The Breakup Bon Voyage

So this is it, the classic tale of heartache. You see it happen in movies and TV shows, hear about it in songs and from those old married folks getting pissed at your favorite watering hole, but you never quite believe it will happen to you until, guess what, it frickin' happens.

It's been two weeks or so since my boyfriend, let’s call him John, decided to part ways. And let me just start by saying, John isn't an A-hole, he didn't cheat or start some colossal argument or anything sensational; he just wasn't feeling it anymore. Just plain, old-fashioned, "I think we should see other people" blues. Can't even rip him for being a jerk because he wasn't, which sort of sucks harder because having a valid reason to be mad somehow makes it easier, don’t you think?

So here I am, single, miserable and trying to navigate my way through this whole dealing-with-a-breakup circus. It's like learning a new dance, and I am a shitty dancer. Flannel pants have become my new best friend and I've been binge-watching TV shows I don't even like because I can't face the silence when I turn off Netflix.

And naturally, my ex, the ever so sweet John has been blowing up my phone. The classic "just checking in" texts, and sometimes even calls. Like really, dude? He’s probably frickin’ enjoying some wild bachelor life and then making himself feel better by "checking in" on me.

You know the drill, my friends insist I get over it. They want to take me partying, hoping I'd hook up with some random dude and magically be healed. Like a good ol' shot of Tequila can fix a shattered heart. Lucy, one of my friends, thinks it's a good idea to try "rebound sex." I mean, what now? But then I tell myself - what do I have to lose?

So, I do it. I put on my red lipstick, my slutty-blank-dress, and heels that are way too high for my clumsiness. I plaster a fake smile on my face and convince myself that I'm fine - FAKE IT 'TIL YOU MAKE IT, right? And then guess what? I end up sleeping with John’s friend. As in "I've known him since kindergarten" kind of friend. Now, remember those moments when you wish the ground would just open and swallow you? Trust me; those have NOTHING on waking up next to your ex-boyfriend's bestie.

Breakups are strange. It’s like one day, you’re all about THIS person. They make you smile, laugh, angry, happy, and horny ALL at the same time; they are your life. And then, that’s it. You know NOTHING about them anymore. And the only tie that remains is the memories. Revoltingly sweet memories. It’s like trying to patch up a leaky dam. There’s just always another f***ing memory ready to f*** you up when you think you’ve got it under control.

I feel like breakups are sort of like chips, you know? It's crunchy, salty, kinda satisfying but ultimately a hollow snack that leaves you yearning for something substantial.

There’s no how-to guide about breakups because every heartbreak is unique. I, for one, am tired of listening to advice about getting over John, about moving on, about being happy. I want to sulk, goddamn it. I want to bawl my eyes out and eat tubs of ice cream while re-watching The Notebook. I want to be selfish, self-pitying and a complete mess.

Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and start the healing process, or next week, or maybe next month. But for now, I'll sit here in my flannel pants on my sofa, crying or laughing, or both at the same times, and be vomitously messy.

As for John and his forever texting checkups, I've decided to block him. No more manipulative breadcrumbs for him to drop. I won't be a party to his guilty conscience. Goodbye, John.

So yeah, breakups suck and rebound sex is awkward, but without this intricate dance of love and loss, life would be a bland, flavorless noodle.

Eat the chips, folks. It’s okay to be a mess.