A few years ago I went through an ‘almost-relationship’ breakup. It was one of those where you meet somebody when you are least expecting it, you instantly click, feel intoxicated with feelings for the next few days/weeks and then when it looks like they’re going to ask you if you’d like to…y’know…be their gf/bf, they break your heart and the future you’d envisaged with a text message along the lines of: ‘this feels like it’s getting serious and I’m just not ready for a relationship’ or ‘I don’t want a gf/bf at the moment and I don’t want to lead you on’ and you’re like ‘oh, ok, that’s a shame but I accept your decision. Goodbye’ (because you’re an emotionally healthy kick-ass person who can deal with your emotions even during a breakup right, you’ve read this POST and if you agree with my ramblings you’ve put the work in). I digress…
…so anyway, that happened to me; except his little breakup text-bomb went as per in the picture below, (oh and reply to the question posed in the comments, if you like…)
…I actually threw up in disgust, (so good job he broke it to me by text, hey), but I also felt such a sharp pain straight through my core – just pain; I shouldn’t have been anything other than relieved because he’d just shown me right there the kind of person he is. Just for the record the text he got back after I’d finished throwing my breakfast up was ‘OK, I hope it all works out for you both’…as if it ever could!!! **ROLLS EYES**.
Anyhoooo, fast forward a few months to V’day 2015. I’m feeling nostalgic and sad (translates: weak and pathetic) because y’know there’s been an influx of greetings cards and balloons with hearts on them stocked in EVERY. SINGLE. OUTLET. I. GO. IN. INTRUDING. ON. MY. FLIPPIN. SHOPPING. EXPERIENCE for at least the last 14 days, and dine-in-for-two-Valentine’s-day adverts (cause singletons can fuck off and eat shit for the day) are all over the TV interrupting my favourite shows. So I’m feeling the love but in a ‘I’ve got none being showered on me’ kinda way. I’m at work and my thought process is right off kilter because it’s going something like this…
‘I’m very busy today. I really need to keep my head in the game because my concentration on detail is important so that I don’t make mistakes that will make me unemployed and lose my house…but it’s also ‘Vee’ day today – RIGHT NOW, IT’S Veeeeeeee DAY, IT’S THE 14th DAY OF THE SECOND MONTH OF THE 2015 CALENDAR YEAR AND I’M MISSING OUT AND I’M ALL ALONE, AND SINGLE – let me just have a sneaky ole’ peak at that last ‘almost-relationship ex that I haven’t thought about in months’ FB page…ain’t FaceBook grand…
…Let me just make sure that his ass is as single as my ass, because that really matters to me and is very relevant in my life right now. My number one priority is to look at my almost-relationship ex’s FB through security settings he’s applied because we aren’t fwends because I have to, no, I absolutely NEEEEEEED to, ascertain if he is missing me. Today. NOW!’.
Log on. La. La. lalalaaaaa, type his name in, I’ll see what I want; (him looking sad with the caption ‘missing that amazing almost-relationship from mid-last year’) and then back to work I’ll go with a ho, ho, ho and a smug look on my face – yep, he’s the one I’m looking for. WAIT…WHAT…DUH ACTUAL? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS THAT A PICTURE OF? **TURN HEAD FROM VERTICAL TO HORIZONTAL, BACK AGAIN AND NOW TO THE OTHER SIDE – WHIPLASH – REALITY SINKING IN – SHOCK – FROWN – MOUTH WIDE OPEN – THE MOTHERFU…** ENLARGE.THAT!
Right – you sadists, you want to know what I’m seeing? It was a picture of him with his new, not even vaguely attractive (as was obviously my opinion), semi-attractive (as was my colleague’s objective opinion), very fucking hot (as was the office pervert’s opinion) plaything (was my description), girlfriend (was my colleague’s), latest piece of meat (was the office pervert’s), only up the Eiffel fuckin’ Tower. You know, the one in Paris, with their heads stuck together like Siamese twats…sorry twins, ‘TWINS’ (slip of the fingers whilst typing there)…all loved-up and snuggled-up and all…
…‘LOOK AT US ALL SMUG ON THE MOST ROMANTIC DAY OF THE YEAR WHICH IS VALENTINE’S DAY FOLKS: IN THE MOST ROMANTIC CITY IN THE GODDAMN WORLD WHICH IS PARIS BITCHES – YES WE’VE UPGRADED FROM A DINE-IN FOR TWO BUT WE ARE SURROUNDED BY BALLOONS AND CARDS WE’VE EXCHANGED. AREN’T WE A PAIR OF LOVELIES ALL LOVELY LOOKING AND IN FUCKING LOVE, LOVEBIRDS’ tweet fucking tweet.
