I know, I know — the idea of someone “winning” or “losing” a breakup is silly at best and unhealthy at worst. But if there were such a thing, I definitely wouldn’t have “won” my breakup. As much as I hate to admit it, I came out of my relationship much worse than my ex did, and this is why:
I’m that girl who makes scenes in bars now.
I swore I’d never be her, but here I am. I’m that girl who takes a breakup badly. So badly, in fact, that I down tequila shots at the bar and try my best to ‘sexy’ dance my way back into my ex’s life (and freak out when it doesn’t work). I’m also the girl who has a full-on insult match with my ex in a packed bar. I’m the exact kind of cliche I hate most in a person.
I ruined some of my genuine friendships.
I got a tad… obsessive about the breakup. I was convinced that our mutual friends had to choose sides. If they even spoke to my ex, that was a betrayal worse than any other. I made that clear to them from the minute it was over. Shockingly, they didn’t play ball with my controlling ways. They spoke to him. At least, most of them did. And I pulled the trigger on those friendships for no damn reason.
I got ‘under’ someone way too soon.
I did what any hot-blooded lady would do: I tried to hook up with someone else. What’s that thing people say? “You need to get under someone new to get over someone old.” Well, I’m living, breathing, regretting proof that that is utter BS. I jumped in the sack with some random guy a week after my epic breakup. I didn’t care who he was or what he did, I just wanted to be with someone new. I wanted to win.
It didn’t work out how I planned.
To make matters worse, I tried to make it stick. After Rando and I had spent a rather passionless night together, I thought we were officially dating. I blew up his phone, friended him on Facebook, and practically begged for a date. Of course, this all made it all the more humiliating when he sent me a polite message to say we were just a ‘one-night thing’. Cheers, pal.
My social media life is a serious mess.
I put whiny statuses about my ex all over the damn place. I posted try-hard pictures of me and my besties having the ‘time of our lives’. I posted snide, spiteful comments to indirectly take my ex down a peg or two. And you want to know what’s worse? All this time, he was barely online. He was too busy living IRL to care.
My ex got hot.
I soon found out where that guy was instead of constantly on social media: the gym. He channeled all the negativity of the relationship into one hell of a workout routine. And yes, he’s looking fitter, healthier, and happier than ever before. When he posted a photo of his new bod, I nearly fell off my seat. Damn it.
I’ve drunk-dialed him more than once.
It’s another cliche, but I’ve done it. I’ve got so wasted that I thought he would take me back. I’ve gotten crazy drunk and, even though I’ve deleted his number, I know those digits by heart. There has been more than one shameful occasion when I’ve left him awkward voicemails.
I’ve tried to look hot when we ‘ran’ into each other.
When we got invited to a mutual friend’s party (because I still have some friends!), my heart fluttered. This was my chance to win him back, or at the very least, show him what he’s been missing. So I got all dressed up, piled on the makeup, and curled my hair half to death. It was a low-key affair and I looked like a preened poodle. He walked in looking all cool and casual. I just looked a fool.
He seems better off without me.
It kills me to say this. It’s something I know but don’t want to admit to even myself. But he’s doing just fine. Better than fine, actually — he’s doing amazing. It’s like the life is back in him again. He’s finally found his ‘je ne sais quoi’ and it’s working for him. He’s got his life together and is hella confident. I wish I could say it seems fake, but it seems all too real.
And nope, he’s not even in a new relationship yet.
Oh, and if you thought that ‘winning’ was about getting into a new relationship, you were wrong. It’s not. My ex doesn’t have some lady clutching at his arms these days. He doesn’t need one. When he’s ready, I’m sure he will make some other gal very, very happy. He ticks every damn box. I just wish I’d seen that back when I had the chance.
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