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I recall blogging a few times on the topic of breakups. Searching the archives, I find three blogs. Relationship SOS: Are You about to Break Up? Obviously it’s a little late for that one. Why a Breakup Can Be Good for You. I’m not ready to look at the bright side just yet. Ten Ways to Deal with a Breakup. Okay, this is the one.
Ten Ways to Deal with a Breakup
1. Cry—get the emotions out. You’ll feel better after ward.
2. Write in a journal. Putting your thoughts and feelings into words is a healthy way to work through them.
3. Exercise. If you’re anything like me, getting your butt to the gym or out for a run is hard. But afterward you’ll feel great. Exercise increases serotonin in the brain, the chemical that makes you feel happy.
4. Listen to boppy, happy music. If you keep listening to sappy ballads, you’ll never move on.
5. Get rid of as much evidence of your ex as possible. Take pictures off your wall, move emails from your inbox, put away old letters and gifts. Put them in a box in the back of your closet if you want to look back on them twenty years from now.
6. Make an effort not to hang out at the same places you did with your ex unless, of course, they are your favorite places and you don’t want to give them up.
7. Ask your friends not to mention your ex. You don’t need to know everything he’s doing or who he’s doing it with.
8. Open your eyes to the possibilities around you. It’s never too soon to appreciate eye candy!
9. Resist the urge to keep rehashing your feelings about the breakup. In the first week or two, vent all you want. After that, keep most of it in or write in your journal. Project the image that you’re moving on. Eventually, you’ll start to live it.
10. Don’t stay home because you feel depressed. Get out and party!
Looks like I’m still at #1, judging by the tears that keep blurring my eyes. It doesn’t help that my sinuses are clogged and I can hardly breathe. Breaking up is so not pretty.
My stomach grumbles, and I realize I’d barely gotten through one slice of pizza when Jared dropped the bomb. I go downstairs in search of comfort food. I think some ice cream is in order.
Why is it people on TV lose their appetite when they’re depressed? When I’m depressed, I do nothing but eat. Nestlé’s Rollo ice cream, M&M’s ice cream and Milky Way ice cream have consolidated two of my favorite vices, ice cream and candy bars. Of course, with my lactose intolerance, too much dairy is never a good thing. So I pop two Lactaid pills and hope for the best.
I head back to my room, bowl of ice cream in hand. Then I notice it on my wall: the painting. Whenever I look at it, my heart swells with love, but now it just deepens my misery. Jared gave it to me one random night, not for any special occasion. It shows a young woman in a field of white blossoms, her hair blowing in the ice-blue wind, a mysterious smile on her face. He said the girl represented me, and the wind was him, madly trying to grasp her hair or her flowing dress, but getting happily caught up in both. I knew that when he gave me the painting, he was telling me he loved me, even though it was a few more weeks before he said the words.
Based on #5 of my own advice, I’d better take down the painting. Should I punch my fist through it, like someone on TV might do? Throw it in the fireplace and dance before the flames while doing a cleansing chant? But I can’t destroy the painting, I know that. It reminds me of what a talented artist Jared is and why he deserved that art scholarship. And it’s proof that the love between us had been real. To destroy it would be like saying that the love never existed.
I take the painting down and put it in my closet, facing the back wall. Then, since my closet is messy anyway, I throw a cardigan over it so I won’t have to see it.
A bleep comes from my computer. It’s an instant message for the Oracle. Forget it. I’m not in the mood to answer questions. Right now I’m having trouble dealing with my own life.
I try to turn my mind to other things, but then my conscience kicks in. What if it’s important? What if someone really needs me?
Oracle: Good evening.
NYCgirl224: Hi, Oracle. My family hates my boyfriend. They’re doing everything they can to make me break up with him. They won’t tell me when he calls or stops by. It’s to the point that I have to meet him in secret.
Oracle: That must be really difficult for you. Have you talked to your family about why they feel this way?
NYCgirl224: Of course. They think we fight too much. But all couples fight, don’t they? It’s normal. They just don’t know him like I do. They don’t see how sweet and loving he is.
Oracle: Maybe your family’s concerned you’re not happy with him.
NYCgirl224: They’re so judgmental. Yeah, he’s made some mistakes, but he’s always apologized for them. He’s not a bad guy.
