(Free photobank www.tOrange.us) / CC BY 4.0
I count myself fairly lucky in life, in that out of the entire 4.5 actual relationships I’ve been in, I’m still friends with 2 of them. I don’t know if it’s a true fact or not, but I’m pretty sure most people don’t enjoy staying friends with their exes, for obvious reasons.
When my friend Zero died, I realised that I’d been falling for him a little. It hurt. I knew that I liked him, but I didn’t know that I felt quite as much for him as I did, especially because I was already crazy about one of my other friends by that point.
Last week, I decided to bite the bullet and actually tell him (the other friend, obviously, and not Zero…) how I felt about him. We already flirted like crazy and he told me I was beautiful, and… *shrug* What did I have to lose, right?
We ended up changing Facebook statuses (and I’ll say what I said to him: statii? statuses? What’s the correct plural of status?) to “in a relationship with x and y“, and spending hours at a time together on Skype talking about everything and nothing.
That was a week ago, when we decided to do the whole Facebook-status thing, I think. Then Friday night happened. I’ll not go into huge details, because that’s not cool, but he ended up drunker than I’ve ever been, and drunker than I’ve ever seen him, to the point where we got worried that he’d hurt himself. My friend called 911 in Canada (as she’s in Canada) who passed her through to his home city, but as we don’t know his home address, they couldn’t do anything.
Then, when it came 6am, I made the genius mistake of calling his workplace to ask if they’d release his details – which they wouldn’t – and then said, “well, would you give his house a call and get a family member to check on him because we’re worried.”
Suffice it to say, the manager obviously didn’t call his house. Four armed police officers turned up, instead.
And I got landed with the blame. I got told to, and I quote, “have a nice life.” I got blocked. I feel like I got my heart torn out, stomped on, beat up, ripped into a million tiny little shreds and set alight. And then pissed on just for good measure. Then I’m pretty sure some wild, rabid zombie dogs came along and ate the pieces of my heart up, barfed them out and ate them up again before pooping them out.
If I wasn’t still mostly numb from losing Zero, I’d be curled up in my bed with three tubs of Ben & Jerry’s or Häagen-Dazs, a couple of tubs of Pringles, three or four bags of gummy sweets, and a few bottles of absinthe, Captain Morgan’s Rum and alcopops or shots.
As is, I had three separate panic attacks yesterday: one when the guys who were on the computer explained what was happening on camera at the time, and we heard this noise that we couldn’t identify, and Jay, who’s ex-military said, “But don’t worry, it’s not a gun.” Panic attack two came when I read the message that he was cutting me out of his life. Panic attack three came when I was explaining what was happening to my parents. I’ve never used my inhaler so much in one day in all of my life.
But do you know what I didn’t do?
I didn’t turn to alcohol, and I didn’t turn to food. I turned to my friends, and I turned to my family.
And I slept, and I let my brain take over.
My heart is very much that beaten-up and broken thing pooped out by zombie dogs right now, but my brain is in, “it’s his loss,” mode, because it is. I mean, he’s a wonderful guy, and I know it. He’s funny and smart and gorgeous, but if he’s willing to blame me for something that’s not my fault, when I’m willing to accept him despite all of his faults…?
Just goes to show, though, that the Universe is not happy with me. I got to be happy, and to think that I could have had a happy future with someone instead of trying to imagine the rest of my life alone – as usual – for less than a week. At least it’s easy enough to readjust back to normality.
It’s the fact that my heart’s still in love with him, even bleeding and broken on the ground, that hurts.
But I’ll get over it, right?