It's Not Okay: Turning Heartbreak into Happily Never After (24 page)

And what angers me the most is the contradiction of it all. Throughout our entire relationship, Number Twenty-Six was so self-righteous when it came to members of the opposite sex, especially when it came to infidelity. Don’t get me wrong, I know this doesn’t rise to the level of infidelity, considering we are broken up, but hear me out.

His insecurity started very early on in our relationship when he told me about the time he was twenty and his girlfriend of about a year (which at that age is more like ten minutes) had kissed another guy while they were together. It tore him apart and scarred him not just for the next decade, but for life. He called it “cheating,” though I’m hesitant to categorize it so definitively. Personally, I called it bullshit (in my mind, of course).

For starters, it was a decade ago—let it go! Not to mention the fact that if that’s what he thinks cheating is, then bless his heart. Here’s cheating: when your boyfriend of a few years
actually
cheats on you. Not just “Oh, he kissed a girl and he liked it,” no, full-blown penis-inside-vagina cheating. Nevertheless, he constantly made a point of reminding me of his fear of being cheated on. I wondered if it was really baggage for him, or if it was just an excuse to mask his jealousy. There seemed to be no other reason for this “insecurity” other than that one girl
ten years ago.
I tried to determine if maybe something about his family triggered this fear, maybe something from his childhood, but nothing.

Regardless of why he was insecure, it didn’t really matter because as I explained to him, it was completely irrelevant. I’d never been a cheater and didn’t plan on starting now. I’ve always believed that while we may not be able to control our minds and the dirty and tempting thoughts that run through them, we can refrain from acting on those thoughts, and I have always been a person of self-control (except when it comes to red wine and Thin Mints, obviously). Aside from cheating being too much of a bother, not to mention the guilt that comes with it, the chance of ruining an entire relationship with one sexcapade has never seemed worth it. Plus, it wasn’t like I had given him any reason to suspect that I had cheated or was planning to. This insecurity wasn’t the problem, though. Everyone has insecurities; my family members do, my friends do, and I certainly do. But you love those people regardless. The problem was that his insecurity had manifested itself into a method of control.

The first example of this that I remember was at my parents’ house one Sunday evening. We had continued my tradition of Sunday family dinners anytime we were in town, even when we weren’t supposed to be seen in public together. While we sat around the dinner table, my mom brought up
Dancing with the Stars.
Rumors had been circulating that I was going to join the cast, but they were just that, rumors. First of all, I hate dancing and I suck at it, and not in a cutesy way but in an embarrassing and nauseating way. Not only would it have been agony to have to dance all day long, but it would have been pure torture to make others watch me. My mother always wanted to stay up to date on the latest rumors, I think in part because so much was going on and she felt out of the loop, though I often reminded her she would be the first to know if anything was ever true. So when she asked if I was going to do the show, I emphatically replied, “Hell, no!” Should have been the end of the conversation, right? Not even close. Number Twenty-Six decided to give his two cents by voicing his opinion—or, rather, his
ruling
—that I was not going to participate “in a show like that.”

“Why not?” my mom asked.

He explained to her that the show was all about sex and how totally inappropriate it would be for
his
fiancée to be dancing and sweating on another man. In his defense (I can’t even believe I’m saying that), my family has always been very open. We would often engage in debates on anything and everything at our weekly dinners long before Number Twenty-Six ever made his way onto the scene. So it wasn’t the fact that he voiced his opinion that surprised me, or my mom, for that matter, but the way he said it. There was so much animosity and intensity in his tone.

“It doesn’t have to be all sexual, you know,” said my mother.

“Well, we’ve already discussed it and it’s not going to happen.”

I looked at my mother’s face, and I don’t know who was more mortified, she or I. But worse than the look of mortification was the worry I saw in her eyes. It was a familiar look, one I had seen just months ago when I looked into my father’s eyes the day he first met Number Twenty-Six. I was angry over the way he spoke to my mother, but I decided not to make a big deal about it at the time. Like his fear of my cheating,
DWTS
wasn’t something I was interested in doing anyway, so why have an argument?

And it wasn’t just these proactive little tantrums. As time went on, it felt as though Number Twenty-Six would look for ways to accuse me of cheating, almost as if he wanted it to happen. It was a Twitter fight here, or me talking to a guy there, or him accusing me of secretly being at dinner with men instead of with the girls like I told him (which was never true). The more ridiculous his accusations were and the more disproportionate his reactions, the more I wondered if all of this was less about his fear of cheating and was his way of exerting control over me. And even worse, was this the way the rest of our lives would be, stupid fight after stupid fight, accusation after accusation?

Perhaps my anger and jealousy really stem from the hurt I feel deep down. His hasty rebound makes me feel discarded and replaced, yet again. First it was the packing of my belongings, and now this. Am I that disposable?

But, as much as something like this hurts, it’s a blessing in disguise. It’s a free pass to move on without being the one that looks like the jackass. Thank your ex (silently). You’ve been drowning in your misery because you loved someone and it didn’t work out. You don’t want him back, but it’s difficult if not impossible to let him go. Well, now, you don’t have to, because he’s let you go first. He’s given you the jolt you needed to finally cut the cord.

Though the idea of cutting a cord sounds terrifying, we’ve all done it before. In fact, the cord was cut from you before you even realized you had arrived in this world. You’d barely made it out of the womb before
snip snip
, and just like that you’d gone from nine months relaxing in your mother’s stomach to out on your own. Sure, you weren’t completely left to fend for yourself, but you didn’t know that. And that’s exactly what you did—you survived. Which is exactly what needs to happen now. He’s let you go, and now you must do the same. The time has come to cut the cord from your relationship and begin to survive on your own.

