When Good Times Want to Head to the Dark Side

Okay. First of all, let’s agree that most men are the fucking WORST at breaking up. Or is it that they’re the fucking worst at breaking up with ME? Am I the only woman in the world who doesn’t realize it’s even happened because no one TOLD ME? I didn’t get the memo or the email. Even a mofo TEXT would have been better than thinking someone is still there when it’s really their dust. Like holy shit, I know you don’t want to be “the bad guy” or make me cry but making me look and feel like the biggest fucking idiot in the world after having vigorously defended you to my of course much wiser gfs…really? Not. Fucking. Cricket. Dude.

Well, that rant needed to be shared, apparently. Now that that’s off my chest, here’s what being dumped, in or out of stealth mode, has to do with this post. It used to be as soon as I was AWARE I’d been relieved of my gf duties, my brain would immediately go into “status obsessus” and I’d relive and reanalyze every event, interaction and communication for a glimmer, a clue, the missing link, ANYTHING. I’d sift through the most innocuous or WAS IT? to the most significant or was it? memory trying to relive the relationship and effect a different conclusion. Because that’s likely, right? *Sigh*

When that never happened, I’d then begin to brood. I’d take all the memories of the relationship and cast them into the same pot - the “I got dumped again and all I got was this fucking pot” pot o’ shame, oc – put the lid on TIGHT and start in on the wine therapy. Stat. I didn’t want to think about the good ones because that hurt waaayy too much and the bad ones taunted me with the knowledge that had I paid more attention to them, I wouldn’t have gotten blindsided. In fact, I might have sent out a fucking memo or two of my own. Either way, it was a potful of unsavory mess. I didn’t discriminate because let’s face it – it all felt like fucking shit.

However. Here’s some questions I’ve come to ask myself after more practice at this than any one woman should have had in this short a time span, I’m just saying: should everything be lumped together and put in a pot o’ shame? Should I even HAVE a “pot o’ shame”? Clue: nothing like the Pot o’ Gold chocolates. Should I feel like a fucking idiot for not having known something because I WASN’T TOLD? And even if I could identify the deciding factor that changed me from being taken to being single in a heartbeat and could go back to change it, would I?

As I’ve said before, I honestly believe I meet who I’m supposed to meet and I spend the amount of time I’m supposed to spend with them and always always ALWAYS my life is only about me. No matter how it shakes out, how well he behaved or how badly, how long how short how ridiculous how sublime…the common denominator is always just me. Who am I regardless of all that happens around me in the name of love or any approximation there of? And can I love myself whether there’s someone else in front of me to validate my worthiness or not? Because wherever I go, there I am and since I’m the navigator and the driver and the CEO of my life, I guess I’d better have a fucking clue, huh?

So. When shit goes down that I had no idea about, I no longer beat myself up over it. It’s not my shit. Really. I’ve learned to not take it personally if you can believe THAT! I mean, it still hurts and I still feel sad that there was no stepping up to any plate at any point but you know #FWP, right? As for having a pot o’ shame, yeah no. I will not have “a painful feeling of humiliation or distress caused by the consciousness of wrong or foolish behavior”. Being dumped is not something for ME to be ashamed of. EVER. And I wouldn’t go back to change anything even if I could. I believe what the Universe has in store for me is a lot more bigger picture than I could possibly imagine and I don’t want to miss one single minute of it thinking that what I once had is the best I’m ever gonna have because sister, that’s just not fucking true…for me or for you.

Finally, I no longer recategorise my memories according to outcome. Even if it turns out differently from what I’d thought or hoped it would be, I keep my good memories as such and take them out to let them sparkle and shine and make me smile. Sure it’s bittersweet at the very beginning of the end but as time passes, the pain fades and only the original pleasure remains. # FTW.

Nothing goes to the Dark Side anymore - not my memories and not me. While I may feel less than light sometimes because of a break up or a great date gone nowhere and self medicate via vino, I will always rebound. “You’re so resilient; it’s one of your best qualities” was a recent and unexpected compliment from my friend Eriny and I guess I’d have to agree. I’m just doing my damnedest to live this life as my own sun and when I remember that, nothing and no one else will be able to extinguish it. Fyi.

How would you feel about being the last to know about your break up? Like waaayyy last? And are you finally ready to throw away anything that holds any kind of shame for something that reflects and shares your amazing inner sun? Because that's how we're now rolling here at Date with Lucy and oc, as always when I say we I mean me. Tell me if you're down with that.