I’d like to think I’m a more rational being than I was during my teenage years, now that I’m in my mid-twenties. But through being dumped by my boyfriend of six months via a phone call the other day, I realized by my subsequent meltdown that not much has changed. The horror of my actions proved that some phases of a breakup stick with you.
Phase One: Utter shock.
Thoughts like how could he breakup with me run rampant through your head. You send texts like “How could you do this to me? How can you leave me? How can you just give up?” You can’t believe twenty four hours ago your significant other was holding you in their arms expressing their love for you, and today they’ve woken up and decided they want that never again. Your ego is tarnished and you can’t understand how your boyfriend so swiftly ends your relationship without batting an eye. Well, maybe he did, but considering I couldn’t see him because he broke up with me through a PHONE CALL, I’m led to believe there wasn’t much heartbreak or concern on his end.
Phase Two: Depression.
I am going to be alone forever I know it I hope my howls of pain are heard by the entire universe and everyone feels pity for my broken heart. Your body has convulsions from feeling too much sadness too quickly. Gushes of tears occur at the prospect of being single again so easily and the frustration of not being able to make the pain stop. Your stomach has that knot that won’t quit and your head begins pounding from your body not being able to release the endless sadness that your heart continues supplying. You feel like exploding. You cry like a child for hours straight until you realize it’s been hours straight.
Phase Three: I’m fine. My life will go on.
You hop in your car in the middle of frigid winter and you roll up to the Dairy Queen drive-thru with your swollen heartbreak eyes and you order an Oreo Blizzard BECAUSE YOU’RE SINGLE NOW AND YOU CAN. You realize how awful you must look when the sixteen year old girl taking your money at the window looks horrified and says nothing to you.
Phase Four: You get home and realize your bed is still empty and you’re alone forever.
You disgustingly eat your Oreo Blizzard in bed and watch depressing Netflix movies about the cruelty of domesticated exotic animals and you can’t tell if you’re crying over the helpless lions stuck in a ten by ten foot trailer or over your consistent self-pity, but christ that blizzard tastes good.
Phase Five: You wake up.
You open your swollen eyes, head aching from the sunlight, and realize you’re still alone and now you have melted blizzard all over yourself and your bed and buying all white bedsheets and comforters was a stupid idea and now you have to do laundry and you roll over and go back to sleep.
Phase Six: Brunch and spite.
You finally muster the energy to eat something other than ice cream and drink something other than your saliva and salty tears falling down your face and go back into the public. You talk with people that have far more sanity than you do at the moment, and they point out all of the red flags your relationship actually had that you were too blind to see. You start thinking logically, and realize, the world hasn’t ended. And the man you loved might not of been the man you were dating. And you suck it up and keep going.