Aftermath


Oh my god.

The thirst. The headache. The fatigue. I am so hungover. First time I’ve been drunk in months and as I suspected, getting pissed still doesn’t solve anything. Prosecco, beer, cocktails, tequila… Get out of my body you demons.

It was a fun night. I wore my new shoes that cost a bomb (that I can’t walk in) and I spent ages doing my make up (just to get come onto by a homeless man hoping for a place to stay for the night – score!). I hadn’t been to a club for a long time and it was great to have a dance, but it was so dark and smoky that I was lost and disorientated 80% of the time. And has anyone ever noticed how clubs are fucking full of people? All kinds of people, but noticeably with a high ratio of dickheads. I think for every girl wearing a crop top there was a guy trying out the beard trend. I don’t know… I’m just grumpy and intolerant of other human beings lately.

I was with an interesting mix of friends. One who’s married and perfectly (and I mean perfectly) happy; One who admits that marriage is actually really hard work a lot of the time and one who has been single for about a year. And it was great that we all had different things to talk about, different points of view, different problems – it really cheered me up for a while! But when my friend (who’s lovely husband kindly waited up til 2am to take us all home) told me it was time to leave, my heart sank. I didn’t want to go home to an empty bed; I just wanted to stay in the dark, obnoxious club with all the other dickheads where the music was too loud to think or feel anything other than mild confusion and ‘I love this song!’.

I was drunk and tired and wanted to cry the minute we stepped outside. I had a little silent weep in the back of the car on the way home with my phone in my hand, his number on the screen. I text the friend we had just left home to ask her to say something, anything, to stop me from calling him (I didn’t want the others to notice I was upset in case I turned into a hysterical mess in front of our chauffeur), but she was already passed out…

I somehow found the strength not to do it. I say strength, I think it was actually just fear of rejection. Once I got into bed I passed out as quickly as my friend had and woke up at 8am with a mouth like the Sahara desert and a heavy heart. I miss him. I miss our little house. I miss our bed. I miss touching the face of somebody who knew me so well and accepted me, for a time… But what has me so upset this morning is that all the times he’s been drunk (he drinks a lot since the split) and gone home alone (he’s living with his mum so I doubt he’s taking any one night stands back with him), he hasn’t been so sad and lonely to miss me. There has been no drunken calls or texts and I can’t imagine that at any point he has sat with his phone in his hand with my number on the screen wondering if he should call. Because why wouldn’t he? What would be stopping him? He knows I’d take him back in a heartbeat. He just doesn’t miss me. Doesn’t want me. Simple as that.

When it’s so simple whys it so hard to accept?

At least I learned that getting drunk isn’t the answer. And at the grand old age of 24, I am too old for clubs. Fuck. I need a hug and a bacon sandwich.

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