A year of living singly Part One

It has been a year since I broke up with Ali. It the worst break up of my life and potentially the worst time of my life. In the space of a month I lost my job, my girlfriend, and had a partial thyroidectomy to remove a potentially cancerous lump from my throat. It wasn't exactly a typical break-up... I've never read a problem page story that reads: "My girlfriend was depressed, hated herself, hated me for loving her, hated our dog, hated going to uni, hated having a job, hated responsibility, hated everything, until one day she met a self-righteous, preaching, bi-sexual c-word and decided to go travelling with her. Wanted me to sell the dog because she needed money to run away, would sigh, roll her eyes and play Angry Birds on her tablet as I cried and tried to make things work, blocked me out by putting on her blinkers and looking straight ahead, past the three years of being in love, past the arguments, past her insecurities, her pain and mine, to those beautiful beaches, those exotic smiling people, the blistering sun and those sensuous calming seas, and of course, the potentially beautiful future she could have with that bikini-clad Lithuanian vilifying strumpet. What do I do, Dear Deirdre? What the fuck do I do?"

Some say life's a beach. I'd say its more of a massive stinky anus.

That was all a year ago, and what a year it has been. It all began with a rebound relationship with an emerald-eyed, engaging and emotionally engaged holistic therapist who dated me partly because she liked me and partly because I looked uncomfortably similar to the ex-girlfriend she was still in love with. She didn't tell me this fact straight away, of course, that would be weird.

By rebound I really do mean rebound. I broke up with Ali in late May 2012, I had my operation on the 10th of June and I met Caroline, my neck a butterfly stitched ugly mess of rawness, around the 20th. We walked around Hammersmith chatting in the sunshine before getting some drinks and nachos; I remember I liked her smile, the way she arched her eyebrows flirtatiously and her calm, relaxed manner. She asked me to go camping with her a fortnight later and I agreed because I liked her attention, I liked her, I had just acquired nearly five grand in redundancy pay and the thought of being in the same building as Ali for any longer than absolutely necessary was too unbearable. I had recently walked in on her and The Other Girl sharing the sofa bed one morning and had a major flip out. Items were thrown and savage, pain-filled words were hissed into Ali's confused, faux-innocent face: "Friends share beds Jo, its normal, you just cant handle the fact that she is bi-sexual. You think that means she likes me, but its not true, I swear it."

They say what hurts often instructs and I can honestly say that I have learnt a lot. One of the key things I can tell anyone reading this is:

One should always ignore the ifs and the buts
and instead listen to the head and listen to the gut.

If something is gnawing away at you, it is gnawing for a reason. Your gut isn't your insecurity, it is your protector and it is your friend. Listen to it and get out. Don't do what I did, which is basically the same as seeing a tiger running towards you and closing your eyes thinking that tiger isn't going to be there any more because whether you open your eyes or not you are going to hear that tiger coming; you are going to feel its hot breath on your face and you are really going to feel it as it rips you to fucking bits. Get out. Get out. Get out.

"You should have run when you had the chance."

You would think I would want to get Ali back for her turning my heart into an obliterated hole, and to be honest at one point I thought I would like that too, but when it came to it, came to me packing my bag and her knowing I was going to see that girl, and me seeing her making that face she makes when she is trying so fucking hard not to cry and I am chewing on my cheeks to stop me from bursting into tears because all I wanted at that time right then was for her to love me and for her to want me and to want to be with me and to make it work so I wouldn't go get on that train and I could stay with her and we could somehow be happy despite everything; but she couldn't do that and we couldn't go back to that... we couldn't go back to happy. So I got on that train and spent a weekend camping with Caroline in Devon.

We had a lot of fun camping. I remember we spent 16 hours together in a tiny tent because it was pissing it down, and we drank wine, and we had sex (I cried afterwards), and we read books to each other and she played her guitar to me. I am glad she was my rebound, even though it was so obviously doomed. We lasted around five months of camping, staying in hotels and at her parents house before we called it quits; neither of us was ready for a relationship and we both obviously had a lot of shit to deal with. It hurt a lot though. Despite her occasional spoilt brat behaviour, her criticisms, and the time she waved her hands around my head in front of a gang of bewildered butch hockey players to 'heal' me after I smacked my head on her car, it did hurt (not the car, that obviously hurt, even after her alleged healing hands wafted air around my head, I mean the break up itself).

