You're Going To Be Okay
2015. a technologically-driven world. fleeting attention spans. access to much more than what is directly in front of us. infidelity.
admittedly, that was a leap. stay with me. I am here to explain that in today’s dating world, you’re probably going to get cheated on, if you haven’t already. I am also here to tell you that you’re gonna be okay.
I started dating a dude in June, ish, and it was fast and intense. fell flat on my face in love. he did too. we were our best selves with the other, we fought rarely and resolved quickly, treated each other with all of the respect and kindness we had in our hearts. soon we were spending 3 or 4 nights a week together. best sex I’ve ever had. pretty confident it was his best, too. we entered the journey knowing I would be moving across the country at the end of September, but we couldn’t keep things practical. he said I love you first, but I had been waiting to say it back. I met his whole family, and he mine. it was too easy.
*record abruptly stops spinning*
I got a message on Facebook a week after I moved to LA, from a girl in Florida, “why are you tagging my boyfriend in pics on Instagram?” and many other words. homedude had been trying to phase out his previous long distance relationship, but never actually broke up with her. the entire time we were supposed to be in love. and then he went on a cruise with her for her birthday and cheated however many times you can have sex on one cruise. I don’t really want to know.
*waves crash violently, displacing the warm, pleasant sand beneath*
the tears flowed, my body shook, wine bottles emptied, vodka arrived, and then I woke up more hungover than I had ever been. the physical pain matched my emotions. I’ve never experienced a misery quite like that. the girls took me to Malibu and I missed all of the views of the Pacific Coast Highway because I was curled on Nicole’s lap. the sun tried to restore me to my natural smiling self, but I ruined every picture with my grimace.
there were texts; paragraphs of sorrow, regret, remorse. he sent me handwritten letters of why this would never happen again, that he would be losing the best thing that had ever happened to him.
guess what, guys? I gave him a second chance. yes, roll your eyes. but keep reading.
he bought a round trip ticket for halloween long before any of this surfaced, when I was still with him in New York. and we had the best mini-vacation here, as I knew we would. we were Vincent and Jules for Halloween, a solid spectacle. and I would drop small jokes about the whole cheating thing whenever I could– when he was indecisive at a restaurant, for example, I would reference other areas of his indecisiveness. this is just how I cope with anything. gotta laugh.
we began planning his move out here, and when he left, it didn’t feel like forever.
another Facebook message from the same girl in Florida, “I’m pregnant, btw.” with more words.
WELP. I’m 24, in a relationship with a guy who didn’t respect me enough to make me the only one. in no position to be a step mom. like damn, I almost became a sister wife without knowing. too much. so, even though Dude hadn’t actually committed any further crimes, I got mad. like, really, really mad. it was mostly projection– I was mad at myself for not ending this the month before. I was mad at myself for not being strong enough. so I did the most logical thing that came to mind– I live-tweeted my feelings (veiled behind tasteful punchlines), and then I chopped off all my hair.
not like 2007 Britney Spears. like, I made an appointment and she gave me the most beautiful angled bob. went darker, too.
the anger subsided in a week or two, and it is too much energy to hold hate in a heart, so yeah, we are amicable. still send each other hilarious internet stuff, check in every so often. I make sure he’s okay, because in reality, he got the shit end of this deal. I mean, yeah, he did this. he did all of this. but the thing is, I already know I’m going to be okay. it’s only been like 4 weeks, and I feel healed. I will find a guy who’s never going to even risk hurting me. and my ex is stuck in this low budget film called 3 Regrets and a Baby or something. that doesn’t give me any pleasure at all. the good news is, next time he finds a girl like me, he will be ready for her. I can feel good about that. (UPDATE: there was another girl right before me. I ain't special. he's a serial cheater and liar. I wrote him a strongly worded letter and asked him to please never contact me again... but the lessons are still all in place, and I am the happiest I've ever been!)
I’m writing this as much for you as I am for me. in any way you can connect to it. whether you have cheated or been cheated on, have just dumped or been dumped, or if you are currently in love. respect your partner. keep an open dialogue. if it’s not working, move on. if it’s working, don’t break it. and if your heart is broken, please know that you’re going to heal.
HOW I HEALED:
got rip-roaring drunk. I recommend skipping this step. get tipsy and go dancing instead, it’ll be much better for you the following day.
got a haircut. drastic or not, it helps to feel fresh. (make sure the stylist is someone who knows what he or she is doing, for the love of God do not get a bad haircut on top of the rest of your strife.)
talked. if you feel a lack of closure, talk to dude/lady. you need the closure.
cried. I’m pretty sure Adele dropped 25 for me. (note: everything is going to make you cry. once I tried the wrong key and it didn’t open my door. cried. saw a sock. cried. merged on the highway. cried. you will eventually cry and then immediately laugh at the absurdity of your emotions. that is healing!)
downloaded dating apps. swiped for hours. went on dates. (most were horrifying, but because I’m a writer, no experience is a waste of time. can’t even be mad, just gotta keep laughing.)
started walking dogs as a side hustle. (dogs heal everything, and money buys comfort food.)
surrounded myself with friends. appreciate your people, people.
life is beautiful. you are beautiful. take care of yourselves.
