When You’re Dumped (Even Though You Dumped Them First And Wanted Them Back They Said No Thanks).

I wrote this a while ago. And things have changed (a lot) since I wrote this.
But I think the feelings are pretty universal.
And, in retrospect, pretty funny.

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When You’re Dumped (Even Though You Dumped Them First And Wanted Them Back They Said No Thanks).


Hate’s a funny thing. Not so much the opposite of Love, really. It’s more like Love’s insanely jealous twin. Love’s prettier and more easygoing. Hate is not so pretty and really pissed off that Love gets it so good. Thing is, nobody realizes that Love always has a twin. Sometimes the twin is hiding behind its sibling. You leave the room. Hate walks in, tells Love to get the hell out. You walk back in, it looks like Love. But it’s not. It’s Love’s bitch sister. Love always has a twin. You just have to know it’s there and send it packing like a 3-day-or-you’re-gonna-stink houseguest. Otherwise, well, it bashes Love’s head into a splattery, Charles Manson mess.

I know this because it just happened to me. I had no idea that Love could be such a wimp. It’s like come on, Love, get it together. Tell Hate to get the hell out. Nope. Sometimes Love is just not that strong.

When we met, I thought I’d met The One. We all know this feeling. The One. Ooh, The One. It’s so amazing.

Like that comedian says: you like pizza? Oh my god, me tooooo! Wow, we BOTH like PIZZA. What are the chances?!

My therapist calls it mirroring. You look at this person and you see yourself. Yippee. Yay me. There I am. Looking back at me the way I’ve always wanted someone to look back at me. Yeah, it feels pretty good. What a bunch of narcissist crap, though, right? I mean, who are we fooling? We just want to be loved. We want to be ok. We want that validation in the world.

But is there even such a thing as Love? I mean, really?

OK, I actually think there is. Unfortunately, I never discover it until it’s too late. And it’s walked out the door. And I’m running after it shouting: But wait! I’ll do it better this time! I won’t take you for granted anymore! I’ll be a better girlfriend.

But Love goes. And then I spend all this crazy time losing weight and drinking too much and trying to fill in time with meaningless time-filling activities like, um, drinking too much and not eating enough.

And doing other, really humiliating stuff that just tortures and prolongs the thing. Such as:

1. Re-reading their letters and cards and notes, even the crumpled ones, scribbled on scrap paper that say “Lovenugget, I’ve gone out for a run, be back soon. I love you, R.” (Yes, I know: Lovenugget. Don’t give me grief over it. I didn’t make it up. Actually, I wondered if maybe he called all his girlfriends that. Now I’m getting annoyed.)

2. Googling their name a thousand times even though you find nothing new. And Googling their name twenty more times beyond that wondering if they have another identity and going a little crazy obsessing over who they might be dating.

3. Repeatedly listening to saved voice mail messages where they say “I love you” in this way that sounds really convincing. And continuing to save these messages (even thought they’re about to expire) because this spoken tidbit of declared love is something you can listen to again later and savor the sound of their voice. And that whole “I love you” thing that just sounds so…. convincing.

4. Locking text messages they sent so you can save them, too, while searching for meaning in something like: “Thanks, it was good seeing you too.” In other words, something you might say to your brother after a weekend visit.

I mean, COME ON. Is there Love to be discovered in a text message? Can you conjure it back up by listening to a saved voice mail?

But really, the question is: how can you have what looks like Love right in front of you for a year and just ignore it, tell it it’s in the way of the TV, can it move please, in the midst of your little pity party about the stupid job you lost (that you hated and deep-down wanted to quit anyway) while they’re doing all this nice stuff for you all the time but you feel like such crap you can’t get around your own piddly head trips only to realize, painfully, agonizingly, that you had everything. How is that possible?

Because later, when it leaves, it’s all you want. It’s all you ever wanted. But it won’t come back. No matter how much, or how earnestly, you beg.

Human nature is so pathetic.

I’ve been the leaver. I’ve been the left. It’s the same story over and over and over and over and over again.

In the end, we all want what we cannot have. Period. End of story.

In fact, if you think it’s any different, you should just stop reading this right now and forget about it. There are no epiphanies in here. It’s the same shit, different cast of characters. Blindly following their sexual urges to a dark, intriguing corner in hopes of finding the light. The light, man. The enlightened light of Love, baby.

With The One.

Or something like that.

Point is, I’m a sad sack right now. A sad sally. A little pissant with a broken heart and a shattered soul. And he knows it. Because I told him. Because I swallowed all that pukey pride on down and let him know just how much he hurt me.

This is not a good idea. Don’t do it. It’s stupid. You lose all power when you do this. Oh yeah, that’s right. The ugly word power. Hate loves power. But, when you’re licking your wounds, you still have to think about power. Even if you don’t have even a shred of pride left in your sally sad sack soul. Because the illusion of power will get you through. Once somebody knows you’ll “do anything” to get them back, well, you are a piece of dried dog turd on the side of the road. Gathering dust in an old Clint Eastwood Western. And nobody wants that.