On reflection of that fact, my inclination is to jump up, shout “YEEEEESSSSSSSSSS!”, and pour the bottle of cheap plonk I’m drinking over my head, but I’m not going to be doing that any time soon, because after last weekend my girlfriend had every right to kick me to the curb quicker than you would a BNP door-stepper with swine flu.

Last weekend’s horror show  was, in a demented way, almost a bit of an epiphany – in the aftermath I could finally properly see the amount of shit I’ve piled on my girlfriend, how I’ve made her responsible not just for our relationship but for me as well. Yesterday I realised I’ve been doing that for three years of our three and a half year relationship. And that’s why she’s at the end of her tether.

When we met up on Friday night I told her I could finally see how I’ve always tried to justify what I’ve made her put up with, that every crisis I made her help me cope with – from fictional brain diseases to being on the verge of homelessness to being late for her last birthday knees up – I always dressed it up as a one off that would never happen again.

Sure, everyone has predicaments in their life that they can’t deal with, that they need to lean on someone else to cope with, but they don’t have them once a month. And everyone has issues in their life that bother them, but they don’t burden the one they claim to love the most WITH EVERY SINGLE ONE.

No wonder she feels like I’ve ground her down and exhausted her. I’ve told her I can’t cope without her on more than one occasion, and no relationship can be sustained under that sort of pressure. If she did the same to me I don’t know if I could deal with the level of expectation, but she has had to do it for years.

She asked me what I wanted to do, and I said I wanted us to stay together. She said she felt like both options available to us sucked. I told her that, while I would always regret how unhappy I’ve made her with what I’ve put on her, I’d regret it even more if I didn’t try and save what we have. Maybe I’m deluding myself, but it felt like the easiest thing to do on finally realising how much I’d fucked up would have been to give up and feel sorry for myself that I’d lost the person I loved.

She agreed, but said our relationship has to be about her and what she wants after three years of being all about me. That she wants to at last have the freedom to live her life without the burden of my problems and without me dragging her back from going where she wants to go in life. She said that I am going to have to take what comes my way from her without resenting her and complaining that she’s testing me. She said that something snapped last weekend, and that the only way we could continue to be together is if things changed dramatically.

I accepted her terms. After what I’ve taken from her, how could I not? I wouldn’t have agreed if I didn’t think that what we have was worth saving, and I wouldn’t have agreed if I didn’t think I could do it. I’m not kidding myself – it’s going to be fucking hard. There’s a very real chance that, even if changing things goes to plan, it may not work out after all that’s happened, but I’m prepared to risk it for what we have because I’d regret it until the day I died if I didn’t – even if I die aged 181 while trying to remove my supermodel girlfriends bra with my teeth.

Where we go from here is still not entirely clear; there’s a long way to go until I can convince her I can change and that we can have the life together we both want. I also have to accept that we probably won’t be having sex for some time and show her friends I’m not some arsehole hellbent on making their friend miserable.

I feel that, if nothing else, the experience of the last week will stand me in good stead. I felt as if my greatest fear – that my inability to cope with life would lead to me losing her – had been realised, yet I was able to live my life despite that. If things work out the way I really hope they do then that experience may at last give us, and me, the balance we’ve never had. I’d do anything to make her happy, but, for that to happen, I have to be happy too, and I have to take responsibility for that. Onwards…

I might as well admit this to myself now: I’m going to meet my girlfriend for a drink tomorrow night to decide whether we’ll still be boyfriend and girlfriend after that drink. If nowt else, in some sick kind of way, this week I’ve felt like I’ve actually coped with a situation I expected would see me dissolve into a bigger car crash that a marriage twixt Doherty and Winehouse with some degree of dignity. I think I’ve gone so far into panic that I’ve actually entered into a peculiar Zen-like state.

I’m not fucking kidding myself though: it’s the eye of the storm isn’t it? Two things my girlfriend said last time I saw her have preyed on my mind ever since. The first is a glimmer of hope – “you’re not getting rid of me that easily” – the second a shower of shit that snuffs it right out – “unless you’re struck by lightning, how are things going to change?”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK. I’m sitting here waiting for lightning to strike. Waiting for the answer. Waiting for someone or something to tell me how I’m going to keep hold of the person I love most on the planet, because I haven’t got a fucking clue. I know that no one else can tell me, so fuck knows what I’m hoping to happen.

