Six days

The love of my life* broke up with me and this is what happened the first week.

 
*one of the loves of my life

 
I cried. I cried my eyes out. I was physically sick at one point. I thought it was all a dream. I got down on my knees and literally begged him not to to this. As I threw up neon green bile because I couldn’t stomach the thought of being without him (pun intended), I wondered if this was worth it.

 
I decided it was.

 
And then I vomited again.

 
I cried myself to sleep. I took too any sleeping pills and chased them with 4 shots of vodka (some because I was sad, mostly becauseI didn’t have any chasers).

 

 

 

On the third day, I didn’t cry. My eyes did tear up a bit as a I explained the situation to a friend. But I remained a statue of stoicism and did not let myself shed a tear. ” Fuck that guy!” was the most common response from my friends, whom I finally shared by unhappy demeanor with, (which shout out to them for keeping it 💯) and yeah FUCK THAT GUY! But I must admit it’s difficult to shout “fuck that guy” when you’re steady looking at your phone hoping that guy will text you.

 
I got drunk with friends. I danced around the LES momentarily forgetting that the night before I frantically called him 13 times. No answer. For a moment, I wasn’t sad.

 
The next day I still wasn’t sad. I didn’t cry. I haven’t cried anymore and it’s going on day six. I don’t really feel any kind of way about it. Maybe relief. Maybe it’s my heart keeping my brain from processing anymore pain.

 

 

 

Or vice versa.

 
Maybe it will all hit me like a soccer punt to the stomach in a matter of days. Maybe it won’t.
I think I cried out every emotion I felt about him or us or the situation.

 

 
For right now, on day six, I don’t really have an opinion on the matter and I’m ok with it.

 

 

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