What to expect when you break up unexpectedly
Well, everyone but me saw it coming. That lovely Jewish peach from Maryland and I have parted ways. We separated amicably, and vowed to remain friends, knowing that while it just wasn't working, we still cared deeply for each other.
We went down in a fucking ball of flame and four months later I still email him when I am drunk despite not having heard from him since we split. IN FEBRUARY. "MAYBE IF I TELL HIM ONE MORE TIME THAT I LOVE HIM HE WILL SEE THAT I AM NOT CRAZY, JUST DEVOTED." I cannot even tell you how many times I have had to look myself in the mirror and say "Get a fucking grip bitch."
I never fully grasped how difficult breakups were until I had this one. I mean, splitting from a dude that I was banging for 6 months with progressively less interest is one thing, but leaving a person you LOVE is a whole other thing (another tally in the CONS side for love. Stupid.). Jesus fucking christ, no one prepares you for this part. My therapist talked to me about the stages of grief, but I didn't feel they were particularly relevant to me, so allow me to walk you through my completely unhinged, 13 car pile up of a grief process:
The days immediately following my breakup I could not be alone because I thought the grief would literally kill me. I was terrified of the feelings I was feeling - so much so that I was terrified of what I might do out of terror about my feelings. Thank god my friend Amy was around/willing to drop whatever she had planned to sit with me and hold my hand and make me food that I just stared at (she actually made me kummerspeck) and hang around at my house while I alternately broke out scream-crying without warning/Klonopinned myself into oblivion. By Day 3 I was able to get out of bed/let Amy out of my apartment. It is kind of like when a star collapses into a black hole: A huge implosion and then a dark gravitational force that pulls all matter into it, bending time and space, except in my case the black hole sucked in any good feelings and made every day last 1000 years.
The black hole that was once my center for processing feelings and emotions sucked not only my ability to feel even remotely ok, but my ability to pretend that I felt remotely OK. People would tell me a story expecting a reaction and when I just stared at them blankly not processing that a human was attempting to communicate with me they inevitably asked me, 'Uh, are you ok?"
At which point robot brain took over, filtering through the possible reaction algorithms, and choosing one. "HAHAHAHA yes, I am fine, that was so funny, you are so funny Kendra!"
"I just told you that my nana died."
Despite being poorly calibrated, black hole robot brain phase has been my favorite thus far, mostly because I was so numb that I never had guilt or shame feelings when buying my second (or let's face it, third) pint of ice cream in one day from my corner bodega. I never even threw in tampons or a handful of lemons to try and camouflage the fact that I was solely there for ice cream.
I should write Joss Wheadon a thank-you note because Buffy the Vampire Slayer was a life-preserver in the sea of breakup desolation. Amy from Stage 1 introduced me to the series, and it was something that was so completely unrelatable to my current life that I could turn off my brain and escape into the weird campy fantasyland of vampires and teenage drama. For nearly 2 months I came home from work, turned on Buffy, watched 2 episodes, and Klinopinned myself to sleep. I did a lot of traveling in the weeks following my breakup, and everywhere I went, Buffy was a faithful companion. There were so many episodes in each season that I had hundreds of hours of escapism to indulge in. I mean, don't get me wrong, I still cried nearly every night and dreamed those awful dreams of JPFM, but more often than not I also had Buffy-related vampire dreams as well. It really says something that dreams about undead monsters coming to kill you and your family are a welcome relief compared to the dreams about the person you broke up with.
Also team Spike for the record.
Adjacent to my Buffy watching was a somewhat unsettling phase anathema to my general attitude in which I obsessively scrolled through Tinder until I ran out of likes. I think I was trying to fill the Black Hole with a bunch of dicks 😜 in the hopes that the pain would go away but I could not really bring myself to swipe yes on most of the guys because none of the guys were MY guy. Also a LOT of dudes on Tinder are stupid AF. I can't deal with anyone who lacks any basic intellectual curiosity, describing themselves with "work hard play harder" and "love to travel." The guys I did swipe yes on rarely, if ever, swiped me back and I went on a total of 3 dates, 2 of which were disasters. At the end of them I realized that I was just looking for another one of what I had, and maybe, just maybe, I shouldn't be using self-destructive behaviors to try and compensate for the fact that someone I love doesn't love me back! WOW!
Right before my relationship ended I started taking antidepressants. They had all kinds of weird side effects and I had to try a few before I got on the right combo/dose. Side note: if when in a relationship it is making you so unhappy that you are going on antidepressants perhaps consider ending the relationship instead of deciding that you are a worthless garbage human.
