Why I’ve Been MIA: Eight Weeks of Chaos, and a Curry I Didn’t Waste

Beach or mountains? Which do you prefer?

At this moment – either! Beach or mountains would be a welcome distraction from the chaos of my life…….

So, hi. Long time no blog. I haven’t disappeared because I’ve been busy “adulting” I’ve been busy living through eight weeks of complete emotional chaos courtesy of dating an avoidant. For those of you who don’t know, a fearful avoidant is basically someone whose feelings and insecurities do a full-on rollercoaster of their own, and you’re just strapped in for the ride, hoping you don’t throw up.

At first, it was intoxicating. The texts, the constant wanting to see each other, the “let’s do this, let’s do that” energy. It was thrilling to feel wanted, to feel like someone was thinking about me constantly. It felt good. Really good. But if I’m honest, there was always a little voice in the back of my head saying, this is fun, but proceed with caution. And, spoiler alert: that little voice was right.

After a few weeks, the excitement started to clash with reality. I found myself constantly on edge, waiting for the next message, the next change in tone, the next disappearance. Suddenly, being wanted became a full-time job, and I was the employee of the month for emotional labour. The highs were dizzying, the lows were baffling, and I was somewhere in between a zombie trying to function while someone else’s emotional rollercoaster dictated my days.

Then came last night. The pinnacle of the absurdity. I’m sat there, on a rare evening out with colleagues, trying to enjoy myself, curry in front of me, and he decides it’s the perfect time to dump me via text. Just like that. One minute it’s “Je Taime” and red roses, the next it’s nothing. Gone. Left on read. No discussion, no closure, just… deleted from his emotional agenda and discarded like trash. 

So, I did what any rational human would do – I drove round at 10pm trying to clear my head. Because nothing says “calm processing” like navigating late night roads while digesting the fact you’ve been discarded mid meal. And you know what? Every last morsel of that curry went down. I spent £20 on it; I wasn’t going to let a discard stop me from clearing my plate, naan included. That curry went in. Down the hatch. A small victory in the chaos.

The rug was literally pulled from under me. But I didn’t fall. I stayed standing. Dignity? Intact. Self-respect? Untouched. And the humour? Absolutely alive. My head is fucked, my taste in men is definitely questionable, and I’ll probably never look at a curry the same way again. But I lived through it. I survived the discard. And here I am, back to writing, back to laughing, back to making sense of this utter nonsense.

So yes, I’ve been quiet, yes, I’ve been in a fog, yes, I may have stepped in puddles which frankly were deeper than the man himself. But I’m back. And if nothing else, I can confirm one thing: no curry will ever get the better of me again ✌🏻

Lottie x