======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ==== ======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ====
One of my good friends just had his girlfriend break up with him. For a brief period of time after, he was an absolute wreck, and I mean truly inconsolable. There was crying, a dangerous level of junk food/ice cream consumption, and an unbelievable amount of romantic comedies and dramas being watched on Netflix. He’s now progressed to an insane workout schedule in a futile effort to make her jealous, which is certainly better than his previous plan to fat his way back into the relationship. I don’t know how long that will last for, but I do know one thing for sure. I’m so fucking jealous.
There is nothing in this world that I want more in the New Year than to get dumped. I’ve never been dumped, and I’m sure it’s the same for some of you. I’ve always wanted to be though, but alas, always the dumper and never the dumpee.
Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve always been an early dumper, no double-entendre intended. Whenever there is the first sign of trouble in a relationship I’m usually the one who is walking out the door. I remember back in college there was a night where I decided to drink to a level ensuring a violent blackout, for no apparent reason (remember those days?). I woke up in the middle of the night peeing the bed with my girlfriend at the time beside me. We awoke the next morning, sheets off the mattress, her looking furious, and me, thoroughly confused and wearing nothing but a robe. After asking her what happened, she informed me of the transgressions from the night before. I couldn’t believe it when she told me that I peed the bed, so I responded with the very mature, “No you peed the bed”. Needless to say, this only infuriated her more and she angrily demanded breakfast. So, instead of treating her to the relationship saving breakfast she truly deserved, I took the easy way out and retorted with a swift and heartless, “I think we should see other people”.
Always being the one to pull the trigger at the first sign of alarm has its pros, but it leaves something to be desired. I feel like there’s this whole life experience that I’m missing out on, because of my small, innocent, and crushing fear of commitment.
Quite honestly, I’m too happy, and it’s completely unacceptable. I only have a few emotions that I switch between and they’re happy, occasionally angry if I’m too drunk, and mind-numbing anxiety on Sunday nights. I want to gorge my body on Ben and Jerry’s. I want to watch Rom-Coms alone in my room on a night other than Sunday and not be made fun of for it. I want to experience that post-breakup motivation of, “I’ll show her” and kick my body into high gear.
Not to mention, it’s a completely guilt free way to have the relationship come to an end. Plus, if you’re feeling particularly vain, the person who gets broken up with gets a million sympathies from everyone around them. No one feels bad for the person ending the relationship, or asks how they’re holding up. It’s an assumption that you’re fine since you ended it, which is true for some and couldn’t be farther from the truth for others.
I have a lot of resolutions for the upcoming New Year. I want to exercise at least 3 days a week, kick my Starbucks habit, and read at least 2 books a month. But the one resolution I have that trumps any other? I want to find a nice girl, foster a loving, caring relationship for 6-8 months, and then I want her to rip my fucking heart out. Just to see how it feels..
Image via Shutterstock