Before we get on to the serious subject of breakups, can I just ask, "Could a necklace possibly be any cuter?" I had to muster all of my willpower not to buy it. Again with this outfit, quite expensive shoes, but that's it. We can call it, "Oh How I Love Saturdays"--waking up late, grabbing bagels or brunch, browsing the farmer's market, shopping (!), seeing a movie...these activities are what the day was made for, and this ensemble would be the perfect compliment to a perfect day.
To note, I typed this entire blog entry last night, only to have it disappear when I pressed "Publish." I had a mild breakdown and then regathered my strength to deal with the inevitable electronic glitches of blogging. Here is version two....
"I forgot how hard it is." Miranda
I both love and hate the first episode of season two. I love it so much, I had to immediately re-watch it once it ended. I hate it, because it breaks my heart. Somehow, through all the glitz and glamour of SATC (and Hollywood in general), it captures the emotions of a breakup like nothing else I have ever seen does quite as accurately. Don't even get me started on the movie with Jennifer Anniston, and I find most shows or movies just flutter over the estrangement to get to the happy ending where the two characters reunite. Sure, they're sad for awhile, but it's only temporary. There's usually a montage of photos with introspective music--photos of the good ol' days or of the two people living their now-gloomy lives and missing the other. He goes to the store alone. She sees his favorite book on the book shelf and cries. And all the while, Jon Mayer plays in the background. Blah.
The girls deal with it head on. Carrie is a wreck--but not all of the time. Like nearly anybody after a split, she swings like a pendulum between okay and seriously not okay. You know the story: one minute you're fine, and the next minute you're crying in the soup isle of the grocery store. Like usual, the women have their differing theories of how to cope. Samantha, although she rarely breaks up with anyone (because she doesn't date them), resides in the camp of Don't Get Mad, Get Even. She tells Carrie to flaunt her stuff and make Big jealous of how well she can do without him. Miranda is tired of hearing about Big and suggests Carrie get back in the game asap. Date, sleep with other men, but just don't wallow in sadness. Charlotte provides the most romantic approach, a black-and-white timeline for grief. Specifically, grieve for half of the time you dated him, no more. Be patient and let yourself feel really, really sad, then be done--not unlike giving up something for Lent I suppose, especially if that thing is sugar or wine.
Amidst these opinions, Carrie creates her own rules, which are as follows:
1. Destroy any picture where he looks sexy and you look happy.
2. Lie about being okay, even though you're not.
3. Until emotionally stabilized, enter no stores. (Hear, hear!)
4. Never stop thinking about him, even for a moment, because that's the moment he'll appear.
5. No matter who broke your heart or how long it takes to heal, you'll never get through it without your friends.
I got to thinking about whether these are good rules and what I would add. Then I thought, Why is it that we always forget how hard it is, like Miranda says, so that we're unprepared for it the next time and not as sympathetic as we could be to our friends/family/etc when they go through it? Alternatively, do we ever forget completely?
Let me just say that by philosophy, I'm in the Charlotte camp. By practice, I'm with Miranda. While I have always thought a grieving period is in order for the newly dumped, I rarely ever had one. I was lucky if there were a few weeks between my relationships, whether I was the dumper or dumpee. At most, it was a few months, even after the two-plus-year ones. I could come up with theories about why--that I was usually the person to break things off and didn't love the person that much, that I'm an optimist at heart and feel that loves is perennial and thus don't wallow for too long when the other person leaves--but these aren't really accurate. Probably, I just like relationships, and I prefer them to being alone. That's me.
As for rules, I like Carrie's. I'm not sure I have rules. I would say don't sleep with the man who just broke up with you, but sometimes this can be good. It can show you that the connection you two had is no longer there, which makes it easier to say goodbye. Just tread lightly, and don't, I repeat, DON'T expect to get back together. I would say find a therapist--preferably of your same sex. It sure helped me. You never have to lie that you're okay, though you may just have to pay them a bit more to keep an extra-large stash of Kleenex. But therapy isn't for everyone, and in the end, the hard work lies with you and you alone. I would say exercise, but endorphins only last so long. I would suggest getting an animal that cuddles (Dogs are helpful, lizards are not, and I know), but then you create the potential to feel crappy about your potty training shortcomings, etc., when you should really just be feeling crappy about your failed relationship. Ultimately, it just takes time. Plain and simple. Until then, watch sad movies, cry into your pillow, have puffy eyes at work, who cares? Whatever it takes to make it through.
All this said, it's easy to have ideas about breakups when you're happy and not going through one. You forget exactly what it's like, the depth of sadness. You remember it being hard, but you can't believe you once cried in the soup isle and spent night after night writing bad poetry about loss. You can't imagine a time when saying goodbye to someone made you feel so sad, especially since it ended up being for the best. But you didn't know that then. You had dreams and hopes invested. You had good times with the person that made you think that maybe, just maybe, he or she was the one; that all your searching for your true mate was over; that you would never have to suffer a breakup again. Then, the other person tosses you out to deal with your life alone, essentially saying that life is better without you, and it aches.
It's like we're all born with a piece missing, and we search (consciously or not) for the right person to fill it. When we date, the puzzle seems to be completed for awhile, and we long for permanence. When we break up, the piece goes missing again, and we become aware of an absence we may not have even realized was there.
I don't think we really forget a bad breakup. I think the pain gets smaller and smaller until we can push it into a teeny corner of our brains and ignore it, but we always know it's there. When we suffer loss again, the previous pain comes back in a giant grief wave. That may be why we can't be 100% at the personal disposal of friends who have just been dumped. We can listen, but we don't want to suffer with them, because that will bring up all of our own unresolved abandonment issues, or something like that. It's like a survival mechanism that we want to model for our grieving friend. "You have to be okay. Just be okay, or you won't survive. I've done it, and we all have to do it. Buck up." Of course we can't say that, because it would be cruel, but we hint at it. "It will be okay, just give it a little time," we say. "You'll find somebody better," we say. That's our job, and it was our friend's job when we went through it.
In shopping news, I was going to be very proud to write the following words: "I will no longer buy anything except for the bare necessities." Hank and I had a big fight the other evening. On Cyber Monday, I bought a pair of boots and a coat on super sale, and he was really disappointed that I had not saved that money (well, credit, let's be honest here) for groceries. He said when I had a job, I could shop. Until then, we should be saving every penny. After all, he reminded me, what had he bought for himself lately? I felt terrible. I was selfishly buying clothes for myself when I was barely contributing to rent. So I made a pact. NO. MORE. SHOPPING. Nothing, nada, even if it's on killer sale and I need it (in a relative sense, of course). That was my plan...until Hank came home last night. Inspired by near-zero temperatures, I had spent a few minutes looking for a parka online. Harmless browsing, you know. "I found the perfect one for $179 on sale," I told him apprehensively, "and I'm going to buy it with my first paycheck." I showed him the picture online. "Just buy it!" he said. What? He went on, "Who knows if it will be on sale after Christmas, and besides, there's free shipping!" Go figure. So...I bought it (of course).
Well, Merry Christmas to me.
Hope you'll be back. I will.
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