This is a prime example of what love is.

As another one bit the dust, another girl came along. Her name was Hazel, she was a singer/songwriter and she was the most intense, crazy-ass date of my life, save for coke-girl, but she comes along later. For now, we are all about the Haze (I never called her that). We spoke online, on skype and on the phone all the time before we actually met and there was a definite bond of some sort, which Hazel took to mean that I was the love of her life. When we met she had written me a little love letter on a postcard, had two hair products for me because I once casually mentioned that they looked good from an advert, and a cup with her home town printed on it. Within half an hour she was looking up flights for me to go to France with her in a fortnight to meet her sister, was asking me to go to a hotel with her and generally being terrifyingly intense. It was in Tate Modern when I  accidentally touched her hand on the escalator and felt like I had been electrocuted that I realised I was out of my depth in this situation. We went to a cocktail bar and Hazel and I sat in the sun chatting, a nice casual conversation for a first date:

Hazel: We don't have to get a hotel, I could come home with you?

Me: Errr... I think we could just spend some time together today, during the day and see how we feel about that at another point.

Hazel: But we could spend so much more time together! I really wanna keep hanging out with you and I could meet your family.

Me: Mmm. *sips long island iced tea*

It was then that Hazel went in for the kill, kissing me in a way that reminded me of a turtle gumming on some cabbage leaves. Once it was over I asked to be excused to go to the bathroom, where I made a hasty phone call to my friend Tony.

Tony: Hello? Aren't you on a date?

Me: Help me!

Tony: What?

Me: She kissed me and I didn't like it and she asked me to go to France with her and she wants to come home with me or for us to get a hotel and I'm frightened!

Tony: Err...

Me: Hurry!

Tony: I don't know! I've never been in this situation!

I hung up in disgust and went back upstairs where an expectant Hazel waited.

Hazel: So?

Me: What?

Hazel: Did you feel anything from our kiss?

Me: *coughs awkwardly* Well.... no. Actually. Did you?

Hazel's eyes filled with tears and she put her coat on. So I did too, because it seemed like the time for us to put our coats on. We walked out, Hazel first, her back rigid with rage. We walked a little while together, in silence, while I hoped she wasnt about to punch me with her tight fists.It was then that she turned on me, her eyes hard yet watery.

Hazel: You didn't feel anything?

Me: I'm really sorry.

Hazel: Nothing?!

Me: I'm really sorry.

Hazel: But I thought we had a connection. We talk all the time! We tell each other everything! I really like you and I know you like me.

Me: I'm really sorry. I do like you but I didn't feel anything and I'm sorry.

Hazel stared at me for a while as I looked at anything but her.

Me: I'm gonna go.

Hazel: You're leaving me here alone!

Me: Well, you know how to get back don't you.

Hazel: You don't want to talk about this!

Me: I'm really sorry.

It was then that I got on the nearest tube and got the early train home.A few weeks later Hazel rang me to confess something, told me I would hate her and that she was sorry. I told her not to be silly, of course I wouldn't hate her and that I was sure that whatever she thought was bad really wasn't that bad. It was then that she told me she had herpes and felt really terrible for trying it on with me so much. She had also had sex with someone just before our date, and one person after and felt she needed to confess because she "really, REALLY, liked me."

"Bitch, that makes no sense."

It was another lesson to learn I guess: Just because someone may be really awesome to talk to, may make you laugh and be a great listener and good looking and talented and cool, doesn't mean they aren't an absolute herpes ridden nut job when it comes to dating. Haha, that wasn't where I was going with that at all, what I really mean to say is that regardless of all of the above, if you don't have chemistry, you don't have anything. This was a lesson I learnt with my next date: the beautiful, pillow-lipped, lovely, yet ultimately bland Lauren.

To be continued.

(In part two expect more awkwardness, me being molested, straight girls trying it on, me losing friends, vag-teases, commitmentphobes, girls with girlfriends, Ali realising the grass isn't greener, a make-out session with a hot police officer and a night with a coke-taking Jamie Winstone lookalike near-to-millionaire munchkin)