Breaking up is tough. A lot of times in the movies it’s reduced to a single scene and there’s a clear cut reason why everything is happening the way it is and it’s really sad for like five minutes and then after that it’s basically a montage with of the girl crying and packing her shit from the shared apartment while a Kelly Clarkson song plays over it.
In real life it takes much longer than five minutes. This is because it’s an unwritten rule that everything that is excruciatingly painful has to drag on and keep you in agony for as long as possible. Like going to the DMV or sitting through speeches at a wedding with no open bar.
So basically, breaking up is like being sober and waiting in line at the DMV while employees recite wedding speeches over the intercom and you don’t know how you’re going to get laid anymore.
This past month was pretty much the worst month of my life, and I’m fairly confident it’s just going to keep sucking until one day I don’t feel like I’m dying. Here’s a calendar of events that went down the past few weeks:
Meanwhile people keep asking you if you’re okay. You assure everyone that you are. They curiously ask why things ended. And for a while you develop this sort of automatic response that even you believe. But then eventually and inevitably you begin to (over)think about everything and wonder yourself how the fuck you got to this point and so the next time someone asks you why things ended you’re like:
“Good fucking question. I don’t even know anymore. Whatever, it doesn't even matter.”
And they’re all like, But...what happened? Did you guys get in a fight?
And you’re all...
“I guess you could say that.”
So then you have no choice but to explain everything to this nosy bastard and recount all the gory details and relive the shittiest moment of your life:
Then they’re like, wow that’s rough. How are you holding up?
And you’ll be all, oh I am GREAT. I found my own apartment and I get to do whatever I want. Whomever I want. Whenever I want.
But inside you’re really like:
But alas, you finally accept that it’s over and just try to start moving on.
So the healing process is goin’ great…
You’re thankful for work because it forces you to get out of bed every morning and focus on something else (even though you can’t/don’t).
But every once in a while you’ll just spontaneously get really fucking sad in your cubicle and have to try to hold it together:
Your friends try to help you through it and of course you go out and tons of alcohol is involved:
Wait, no. Not like that.
Yeah, more like that. And we all know how fantastic alcohol is for decision making, especially when it comes to your ex. Do I text him? Do I not text him? What do I do? Be strong! Fight your emotions!
Damn you, emotions (and red wine)...
It’s not all bad though. You’ll have your good days:
But then one day you’ll be at the grocery store minding your own damn business shopping for deodorant and a song will come on that reminds you of him:
And then you’ll be fighting back tears in the fucking deodorant aisle of the store while you curse the universe for playing this stupid fucking song right now.
So you go home with your deodorant and have a good cry and do the only thing that will make you feel better:
Oh I’m sorry did I say make you feel better? I MEANT TO SAY MAKE YOU FEEL LIKE YOUR INSIDES ARE BEING TORN TO SHREDS AND SOMEONE IS RIPPING YOUR HEART OUT OF YOUR ASS!
Everyone plays their part. Your family tells you to call them if you need anything. Friends offer their help when you move. Girl-friends are there for you when you want to ruminate and reminisce and talk about it 24/7:
NO ONE KNOWS, CARRIE!
They’re also there to ask if you’ve talked to or seen him recently and you reluctantly tell them yes.
Of course they ask what happened, what did you guys talk about?
And they’ll say okay and drop it even though they’ll want to know more but instead they ask you if you want to go out tonight or something and you’ll say not really and they’ll be all, “Come onnnn! It’ll be so much fun!” And you're all:
BUT! You promised yourself that you’d say “yes” to everything and get out of the apartment because it’s the only way you’ll keep sane. So you agree to go out:
It is not “so much fun.” You want to kill your friend and then go home and watch Netflix until your eyes bleed or you die. Whichever comes first.
Still, sometimes you try to put on a good face / front for people when you’re out
What You Look Like When You’re Out:
What You’re Actually Thinking About When You’re Out:
Good luck out there, everyone.