The Breakup With a Capital B

Before I begin spilling the dirt on my amazingly douchey dating tales (trust me, you're going to need a shower after the first one. And I don't mean a cold one), I should probably tell you a little bit about myself (for those of you who do not know me personally) and where/why I'm at in the current stage of my life. 


[side note: I'm going to get a tad deep and profound in this post, but the sarcasm, mild profanity and typical ME shall return soon.]   


As most of you know, I'm a recent San Francisco transplant from New York City. I'm already madly in love with this city (always have been) and I'm thrilled to be near family again (they're in Napa; just far enough away.... ha. jk, fam!). I've decided that I want to go back to school and get my MBA; thus, I'm excited for things to come and, all in all, life is good and I'm happy....

But it took me a while to get here: 7 months, 6 days, 14 hours, 32 minutes and 8 seconds to be exact.... but who's counting?...  So, yes, I will briefly (or as best I can) address the pink suede elephant in the room for those that know me: that being the recent Breakup I endured. 


Now, I refuse to get into much detail about/talk shit on James-- actually, scratch that: let's refer to him as He Who Must Not Be Named-- but readers should know that even through all of the humor, sarcasm, bashing-of-d-bags, and most importantly, the FUN that I've experienced in my years of dating, I've also experienced immense heartache, loss, denial, angst and rejection. I've suffered through countless sleepless nights, loss of appetite for weeks at a time, that psychotic feeling where if a certain someone doesn't call/text/email you soon, your heart is going to leap out of your chest and beat the shit out of them.... I've holed myself up in my apartment for weeks at a time, sitting in the dark, ignoring all of my friends, family, responsibilities, leg-shaving-- aka: doing everything you shouldn't do. During the times where I would actually leave my apartment, men would approach me in bars because they thought I was pretty or *gasp!* normal, but they'd soon be running for their lives out the door the second I opened my mouth, or when they got a cold, hard look at my mascara-gooped eyes and sulking, miserable, hit man-seeking face. Yep, I was that girl for a little while. Crazy, broken, bitter... A gal who should've stayed the eff home on her couch, eating ding-dongs, going into a wine/Tylenol PM coma, while watching The Way We Were. (oh trust me, I had some of those nights, too....) Isn't it amazing how the heart can actually physically hurt?...

But I prevailed. Eventually. I had amazing, steadfast girlfriends who dragged me off the couch and out for brunch or a walk through Central Park. I have two of the most amazing parents in the world, who would do anything and everything for me (and a Father who would kill anyone for me....). These amazing souls reminded me that I have the ability to live, breathe, react and get out of bed each morning like a normal person; despite anything disconcerting that may be occurring. I had to learn to help myself on my own as well; which I did. I finally embraced my singe life and went out with the girls. Flirted with cute strangers. Danced on tabletops. LAUGHED. Stopped thinking about/trying to communicate with irrelevant douchebags who hurt me. I had FUN; and for once it wasn't forced. And unlike most individuals, change does not frighten me; in fact, I'm intrigued and excited by it. We as humans are naturally resilient and have to realize that while grieving is healthy and necessary, a person has to dust themselves off and try, try again. 




-Emily