The Days Are Long, The Years Are Short

Last time I abandoned my blog (blog! – how quaint!) for just over 3 years. This time it’s just over a year and a half. So that’s an improvement.

Not that anyone is sitting around & pining for me to pontificate here, but on the off chance that you were – well it’s your lucky day!

Let’s see – where did we leave off? Yeah I was content. Over my ex. Exercising regularly. And whilst this was true for the most part, it was also a hollow sort of contentment. Em moved to the US & then another bestie who lived across the street from me moved abroad for work. Suddenly I was lonely af. The pandemic didn’t help & I began to question my entire need for existence all over again.

Some people use alcohol or narcotics to numb the pain. My drug of choice has always been carbs. I learned the hard way that you can’t outrun a bad diet. But also that bad diets are so fucking good in that moment.

So my body did what bodies tend to do when you don’t look after them. It was like, “Fuck you! These are extremely poor working conditions & I refuse to put up with this shit!“. My blood pressure (Oh MY GOD! I AM SO MIDDLE AGED) was close to stroke levels. My cholesterol (JESUS! THERE’S THAT REMINDER OF MIDDLE AGE AGAIN) was breaking records. So I had to ‘Do Something’ â„Ēïļ

The good thing about not wanting or having children is that you tend to have a lot of spare income and I used that to find a personal trainer knows what they’re doing when it comes to training & nutrition. So the last few months have been a revelation and here’s the shocking news – I don’t really eat rice any more. I am South Indian ke naam pe dhabba. I also don’t eat rotis any more so I am also North Indian ke naam pe dhabba. (My mum is North Indian & dad is South Indian). It’s not that I never eat them, but it’s not often and it’s in moderation always.

I also lift heavy weights. I love strength training! Though the MOST shocking news, for those who know me, is that for the last 5 months, I have started to run regularly. And I finally experience that thing, I thought, regular runners were lying about – ‘runners high’.

As a result of all this, I am the strongest & fittest I’ve ever been. I’m pleasantly shocked when I see my reflection in the mirror.

In other news, Em is planning to move back to London in the near future. No we are not a couple again, but we are forever bonded & we are a family.

I haven’t dated anyone since I last wrote here. I hate the dating apps with the passion of a 1000 burning suns. I download them once every few months & when I get to the registration screen, I feel a sense of despair so deep that I think – “I would rather die single than put myself through this torture.”

So thanks to this extremely impractical attitude, I am probably going to die alone. I am actually fine with that but I would really like some regular hot sex before I die alone. Unfortunately, I also don’t like one night stands, so I am going to die alone with my sexual organs in primo condition!

On that beautiful image, farewell my lovely non existent audience.

At first I was afraid, I was petrified

Trying out temporary tattoos is my new timepass

In my last post from three years ago, I was just emerging from the fog of heartbreak. I’m now totally over her. And on the rare occasions when I miss our friendship, I remember that she wasn’t even a good friend. My therapist had said to me – “You love the idea of her. The reality of who she actually is, is someone who isn’t good for you.” Word!

So these three years have been very formative. I was the kind of person who could NOT imagine being single. It scared me to death.

After 5 years of being single, barring the occasional flings, I am so happy to be by myself. There are times when I miss having a partner, usually when I want a glass of water and I’m feeling lazy to get it myself. Or when I want sex. Other than that, it is such a gift to be single.

I changed careers two years ago and love love love what I do.

Em (TG) moved back to the US a couple of years ago but we remain very close friends and talk pretty much every day.

I have become that annoying person who exercises every day.

I’m genuinely content.

Here comes the sun, little darling

One of the earliest songs that connected me to HBP was “Waiting for my real life to begin” by Colin Hay. She’d sent me a YouTube video of the song when I was going through a shitty day.

It was meant to cheer me up, but really it’s a song about someone who’s been losing at everything and just won’t face up to the fact that they need to do something different with their life and plans. I digress.

The song didn’t cheer me up but I loved the music and it led me to Colin Hay’s other classic – “I just don’t think I’ll ever get over you”.

I went to watch Colin Hay perform here in London and if you get a chance, go watch him. He’s a super talented musician and a great performer. He does this thing before every song where he talks about it while strumming the intro and about this song he joked that contrary to the title, you do get over people that have left you with a broken heart.

For the longest time, I didn’t believe that. I couldn’t listen to this song (and many others) without feeling a lump in my throat and a weight on my heart.

It’s been nearly 6 months since I’ve reached out to HBP or been in contact with her or any of her family members in any way. I can’t say that I’m over her but I can say that most days I feel anger rather than pain. I’m still waiting to feel indifference because that’s the real indicator of getting over someone.

P.S. Also I want to change the acronym HBP from Heart Break Person to Heartless Brutal Person.

