It's Not Okay: Turning Heartbreak into Happily Never After (23 page)

I think about the reasons I hate him so much, and it seems there are just as many why I once loved him so much. I hate him because he took a part of my heart and stomped on it. I hate him because he made me fall in love with something that wasn’t real. The man I fell in love with was funny, compassionate, and protective. He was outgoing and cared only about family and me, not the cameras and certainly not the fame. He adored the fact that I was a career-driven woman with a feisty personality. But, now I feel as though that man didn’t exist, not beyond the lights.

No, when the cameras stopped rolling, he couldn’t sustain the persona of the man he was trying to be. He was funny at times, as long as the joke wasn’t on him; compassionate when he was in a good mood. And while I genuinely think he liked the idea of being with a career-driven, strong-willed woman, ultimately that wasn’t what he really wanted. It’s not to say that I think he was faking who he was, but instead, he just presented himself as the man he
wished
he was. I get it. Why would anyone go on national television and not put his best face forward? Maybe if the setup of the show had been different, or I hadn’t let my infatuation for him blind me, I could have seen this side of him, the real side. I hate him for packing my stuff up. (I promise this is the last time I will mention it. Bible!) I hate him for holding my past over me, for the names he called me. I hate him for ever having met him. Something that isn’t even all his fault. If I had never laid eyes on him, I would have never wasted that first engagement and, with it, my dream of having done it only once. I hate that I will always be and always have an ex-fiancé. But most of all, I hate that I hate him so much.

How is it possible to hate someone you loved beyond all reason? Was there a memo I didn’t get that says the more you love someone, the more you’ll hate him when it doesn’t work out? I used to go to bed and wake up every morning crying, but lately I seem to go to bed and wake up every morning just thinking of how much he revolts me. I never knew how much energy it takes to feel this way. If only disgust could burn calories. As it consumes me more and more, I realize that hatred might be even worse than sadness.

But what can I do to relieve the hate? There’s nothing I can force myself to think about to rid this feeling, but it’s got to go. It’s consuming me, infecting me like a disease that’s spreading rapidly throughout my body. I don’t want to vent aloud to anyone, because even though ripping him a new one might make him look bad, it would also make me look bitter and stupid for staying with him so long. Plus, I’m running out of therapy sessions with Kelly, who is at work right now, because unlike me she has a life. It’s only so long before she understandably reaches the breaking point and says enough is enough, and I’m not ready yet to be cut off cold turkey. The online self-help articles, which I’ve come to despise but also obsess over, tell me to try to see the positive in my relationship, learn from the negative and begin to move forward. But I say, FUCK that noise. The way I see it, I’m a ticking time bomb that is bound to go off at a moment’s notice.

And then, it dawns on me . . . These feelings are just like his belongings that only days ago were scattered across my bedroom floor. They too are memories. Memories that belong to a dead relationship. And if I can burn his belongings, can’t I burn this hate as well?

I grab a pen and a piece of paper and immediately my hand begins to uncontrollably scribble words and memories of hate onto the lines. And I realize, this is my ticket out, my final step in completing the cleanse phase of my breakup detox. This is my very own Master Asshole list.

THE MASTER ASSHOLE LIST

Step 1.
 Make sure no one is home.

Step 2.
 Gather the following: pen, paper, pissed-off attitude. (Oh, wait, I already have the last item.)

Step 3.
 With pen, on paper, and keeping in mind my attitude, write down every bad memory I can think of. This should include words such as “narcissist,” “selfish,” “prick,” “douche bag,” and “tool.”

Step 4.
 Keep writing.

Step 5.
 Smile as I glance at the beautiful list of what I avoided.

Step 6.
 Burn the list.

Step 7.
 Tell no one I did such a thing. What list?

As I watch the yellow notebook paper burn in the fire, I have to admit I feel amazing! Not just because I successfully made a fire, again, but also because I bashed him in the quietest way ever and in doing so, I can physically feel the hatred leave my body. It’s one of those accomplishments that feel better knowing that I am the only one in on the secret. It’s a power trip. And as the paper turns to ashes, it takes away not just part of my hatred but also my desire to be connected with him in any way. I realize at last that I want nothing to do with him, ever again. We are, as Taylor Swift would say, “never ever ever getting back together,” but we will never ever be friends either.

Why does everyone want to stay friends with their exes anyways? If you ask me, it’s total bullshit. We only say it so we can end the awkwardness of the breakup conversation, right?

The truth is, the second you decide to take the plunge and be in a relationship is the second the “let’s be friends card” goes out the window. There should be a hard-written rule that once you see each other naked, the friendship is dunzo—no ifs, ands, or, pardon the pun, butts.

It’s impossible, not to mention completely pointless. I mean, seriously, what the hell is the point in staying friends? What are you going to do, stay in each other’s lives so you can do what? Keep up with one another, hear about the next girl he’s dating, send a wedding gift when he gets married, be on the family Christmas card mailing list each year? No thanks, I’ll pass. The reality is, your friendship with your ex was over long ago. It’s why you couldn’t make things work. Now, you have to accept that you will never be friends with your ex.

But what about the friends you shared? This is when shit gets dicey. The reality of a breakup is that you don’t just lose your relationship, you lose friends too. I know, sorry. Mutual friendships that you made while you were a couple are now in question.

RULE #1: FRIENDS ARE PART OF A PRENUP

Like property, your friends are part of the prenup that will dictate your post-breakup future. This means what he came in with remains his and what you came in with remains yours. Yup, doesn’t matter if you became the best of friends with his childhood friends, he gets them. But you get yours too.

