February 2010

Monday

Everyone has suffered from heartache. It’s almost one of things you are meant to experience in life. Just before death. For some, it’s during. I know my mother has felt heart ache. Just weeks before her first wedding, her twat of a fiancé up and left her, without a single reason. If my mum can get through that and still find love, marrying a man she had only known eight months and go on to be married for 25 years and have two daughters, why can’t I? I know my kids will suffer from heartache. And there kids too. It’s a god given right to cry for 4 hours straight leaving your pillow soggy with snot. You are allowed to type out text messages or emails, 4 pagers long, only to delete it all and send a snide insult or two instead. You should be forgiven if you delude ones self with images of weddings and babies, even as the man is telling you he has never loved you, and never will. Everyone will tell you the pain will stop soon. This is something I told a friend many times before now, but I find myself in the same position, sitting in my one bedroom flat (if you can call it that) in 5 year old pyjamas, one sleeve shiny with dried tears and snot. I scold myself for being such a know-it-all once before.

But now it’s friends turn to tell me it’ll get better. It’s now my turn to raise my dried sleeve to my eyes, smearing my Chanel mascara across my face and solemnly nod my head. Stop me if I’m getting this wrong.

If, for whatever strange reason you find yourself to be a grown adult and you’ve never suffered from heartache, you usually cause it.

Heartache is a funny name to give it. From what I remember, and from what I’m feeling at the moment, its not so much a pain in my chest, causing my heart to thud rapidly. It’s usually from moments where my heart is thudding rapidly, thus why I’m in this mess in the first place. No. Heart ache is merely the term when your brain is whirling around at hundred miles an hour, searching every nook and cranny of your love ridden brain, trying to fathom why a man would treat you so unkindly. Heartache is when you can’t stop thinking about that one person who well and truly took a great big dump over your dreams. Not literally of course, but you get the idea.

I thought I had felt heartache before. I’ve never actually been in a full on, proper, official “do you want kids” kind of a relationship. Truth be told, I could count the men on my left hand that I’ve ever really been with. I met D when I was 16, but didn’t connect properly until my second year of University. I spent almost every weekend travelling to and from London to see him. Got my first speeding ticket one late Sunday evening as I raced along to A1 to see him. He was the first person to truly send a jolt through my thumper. We practically lived in each other’s pockets. For a whole week over the summer, we stayed at his boss’ house with the excuse of house sitting, just laying in bed for hours before dawn, talking and laughing. Then the Sun would peak through the windows, signalling he had to go to work. Nine hours later I’d have dinner on boss’s table and we’d repeat all over again. It was bliss. Few months later, I caught my best friend and D fucking against an alley wall while we were all out drinking. Needless to say I never saw D again. Can’t say the same about the best friend though.

I didn’t even know I had heartache the first time until I fully admitted it to myself about 6 months later. Only then did I realise my feelings for such an ignorant man, and vowed never to meet, definitely not date a man like D from that moment on.

And here I am again. Unfortunately it’s not like in the movies where the man realises his ways after a few hours and runs miles in the moonlit rain to the heroin’s house and smooches her until she can’t breath. Or the one where they meet, it didn’t work out, and so the heroin moves onto the real hero. No. This is the realistic tale of a woman who loves a man who does not love her back.