Ramblings on life, 2017, heartbreak

For a long time now, I’ve been searching for purpose and meaning. It’s truly an indication of privilege that instead of worrying about my next meal or the mortgage, I have the luxury of wondering about the meaning of life.

The entire messy relationship with HBP, the end of a long and loving relationship with Em, quitting a job I loved, commuting to work to a foreign country and barely spending time at home… This combination of big changes along with the entering my forties has left me feeling lost and unmoored.

Who am I? More importantly, why am I?

I’m beginning to accept that it really doesn’t matter who I am or why I am. In a few decades everyone I know and love will be gone. Hopefully I’ll be gone before most of them are gone. So maybe the purpose of life is to just enjoy your time here and to try not to cause too much damage.

Maybe life is just a rollercoaster ride at an amusement park and you go through the highs and the lows and enjoy the ride but you don’t constantly think… why am I on this rollercoaster?

But what do you do when all the things that gave you pleasure – travel, food, books, movies – seem frivolous and meaningless?

Well, you indulge in them anyway. If my mid life crisis has taught me anything, it is that you owe it to yourself to grab slices of pleasure wherever possible. That you will be starved if you wait for an entire plate of joy, so grab a morsel when it presents itself to you.

My relationship with HBP officially ended almost two years ago but I didn’t really let go. I’d read her old messages, call her, chat with her, stay in touch with her family. I was really quite idiotic about how I handled the grief. And that’s ok, because when your heart is breaking and you’re in agony you’re not going to be smart about a lot of things.

I’d look at her Instagram feed and torture myself. I’d spend hours, sometimes days, trying to analyse whether “see you soon” meant that she missed me and wanted to see me soon. Go ahead and laugh at me, dear reader. Better still, laugh with me! Because I know how ridiculous this all sounds. The thing is, while I’m doing so much better now, I know that I’m just one casual incoming message away from spiralling again. Love is beautiful but love can be destructive.

I’ll always love her. I still miss her everyday, but I’ve finally decided to love myself more.

2017 was a garbage year in so many ways. The world is literally in self-destruct mode with the lunatics running the asylum but when I look back at it, it was a good year for me in theory:

  • I finally got to visit Vietnam and Cambodia and I went there on my own.
  • I visited Jordan, Egypt, Austria, India and Portugal.
  • I worked in Berlin for 11 out of the 12 months.
  • I lived in Berlin for a few weeks and have some happy memories of summer, friends and excellent coffee.
  • I found a job that I really like in London.
  • I lost count of how many Michelin star meals I had, but it was a lot!
  • I managed to save enough to splurge on a trip to Japan in 2018.
  • I learnt that one night stands aren’t really my thing.
  • I got to watch the Harry Potter play!
  • I got to spend lots of time with my god daughter.
  • I learned that while I don’t like being alone, it’s not the scary monster I always believed it was.

I’m going in to 2018 with something I haven’t felt in a long time – hope. My heart is still battered and broken. I still don’t know what life has in store, but I’m focusing on enjoying the ride.

Why?

For months now I’ve been trying to understand one thing – “WHY?”

By all indications, HBP was attracted to me, cared about me. I’d wager that she even loved me. I was willing to do whatever she wanted. And yet, she walked away. No matter how many times my therapist explained to me that it wasn’t about me, it was all about fear – I understood intellectually but emotionally I’d still obsess over why she (HBP, not my therapist) she made the choices she did.

I have tortured myself so much, it’s ridiculous. I even told my therapist that maybe I could just tell myself that I wasn’t good enough, that it was all my fault and try to move on.

Thankfully she told me that wasn’t a good idea AT ALL and came up with a kind of “fake it, till you make it” plan. Her instructions were as follows: every time I start going down the rabbit hole of “why”, I should say to myself that all the evidence points to HBP being fearful and having nothing to do with me.

So for the past ten days I’ve been rhyming this to myself:

The evidence is clear,

She was full of fear.

This was never about me,

It was always about her.

And you know what? It’s beginning to work. Sometimes when logic and reasoning won’t work, pure self manipulation does the trick.

I still think about her a lot but the pain is more dull and in the background, rather than front and center. The other day I overheard an Indian woman talking outside my office and I realised later that she didn’t automatically remind me of HBP, despite having the same accent.

This is how I now measure success – by the absence of gut wrenching pain, the inability of objects and events to remind me of her.

It is all quite pathetic. But while I know I’m not interested in a relationship or dating anymore, I also know that I’ll get my mojo back soon. It’s just around the corner.

I once had a girl. Or should I say she once had me?

We’d talk for hours. We barely slept. Even a few minutes apart were painful. I’d sleep with my phone in my hand because I had her messages and photographs in the phone and it made me feel like I was holding her hand.

Many months later all that remains is the detritus of what was once our relationship. Today, I was reading some of her early messages to me – the ones full of hope and fear and intense desire. It’s making me want to cry.

