I’m really bad at being dumped. Seriously. You know those people who have a little cry, eat some ice cream and watch bad TV, drink a little bit too much and kiss someone gross and then generally behave normally? Yeah, I’m not like that at all.
I’m that person (and I’m not going to say girl because men are equally guilty of this) who calls the ex at 3 am (for
weeks months) sobbing hysterically. I’m the person who lives shell like in the foetal positions for months, only to go out every Saturday night and get so drunk I can’t remember my ex’s name, my friends’ names or even my own name. I’m definitely the kind of person that gets called a ‘stalker’ or a ‘pyscho’.
Basically, I’m shit. Don’t go out with me and dump me unless you can handle my seven circles of hell. From hysteria to the kind of anger that means I cut all your clothes up (it’s happened). I try and physically fight you (it’s happened), I tell all your friends you have a small dick, even though you don’t (it’s happened), I tell you never fucking deserved me anyway (every time), I sleep with your best friend/someone you hate (I don’t even want to admit it, but… yeah).
I’ve spent years of my life thinking things like… ‘Why did he think it was OK to treat me so badly?”, ‘What was wrong with me anyway?’, ‘Why did he break up with me, things were going so well’ etc.
I always want my exes to see how much better I am doing without them (how much thinner I am, how much better at cooking I am, how intelligent I am, how successful my career has been etc). and I want them to know how wrong they were, how stupid they were to ever let my ass go.
This is why I think Bruno Mars sells so many records (to me, I love him ❤ <3), not only is he a sexy face but so many of his songs epitomise exactly what I’d like someone to feel about me.
“Too young, too dumb to realise/ That I should have brought you flowers / and held your hand.”
That is basically all I have ever wanted my exes to feel about me. Except they really really don’t. Most of them are more like
My friend was telling me the other day about giving his ex boyfriend what for when he was drunk and basically shaming him about all the shitty things he did during their relationship, something which I totally understand & have done so many fucking times. I’m basically Miley Cyrus without a wrecking ball. And that’s when I realised.
No matter what photo I put on my fucking facebook, no matter how guilty I try and make them feel for treating me like roadkill, it won’t make anything feel any better. Even if I just try and work out WHY, or demand some sort of ‘closure’. It doesn’t help. And it doesn’t matter. We broke up. They did shitty things. I did shitty things. Because we are humans. Even if they answered all my questions, it would never be enough.
Because no answers can take away the heartbreak. I know the answer anyway, they just didn’t like me enough. When it got to it, they felt like there was something better for them out there.
And no matter how wonderful my life is (or how wonderful I pretend my life is), it doesn’t matter.
They don’t care.
I know this sounds really depressing, but in a weird way, this revelation set me free. No need to pretend, to worry, to obsess anymore. No matter what I do/say/think/feel I’m never going to get answers, or make that person feel bad. And even if they feel bad, it won’t change the fact that I felt really really bad.
it happened, it was painful, they moved on, I moved on. If I’d spent as much time building my wonderful life as I spent pretending it was wonderful, I’d probably be half way to a pretty sweet life.
So really, it all comes down to the fact that when it comes to break ups, it’s not them, it’s you.
OK so that’s just a gratuitous picture of Ryan Gosling but whatever he’s nice…