To the outside world (and the ex) I’ve breezed through this break up with not a care in the world. In real life i’m a bit of a cold fish, an ice queen, a closed shop, indeed I’d rather invent a crisis than talk about my feelings to anyone. To my friends I’ve taken it in my stride, brushed off the shame, buried the pride back under the surface and got myself back out there, back on the horse if you will.

But despite popular opinion I do have a soft centre (ok, it may be coffee flavoured but it’s still soft) and everyone, cold fish or not needs somewhere to vent. So, against my better judgement it’s only on here, to the internets at large, that I’ve admitted that i’ve been feeling rather sorry for myself; as of course, in the real world, pain and shame don’t go away without a large prescription for Xanax. (Been there, done that, I like my world with sharp edges thanks).

So, it’s to you that I can admit that I can’t stop myself squeezing out the last drop of self respect that I have left, scab picking, poking the remains with a big stick (pun intended) and risking disproving the mantra nobody has ever died from a broken heart. I’m doing everything that my better judgement would normally hang me out to dry with. No one said giving yourself a reality check (or a dose of He’s Not That Into You) was going to be easy.

In the harsh light of day I know what i’m doing is wrong, that I’m setting myself up for a further collapse, but harder, further, even more humiliating this time, but if there is a small kernel in my mind that I can fix something that i’ve broken, then why shouldn’t I try? Until that rollercoaster dumps me at the end of the corkscrew once again, i’m going to put my hands in the air, scream that I want to go faster and enjoy the ride. At least it’s living.

Kx