I’m not sure how to begin, but I’ll come out and say it: I got dumped. You probably did, too. Now, more than ever before, couples are breaking up. Cuffing season is over. Spring break is upon us. The stars have literally aligned for this; for our hearts to shatter. Fantastic.
“How could this happen to me? I’m like, a really good person,” says my ego. I’m pissed. I’m debating whether or not I even liked this guy for 36 minutes out of every hour of every day. I’m consumed. It’s not fair. I have shit to do. My school work is suffering. I can’t wrap my mind around having spent so much time investing myself in a person only to have them decide they didn’t feel like it anymore.
Personally, I’ve spent the last four out of six nights wallowing on the floor of my closet throwing tantrum after tantrum like a small child. I have a method: watch for his Snapchat score to go up while simultaneously checking the for last time he logged in to Facebook.
“Did he block me? Has he watched my story? Did he post something? Okay but what about his friends, are they with him?”
This is tedious and I think I am a confirmed masochist. Next: debate deleting all pictures across all mediums. Then, I realize the slut he’s going to bring home this weekend will probably cyber stalk him after his romp in her swamp. I can only hope she stumbles across my past posts and his hidden relationship status. She probably won’t care because she probably won’t be a psycho, but it’s worth a shot.
He’s not on Insta, thank God. That would be the death of me.
In between biting my nails and sobbing in my car, I’ve found time to begin rebuilding myself. I can’t wallow forever, you know? That’d be gross. Just when I hit my first fitness goal, the bar reset even higher for another. Want to lose weight? Get your heart broken. Have your life totally wrecked. Lose your best friend. Grovel, feel so worthless and invaluable because the person who said they saw a future with you also stated — over and over — that they don’t want you anymore. Let the agony build to the point where if the energy that is seething out of you is not expunged, you might literally choke out your roommate for being too loud and interrupting your grieving process. This isn’t about you, okay? I’m going through something.
Yeah, I spend time on the elliptical, now. That’s what I am trying to say. The incline has been doing wonders on my ass, I feel skinnier, already. I think I went from a 10 to an 8 in Lulu because the new leggings I ordered are kind of roomy (or their quality is depleting, again). As for diet, I’m running out of money and running out of cares… I don’t have any more of boxes of Velveeta mac and cheese to eat directly out of the pan in my room while watching Schitt’s Creek and I don’t have a man-friend to pay for my meals (and even groceries) anymore. Popcorn, protein shakes, and the occasional spoonful of peanut butter are my main food groups.
To add to my conceptual plan of doing minimum effort for maximum results, I fake bake at Darque Tan. My favorite part about tanning is when the bed is on and the fan is blowing no one can hear you crying to Let it Burn by Usher or Mariah Carey’s We Belong Together. And if they do, they don’t judge. Summer is approaching, fast, and the chicks at my school are HOT. But, I know for certain no one is mad at a fat, tan person when they take their t-shirt off at the pool. Tan skin makes you look at least five pounds slimmer. It’s like wearing a little black dress permanently. It hides cellulite. If you can’t tone it, you should absolutely tan it. Now, I look like I just got back from the Virgin Islands and white is totally my color.
My girlfriends have been super understanding of my neurotic behavior and have stuck by my side every step of the way. Finally, I’m receiving the attention I’ve been depraved of for over a year, now. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be loved without condition, and complimented, and nurtured endlessly. Nothing tops quality time spent gabbing away over subjects boys will never be able to relate to no matter how many episodes of The Bachelor they watch.
Look, I’m working on myself. Shit is rough right now but it can’t last forever. I’m distracted by a person who is incapable of caring for me. What good is that? Being a buzzkill gets old. I’m grateful for my friends and family’s support but it’s on me to be able to pick myself up. It’ll happen, I know it will. During the final feud, I won custody to all stolen t-shirts. Give it a month or two, a couple whiskey gingers and I know that eventually, I’ll be back on top. I’ll be okay..