During my weeks of being horrendously depressed over everything with R, I have become quite a collector of “inspirational” quotes and can confidently say I have read every “How To Get Over Your Ex” website that has ever existed.
Some things that are listed on said websites are horrendous.
Some sounded like they would work.
Some were hilarious.
I have tried many of their suggestions with varying degrees of success, and here are my findings:
Cut up a photo of you together
I have since learnt that apparently this is best done in a fit of pique and when you are filled with rage and anger and that ripping up a love filled photo of happier days can bring great satisfaction.
…I did not do it under said circumstances. In fact I was feeling very empty. Very flat. And in an attempt to feel something decided this would be a good idea. I was just left with handfuls of photo confetti and an apathy towards cleaning up the mess I’d just made.
Do something solely for you
I have had dyed red hair for a very long time, but in February, R and myself had pretty much all our hair cut off, and this left me with an opportunity I had been wanting for a while.
I could dye my hair a colour that wasn’t red. (For those who don’t know, red is a notoriously difficult colour to get out of your hair, but no one told me this when I was foolish and 17 and I’ve had varying degrees of dirty red hair ever since.)
For a while, I’ve wanted to dye my hair blonde. But R would always pull a slightly disgusted face and inform me that she never really found blondes attractive (…ironicly).
But now me and my new blonde hair don’t give a fuck.
Have no contact
This wasn’t exactly one I could efficiently do seeing as we lived together for a month or so immediately after…which was awful.
I don’t know if cutting off contact entirely would be a great move, but less certainly would have been better. I was slowly falling apart when I lived in the same house as R. Not fun.
I think the ideal amount of contact for everyone will be different.
…Don’t sleep with them though.
That should be a given.
Throw away/sell anything they bought/gave you
Now I am in fact a hugely sentimental person, so throwing/selling/burning all mine and R’s little gifts and cards and love notes and letters doesn’t appeal to me.
I’ve compromised and stuffed everything into a shoebox now safely tucked under my bed.
This was oddly cleansing though. Absolutely everything is in there. From the white-gold necklace from our 2 year anniversary to the teddy she once won me at a fairground. The receipt from our first date, a mix CD she made me, valentines cards, photos of us that were once stuck on our mirror. All in the box. And for a good long time that box shall stay firmly seleotaped shut and hidden away.
Break something precious to them
I mean, I’m upset and angry. I am however, not 5 years old.
Saying that though, my Mother told me that she could pin point the moment when she started moving on from her then Husband. She retold me (with great relish I may add) that she had taken his favourite, hand cut, crystal whiskey glass, headed outside, and hurled it with all her strength at the shed. She said it shattered into a million pieces, and though she then did have to spend the next hour sweeping it all up to make sure my siblings and I didn’t cut ourselves on it, it was worth it a thousand times over.
(You don’t know my Mother, but she is one of the most timid and kind people, the thought of her purposely destroying something someone held dear is both hilarious and alarming.)
But anyway, I gave this idea a miss.
Do something you never would have done before
I’m going to Germany!
Lord, it is without a doubt the scariest thing I have ever decided to do. Not only am I moving to a new place where I will know no one, I don’t even speak the language fluently.
I’m leaving my little comfortable island of rain and tea for a landscape of Weinerschniztle and Bratwurst.
But it’s all for me.
I decided to do it entirely on my own. It’ll be a very new, very clean, very shiny slate.
And I can’t bloody wait.
This is one of the rare times where I’m sad that my friends don’t know I write all this (apart from you, F), because every single one of my friends has just been the most fantastic person to me the last month.
From offers of places to stay to spontaneously arranged girls-nights in with wine, chocolate, bad movies and facemasks all provided. I don’t know how they’ve put up with my moaning and impulsive bursts of anger followed by impromptu hysterical crying because I didn’t think I’d studied enough for my exams.
And they’ve definitely been the thing that has helped me the most.
So a big anonymous thanks to all my friends and to all the people who have helped their own friends though break ups. I know it must be a bit of a drag for you. We know you're sick of hearing about our exes. But thanks for doing it for us.
Now pass the wine.