Getting past a relationship is much like getting over a bad hangover: time is the only healer. I question whether or not the length of time we mourn a relationship for is directly proportional to the length of time we spend tethered to another. Right now, I don’t think it is. I’ve got over live-in boyfriends in a matter of hours, and then drawn out an adolescent frolic for the best part of a decade.
Most recently though, it was a short, meaningless thing which I was only upset about for about five minutes. The rest of the recovery was spent marvelling at his apparent split-personality and fantasising about witty one-liners and sarky retorts I could coolly deliver if I ever happen to run in to him. So, so counter-productive. You’ll never get the opportunity to use these mentally-rehearsed quips and you know you are just giving them more of your undeserved time, but you can’t stop the bitter, resentful thoughts creeping in.
You see, much like that stage of a hangover where you can’t bear to move but getting back to sleep is a complete impossibility, there is a post break-up limbo where you are no longer upset but are yet to reach the end goal of “Hallelujah! I no longer give a FUCK!”-ness. I’ve found it; the holy grail of mental states. It’s actually really easy when you know how.
First, you pick a man who is totally unsuitable for you, then, when you stop seeing each other, it’s really easy to see his flaws because you never liked him that much anyway. Ha! But seriously, it’s hard to believe that a month ago, I referred to the guy I had just stopped seeing as “a great man”. So keen was I to self-flagellate, that I actually convinced myself for a few days that he was what I wanted. Great man?! How about “posturing little prick with an overdraft”?
In the cold light of day, I can see with absolute clarity that the only thing I was upset about was the amount of time I had wasted. I didn’t want to face up to the fact that I’d pissed away several months for nothing, that the whole exercise had been futile. For that ridiculous, masochistic week, I would have settled.
The great thing is, that while he has to walk away and stay him (shamesies), I get to walk away and be me. Yes, I did just paraphrase Carrie Bradshaw. She’s occasionally totally right on! The fact still remains - while I am growing and progressing and nurturing and learning, his life is like a certain Bill Murray film but with a higher %abv. Different day, same hangover. Let’s have a toast, to waking up and seeing through the bravado.
There’s only one thing more freeing than seeing someone else with utter lucidity, and that’s having a completely unclouded view of yourself. I have never been more sure of myself. I know exactly who I am right now and what I need. True, I’m not getting any younger, but when it comes to realising your worth and getting some standards, it’s a case of better late than never.
Born this way,