And so THIS happened. I analysed every pixel of that damn photograph for the rest of the day – it’s still etched in my mind because on that day I forensically analysed the shit out of it which led to it burning a hole in my head and etching itself there for eternity. I wanted to post a snarky comment ‘what happened to the married, preggers one you morally deranged asshole?’ or ‘careful up there lovers, don’t fall off and break your attention seeking ugly necks’ or ‘over your anxiety are you? given that you can stay over in Paris but can’t stay at mine because of your ‘anxiety’ you liar-lipstick’. I didn’t of course because nah it’s not classy…especially as he hadn’t even actually ever extended a FB invite to me.
Then I thought to myself, ‘Wait! Let’s be rational(!) here. Hang-on, get a bloody grip mate,’ cause obviously I hadn’t given this one, badly angled FB picture enough of my time or thought. ‘Is that the actual Eiffel Tower though?’ Like IS IT? There’s only a bit of the structure that’s visible, like the underneath-ish bit. Let’s analyse the ‘facts’ that ‘he’ told me, like ‘He’s skint!’ ‘His anxiety precludes him from travelling overseas’; ‘it precludes him from staying anywhere other than at his house overnight’; and it ‘especially precludes him from staying over at mine’ (translation: with me) – yeah, I ignored that last ‘sneaky’ thought…the only rational one!
I’ve got this wrong. That must be a different construction. Yes! They’re just mates. They’ve gone on a jolly holiday, mates-date trip to Blackpool. She’s being a supportive fwend; helping him get over ME – you don’t take your girlfriend to Blackpool…on Valentine’s Day…I mean…y’know….YEP, I’m a genius and I’m gonna fathom this potential red herring. It is, it could be…
…obviously not just satisfied that I’d wasted now hours of my own time, I would waste the time of whoever came into my path and whilst I was frantically walking around looking for suitable people to place in my path to mull this over with, I had my next emotionally laden brainwave. This was an intelligent one…
Sharing the building (i.e. in the next offices along) was a large construction company! OH YES, I knew they’d been put there for a reason, it was to help me with this conundrum – that’s destiny aligning I thought! I get on with one of the blokes that works there (well I say ‘hi, you alright’ to him occasionally and he’s cordial back). Even better! Let me get his opinion on Tower constructions, maybe he can tell me whether the Tower in question is the Parisian one or the Blackpoolian one. And I asked him!
…I. ACTUALLY. FUCKING. MARCHED. IN. TO. ANOTHER. COMPANY’S. OFFICE. located the poor unsuspecting virtual stranger and without introduction slammed the three images onto his desk telling him to scrutinise the ‘romantic image’, then to examine the one of the verified underneath of the Eiffel Tower and do the same to the verified underneath of the Blackpool Tower. He glanced at them, fleetingly, back and forth, he looked a bit panicked, which I thought strange – just asking for an opinion really – a bit of perspective…so I demanded that he tell me (in his expert capacity of being part of the finance department of a company that constructs office blocks) which Tower he believed them to be standing in/under and I damn well argued my case when he told me in no uncertain terms (in tone ‘irritated’)‘Eiffel! Are you blind or just dumb?’ – the one I didn’t want it to be.
….‘Ahhhh!!!’ he said, the realisation of what the fuck was going on hitting him. ‘Just been dumped have you love? – my advice move on, oh, and give your head a wobble!’ he said totally disinterred, quite ‘rudely dismissive’ I thought, albeit SPOT FUCKING ON with hindsight.
I went back to my desk for a final look and lo-and-behold, another photo had been posted. It was of a padlock. Not any old, ordinary padlock. Not an ugly off-gold-ish coloured padlock that you’d padlock your garden shed with. No, it was a pink (course it was) padlock on which was written in calligraphy their initials separated by a heart and it was placed among a, what I can only describe as, a ‘sea-fence of other prettily initialed padlocks’. It was a bit like this one I’ve ruined with nail-varnish and sharpie just so I could show you. Only their’s was better…and obviously didn’t maybe suggest (which I’m not suggesting, those letters were picked at random) that FaceBook loves Bull Shit…
WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? Now I like to know what I’m dealing with, so (obviously) I took to Google again, this time ‘Padlocks in Paris’ was my search related focus – I didn’t know how else to describe what I was looking for and there weren’t any padlock experts around (‘luckily’ or ‘unluckily’ depending on whose side your taking) – but it’s OK…Google knew!