The only thing I feel we’ve got going for us is the fact that, whatever the reason, I’ve coped this week. More than that, I’ve just got on with my life. I think more than anything this is what she, and I, wants to see. It could be what saves us. But it could also be a sign that I know we’re boned and survival instinct has kicked in. I just don’t know.

Even as I write this I feel as if I can’t even contemplate how I’ll feel if it is over, or how she’ll feel. It’s almost like it’s so big that I can’t see it, like Matt Bellamy from Muse camping in that dude from Fucked Up’s belly button. I’m just looking forward to seeing her tomorrow like a fucking idiot! We love each other so much that it’s hard to believe this is happening. But it is, so I guess it’s time for me to try and be a man and find a way to deal with it, whatever happens.

I completely fucked up us seeing each other again. Completely. Firstly because I needed to head to the doctor’s after arranging to meet her because a (now seemingly fictitious) kidney infection seemed to be launching itself upon me, secondly because I woke up on New Year’s Day unable to see out of my left eye, freaked out, and practically invited myself over to her gaff.

Ordinarily these are, of course, two isolated and unfortunate incidents. To my girlfriend they are the kind of shit she has had to put up with for the best part of three and a half years. They are, in her mind, a sign that I want to be looked after. And looking after me is what she feels she’s been obligated to do for the last two years at least.

And having to look after me is what makes her feel I’m unable to function independently as an adult, to cope with everyday life and make plans for the future. This is why she feels unable to commit to our relationship. And it’s exactly what I feel I’ve shown her over the last five days.

Where we go from here I have no fucking idea. We spent the last 48 hours talking about it to the point where we had nothing else to say, and now we’re not even talking to each other. Carry on as we are now and hope I can give her enough confidence that I can get my act together? Keep the Break going for six months? Break up and leave the door open for us to get back together even though I’d want to rip the cock off any toss bucket who went near her? Fuck knows. I feel like I’ve fucked up the best thing that ever happened to me.

Her: I kept my afternoon free because I thought that’s when we were going to do something, but it sounds like you mean this evening?

Him: You’re right, I did mean this arvo, but the doc thing only cropped up this morning! Can’t get an appointment until 3.40pm, so could meet you 4pm-ish round your way? Sorry I’ve wasted half your afternoon but I do need to get this taken care of – it ain’t life threatening but it’s a bit embarrassing and more annoying than Alan Carr. Let me know what you think x

Him: If going to the doc’s means not seeing you though, screw it. Then I could meet you 3.15pm-ish round your way or 2.30pm-ish around the station. Could treat you to a Ponti’s…

Him: Hellooooo? Could really do with knowing what you’re thinking dude – train gets in in ten minutes. Think I’m definitely gonna have to go to the doc’s – kinda in pain now! Sorry x

Her: Go to the doctor’s dude. Hope you’re OK x

Her: Today doesn’t seem to be working out. I’m going to go out tonight. Let’s meet tomorrow instead.

Him: Now on the bus to the doc’s. Sorry for this mess dude, really didn’t want today to be like this. Would you still like to meet when I’m done here, maybe at the pub or Cafe Rouge?

Him: Fuckbags, just got your text. I’m out of the doctor’s now dude. You definitely not want to meet? I’m just waiting for the bus back your way?

Her: I think we should just make a clean start of it tomorrow baby.

Him: I hate doing this by text, but was I never going to see you today? I could only have met you 20 minutes earlier if I hadn’t gone to the doctor’s because my train was delayed by 20 minutes. I only came back today to see you. Now I feel like a mug. Sorry, but I have to say this or the last month will have been for nothing.

Her: Look dude, you’ve made today beyond complicated. I have to sit around while you sort your life out – you could have got an earlier train, you could have told me yesterday that you had shit to do, and, failing that, you could have just given me a concrete time that you would be free. I have had 5,000 messages which contradict each other. I really wanted to see you today and I end up being pissed off before we even meet up. How do you think that makes me feel?

Him: GARGH. What a fucking mess. Look, I really don’t want to fight about this by text anymore. Could I please see you tomorrow if you are free? I’m about all day – when is good for you. I’m gutted today has gone tits up. Have a good night out x

Her: I’m upset too dude. I’m about all day too. Tell me what you want to do.

