Essentially, after that trauma I've moped around like a little bitch. My friends have literally acted as babysitters, realising the need to keep me occupied. Unfortunately that has led to me absolutely chewing their ears off. If there is anything worse than being the dumpee, it has to be being the friend of the dumpee. You have to be sympathetic and kind, when all you really want to do is tell them to shut the fuck up and get over it. I actually have a few friends who do take that approach, one friend (who shall remain nameless) told me she wasn't going to reply to me anymore and to get a dildo. I like to think the first part of that statement was a joke. I know the second part wasn't. I've also eaten like a pig. I mean I'm obviously so unattractive anyway that a few million jaffa cakes won't make much difference right?! Whoever said jaffa cakes won't solve the problem obviously just didn't eat enough of them. I've got very drunk and put stupid messages on twitter. Worst case being this weekend when my housemates had to go into my twitter to ensure said messages were removed. They were sober and trying to watch Match of the Day at the time. Not sure it was their idea of a great Saturday night. I also wrote a poem, but we're going to skim over that fact. Of course there is the essential indulgence in break up songs (cringe). I'm not revealing my playlist because quite frankly, that's too much shame, even for me. What I will say is, if you have been dumped and your road to recovery doesn't include Whitesnake 'Here I go Again', I don't think you'll make it. Crank it up, jump on your bed and suddenly being 'a drifter born to walk alone' will seem quite cool. Disclaimer: this might just be me, so if you try it and it doesn't work, I apologise that you have wasted 4 minutes that you could be crying and listening to Adele.
To add insult to injury, he'd borrowed one of my favourite books and even though he said he would, he hasn't returned it. I guess he couldn't figure out how to return it via text message. Maybe I should expect it in 2062 when they develop that technology. I decided to go the dignified route (when all I really wanted to do was text saying 'GIVE ME MY FUCKING BOOK BACK') and not nag for it but buy myself a new one. I then found out my best friend also bought me a replacement copy. So now I have two books where I had one. I love my friend for the thought, even though I suspect her main reasons for purchase were to read it herself and to stop me moaning about it.
As I write this I realise I have achieved what I set out to. It is embarrassing what a twat I have been. If feeling sorry for yourself, having a wounded pride, raging low self esteem and being a whining bitch were Olympic sports, I would be Team GB's biggest hero this summer. But they're not. Nobody likes a crybaby. So that's it. No more moaning (well, not about this anyway), no more jaffa cakes (well, for a little bit anyway), and no more break up songs (well, until the next time). Mission accomplished. Time to pick myself up, wounded pride and all and get back in the game. Dildo girl also told me I need a rebound. So, if anyone wants to be my rebound, apply within. If you have read this blog and still want to sleep with me, the chances are you're a keeper.
To anyone out there who has been dumped, put down the jaffa cakes and stop boring your friends. You were doing okay before you met that person so you'll do okay again. To anyone planning on dumping someone - don't do it by text, arsehole.
To end, if you are asking yourself why I would write a blog about the humiliating experience of being dumped you obviously didn't read the first paragraph, so please refer back. As F Scott Fitzgerald said 'what people are ashamed of usually makes a good story'. But ultimately, as my Nan always says, it's better to laugh than cry. Especially for me, I'm a really ugly crier.
