I, like many others before me, know how hard The Break-Up is. You cry and scream and kick and try to justify all the horrible things shouted in the heat of the moment with the simple aim of getting back the good times. A whole year has transpired since I poured my soul out in the back alleys of Darlinghurst, reasoning with my head and heart that it was time to move on. He cried, I cried. We were over.

Walt West once stated,

"The trouble with doing something right the first time is that nobody appreciates how difficult it was".

It seems like breaking up, making up or moving on are rights of passage. Yet I barely survived the first round. I have friends who go through partners monthly, moving in together and meeting families. There is one friend in particular who calls me regularly to update on her breakings and makings and to check and see if I too am following down the same path of blissful coupledom. But no, I'm not.

My friend vehemently believes in the healing power of man - literally. Without becoming personal, you would think that after the internal struggle, weighing up the good and bad in your relationship and deciding it is best (despite all the amazing points about it) to be separate, you'd like some time to chill. Or not. I personally have done the whole shenanigan once and once is more than enough for me.

Kleenex is in business thanks to my months of crying and my moral compass is still recovering after the million nights of overtime, seeing if it could handle a future based on the habits of another that were so removed from what it believed in. And it's true what has been said, no one understands how difficult it was. Or still is.

So, please don't judge my (never-ending) dating hiatus. What comes from doing the right thing is still feeling wrong.