4 Stupid Ways Everyone Deals With Breakups
Ahh, l'amour. Or, as the French call it, "le humpy jumpy." It's a funny thing us humans do to each other, getting all stupid in love with one another, touching tongues, watching Jennifer Aniston films, and feeling this intense longing for the presence of someone else in a way that curiously wanes over time and sometimes even turns into resentment. But the reasons for how and why we love are not important for us just now, no, we're going to focus on what happens when that love is gone and we're all mopey and shitty and depressed.
And bae was like, "Nah, we ain't watching Big Bang again."
I was in love with a girl once, a few years ago. She was gorgeous in that way that people would look at the two of us together and just obviously assume she wasn't with me. And truth be told, we were never together in the way I wanted. She was my friend, and she was very aware of my feelings, as I had just entered a curious phase of my life where I wore my heart on my sleeve and said and did whatever I felt when I felt it and let people accept or reject me as I truly was, no guile or being coy, just a faceful of Felix. But she did accept me.
We spent five days a week together in a post-graduate class but still found enough to enjoy in one another to party every weekend, see movies, go to dinner, basically date in all but name. We weren't a couple; we were great friends. But I did fall in love with her. And at the end of our year she got an amazing job in another city and moved away. And for a solid month we kept in touch online. And then it dwindled, and within three months we stopped speaking. To this day, about a decade later, I have never heard from her again. She was just gone, and I was crushed.
Like this nut.
I tried to find her for a while but came up with nothing. I assume if I had found her she wouldn't want to speak with me, but I don't know why. I had ostracized myself, but I don't know how. Too pushy? Too Needy? Too ruggedly handsome and charming? No idea. Didn't know then, don't know now. Never will.
I'm not sure what hurt me more, that I lost someone I cared for or that I didn't know why. But it did hurt. And that experience, along with one or two others, helped me figure out a few reactions to heartbreak that are just shitty ideas.
I've never tried this one myself, because it's not in my character, but dammit if I don't see it a lot on TV, movies, and even in songs. Someone cheats on you or leaves you, and for some reason the response is to maybe destroy them as a person in a way that is on par with serial killer for its sinister leanings and insanely disturbing acts. After all, we're all aware that men have had their penises cut off for cheating, and god knows how many women have endured full on MMA-style brutality at the hands of jealous husbands and boyfriends.
So let me take the bold stance of suggesting violence, whether against your ex or their belongings, is a shitty way to deal with heartache, one you should avoid. Of course you want to lash out when you're hurt, but also, don't be a literal maniac. Insanity doesn't look good on anyone, and if you think it's funny to light someone's wardrobe on fire just because they had sex with someone else, you're basically telling anyone you may one day get into a relationship with that you're as unstable as a Jenga game on an epileptic's back, and you're not worth dealing with because you're as good with anger as a starving tiger is with babies.
When you get angry, you'd do well in life to learn ways to deal with it that aren't felonious and/or don't let others know they should walk behind you without making noise lest they get your attention, make eye contact, and have to run screaming for help into the night. Maybe you could have a drink, eat a whole pizza, and watch bad movies. Maybe that's better than shoving a curling iron in someone's ass. Ever try that?
Those of us less inclined to destroy others may instead look to destroy ourselves. It's easy and seems fun at first, which is why it's so popular, just ask Captain Morgan or Gary Smirnoff.
When faced with some form of rejection or loss, it's pretty easy to decide that you somehow did this to yourself and that the best thing you could do now, knowing you're a big ol' sack of losing loserishness who loses like a losing loser at a losing competition is to maybe get all shitty. So you drink. You do drugs. You have sex with CHUDs and use Skittles wrappers as protection. You get tribal tattoos. It's not pretty.
This method is nefarious, because you tend to be aware it's a bad idea, but you think it's still necessary because you're bad in some way, you deserve it, or you want to drown out the shitty feelings, and the best way to scour such things from your memory is with a thin paste made from meth and Everclear.
The reason self-destruction is such a shitty plan of action should be clear -- you're already broken in some way, so how is a further breakdown going to help things? That's like treating dysentery by hitting up an all-you-can-eat Mexican buffet served out of the back of a van by a guy who keeps scratching his own ass crack.
On some level, we all know punishing ourselves isn't going to make anything better, even if the reason we're now single is entirely our fault. Even if you did some shitbird thing, like cheat on your partner, what good can come out of you switching from being an asshole to them to being an asshole to yourself? You're just perpetuating your assholery, which is clearly your problem to begin with. That needs to be done away with in a more constructive, less brain-cell melting way.
I know a vile pig of a human who barely earns that title who falls into this category, among others. The reason I mention him now is I have it on fairly good authority that, when one of his relationships ends, he takes it upon himself to simply follow his ex. Day after day. He'll park nearby and watch her house. He takes photos of her coming and going. He makes fake accounts on Facebook to try to keep track of who she's talking to. It's a whole big stalker jamboree of douchebaggery and sickness, and it's six kinds of fucked.