Oracle: What type of mistakes do you mean?
NYCgirl224: Our fights have gotten physical a few times. My BF’s got a bad temper—it runs in his family.
Oracle: Has he hit you?
NYCgirl224: Yeah, but it doesn’t happen often. Just when I make him really angry. And my family judges him on that, like he’s beating me up every day or something. You can’t blame him. He had a really screwed-up childhood.
Oracle: It sounds like your family is afraid for you. Do you think it’s okay that he sometimes hits you?
NYCgirl224: No. I’m not stupid. But sometimes he can’t help it. He’s working on his anger issues. He says he’s going to get counseling.
Oracle: It’s not your job to stick by him while he gets help. It’s not acceptable for him to hit you—not even once. Let him work out his own problems.
NYCgirl224: *Groan* You sound like my parents. Are you really a teen?
Oracle: I am. But I strongly feel that anyone who hits you has lost his right to be your BF.
NYCgirl224: You just don’t understand, Oracle. No one does.
She disconnects. It’s the first time a client has ever hung up on me. Did she really think I would support her in staying with her boyfriend? Usually I try to be diplomatic, but I couldn’t this time.
Talk about perspective on my situation. A breakup isn’t so bad compared with having an abusive boyfriend.
I hope I’ll hear from her again, but I doubt it. I can only hope she comes to her senses before it’s too late.
That night, as I lie in bed, I can’t stop thinking about it: the moment I fell in love with Jared. The moment I knew that my feelings weren’t just a trick of teenage hormones, but the real thing.
It was back in January. The school day had just ended, and Jared and I were getting our stuff from our lockers when we saw a crowd gathering in the hallway. We went over to see what was going on, and saw idiot jock Declan McCall giving Evgeney Vraslov a wedgie as a bunch of people cheered him on. Evgeney’s glasses had skidded off on the floor, and his face was bright red with humiliation.
Jared dropped his book bag, strode up to Declan and grabbed the collar of his shirt, hoisting him backward. Evgeney dropped to the floor, and Declan stumbled. A hush came over the crowd. No one could believe that someone would dare challenge Declan.
“What the hell?” Declan glared at Jared, rubbing his neck where his collar had bit into it. “You promised me a wedgie, Dec.”
Now no one, I mean no one, called Declan “Dec,” apparently due to his dislike of being compared to patio furniture. Since Declan was a little slow, it took him a few seconds to realize that now he was the one who looked like a jackass in front of everyone.
Declan got up in Jared’s face. I felt my heart pumping with fear. He was big and brawny and had made mincemeat of plenty of guys on the football field. A ripple of excitement went through the crowd as everyone braced for Declan to throw a punch. Several guys started chanting, “Fight!”
Jared held his ground. Didn’t even flinch. I realized that although Declan was the bigger guy, Jared had something far more dangerous. He had a quiet, deadly confidence about him. A please take a shot at me because I’m just dying to hand you your ass look in his eye that made Declan stop in his tracks.
After a few tense moments, Declan turned and walked away. The crowd, revved up for a fight, erupted in boos.
If ever there was a romantic hero, it was Jared at that moment. He was a guy who’d known trouble in the past—had even been in juvie—and wanted nothing more than to avoid it now. But he’d put himself on the line for Evgeney.
How could I not have fallen in love with him?
two
Sunday night is Glamour Girl night for me and my friends. It’s our favorite show about rich, spoiled teens and their world of brand names, booze and love triangles. As usual, we’re in Viv’s basement in Park Slope. Some might think we’re a strange mix because we’re all so different. Viv, who’s from a strict Indian home, is an honors student. Amy is a blonde bombshell who’s always looking for a party. Ryan is a metrosexual—a guy who isn’t afraid to add frosty blond tips to his hair and doesn’t mind being compared to Ryan Seacrest. Sharese is a church-going debate-club member who’s never shy about sharing her opinion. As for me, I’m not sure, but I think I’m the one in the middle who brings their different personalities together. I’m also the Oracle of Dating, of course, but Viv is the only one who knows that (and I’d like to keep it that way).
I break the news. There’s dead silence for two seconds. Then…
Viv: “That jerk!”
Ryan: “Good-for-nothing ass clown!”
