The timing of it was awful. After a five-hour coach journey, my now ex-boyfriend and I had arrived in Manchester with burrito stains on our shirts and sore bottoms, and it was then that we decided to end our relationship. Heartbroken and unable to form a sentence without throwing a fit or losing control of my shaky voice as I held back the tears, I did not know what to make of what just happened.
Over the next week, I made it a part of my I-am-having-a-major-breakdown look to have puffy and swollen eyes as I took every opportunity to lament and wallow and feel all the heart-wrenching feelings I could feel. It’s all part of the healing process apparently.
I knew all along that this was not the end of the world. If anything, it was my chance to start to really embrace my 20s. First things first, I decided to go hard at the gym, which was motivated by the thought of meeting my ex in the streets, looking fab, and making him realise what a ravishing goddess he had lost. Looking back on everything now, I feel like I lost a part of myself during the relationship, and so this is my time to focus on other things and (unfortunately) people I had been neglecting. It just doesn’t seem healthy now I can look at it from the outside.
One month, two drunk phone calls, three new purses, several Tinder shenanigans, and a whole of lot of Drake later, I’m in a good place. As corny as this sounds, I am feeling better than I ever expected to be at this time, and am just looking forward to what’s next for me…cute boy sat opposite me in the library, I’m looking at you. Just kidding. I need to catch up on this lecture I missed last week so I can turn up guilt-free at the Union tonight!
Don’t get me wrong, being in a relationship is so beautiful and I send you happy couples all my anonymous good wishes, but right now, it is pretty great being single and letting out my inner ‘floozy’ (SAFELY AND WITH PRECAUTION).
Side note: I hope the rest of the year continues to be as eventful if I want to keep this column alive.