I wish that I could wake up with amnesia

Yesterday was Day 37. We were a couple of hours into the 14 hour drive from the Swiss Alps back to London. The sky was a cobalt blue, and the waters of Lake Geneva were glistening in the sunshine. #1 was listening to one of her favourite songs (by 5 Seconds of Summer) for the third time.

As we sang along to the lyrics, she was probably thinking about some hot pre-pubescent boy in Year 8. But I was vividly reminded of my relationship with Chablis.

"I drove by all the places we used to hang out getting wasted.
I thought about our last kiss, how it felt, the way you tasted....

....sometimes I start to wonder, was it just a lie?
If what we had was real, how could you be fine?

'Cause I'm not fine at all."

And it struck me that ditching alcohol - at the grand old age of 46, is much like breaking up with the unsuitable first love at the age of nineteen.

Do you remember all those horribly raw emotions? You weep buckets. You think you're never going to be happy again. You sob on the shoulder of any friend who'll put up with you, truly believing that no-one has ever felt heartache like you do.

He is constantly on your mind, and everything seems to remind you of him: places you went to together, mutual friends, shared interests. Evenings are spent playing songs that you listened to together, poring over old photos and replaying the relationship in your head endlessly.

Was he really so bad? Perhaps, after this break, with time to reflect, you can 're-invent' the relationship - make it perfect. There was so much that was good, wasn't there?

Life is monochrome without him, and it will never, ever be technicolour again.

"I wish that I could wake up with amnesia,
and forget about the stupid little things.
Like the way it felt to fall asleep next to you,
and the memories I never can escape.

'Cause I'm not fine at all."

And that is exactly how I feel. I wish that I could wake up with amnesia, and skip out this grieving process. I feel scarily like my nineteen year old self - possibly because that was the last time I really felt emotion properly, without all the edges blurred off. I'm not fine at all.

But what I have to remember is that now I see that boy I sobbed over for what he was: a terrible mistake, who would have carried on making me miserable again and again. And if I'd let myself see him just once, on his best behaviour - if we'd had had just one kiss for old time's sake - I would have been sunk. I would have forgotten all the bad stuff, and leapt right back in. All the heartache would have been for nothing.

It wasn't my destiny. He wasn't my soul mate. It was just 5 seconds of summer.

If you fancy indulging yourself, here's the link: 5 Seconds of Summer: Amnesia

Love to you all SM x

(For more about connecting with the inner teenager read Sober in Switzerland)