Obsessing over an ex is creepy and weird, and it's a great way to confirm to everyone that your ex made a good choice by ditching you. It's not normal.
Now, assuming you're more rational than this twat that I know, there's a less sinister but no less desperate form of obsession that oodles of people engage in and, in some circles, is even romanticized. If you've ever been moved to stand outside a woman's house with your boombox playing Peter Gabriel, you know what I mean. If that's part of your seduction technique, you need to upgrade your game, because that shit is played out. But if it's part of your win-her-back routine, it's even worse. You don't win people, for one; we need to move past the idea that we live in a world in which someone else is a prize. That may be the product of hundreds of years of fiction assuring us all that women are available to be taken from dragons, evil knights, and sleeping spells, and all we need to do is show up and jam a penis at them.
Rest easy, ladies. A man is here to open jars and adjust the thermostat.
There's nothing wrong with the idea of trying to make a failed relationship work, mind you. I bet that works in all sorts of Molly Ringwald-less situations, but it's best approached in a way that suggests the reason you want to be with this other person is that you see in them qualities and attributes you find endearing, remarkable, and admirable, not because you saw them first and no one else can play with your toy; stamped it, no erasies, black magic, no takebacks.
If the only thing motivating you to continue a relationship with someone is your desire to know their every move and make sure they're not doing things you don't approve of or seeing people you don't like, congratulations, you're a madman. Shake that off before it gets way too dangerous, and try to piece together what it is that transpired in your life that makes you think you need to own another person. Generally speaking, slavery is frowned upon these days. Plus, clean up your act and maybe you'll find something interesting about one of the other billions of people out there. Remember, just because Valentine's Day cards say "be mine," they don't mean it in the chattel sense.
This idea is so ingrained in our society it's probably been the basis for at least one scene in nearly every romantic comedy made since the 1980s. You break up with someone, your friends rally and collectively decide that the cure for what ails you is a little taste of strange. Yes, poontang (or wild dong) fixes everything. At least 20 to 30 minutes into a screenplay, anyway.
On the one hand, this seems like an OK idea. You just ended a relationship, maybe one that was years long, you're probably hurt and feeling alone regardless of whether or not you broke it off or they did, and, what do you know, outside your house there's like a million wieners and vaginas with bodies dragging behind them all over the place. You should go fiddle with one, take your mind off your troubles.
The problem with this solution is that you're not really fixing much. Well, maybe one thing, for five minutes, but then what? Incidentally, that five minutes is ballpark, ladies. You need six, even seven, I can probably do that.
You just basically used another person as a hump puppet and your own moral compass will let you decide how to feel about that, if you have such a thing, but what if they want to be your special friend now? What if your ex comes back, and now you have to be those pain-in-the-ass "we were on a break" people? What if your hump puppet was a wretched sack of herpes?
Not to sound like your dad, but you just fucked up. Keep it in your pants for like a week. A week! Never hump someone the next day, because your brain is all fucktarded and you'll absolutely bone someone with herpes because they have a nice smile or they bought you a drink or they were under you when you started bouncing.
My name's Ned. It's nice to bounce on you!
You need at least a week to get your head straightened out, assuming you genuinely were in love with this person. Consider who you are when you're by yourself and what you want to do with yourself. You know why your friends want you to get laid the next day? Because they're stupid. And it's not their fault; we're bred this way. We all saw those movies, and it totally worked for Cameron Diaz, and by the third act she was married to the man of her dreams, so what the hell is your problem? Just pork someone, because no one wants to deal with you when you're all sobby and lonesome. But that helps them more than it helps you.
So, what now? Thought I was going to leave you hanging, didn't you? I have unsolicited advice! Now, bear in mind I'm no relationship expert, because there's no such thing as that, and if anyone on TV calls themselves that it's because what they actually are is full of shit, but without credentials to say as much. Anyone who has been in a relationship is as much a relationship expert as anyone else in the world. We're not all the same, so what some dope on a daytime TV show has to say about relationships may be as relevant to you as quantum mechanics are to drunken vervets on an island somewhere.
But the good thing is, I know enough to know I don't know you. You could be the nicest person on Earth, or you could be a sketchy dude who steals candy bars. You might mean well but fail to follow through, or maybe you murder gas station attendants. If so, please stop. Regardless of who you are and your predilections, you know why you loved that other person, so the best thing you can do for yourself when a relationship ends is to figure out for yourself why it happened. And the answer isn't because she's a bitch or he's a dickhead. That might be part of it, I won't take that away from you, but if you loved someone enough to be hurt by losing them, then they can't be 100 percent dickhead bitches, otherwise what does that say about you? And why should you care that they're gone? There has to be another step in there. Before your ex became a monster, or before you fell apart desperately hoping for them to come back, there was something else. So consider that and figure it out. Maybe it was you, maybe it was them, maybe it was herpes. I don't know. But you probably do.
You need time to figure out that shit before you jump into obsessive stalking, burning clothes, or humping your way across town. Accomplish that, and you may be able to completely avoid all those terrible solutions.