Sharese: “May all his Jonas Brothers hair fall out!”
Amy: “You’re way better-looking than him anyway.”
At that, I’m slightly comforted, even though I know it’s not true.
“We always thought he was weird,” Sharese says.
“You did?”
They all nod.
“He was too quiet,” Viv says. “It was kind of creepy sometimes.”
“He didn’t know how to dress,” Ryan points out.
I’m surprised by their reaction. I thought they liked Jared. “If you guys didn’t like him, you should’ve told me.”
“It’s not that we didn’t like him,” Sharese says. “We just thought he was weird.”
“No offense, Kayla,” Ryan says, “but you weren’t much fun when you were with him. You never went to parties.”
He’s right about that. Jared preferred that we spend time on our own, and I was happy to just hang out with him. I have to admit, parties mostly lost their appeal because I already had a guy and didn’t need to meet one.
“You’ll find someone else—don’t worry.” Amy smiles. “Maybe a guy on the soccer team?” Amy’s boyfriend, Chad, is on the soccer team, and Amy is a huge fan of the team’s, um, man power.
Viv turns to Amy. “Don’t pressure her to find another guy right away. She needs time to discover herself again.”
“Self-love, huh?” Amy smiles wickedly.
Viv’s eyes flash. “You’re such a perv!”
I laugh. I’m glad I have my friends. Too many girls make the mistake of drifting apart from their friends when they’re in a relationship—a mistake the Oracle always warns people against. Thank goodness I followed my own advice. I need my friends so much right now.
“What you deserve is a hot stone massage,” Ryan says. “Total pampering, total relaxation.”
“I can’t afford that, but I’ll do a mani and pedi.”
Ryan looks skeptical. “That’s all you ever do. You need to work more shifts at the Hole and save some money.”
The Hole, short for Hellhole, is Eddie’s Grocery, where Ryan and I work. I have three four-hour shifts a week and that’s enough for me. My greatest dream is to make enough money as the Oracle of Dating to be able to quit.
“No spa day is worth more time at Eddie’s.” I pick up the remote control.
Amy grabs it from me. “No, wait! Glamour Girl doesn’t start for five minutes and we need to hear more about the breakup. How did he do it?”
“What do you mean, how? He just did it. Over pizza.”
“Did he at least wait until you were finished eating?” Ryan asks.
“No. I was still on my first slice. But I forgot to leave money, so I guess he paid.”
“Damn straight, he should pay!” Sharese says.
“So how did he say it?” Amy asks.
“He said he needed to take a step back and figure stuff out.”
They all wince as if they’ve popped sour candies into their mouths. What Jared said was cliché and we all know it. Taking a step back is the same as needing space or a time-out. It’s almost as bad as “we’ve become different people.” Lots of my clients have had those lines thrown at them and the cliché seems to add to the insult. But then, what’s a guy to say? I’m not attracted to you anymore? You bore me?
“Was that it?” Viv asks. “Is that his only reason?”
“He’s really disappointed about not getting an art scholarship. He somehow blames it on being too into me and not focusing enough on his goals.”
“Maybe he’s trying to punish himself by breaking up with you,” Viv offers.
“Too into you?” Sharese says. “What crap.”
The others agree that it was a lame thing to say. The stupid part of it was, I believed him. But I guess he was just trying to save my pride. Maybe he thought it was kinder to tell me he’d been too into me than not into me enough.
It doesn’t help when Ryan says, “I’m sorry to say this, but he probably met another girl.”
Sharese elbows him. “Nice job upsetting her.”
“Ouch!” He rubs his ribs. “Well, it’s true. It’s better if we prepare her for it.”
“I believe him that there’s no one else, but there could be another girl soon, I know that.” Or would there? If he said he needs to take a step back, wouldn’t that apply to all girls? Maybe not. If I believe that, I’ll be deluding myself.
“You can find someone, too,” Amy says. “A rebound can be a beautiful thing.”
The red numbers on the clock read 12:27 a.m., but I’m nowhere near sleep. I can think of nothing but rebounding.
REbounding.
ReBOUNDING.
I get out of bed and switch my desk light and computer on. I look up rebounding on an online dictionary.
1: To spring or bounce back after hitting something.
2: To recover from a disappointment.