Lesson learned:
Snip snip, clip clip.

W
ell, I woke up this morning, and though the tears have disappeared, my dislike for Twenty-Six hasn’t completely vanished just yet. I guess that takes time. But I’ve made progress! I have my stuff, I’ve purged my hatred (well, most of it), and after learning of his date, I, too, feel ready to take the step of moving on. And with the jolt of knowing that he’s begun the process by physically replacing me, I’m beginning to move on myself, by replacing him and the toxins he brings me with new healthy nutrients. Yup, I’m ready for the “Balancing Phase” of my detox. Woohoo!

However, I have a slight dilemma. As much as I am ready to move on and start substituting the negatives with positives, I also want him to suffer as I do it. Is that bad? Basically, I want revenge. I want him to pay for all the shit he put me through, both during and after our relationship. I want him to suffer just like I have. Shit, maybe I’m not done with the cleanse phase after all.

While I debate how to exact vengeance, I have an epiphany that I think healthily embodies my desires to get even
and
get better. What if my ultimate revenge could actually be beneficial to myself? Like killing two birds with one stone!

If you’re anything like me, when the tears finally dry up and every memory of the past has been burned to ashes, you wonder,
What’s next
? Naturally, what’s next is to get even. I blame this feeling on human nature. Part of you probably wants him to royally fuck up for all the world to see, right? But the softer side of you wants to spare him any pain, considering you did love him at one point. Then there’s your selfish side that figures, if he fucks up, then I look like a fuck-up for having been with well . . . such a fuck-up. But the overwhelming desire, all softness and rationality aside, is to give him a dose of his own medicine. To even up the score. Because it’s become clear that you have undoubtedly drawn the shitty end of the heartbreak stick. And in all fairness, you deserve some retaliation.

There are a variety of ways to go about this. You could . . .

• 
slit his tires

• 
accidentally leave a voice mail of you hooking up with another guy

• 
send him a text saying you’re pregnant and it’s his

• 
go over to his house wearing nothing but a trench coat and thigh-highs

• 
send yourself flowers from a mystery man . . . to his address

• 
tell everyone you broke up because you found out he’s gay

• 
do a drive-by (not shooting, just surveying)

• 
hook up with one of his friends, in public

Okay, so you’re not going to actually do any of those things, but don’t deny that they’ve crossed your mind. (Although the voice mail would be great.) You don’t want to hook up with one of his friends and become, not the one who got away, but the skank who screwed herself away. You don’t want to spread rumors about him because it’ll make him think you still care, which even though you obviously do because you want vengeance, you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. Ultimately, deep down, what you really want is to get revenge so you feel better about yourself. You want him to miss you. And though no amount of missing will ever make you want him back, you still want him to want you. So what do you do? How do you get the revenge you need without looking insane?

The answer: You be mother-effing awesome!

Even though you aren’t “the one,” that doesn’t mean you can’t be “the one . . . who got away,” right? That’s the kind of wound that never heals. It’s the slow burn that haunts him, that keeps him up late at night. It’s the lethal dose of his own medicine. But it’s also, in the most selfish way possible, the best thing you can do for yourself. You give up trying to make him miserable, and instead make yourself invincible.

It’ll be easier said than done and will require a heavy dose of self-control, but you are a warrior, there’s nothing you can’t do. So get ready, vengeance is right around the corner. And here’s how you’ll find it:

OPERATION BE MOTHER-EFFING AWESOME

Step 1:
 
The pity party is officially over!
You’ve wallowed enough, drunk enough, cried enough, pouted enough, and pitied yourself enough. No more. You’ve had your hall pass long enough, it’s time to turn it back in. So box up the wine, throw away the remaining chocolate (if there’s any left), and do whatever else you need to do to wrap this party up. You can’t be the one who got away if you’re a train wreck.

Step 2:
 
Kill him with kindness.
Next time he sends you a rude text, you will either ignore it or kill him back with the sweetest words you can grudgingly muster up. It’s time to pretend to be the prim and proper sophisticated woman you were born to be.

Step 3:
 
Refrain from talking shit to anyone and everyone.
You have officially done all the shit talking there is to do to your family and closest friends. Your side of the story is out there. It has been heard probably to the point of exhaustion. It’s the end now. If someone asks you what he’s really like or what went wrong in your relationship, you will respond with only positivity and a screwed-on smile. You can do it, I know you can!

Step 4:
 
Get your ass in shape and flaunt it.
Say goodbye to those post-breakup pounds. Though this probably should have started long ago, it’s officially time to hit the gym and get slim, baby! Time to get your ass in shape. And while you’re at it, you will make sure to maintain shaved legs, clean underwear, and shampooed hair. Box up the breakup uniform, break out the heels, and look like you’re ready to play. You wanna be awesome? Start looking awesome.

Step 5:
 
Don’t fuck up.
This doesn’t mean you have to go out of your way to appease him. Hell, that was reserved for when you were in a relationship. You really don’t have to do anything when it comes to him, except not fuck up. Don’t give your ex a reason to deny the fact that he loved you, or to call you a skank or a drunk fool. No flirting with his friends, no dancing on bars, no photos of you looking a hot mess. Basically, anything that draws negative attention to yourself is to be avoided.