Christmas or not, it is one of those days when I simply feel like disappearing.
I wish I'd broken up with the French ex earlier so that I would've been single for a longer period of time before meeting Wouter. For some reason, I keep thinking of the opportunities that I had, first in London and then in The Hague, to have some fun, but obviously didn't because it would mean cheating on him. How wasted. If truth be told, what prevented me wasn't some overwhelming feeling of love or even a slight sense of it, but a rigid re-commitment to a principled stand against that kind of behaviour.
The incident in the The Hague happened on the night of King's Day when I went out with a friend of a friend and his group of friends. One of them started talking to me and, in retrospect, flirted with me all night. I was probably wilfully blind to it. In the restaurant-pub later that night, he wanted to kiss me; I responded by telling him that I had a boyfriend. He didn't talk to me after that. I ended the night by hanging out with Hadyu and walking back to the house at 4 in the morning.
I was moody the next day. The day after that, I broke up with the ex.
Perhaps it is because I don't look back fondly on the relationship that I view the second half of it to be a massive waste of my time. It comprised of little more than shouting matches and cold wars, interspersed with random moments of affection which exploded into nothingness like fireworks. What was the point of that? Bumping into him in the LSE library a few weeks ago did absolutely nothing to assuage my sense of regret at, first, dating him at all, and second, not ending it way sooner.
Perhaps, though, it is more true that the reason that I feel so repulsed by it is because I hate the person that I became when he left in January/February: weak, hopeless, depressed, utterly useless. At the same time, though, have I really came out of that? I still don't know what I'm doing with my life. I still get these moments when I don't see the point in anything, especially in life. I can't spend all my time seeking excitement; that would get boring after a while. Then again, everything gets boring after some time; it's only a matter of degree. It's only a question of whether it was exciting to begin with.
I am so emotionally worn out by my inflated expectations, and my seeming inability to be happy with pure, simple contentment.
I will write a happier entry tomorrow because things have been pretty happy too, which I am normally able to see; but not just now. Not just now.