…now when you Google ‘Padlocks in Paris’ you’ll find out some REALLY INTERESTING FACTS that you REALLY WANT TO KNOW when it concerns your ex moving on and being in fucking Paris…on Valentine’s Day…accompanied by their new thing.
In brief, you’ll find out that the padlocks are ‘symbolic’. You’ll find out that they represent a ‘love lock’ onto that beautiful place the ‘Pont des Arts’. And finally, you’ll be so amazed to learn that couples who attach their symbolic ‘love locks’ to the fence-railings-thing then throw the key to their padlock (translates as: key to their now adjoined hearts, I expect) into the River Seine that flows beneath: presumably so that their hearts will be forever love locked to each-others’ and cannot be ripped apart by some ill-intentioned bastard who happens to come along, find the carelessly discarded key, releases the lock and nab off with your other heart (translates: other half).
That’s a cute little ‘tourist tradition’ that I now know exists thanks to my rather expert snooping and inability to keep my snout out of what is not my business. So now I’m just hysterically laughing. I’m laughing at my pathetic self. I don’t even like him. I don’t even fancy him. I don’t even want him in my life, much less in my bed. I hadn’t thought about him in months. SERIOUSLY. I’m just projecting my feelings of loneliness onto them. They’ve done nothing wrong and I need to get a grip. Everyone’s different but I had to find a way to process my emotions so I wrote an email to my bestie about the situation which I knew she would find hilarious. I knew she’d be crying laughing and I knew she’d tell me how ‘funny?’ or ‘fucked-up’ (she didn’t expressly say) she thinks I am, and I knew I’d feel validated and that validation was going to be all I could hope for this Vee Day; and then come tomorrow I wouldn’t even care because what I was all day was, let’s say it all together – don’t mince your words – I was being a ‘FUCK-UP’ and I’d been spiraling now for hours. I NEEDED TO JUST. STOP!…and putting my thoughts into an email to my bestie was my way of ‘STOP’, ‘ENOUGH’, ‘DONE’. ‘CASE CLOSED’.
You can see (I hope) how crazy and out of control I got over one little photograph on a day when my emotions were ermmm ‘heightened’. It sounds crazy because it is and hopefully you are laughing a bit, even if you’re going through your own heartbreak right now. But seriously, you need to make sure that if you are in a position similar to mine, and this is even more important if you actually do really like this ex (which in all honesty, I didn’t) and would like a future with them (and I definitely didn’t) or you just don’t want them (and all their friends, who WILL find out b.t.w) to think you’re a dick, then you must process your emotions in a way that does not include contacting them, their family, their friends, through their social media, their enemies, their employer, their pets, their belongings, their house, their car, their anything.
Even if you send a cheeky little ‘like’ they will take it for what it is, which is THIS, ‘hey, I’m still here, hell-ooooo, hey, you-hoooo, remember little ole’ desperate me…cause I’m watching yoooooo’. Desperate is about as far from attractive as you can possibly get. Imagine if I’d have contacted him or commented on those photos that he’s very entitled to post on his FB. No matter what comment I could have conjured up to post, how would I have looked? Me saying ‘lovely pics!’ to me saying ‘you smug bastards’ or anything in between would have made my ex come to the same conclusion – JEALOUS! DESPERATE! PATHETIC! BITTER! OBSESSED! Now turn and look at yourself; look at your own situation; if you react to anything you don’t like, or even like for that matter, on your ex’s social media, how are you going to look? JUST LIKE I WOULD HAVE LOOKED, that’s how.
Remember this too…
Photographs capture a fleeting moment, what they do not capture is the reality of the situation as a whole. For example, the ex I’ve just talked about in Paris was actually having the worst time. The pair of them paused mid-argument to get that apparently ‘loved up’ shot – the relationship was over as quick as it took the ‘key’ to their ‘hearts’ to R.I.P at the bottom of the Seine. Literally, their relationship was over for the most part before their city break was and I heard that from the horse’s mouth when HE later contacted ME.
So that’s a nice little anxiety riddled story about me making mistake ‘number 18′ of Dating Guy’s ’25 Mistakes To Avoid’ following a breakup…the link is HERE – listen and learn! LISTEN. AND. LEARN!
My ramblings on what to do if you see your ex with his new partner ‘in person’ is HERE
and also worth a read if this has or may happen to you…
So…let me know, if you like, in the comments below if you’ve been triggered over an ex’s social media photo/post – what did you do and how did it turn out?!
TOUGH LOVE EVERY.STEP.OF.THE.WAY