About 3 months after the relationship ended I started to feel more like myself. I started being able to focus better at work. Words that I previously left to languish in the annals of my lexicon resurfaced in my vocabulary. Robot brain powered down and real brain became able to process a joke or a simple command. I deleted Tinder. I started cooking for myself again. I went out with friends.
AND BECAME A FUCKING UNAPOLOGETICALLY MISERABLE HAG.
Now, four months after my heart was yanked out of my chest I am back to being an ornery, miserably single bitch. I am most familiar with this phase, but now having felt actual contentment at one point treading water here annoys me. Try as I might, I just don't love being single. I was ready, at 29, when I met JPFM, to be in a relationship with someone. I went to therapy. I took a year off dating. I did the things I really liked doing. I made sure I was happy on my own before sharing my life with another person. AND WHERE THE FUCK DID IT GET ME? Now, at 31, my prettiest years spent on someone who doesn't even know how ugly I will eventually become so he won't appreciate how pretty I was when we met, I glare at happy couples. I glare at their babies. I glare at their houseplants. I want what they have - but on my terms: a loving relationship where I do not have to lower my standards of how I should be treated, how smart my partner has to be, and how tolerant I am of cargo pants (which is not at all). Is that so fucking much to ask??
There was a golden albeit brief era of my life when I was content enough to be single. I loved being in a relationship, and I know for certain that I want to be in a long-term thing, but I have to hope that I will one day reach a point where I am OK being alone too.
Also I hate dating. I hate it so much. I hate the vulnerability of putting myself out there with a stranger, I hate the expectation of sex, I hate the awkward part of the date where I offer to pay and HE FUCKING ACCEPTS YOU FUCKING IDIOT WHO ARE YOU? I hate swiping and liking and happn'ing and wtf is Coffee Meets Bagel? I can't write another profile carefully selling my best assets and I can't make my coworker who knows how to use the 5D take any more photos of me in the natural lighting in the kitchen in my office. I work in advertising, the last thing I want to commodify is my goddamned self. So I'm not going to do it.
The only options here are to stay miserable and ornery or find a way to be alone and OK with it so cocker spaniel adoption here I come.
JUST KIDDING I AM A GODDAMNED MESS.
We went down in a fucking ball of flame and four months later I still email him when I am drunk despite not having heard from him since we split. IN FEBRUARY. "MAYBE IF I TELL HIM ONE MORE TIME THAT I LOVE HIM HE WILL SEE THAT I AM NOT CRAZY, JUST DEVOTED." I cannot even tell you how many times I have had to look myself in the mirror and say "Get a fucking grip bitch."
I never fully grasped how difficult breakups were until I had this one. I mean, splitting from a dude that I was banging for 6 months with progressively less interest is one thing, but leaving a person you LOVE is a whole other thing (another tally in the CONS side for love. Stupid.). Jesus fucking christ, no one prepares you for this part. My therapist talked to me about the stages of grief, but I didn't feel they were particularly relevant to me, so allow me to walk you through my completely unhinged, 13 car pile up of a grief process:
Stage 1: Acute Benodiazepines (1-7 days):
The days immediately following my breakup I could not be alone because I thought the grief would literally kill me. I was terrified of the feelings I was feeling - so much so that I was terrified of what I might do out of terror about my feelings. Thank god my friend Amy was around/willing to drop whatever she had planned to sit with me and hold my hand and make me food that I just stared at (she actually made me kummerspeck) and hang around at my house while I alternately broke out scream-crying without warning/Klonopinned myself into oblivion. By Day 3 I was able to get out of bed/let Amy out of my apartment. It is kind of like when a star collapses into a black hole: A huge implosion and then a dark gravitational force that pulls all matter into it, bending time and space, except in my case the black hole sucked in any good feelings and made every day last 1000 years.
Stage 2: Short-Term Black Hole Robot Brain (1-2 weeks)
The black hole that was once my center for processing feelings and emotions sucked not only my ability to feel even remotely ok, but my ability to pretend that I felt remotely OK. People would tell me a story expecting a reaction and when I just stared at them blankly not processing that a human was attempting to communicate with me they inevitably asked me, 'Uh, are you ok?"
At which point robot brain took over, filtering through the possible reaction algorithms, and choosing one. "HAHAHAHA yes, I am fine, that was so funny, you are so funny Kendra!"
"I just told you that my nana died."
Despite being poorly calibrated, black hole robot brain phase has been my favorite thus far, mostly because I was so numb that I never had guilt or shame feelings when buying my second (or let's face it, third) pint of ice cream in one day from my corner bodega. I never even threw in tampons or a handful of lemons to try and camouflage the fact that I was solely there for ice cream.
