I feel a wave of excitement overtake me. I don’t have to worry about getting in the way of his schedule or go back and forth on what he might think of my evening’s activities. I can just…do it. Whatever I want.

First things first. I march into my tiny kitchen and open the fridge. I take the tub of margarine from the shelf and, with great satisfaction, dump it into the trash can. I’m going back to butter. Next I open the freezer and trash the shitty soy milk ice-cream I had to pretend was a good alternative to real ice cream. Never again.

And tomorrow I will restock my entire kitchen. I’ll get rid of all the bullshit low fat stuff packed with chemicals and go back to eating healthy natural food. Real food. I’m going back to my old ways. I’ll eat only when I’m hungry.

I go back to the fridge and grab the expensive bottle of champagne I was saving for James’s birthday by the neck. No need for that, anymore. I take it out, peel off the foil, and pop the cork. Champagne bubbles out and I laugh. I pull a flute glass from my cupboard and fill my glass. I wish I could share this bottle with Lisa, my best friend, but she’s on holiday with her man. Never mind. This is about me taking back my life. Celebrating it.

I carry the bottle and the glass back to my living room. I sit on the couch and pull my legs up. I close my eyes and take a sip. Cold bubbles hit my tongue. Yes, this is the life. This is the way every break-up should be handled. I get up and put on some music. None of that pretentious rubbish that James makes us both listen to. No, just good ole, heartfelt music. I know exactly what I want to listen to as well.

Gloria Gaynor’s powerful voice singing I Will Survive fills my living room.

I sing along as I drink my champagne.

“Go, walk out of the door,” I yell as I dance around the room. If James were here now, he would be telling me that the neighbors downstairs will think a baby elephant has been let loose in my apartment.

But he’s not here. So…yay! I will survive.

I drain my glass and refill it. By the time I’ve inhaled three glasses I’m decidedly merry. Candy is welcome to his sorry ass.

When Tom Petty and Stevie Nicks sing Learning To Fly a tear runs down my cheek. Not out of sadness, but just pure emotion. I just know that is going to be my song. I ain’t got wings, but I’m going to fly. I wipe the tear away with the back of my hand.

And you know what else? I’m going to start my new life with a bang.

I look around the apartment for a hint of inspiration, and find it tucked behind the clock in my tiny kitchen. A pamphlet that was given to me when I signed up for the gym down the street from me. I had such high hopes about going three, maybe even four, times a week, but James took care of that enthusiasm. I pull the folded leaflet out, and my membership card drops out. I pick it up and look at it. It was more than a year ago. The thought makes me smile. He never truly could kill my spirit because I have been paying for it all this time. Just waiting for the right moment to reclaim my own strength.

That’s what I’ll do. I’ll head down there right now and check the place out. I haven’t been in since my induction, but I know the place is twenty-four hours, and that there are always members of staff on hand to help out.

I walk to my bedroom and go through my wardrobe to find something appropriate to train in. I pull out my sports bra and a pair of leggings, the thin fabric soft between my fingers, and I can’t believe how nervous I suddenly am. It’s just the gym, after all. But it’s not just that. It’s the enormity of changing myself, shedding off the last of the shit that James stuck me with.

I go back into the living room, down my last glass of champagne. I know I shouldn’t be doing a work out after drinking, but the Dutch courage will be good to get myself through the door where I will no doubt be surrounded by perky, perfect gym bunnies. I wait for the alcohol to settle into my system and my head is buzzing slightly. Okay, I’m ready now. I can actually go out and do this. I want to do this. A good sweat is exactly what I need.

I don’t have work tomorrow so I don’t have to worry about getting back at any time. I can stay out all night, if I want to, and who knows, maybe I will. Okay, that’s wishful thinking, but nevertheless, it’s nice to know I could if I wanted to.

I change into my gym clothes and neon bright shoes, then twist back and forth in front of the mirror, looking at myself, trying to find the confidence within me to step outside dressed like this. I don’t look awful, well, I hope not, but the tight crop top displays all the lumps and bumps on my body that James hated so much. I must have internalized that dislike, because they are all I can see now, when I look at myself like this. I start to look for a baggy T-shirt to throw over my rolls of fat, but I stop myself. No. I go back to the mirror.

I press my lips together and roll my shoulders back and stare at myself.

“He’s gone and you’re not going to let him get to you anymore,” I tell my reflection.

I grab a bag and a coat, and stride towards the door. I’m ready for this. New life here I come.