rid of it, it's going dirt cheap. Come and get ya' love.
I blankly flicked the light off in the bathroom and grabbed my wine and cigarettes and sat at my kitchen table, which was seldom used and I smoked, using the ball of my hand as a support holder for my forehead, as I cried into my forearm, the only comfort I had was my self.
