Loss is a soul-shaking sensation. And coping is its unpredictable cousin. The two often travel inseparably, one looming in the shadow of the other – an all-consuming barrier on your path – making it near impossible to predict how they’ll manifest themselves within you when they strike, or which direction they’ll shoot you off in as a result.
My best friend and I both recently had our hearts broken. I’m talking one of those unexpected, completely one-sided, open mouth crying, searching for answers and getting none kind of breakups – x2.
When I go on nights out, I hide a pair of flip flops in a bush outside the club. There, I said it. I’m pathetic with heels, and I can’t afford to spend a fortune riding round in taxis every night. So, when I’m ready to leave, I simply retrieve my flats from their hiding place and begin my comfortable journey home. It’s not cool, and to most people it’s probably quite strange (especially those who’ve witnessed it). But it’s me, it’s my choice and it’s my life, and if there’s one thing I’ll never be caught apologising for – it’s that.