Cut the Shit, This Blows I know I’m not the only one who’s been the breaker upper. You know, the person who initiates the breakup? The dumper. The heart breaker. The asshole that your parents warned you about. What a feeling. After years of drowning so deep in commitment that I figured it was impossible to breathe again, I'm free. This, of course, means it’s time to go out, dance, kiss strangers, have spontaneous hookups. Time to grab this life of singlehood by the horns and ride that shit out. Flirt, swipe right on tinder, have the entire bed to myself. More time to engage in friendships, more time spent at the gym, more time with family, more time with my cats. I have officially entered the world of single. This is empowering. This is freeing. This is my time to “find myself.” What a feeling...right? Wrong. Forget everything you've read in magazines, watched in movies or heard from your parents. This is fucking bullshit. There's been nights out, but never any hookups, not even close. Most of the men found on tinder can't keep up a conversation, or have wives and kids that they failed to mention. And call me crazy, but my bed feels as though it's progressively getting bigger each lonely night that goes by. Maybe this is karma for leaving. Maybe the relationship was meant for me to stay in, but then again, maybe not.
No Film Could Describe this Feeling One thing I can’t stand is the romanticized idea of breakups that is brought to most of us at a young age. I bought into it up until I actually found myself going through one firsthand. It's presented as a very specific cycle: cry, ice cream, rebounding, cry again, other junk food, another rebound, and before you know it you're in love with someone new. Someone who is actually the one. You find the person who makes you realize why it didn't work out with anyone else and everything is suddenly just delightful. I've seen countless films that perpetuate this bullshit, half ass idea of breakups. There has been no ice cream (lots of chocolate-covered almonds though,) no getting underneath a new man to forget the old one, no moment of revelation where I realize the love of my life has been right in front of my eyes the whole time (gotta love those plot twists.) There has, however, been loneliness, and a hell of a lot of it. There have been breakdowns, insecurity and moments of slight desperation. This hasn't been a time to enjoy my "freedom" or try new things. This has been months of no physical interaction with another human, copious amounts of third- sometimes even 5th- wheeling, and coming to terms with the fact that they're might not be a one for me. Not to mention, I'm fucking tired. Tired of watching cute couples gawk over their newly found love. Tired of being happy for my friends who are in relationships-whether it be casual or committed. Tired of being everyone's go-to for relationship advice when I can't even remember the last time a guy looked at me. This isn't a bad romantic comedy, this is my life now, and I hate to admit that I'm not quite sure I'm ready to deal with it.
I Get it, I Suck Now, back to the “I'm an asshole” part. I'm not quite sure when we, as a society, decided that ending a relationship makes someone a monster, but according to that logic I'm the most evil of creatures.
There seems to be this binary that you can either be the one hurting or the one who initiated the pain, but the two can never intersect. As if ending a relationship is easy for anyone. It's a dreadful process to transition from living with, loving and investing so much into a person, to losing them completely. Within a span of a month you could go from sleeping next to someone every night, to suddenly not being able to even call them in times of need. There's a certain element of discomfort in mourning someone who isn't dead. Someone who lives in the same city and still has active social media accounts. Someone whose name still comes up in random conversations and whose clothes still live in your closet. They're there, but they aren't here. They're living, and breathing, and laughing. They're moving on. Moving forward. Just not with you.
Let's Talk About Sex...Please I understand sex isn't everything, but it has come to the point that if a man does so much as breathe too close to me I might get excited. Months later and still nothing. Still no one. Is there something wrong with me? How does one engage in a casual hookup? Should I feel safe having sex with men I don't really care about? Should I feel safe having sex with men who don't really care about me? Should I feel safe having sex in general? After a certain amount of time not having sex, do I get to reclaim my virginity? Are my standards too high? I'm really not asking for much. Am I asking for too much? Will I be good? Will I get attached? Will he? Am I expected to cuddle afterwards? I'm not much of a cuddler. Will I find a man who'll be content lying in bed with me and reading?Will anyone be into me despite my nerdy ways and intense goofiness? Not the "sexy nerd", the sitting in bed in a cat nightgown analyzing feminist essays and strategically planning how to deconstruct oppressive systems on a Friday night kind. How does one "date"? How do I do this? Can someone tell me how to do this? What the hell am I doing? One Day at a Time, Blah Blah Blah I know it will get better. My "all men suck" phase will come to an end, and I’ll continue to make self-improvements. Slowly but surely, I’ll get there. I think.
I’m learning that loneliness is much different than being alone, but no company is more desirable than bad company, and I refuse to welcome just anyone into my life due to the fact that I’m unsatisfied with loneliness. To be the one who ended it. To be the heartless, selfish monster that your parents warned you about. Welcome to the life of the breaker upper. What a fucking feeling.