Him: How would you feel about a walk on the heath if the weather doesn’t suck and stopping off for a drink or something to eat en route? Could stop by your gaff at, say, midday?

Her: OK, cool. That sounds like a plan. See you tomorrow x

It feels like a lot has happened since I last saw her. I have to remember not to just forget it all the moment I lay eyes on her, or all this has been for nothing.

I’ve never looked forward to something I’m shitting myself about so much.

This afternoon I cried at the scene in Home Alone 2 where Macaulay Culkin is reunited with his mum in front of a big Christmas tree in Rockefeller Centre while I was wrapping Christmas presents.

It’s at times like that I’m relieved I never told her I was going to start writing this…

1) Me and my girlfriend are not on the Break solely because of me; if we were, we’d be breaking up rather than on the Break

2) Automatically assuming everything is my fault, both regarding my girlfriend and my life in general, is a quick way of getting to the bottom of nothing

Both of these points had, like bewildered wildebeest, often crossed the sometimes barren plains of my mind in the past, but it feels like it’s taken someone else pointing them out to get them to settle there.

And if that analogy shows anything at all, it’s probably that I need some sleep…

I’m gripped by the fear that we won’t recover from this. That one of us or both of us will believe that, as I am, there simply can’t be an us. Or that the Break will see her thinking how much easier and enjoyable her life is without me.

And though it’s hard/For me to say/I know you’re better off this way

I know I’m probably thinking too far ahead here, and I know that, if it is meant to be, we’ll get through this. And I do believe it is meant to be, but I have to turn off this all-consuming fear that I could be wrong and that this could be the end and how the fuck I’d get through it. Maybe that is what’ll happen, but obsessing about it now will only bring it closer to being a self-fulfilling prophecy.

If we survive this then it could be what makes us, and that’s how I need to be looking at it. But the only way that’s going happen is if I can keep a grip on myself and concentrate on getting something out of this rather than spending the next week or two in bed, crying into a cheese toastie, even though that’s exactly what I feel like doing today. I’ve got to fight – fight for me, for her, and for us, and I can only do that by using our time apart to work out what I need to do and what I think she needs to do, not by becoming a paranoid, gibbering wreck desperately searching for answers at the bottom of a mountain of triple Whopper’s with cheese and bacon.

Come on/Come on/Come on/Get through it/Come on/Come on/Come on/Love’s the greatest thing

Knowing that the last time she flew anywhere she was so scared she had to use a combination of Valium and Marley and Me to calm herself down, I toyed with the idea of texting her, worried that I would be doing it more because I miss her so much than because I wanted to comfort her. Then I thought about something my therapist said earlier this week (Yeah, I’m in therapy. No, I’m not off my rocker. And no, I’m not some emotionally stunted toss rag with too much money, too much time and not enough imagination. I’m someone who wants to face my demons so I don’t spend my life in thrall to them. Most people, to varying degrees, do, I think).

She said that desperately missing my girlfriend isn’t, as I’ve often assumed it is, simply a case of me being unable to cope without her and generally being a pathetic excuse for a human being, it’s also simply part of being in love with someone. I’d never really thought about it like that before. I should probably give myself a break sometimes.

So I texted her, telling her to chill, that she’d be fine and be there before she knew it and that I was thinking about her. And that Rage Against The Machine were Christmas number one. I felt good that I’d done it…right until she texted back a couple of hours later, when they’d arrived, saying that they’d arrived OK, that I knew her too well, and wishing me a Merry Christmas.

Typifying the state of mind that was probably a large part of why she felt that the Break would be good for me, I saw this as the cold shoulder, as if she was saying ‘I’ve told you I’m OK, now back off and concentrate on Christmas, not me’. It’s only as I write this now that I realise how much that makes me sound like some kind of insecure wreck teetering on the edge of some kind of Stan-like episode.

I’m not that person -  stalking has always sounded way too proactive for my tastes – but perhaps this alone is a microcosm of the things I need to think about before I see her again. Like to be able to think about when I’m being over demanding and needy and when I’m making demands that you can expect of someone you love and who loves you back. About trusting my own judgment rather than constantly undermining it. About whether she expresses how she feels about me and why I might not feel as secure about us as perhaps I could do.

She texted me again later on saying she loved the Christmas card I sent her. For once, I’m gonna take that as an expression of how she feels about me without screwing with it.