Can you relate? (Warning: I might mention Bridget Jones)

Posted on September 17, 2016

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My bright is too slight to hold back all my dark. This sentence alone sums up a large portion of this little thing I have experienced called life.  Life alone has always felt like a shadow was cast over me.  Not quite unwell enough to warrant pills. Not happy enough on a regular basis to believe there isn’t at least, surely, something wrong with me. Then when that golden glow of light comes in, I bathe in it. For a fleeting moment I can believe all is good again in the world. Until it dawns on me – this temporary bliss will pass and I will inevitably return to planet D. The place where ‘low mood’ creeps. And festers.

Finding the formula to sustain these glimpses of light has become my number one project. I can’t help but wander recently what’s changed? Why have I turned this corner? I sort of, dare I say it, feel, uhm… you know. Happ….y…

Instead of over-analysing it I have been enjoying the fact that I am wanting to be social. I have been out nearly every night for two weeks despite for 3 months prior to that my energy capable only for infrequent social unions. In the last few months I turned around twice on a Saturday night and went home – favouring calls to psychic hotlines, wallowing in my pyjamas; instead of wine, a hot cup of herbal tea. Now I am back in the flow. I feel present, no longer on a knife edge waiting. 7 weeks ago I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with the love of my life, 6 weeks ago I knew rejection was coming, drowning in its wave before the actual crush of it. 4 weeks later, not a single response to my calls from said love of life.

Despite the inevitable, I-told-you-so, shame-on-you here-we-go-again knock back from my great love; I have switched. I no longer want him per se, I already have great love. I am proud of myself, I handled everything exactly the way I wanted to – openly, honestly, knowing what I wanted and not willing to settle for anything less. I didn’t throw my toys out the pram, scream, say nasty things or send late night text messages, drunk. My old M.O.

I’ve been cool about it. Been dating. I had a kiss. I have moved on. I feel a change. Lighter. It took a few weeks to get there. I think it’s because I didn’t make our reunion physical. I kept things platonic.

Only tonight I found myself reignited with my recent trip to silentsville watching Bridget Jones (Has A Baby) at the Genesis cinema in Stepney Green, distinctly aware that life doesn’t come with a happy ending. My Mark Darcy is actually a grade A asshole. It should be easy to move on. It’s been nearly ten years for us too.

That all said, it is easier to digest in 2016 than it was in 2014, or 2012 or 2007. I’m signing this off as a clear cut case of good versus evil. He will regret what he has done and I am moving forward – so good wins in the end. Good hurts but good wins.

Nothing is ever clear cut though is it. Darcy ignores Bridget in the new movie too, and she’s pregnant for godssake, but it’s a film, it’s not even real. So I feel a bit of a fool comparing my life to these fictional characters.

But one day Mr A.H Darcy will return, tail between legs, and I just don’t know whats going to happen when that happens. I’d like to think i’d not be curious. Not be wanting an apology. Not be wanting to hear his voice again.

Lucky then, that I won’t be carrying a baby.

Happiness is a choice. And promises, as sweet as a they sound, do remain fiction, when you’re dealing with a grade-A asshole.

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