Tag Archives: Heartbreak

One Year Later: Hmmm, I Dated That?

5 Dec

A year ago today, my heart shattered into a million bajillion pieces, the result of an ill-planned and unexpected breakup, courtesy of my ex-boyfriend Brandon.* December 5th, 2009: quite possibly the worst day I ever lived thus far, though I now realize how dramatic that may sound.

The first thing he did was send me an indirect message that we were over. I got an email from AT&T stating that Brandon wanted me off of his account. My stomach sank. I knew what was happening. I cried in front of my coworkers at 30 Rock and then trudged to the subway to make my way back to the Village.  I was walking to a poetry reading by John Ashbery when I called him.

“Brandon, what’s going on?”

“Heather, I don’t think this is working out.”

I start gasping for air.

There was nothing I could say to stop his freight train barrage of insults. He told me that he felt like my father (WTF?) and that he didn’t “have to do shit” about helping me move. To him, someone to whom I dedicated so much of my time, effort, and love, I was now nothing. I was a peon worth little more than an indirect corporate email and a phone call I had to make on my own. And he, though I would only realize this months later, was a worthless piece of shit and a huge pussy who deleted me as a friend on Facebook seconds after getting off the phone with me.

This little stunt of Brandon’s (which came very suddenly out of the blue for me) almost ruined my last two weeks at NYU. Not only did I have to finish seven papers in that time frame in order to earn my degrees, but I also had to figure out where the fuck I was going to be living in that time. The breakup further complicated these matters by giving me an incurable case of tears, most of which would commence randomly as I wandered the streets of NYC. Brandon planned on coming to New York to help me move, but now that he revealed his true colors (dark colors indeed), he completely rescinded this offer to help me and left me high and dry. Luckily for myself (and for Brandon’s testicles), I am the sort of person who always gets shit done. I am go-getter, if you will – a certified hustler. In spite of someone’s attempt at making me feel worthless, I pulled through and finished college on a high note.

After I managed to drag myself back out west, a whole year passed. I spent the first half of it curled in the fetal position, screaming aloud every time a thought about the loser who broke my heart came to mind. 2010 was a year marked by loss, uncertainty, and off-and-on unemployment. Oh, and lots of booze.

You’re likely wondering how any vitriol for my ex still exists. I have some good reasons for that. First, and most importantly, my ex turned out to be a liar. I know for a FACT that he contacted another girl (for dating/fucking purposes) not even an hour after breaking up with me. I wish I saved the evidence, but because I am a nice person, I chose not to. Instead, I confronted the offender in person, who swiftly denied that he had broken up with me to date another girl. It is his audacity to LIE TO MY FACE that annoys me the most. This is a person I gave everything to, including my goddamn virginity, and he fucking lies to me. Second, who the fuck breaks up with someone with an AT&T email but a certified pussy? Third, anyone who breaks serious plans and promises (like helping someone move 2,000 miles across the country) is worthless.

I just stumbled upon some recent pictures of the offender. At first I was afraid to look, thinking the photos might trigger yet another cry-fest. What did I think when my jaded, lonely eyes saw his stupid, shit-eating grin? “Hmmm…I dated that?” He just looked awful to me, completely void of sex appeal and somehow looking much too tan.

I noticed that these pictures were also evidence that the offender took his girlfriend (the same girl he contacted minutes after breaking it off with me) to visit his parents in another state. What’s offensive about that? How about the fact that’s he’s been with her a lesser length of time than he had been with me at the point and time he took me to visit his parents? I do feel a bit of empathy for this girl, who does not yet know that she will one day have her heart ripped out of her chest by an evil bloodsucker. (Plus, she’s either insane or heard nothing but lies from the start – no sane person would get involved with someone just getting out of a serious 2.5 year relationship, hence I will give her the benefit of the doubt.) It appears to me that to Brandon, people (especially women), are completely interchangeable, and that is what burns the most. It’s too much to realize how little you meant to someone else when they were once everything to you.

Now that the obligatory year of mourning passed and I now have a new prospect on the horizon (a handsome, hot, funny, professional athlete prospect, to be exact), what more can be said about the dipshit that broke my heart? Nothing at all. He’s just not worth this pain anymore.

* I have decided that enough time has passed that the use of pseudonyms is now moot.

On Things Unrequited (Especially Love)

27 Jun

I'm thinking about getting this as a tattoo.

Something prompted me to write this entry tonight – something I cannot quite grasp while I am still in the throes of a reactive anger that left me wanting to dance it out (kind of like “hug it out,” but for people who like to dance) at my favorite club.

Anyway, let me start out by saying something I’ve thought about a lot lately – I loathe men. All of them, really. Not one seems to have any qualities I would desire in a romantic partner, and the one that did changed his mind about me a long time ago. In the last seven months, I’ve had time to think, to vent, to cry, and to generally feel like crap, and I wish I could say it were over, but it’s not. I see no light at the end of the proverbial tunnel – I see no chance at finding someone I could say “I love you” to and mean it again. I’m being held in a state of mourning by some force that wants to teach me a lesson. A cruel, endless lesson that will likely only be useful after I’ve left my youth behind.

What has spurred on my loathing of the heterosexual man? It appears to me as though many men lack any sense of follow-through and/or ability to be honest when it is most vital.  A lack of communication skills is perhaps the most salient problem among the young men I have come into contact with. The lack of willingness to take responsibility for one’s actions (and speak for those actions) is perhaps the greatest problem that plagues our society. American society is producing individuals who want instant gratification – the concept of hard and honest work is nearly lost on my generation. I am not referring to honest work simply in the sense of work work, but in the sense of working toward honest, beautiful relationships with your fellow man. Last weekend I met someone who had sparked within me a feeling of joy I hadn’t felt in a long time. He was smart, funny, kind of a nerd (just like myself), and liked Leonardo DiCaprio movies. We hung out on both Saturday and Sunday, but by Monday, he had decided he didn’t like me anymore. He didn’t actually say this – someone else decided to play messenger, though I believe I already knew this when he didn’t text me the next day. And of course, I still have a lingering interest in this person – a crush that I hope will go away as soon as possible. By the time I started typing this sentence, a gag reflex that surfaces when I think of this person has already developed, thank goodness.

I want to simply like someone so badly. I want to remember what a first kiss is like, what the nervousness you feel when you first get close to someone is like once more. But I can’t now. I have to wait. I am still very much in love with another – someone who has all but forgotten everything about me, including the fact that he has had my entire heart since the day we met three summers ago.

Heartbreak is truly the most painful emotional trial I have ever been through. It hurts even more when you realize that the one you love has likely forgotten all about you and the love you shared. He’s probably whispering the same sweet nothings I once heard into the ear of someone else. Unfortunately, we should all get the chance to feel this way. Without knowing pain, there is no such thing as knowing love.

So, in the meantime, I am trapped in the interim between love and loathing and being subjected to shallow encounters with shallow people that truly lead nowhere. I am in a holding pattern; an endless cycle of disappointment that always brings me back to thinking of someone who never thinks of me. End rant.