RULE #2: LET THEM COME TO YOU

You’ll have mutual friends you both met during the relationship, who aren’t covered in the breakup prenup. These people are fair game, but let them come to you first. It’ll feel like they get to be the captain of the kickball team, but the truth is, you don’t want to be on a team with someone who doesn’t want you anyways. It also relieves the possibility of you a) looking desperate, and b) being labeled a friend snatcher.

RULE #3: SET BOUNDARIES

If you do get picked to be part of the team and your friendship remains intact, set boundaries. Don’t vent to them about your ex, because remember, once upon a time they were friends with him too. It’s disrespectful to your ex, to your friend, and it’s uncomfortable for everyone. Instead, you are Switzerland; you don’t take sides, you don’t start wars, you are just a pretty little country everyone wants to visit. Besides, you have plenty of friends you can vent to who aren’t associated with your ex—use them!

RULE #4: DON’T TAKE IT PERSONALLY

Don’t be offended if you find that you not only lose a man after a breakup, but lose some friends as well. It’s normal. You’ll feel abandoned, but remember if a mutual friend chooses your ex over you, it might be out of loyalty and obligation, not out of desire. It’s the classic “chicks over dicks, bros before hoes” rule. The truth is, just as much as people don’t like ending relationships, they don’t like ending friendships either. The end of your relationship puts them unwillingly in a tough situation, so cut them some slack and if need be, leave them in the past, right where you’ve dropped your ex off.

RULE #5: FIND COMMON GROUND

Friendships form from common bonds, and now that you are single, some of those bonds no longer exist. Couples like to be friends with other couples so they can talk about “couple-y” things. Don’t be surprised that you are no longer invited on weekly double dates. Trust me, you don’t want to be surrounded by happy couples right now anyway. Instead, make a concerted effort to strengthen the relationships with your single friends. You’ll find comfort in commonality, and just like you, they’ll have the freedom to party all night long.

Back to your list in the fireplace. Take a deep whiff and smell the burning scent of relief.

Lesson learned:
You swore you’d stay friends till the end? Well, this is the end.

I
t happened today. I got the dreaded text I knew I would receive at some point but would never be fully prepared for. It wasn’t from Number Twenty-Six—we haven’t been in contact since I fired off a text regarding the moving-out situation. It was from one of my girlfriends, Tay.

Deep exhale—this one sucks . . .

TAY:
So I have to tell you something and I don’t want you to be upset at me.

ME:
Umm . . . not a good way to start a convo, but shoot.

TAY:
I saw your ex last night.

ME:
Which one?

TAY:
The latest one.

ME:
Oh Lord, where?

TAY:
In Buckhead, out at a restaurant.

ME:
There’s more to this, isn’t there?

TAY:
Yes. I don’t know how to say this.

ME:
Just say it.

TAY:
He was on a date with a girl.

ME:
I had a feeling that’s what you were going to say.

TAY:
Please don’t be mad at me, but as your friend, I have to tell you.

ME:
No I know, I’m glad you did. One question . . .

TAY:
Yes . . .

ME:
Was she blonde?

TAY:
Yes :-(

ME:
Motherfucker!

TAY:
Haha! Hang in there! Love you, girlie.

ME:
Love you too.

Dagger to the heart! I want to vomit. I wish I were numb right now so I didn’t feel this bone-chilling, soul-curdling, gut-wrenching pain. I wrestle back and forth in my mind over whether I am hurt, jealous, or just fucking angry. I think it’s all three.

The jealous part of me realizes that while I sit here and wallow, feeling unmotivated and hopeless, he’s doing what I desperately wish I could, moving on. Trust me, I wish I could find it in me to rebound with the future Number Twenty-Seven, but I can’t. I don’t get it! Why do men always seem to move on faster than women? Here I am, reeling in pain that has yet to subside long enough to even begin to fathom seeing another man. Not only would I fail to hold it together for the duration of a romantic dinner, but I don’t even want to. I was engaged for nine months, that engagement ended only thirty-four days ago, and I’m not ready to start dating again. And to make matters even worse, of course, he’s with a blonde! I swear to God, I should have read those lie detector test results . . . I would have known he preferred blondes.

In all seriousness, though, is it fair to put a timetable on your ex? It’s not as if there’s any chance of resolving our irreconcilable differences and making our way back to one another. We passed the point of no return long, long ago. And though he’s moved on quicker than I find to be in good taste, isn’t this what all men do? Avoid having to feel these foreign things called emotions and instead grieve by getting right back in the game as quickly as possible? This is where it sucks to be a woman. We grieve by curling up in a ball and crying while getting fat on red wine and sesame chicken and Thin Mints while men pull their pants down and screw anything with a vagina. Or at least take her out to dinner in hopes of later getting to pull his pants down and screw her. If women do this, we are branded crazy psycho skanks, whereas men are just being, well, men.

Maybe I’m not so much jealous as I am pissed. I’m certainly not jealous of the blonde—she has no idea what kind of mess she’s about to get herself into. I’m angry at the message he’s sending by doing this. It’s one thing if a man wants to mend his broken little heart by hooking up with a chick so that he doesn’t have to actually feel the pain of a breakup. But it’s a whole different ball game when you take a rebound chick out in public. There’s only one reason someone does this . . . so the other person knows about it. Oh, and in the city I live in, no less. What if I had been in that restaurant? What then? The fact that he was willing to take that risk shows he has zero respect for my feelings or our relationship.