This is bullet-point guide for getting over devastation like earthquakes, bankruptcies and being caught on the wrong side of genocide.
Or if you’re genuinely unfortunate like me, the end of a meaningful romantosexualTM relationship.
1. The T-RAGE-DY CycleTM: When something beautiful dies, it’s usually the guy’s fault because he’s a jerk. Still, it’s important to acknowledge that there are jerks and there are jerks.
The Obvious Asshole will have broken your heart in some Oprah-approved act of doucheyness like cheating, stealing from your wallet, hitting on your mom or uploading your naked selfies on to sexydesiaunties.com. It is easy to hate on this guy – all you have to do is steal his phone, pretend to be him and text his boss saying you’re setting fire to his car. Then find his boss’s car and set fire to it.
But then there are the Good Guys With Issues, who have truly made you feel loved for your personality and your boobs and who think you’re a fantastic woman with fantastic boobs but just can’t make a go of it because they have had a difficult childhood on account of that one time when they were 15, when the dentist touched them inappropriately in the mouth-area.
How to get over them?
I find that it is good to completely confuse yourself by indulging in some Emotional TrapezeryTM. This is a game of swinging between compassion for his human failings and fantasizing that a steaming hot pile of monkey feces lands on his face.
It goes something like this: At least he was always honest --> Gutless coward running at the first sign of trouble --> He tried the best he knew how --> I can’t believe I bought him silk chaddies with my hard-earned money!! --> He held my hair back when I puked indelicately into a sewer and never mocked me for it --> Bastard dumped me on the phone!!!
Etcetera etcetera etcetera
This is a good exercise as it makes you lose sleep thinking of all the smart & bitchy takedowns you could lob his way.
It also makes you cry endlessly at the loss of That One Good Man, which in turn makes you lose weight*.
*This may not be a medically proven fact and is, in fact, empirically unproven as I have gained 2 kilos in the last 1 month.
Which brings me to…
2. Crying YogaTM: In November of last year, I broke my back in a sexciting speedboat incident in Thailand. But enough about my fascinating adventures.
As a result, I have been forced into a life involving slow moving yogic sequences that must be executed every single day or else my vertebrae will fall out or cave in or generally disintegrate in a theatrical poof of angel dust.
Over the 45 odd minutes that I do these exercises, my body transforms its tense and rageful scaffolding into a more vulnerable mass of Zen-MushTM.
There is a very specific moment in the routine when this happens. It is right after I have done the standing poses and lie down on my tummy. I breathe in, raise my torso, stay there for 5 counts and gently bring my torso down flat on the ground. Breathe in. Raise torso. Hold. Breathe out. Release torso. Repeat 10 times.
Post heartbreak when I do my daily routine, this is the point at which my spine relaxes completely, in turn releasing Sob HormonesTM through the body. Such that, now it all goes something like this: Breath in. Raise torso. Weep for 5 counts. Bawl out. Drop torso in a heaving mound of grief. Repeat 10 times.
I find that this is a great way to release toxins from the body without paying for a therapist and I am now in talks with Gold’s Gym to start a pilot program for Crying YogaTM.
Do sign up one and all. You will find the mind-body-spirit relief especially useful as you approach the dreaded 4-7 days of every woman’s monthly calender (or not, in which case you may need to visit your gynaecologist)…
3. The Dreaded Menses: Through most of my 20s I barely used my vagina. My reproductive system was in near-mint condition and more often than not I walked through the world without any awareness that I possessed a uterus.
Except for that monstrous week every month. It seemed ridiculous that I had to go through the agony so regularly (one might even say periodically ha ha), when I was extracting so little value from the damn thing. It felt like I was paying EMIs on an iPhone that would only be released 20 years from now.
So let me tell you this about heartbreak. It is even worse when you re-hire your vagina only to retire it much sooner than you expected. Because now, when the dreaded menses hit, they just don’t grab your Lady-BallsTM. They get your heart. They make its walls shed their inner lining and exit you in a most painful and bloody manner. Sometimes it involves hideous clotting of regret & longing.
You will want to hurt something. You will want to break stuff. You will want to speak rudely to a telemarketer. But don’t.
Because there is a better way…
4. Pouring Angst Into Work: They will tell you that work is the best way to get over a relationship’s demise. The ‘they’ will probably be your boss. Do not listen to him. (Or her. Ha ha. Who am I kidding? Girls can’t be bosses.) Take huge amounts of time off work. Don’t make your deadlines. Turn in shoddy reports. Steal office supplies. Release your anger by having bitching sessions about clients. Create long email threads outlining your ideas on how to make the office loo a more ‘conducive place for all’. CC them to everyone in the organization.
5. Friends Are Bitches, Don’t Trust ‘Em: When in the throes of heartbreak, friends can be those assholes, who are always trying to make you feel better. God, they can be so annoying. Please feel free to ignore their calls or attempts to meet you for a ‘coffee and a chat’. Later when you’re feeling better you can accuse them of not being there when you needed them the most. This will make you feel like a martyr, which totally worked for Gandhi and is a guaranteed ‘pick me up’.
The practice you gain in being a Bitchy MartyrTM will be invaluable in your journey towards letting go…
6. Social Media Activism: Did someone say Bitchy MartyrTM? Sign me up for Twitter and Blogspot!
But be careful to make it an anonymous account that no one can trace back to you. Also be careful to block any and all followers, who may know you from real life.
Then go ahead and rant, sob, indulge in months of self-pity and hateful naming-and-shaming. Drink lots of vodka and babble nonsense on the timeline. Stalk other tweeters and mock their poetic tweets. Write poetic tweets. Write self-indulgent blog posts that you think are profound but really just get on everyone’s nerves.
Go forth and be a gandu. That’s what letting go is all about*.
*Does not apply to Facebook or Instagram. What are you, stupid?
|"I'm not pointing the wrong way...I'd planned for you to grab my butt all along..."|