Me, staying power?

I got rescued from London last Monday evening by the ex. I phoned him crying my heart out whilst stood in a Starbucks near Oxford Street. I was having a full-on anxiety attack brought on by the prospect of going back to the flat I was staying at. I was staying with a friend of a friend, he lives on New Cross Road. I didn't have my own room, never mind so much as my own bed. Figure that one out...I shouldn't have gone down because I was in such a state, I spent Friday night crying upstairs at Santiago, telling my friends how much I didn't want this. But for some reason I made myself go. Moving away suits some people, those people are probably not in the middle of a nervous breakdown caused by various events which few know the full story of. I hated it, I didn;t want to go. No idea what I was trying to prove.

I have never, ever been as happy to see Leeds as I was at 3am Tuesday morning, even though I was dying - yes dying - of some sort of virus. It wasn't pig flu, but I'm only just feeling better. The drive back was weird, we stopped for Costa (EW) and I tried to keep us awake by blasting out some Journey and Boston.

I have spent the week hiding at said ex's drinking tea, watching mind-numbing TV and alternating between dozing on the sofa and in his bed. I made the occasional meal (vegan pancakes with maple syrup) and trip over the road to Tesco and even cried at the film Stepmom.

I apparently now have to go back to real-life... This was the plan but I woke up 2 hours ago and still can't bring myself to get out of bed. I just want to bake cupcakes all day and carry on avoiding everything at all cost.