A month has gone by...

Haven't written a blog in 10 days. From feeling fairly positive at the last blog my mind fell rather spectacularly to pieces. I believe I can attribute this to going out and getting fucking shitfaced the weekend before last.

Cut a long story short I ended up spending the evening with a dude I hadn't seen since school. My mate who I had gone out with had rather dramatically taken the knock in circo and ended up having to be escorted home by moi. I roped a lad in to help me get her home as she lives in a top floor flat with no lift and was I SHITE dragging her up the stairs but that's another story.

So anyway I put her to bed and then sat in her living room with my knight in shining armour and we spent the rest of the evening drinking her booze. Could have quite easily shagged him. But I didn't. If I had have done I would only be doing it to prove a point to myself.... You know the "haha get on me with a new cock" sort of carry on. Let's be honest I could go out and find someone to shag right now if I really wanted to. In the past a simple scroll through the friends list followed by a cheeky message on facebook has been known to scratch an itch on more than one occasion. But the last thing I want right now is casual meaningless sex with a lad I basically ignored for 7years, or as it turned out 5 years because I didn't even notice he left at 16. in the end I let him kip on my mates sofa and I went to bed.

The next morning I woke up...well I say the next morning I didn't get to bed until 6 and this was about half 9.....with the overwhelming feeling of "I want my mummy". The parental had rather selfishly, and in true pensioner style, buggered off to Shrewsbury of all fucking places because apparently they have a show on and I have family there. I was invited to go to this and in hindsight it probably would have been better for me but hey ho I digress.

So I text mummy dearest and asked her what time she would be home. Then I text stated that I was going to come over. And then I text again and asked her if she thought she would be home by 1pm. I triple text my mother. The poor woman must have sensed I was close to a breakdown and, presumably fearing I would slash my wrists, promptly hotfooted it in her fiat punto up the a49 and was back on Scouse soil by 11. What a woman.

I deposited my date for the night back in town where I found him and went straight to my mums where I proceeded to get under the duvet and sob quiet yet incredibly snotty tears. She came over to me and rubbed my back and asked me what had set me off and I simply told her I didn't know. She comforted me, and then said "look this will make you feel better.... CBS reality has got back to back judge judys on all day". And she was right, I did perk up a little.

I went to sleep about 7pm having had no sleep the previous night but alas when I awoke the next day the world seemed just as shit and I am afraid I was stuck In the deep depression obyss for 4, yes count them, FOUR, fucking days.

Friday came around and I went out for drinks with a friend I used to work with who has recently been through a similar situation. I say similar, hers was actually a lot fucking worse, but I can't tell you how helpful it was to see someone recovered further down the line from me. It also helped me get back in the frame of mind of, hang on, he's a fucking horrible nasty abusive cunt. So I felt much better on Friday and indeed have felt pretty much alright ever since. The odd wave of sadness now as again but touch would seem to be a lot more calm now.

3 main realisations have come now the fog has lifted.

1. The outcome of the trial has no bearing on my life whatsoever. Therefore there is not point in worrying about it
2. I did not love him. I loved the potential of what he could be rather than the reality of what he is (an abusive prick who's got skinny arms and legs)
3. I am still hot



Having said that I did decide to paint my sons bedroom navy blue today which probably isn't the most normal of colours to pick to paint a wall but who gives a fuck. It kept me occupied and I just hope in years to come we can smile and laugh about the time mummy was so fucked in the head she went mental with the dulux and painted a tardis.

Got to laugh ain't ya x x x


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