Just the other day I was thinking that I no longer have regular nightmares of her leaving me in different ways, some metaphorical, some literal. And I thought that maybe I was finally moving forward.

Lol!

Although, truth be told, right now I’m not actually crying, so that is immense progress. Also the other day I had a really awful accident. Actually TWO accidents in the span of ten minutes, one of which involved me blacking out at a busy street junction in a foreign country while I was all alone. Cue violins.

In case you’re wondering, I’m mostly ok. I have some injuries but nothing that won’t heal within a few weeks. Thank you for asking.

The point is, I really really wanted to call her and tell her how close I came to dying (no, really). Reader, you will be pleased to know that I held on to my dignity and didn’t call or text her. I just called my mother who, after the requisite amount of fright, concern, motherly affection and sympathy, lectured me on how I don’t eat enough. Mama, the scales beg to differ.

Anyway, some days are easier than the others. Thank you for hearing me out during the difficult ones.

PSA: It is NOT better to have loved and lost.

What is worse than heartbreak? A whole lot of terrible stuff. But when your heart breaks, you’re convinced that nobody in the world has ever felt so sad and empty. Ever. In the history of humankind. You’re convinced that you’re some kind of pioneer and the first explorer in the land of grief and sorrow.

When I fell in love with Em, it was gentle and fun. It took me by surprise but it didn’t shock me by punching me in the face.

When I fell in love with Heart Break Person it was like a punch in my gut. A punch that felt so good that I wanted to be punched senseless.

Studies have shown that your brain in love is pretty much the same as your brain on cocaine. I wholeheartedly agree with said studies. Also, I’ve never consumed cocaine but I’d recommend cocaine over love.

In the beginning it seemed like Heart Break Person was also experiencing this cocaine like high. Other than child birth (of which the only experience I’ve had is being born. And I’ve no memory of that experience), I doubt there’s a feeling quite so heady and drunk like being crazy in love and having it reciprocated.

You know what else the idea of child birth reminds me of? Pain. Blood. Sometimes poop.

When love turns unrequited it cuts so deeply that it feels like you’ll bleed for the rest of your life, the pain will never go away, and everything will feel like shit.

I have spent the last few months of my life, very reluctantly, getting first hand experience of what it’s like to love and lose. (Spoiler alert: it fucking sucks.)

For the longest time I couldn’t imagine talking about it here. It was so raw and humiliating. It still is on some days. But apparently naming your shame helps you heal and let it go.

In case you missed it, I’ve been doing a lot of reading on love, heartbreak, humiliation. It was the only way I could gain some semblance of control.

Some parting words before the next installment, the Kubler Ross Stages Of Grief are real but healing is not linear. More on that next time.

PS. It’s nice to be writing again.

Hello World!

It’s been, what… over two years now? How time flies!

Since I last said goodbye, convinced that this blog was done (finished, totes over, never coming back here again.) so much shit has gone down.

Let’s see…

  • “Woke” is now a legit word. “Legit” is now a legit word.
  • I wrote on another blog that had maybe three readers. I got really sappy & miserable on that blog. It was very emo. I couldn’t stand it anymore.
  • Em (formerly known as TG) and I broke up. (Yeah I kinda buried the lead).
  • Em & I are still BFFs.
  • I fell in love with someone else. (* I’m still trying to think of an appropriate pseudonym for said someone else.)
  • Em is seeing someone else.
  • I am now a British citizen.
  • My fellow citizens voted for Brexit, thereby convincing me that the world is full of morons.
  • Americans voted for Donald fucking Trump, thereby convincing me that the human race is garbage.
  • * Let’s call her Love Person Heart Break Person.
  • Relationship with Love Person Heart Break Person is over but I cannot get over her.
  • I am single. 39 & single & heart broken. Thanks, Obama.

What have all you baes been upto? (“Bae” is now a legit word.)

The Fat Lady Is Singing

Alright folks! It’s been an amazing ride. I’ve met some lovely people through this blog, people who held my hand as I stepped out of the closet.

Thank you all for helping me feel “normal” when I felt like such a freak.

For nearly 8 years, I’ve shared some very personal stories here but as I’ve gotten to meet people through this blog it’s become harder and harder to be completely candid. Confusingly, I am also tired of having this alter ego. I deleted my broombox twitter account a few weeks ago. It feels like “Broom” is done. I’m thinking of using a more open platform like Medium or TinyLetter if I feel like writing again. (I’m quite sure I will since I’m constantly writing blog posts in my head.)

So, if you want to keep reading, let me know – and if I have never met you in real life & if you’ve been a regular here, I’ll send you a link or something if I start writing somewhere again. I’ll keep this post up for a few days and then make it private like all the other posts.

So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish.

xoxo.