Stage 3: Mild to Moderate Buffy the Vampire Slayer/ Rapid Onset Fill it with Dicks (5-7 weeks [may be concurrent with Stage 2])
I should write Joss Wheadon a thank-you note because Buffy the Vampire Slayer was a life-preserver in the sea of breakup desolation. Amy from Stage 1 introduced me to the series, and it was something that was so completely unrelatable to my current life that I could turn off my brain and escape into the weird campy fantasyland of vampires and teenage drama. For nearly 2 months I came home from work, turned on Buffy, watched 2 episodes, and Klinopinned myself to sleep. I did a lot of traveling in the weeks following my breakup, and everywhere I went, Buffy was a faithful companion. There were so many episodes in each season that I had hundreds of hours of escapism to indulge in. I mean, don't get me wrong, I still cried nearly every night and dreamed those awful dreams of JPFM, but more often than not I also had Buffy-related vampire dreams as well. It really says something that dreams about undead monsters coming to kill you and your family are a welcome relief compared to the dreams about the person you broke up with.
Also team Spike for the record.
Adjacent to my Buffy watching was a somewhat unsettling phase anathema to my general attitude in which I obsessively scrolled through Tinder until I ran out of likes. I think I was trying to fill the Black Hole with a bunch of dicks 😜 in the hopes that the pain would go away but I could not really bring myself to swipe yes on most of the guys because none of the guys were MY guy. Also a LOT of dudes on Tinder are stupid AF. I can't deal with anyone who lacks any basic intellectual curiosity, describing themselves with "work hard play harder" and "love to travel." The guys I did swipe yes on rarely, if ever, swiped me back and I went on a total of 3 dates, 2 of which were disasters. At the end of them I realized that I was just looking for another one of what I had, and maybe, just maybe, I shouldn't be using self-destructive behaviors to try and compensate for the fact that someone I love doesn't love me back! WOW!
Am I doing it right?
Stage 4: Long-term Well, I Guess I have to Fucking Get On With It Then/When the SSRI's Start to Work/Ornery Bitter Bitch (4-??? months)
Right before my relationship ended I started taking antidepressants. They had all kinds of weird side effects and I had to try a few before I got on the right combo/dose. Side note: if when in a relationship it is making you so unhappy that you are going on antidepressants perhaps consider ending the relationship instead of deciding that you are a worthless garbage human.
About 3 months after the relationship ended I started to feel more like myself. I started being able to focus better at work. Words that I previously left to languish in the annals of my lexicon resurfaced in my vocabulary. Robot brain powered down and real brain became able to process a joke or a simple command. I deleted Tinder. I started cooking for myself again. I went out with friends.
AND BECAME A FUCKING UNAPOLOGETICALLY MISERABLE HAG.
Now, four months after my heart was yanked out of my chest I am back to being an ornery, miserably single bitch. I am most familiar with this phase, but now having felt actual contentment at one point treading water here annoys me. Try as I might, I just don't love being single. I was ready, at 29, when I met JPFM, to be in a relationship with someone. I went to therapy. I took a year off dating. I did the things I really liked doing. I made sure I was happy on my own before sharing my life with another person. AND WHERE THE FUCK DID IT GET ME? Now, at 31, my prettiest years spent on someone who doesn't even know how ugly I will eventually become so he won't appreciate how pretty I was when we met, I glare at happy couples. I glare at their babies. I glare at their houseplants. I want what they have - but on my terms: a loving relationship where I do not have to lower my standards of how I should be treated, how smart my partner has to be, and how tolerant I am of cargo pants (which is not at all). Is that so fucking much to ask??
Fuck off
Stage 5: Being OK alone again? <have yet to enter this stage>
There was a golden albeit brief era of my life when I was content enough to be single. I loved being in a relationship, and I know for certain that I want to be in a long-term thing, but I have to hope that I will one day reach a point where I am OK being alone too.
Also I hate dating. I hate it so much. I hate the vulnerability of putting myself out there with a stranger, I hate the expectation of sex, I hate the awkward part of the date where I offer to pay and HE FUCKING ACCEPTS YOU FUCKING IDIOT WHO ARE YOU? I hate swiping and liking and happn'ing and wtf is Coffee Meets Bagel? I can't write another profile carefully selling my best assets and I can't make my coworker who knows how to use the 5D take any more photos of me in the natural lighting in the kitchen in my office. I work in advertising, the last thing I want to commodify is my goddamned self. So I'm not going to do it.
The only options here are to stay miserable and ornery or find a way to be alone and OK with it so cocker spaniel adoption here I come.
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