Sometimes you just need to hear it. The gut-wrenching truth. And it will be brutal and ugly and feel like you just vomited in your mouth, but it’s the only way you’ll ever get over anything.[sociallocker] Especially the ex you really want back. Of course you don’t want to hear it. You want to keep hearing what your friends keep telling you–the sugary bullshit that you secretly get off of at night–like he’s too scared of commitment, or it was all “too good to be true” so soon, or he’s just really lost in life right now. Maybe this. Maybe that. And maybe he’ll change his mind. He would be a freak not to! Right?
But here is the truth:
If your ex really wanted you back (regardless of why you broke up), he would have tried already. And he hasn’t.
You’re missing the fuck tart so badly, and where is he? Suffering horribly without you? Nope. Not at all. Not even a little bit.
So here you are having the same heart-attack reaction every time the doorbell rings thinking, Holy shit fuck fuck, it’s him. You think he’s finally come to his senses. He’s walked miles in complete emotional despair having nearly lost his mind, because in losing you he can’t breathe, can’t live. Breaking up was a huge mistake. He’s gonna tell you he loves you. He needs you. Whatever happened before this doesn’t matter. And it’ll be the relief you’ve been waiting for–for so, so long– because finally, and fuck yes, he feels the exact same way.
Ok, well, just so you know, this is never, ever going to happen.
Life isn’t the scene of some romantic movie that’s filled with tears and drama and Coldplay and frantic sweet nothings.
You broke up. Boom. Done. Over. Prepare for too much alcohol and waterproof mascara and feeling psycho, because while you’re constantly reminded of your ex everywhere–the songs, the bars, the street corners, that joke, Sundays being lazy, and that one tee-shirt–he’s off somewhere not giving a fuckity fuck fuck about where you are or what you’re doing.
And that’s when the thought of him mixes with too much vodka and it’s all a big emo mess. But he knows nothing of this dramatic embarrassment, you know. He will never be so overcome with the thought of you that he can’t take it, says “Fuck this” and leaves. He’s fine. He will always be fine. He’s out with friends and laughing so hard about some dumb joke and he just did blow in the bathroom so he doesn’t feel anything but so fucking good and he’s so happy that tomorrow he doesn’t have to worry about anyone or do anything but jerk off and play video games because isn’t that what Sundays are all about recently, anyway?
Then you think of him with other girls. You think he’s too damaged to bother. He’s sulking over your side of the bed, craving the smell of you and your hair and your body so intensely that it makes him ache, everywhere. Well, that’s not happening, either. He is fucking other girls. He likes the emotionally disconnected animalistic sex of it–just a man being a man–while you’re home early all the time, reminiscing on all the moments that consume you–like your very first kiss, that concert in the rain, and the day you realized that you had fallen in love with him.
But enough must be enough at some point.
You have to stop waiting.
You have to stop indulging in the idea of him. You have to stop justifying your loneliness by believing that he feels the same way you do. Because he doesn’t. He’s fine. He will always be fine. And one day you will be, too–the second you stop being that girl and realize that as much as the truth sucks, it’s that little fucker’s life that sucks more without you in it.[/sociallocker]