here, take it and smash it.

First I thought this is pretty funny, being broken up with on the day the world was meant to end (dec 21) but then I was all like no, nope, this sucks and I sprained my jaw from vomiting rather violently. I then tried to think it wasn’t all bad. After all, haven’t I done this to people before? Ripped their heart directly from its socket and played hacky sack with it? Surely this is all just a cruel bit of irony after this exact guy left his girlfriend of three years for me, I mean isn’t that how it works, they run you over with their karma? And hey, it’s not all bad, I mean it’s only a few days before Christmas, surely all that food’s going to help plus people, alcohol, presents! Apart from an inability to keep food down, the whisky and 80% moonshine-esque alcohol provided by my uncles, definitely helped numb something, so it wasn’t all bad, except that it was bad, all bad with the Christmas and the babies and the happiness and I just wanted to stab it all and can someone please explain how and why uncle Fred and aunty Magdalina are still together even though they hate each other with a venemous, unrivalled hatred that has withstood the test of time?

But then! Alas! Right before New Year’s Eve, he decides it was all just a big mistake, let’s forget it ever happened, here are some male tears (can’t say no to them!) and let’s just move on together shall we and forget this ever happened? Onwards and upwards, together we’ll fly into the sun and we’ll go back to normal and move to Germany and hey ‘wouldn’t it be cool to get married? What? Why are you looking at me like that? Oh because I tried to break up with you two weeks ago, that’s true, sorry’. And I had no say in the matter. I wish I had said no. I wish I had said ‘fuck off’, maybe I did, but did it matter? There is no willpower in this field of dreams, and so I cried and was happy and here we are now, two months later, on Valentine’s Day and I am consoling him on the fact that he is breaking up with me for the second time because he’s confused, even though he loves me and misses me and can’t live without me quote unquote. It’s very tough for him you see, to be the arsehole the second time running. There there. Everything will be okay. In hell.

So here I am, feeling very much like my stomach has been used as a punching bag. I don’t know why I’m writing this, maybe to feel something that isn’t sheer and agonising grief but you know what, it’s not working, not even a little bit, not even at all.

Happy Valentine.

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