Ze zegt, Adele gaat uiteindelijk in bijna alle liedjes schreeuwen.
\nNu ik het hoor is het zo.
\nHet is een hete nazomer, de regen moet nog komen.
\nIk probeer zoveel mogelijk mensen te spreken, zodat het vernis van de dingen afgekrabd wordt.
\nJe kunt gerechten rechttrekken met een bouillonblokje en genoeg knoflook.
\nJe kunt je leven lezen.<\/p>\n
Karley Sciortino schreef ‘I was dumped’ op 24 september 2014 voor Vogue. Het begin, het midden en het einde van het verhaal zijn niet per se het begin, het midden en het einde van het verhaal. Timestamps maken chronologische ordening mogelijk maar vertellen niet alles.
\nOp het web zoek ik hoe het nu met Karley gaat.
\nHet hele verhaal?
\nHet dumpen, het weer bij elkaar komen, het opnieuw uit elkaar gaan, alles gebeurt tegelijk, tot het stopt. Op het web is sprake van \u00e9\u00e9n plot: till death do us part. <\/p>\n
It\u2019s been two months since my ex-girlfriend and I broke up\u2014or since she broke up with me, I should say\u2014and I\u2019m miserable. We all understand that breakups are meant to be difficult and painful. They\u2019re the inspiration for endless songs and movies. But as it turns out, heartbreak is a feeling you truly don\u2019t know until it happens to you. We\u2019ve heard that \u201clove hurts,\u201d but that\u2019s just a romantic abstraction until you\u2019ve actually spent 72 hours in your room crying, your only human interaction being with the Seamless guy, who by the way is terrified of you. We imagine that the worst days will be the earliest days, that we will feel progressively better with time. That\u2019s unfortunately not the case. There are good days and bad days. There are moments of total normality followed by sudden, intense waves of sadness that literally weaken the knees. And maybe I\u2019m old to be experiencing my first true heartbreak, but at the risk of sounding naive, I just didn\u2019t think it could be this bad.<\/p>\n
It now seems ridiculous, but I will admit that, in the past, I\u2019ve actually wondered if I was above heartache. I relished the idea that I might be vaguely sociopathic, because at 28, I had yet to feel deep loss or sadness in connection to a romantic relationship in the way that so many of my friends had. When friends of mine wouldn\u2019t shut up about their breakups, I avoided them. Rather than feeling anything like empathy, I always had a pragmatic reaction. A breakup is simply an opportunity to upgrade and an excuse to be a slut for a while. You\u2019re allowed one month tops to be sad, during which you get wasted and fuck a bunch of other people, and then a few months down the line you start looking for Mr. or Ms. Better-Than-the-Last. In retrospect, it wasn\u2019t that I was being insensitive, but rather that I just couldn\u2019t relate.<\/p>\n
Now that I\u2019m on the other side, I\u2019m desperately clinging to anyone who can identify with what I\u2019m feeling, or who will at least entertain me while I word-vomit Sylvia Plath\u2013isms. I\u2019m a broken record. And while I appreciate my friends for being there for me, none of them has actually made me feel any better. Everyone essentially says the same thing: \u201cOh, yeah, breakups are the worst. It will be a year before you\u2019re fully back to normal.\u201d It\u2019s like: Thanks, guys. . . .
\nSomething else I never fully grasped before is that, after being dumped, your ego goes on hiatus and you become a more shameless, more embarrassing version of yourself. For instance, I\u2019ve accepted the fact that I\u2019m now someone who sobs at random times in public places. The man who works behind the counter at my local Turkish deli knows far more about my breakup than is necessary. I often wake up hungover in the afternoons to find that I\u2019ve sent my ex a series of manic texts, like: \u201cI know I\u2019ve hurt you in the past, but from now on I just want to buy furniture together at Crate & Barrel!!!\u201d (In all caps, no less.)<\/p>\n
A couple weeks ago, while at JFK, waiting to board the red-eye to London, I found myself crying into my McFlurry, confiding in a nearby Swedish woman who 100 percent did not care about my emotional trauma but who had kindly come over to ask if I was OK, unaware of the landslide of oversharing the question would unleash. Part of the desire to endlessly discuss a breakup is the delusional belief that you can talk your way out of it. That if your argument is good enough, you can win the case. That you can rationalize your ego back to life.
\nSomeone who has been particularly helpful to me these past couple\u2019 months is a friend I\u2019ll call Kate, who, on the evening that the breakup went down, said something I found really valuable: \u201cYou are a machine now. You are going to have to be a robot for a while. But eventually, your humanity will start to trickle back, and you will start over.\u201d She slept over at my apartment that night, and when I woke up, I found she had written out a list of the things I had to do that first day: \u201cBrush your teeth; eat something; take a shower; call me.\u201d I did it all, robotically. I did not feel like myself, but rather someone acting like myself. There are still moments when I feel this way.<\/p>\n
There is a rulebook of things you are supposed to do after a breakup to help distract yourself, heal, and move on. You\u2019re supposed to immerse yourself in work, and to use your sadness as a creative force. You\u2019re supposed to have mindless hot sex with randoms, or become preoccupied with a passionate rebound. You\u2019re supposed to eat healthfully and exercise. But I\u2019m pretty sure whoever established these rules had never been dumped, because when you\u2019re really low, these things seem near impossible. I can barely form a cohesive thought, which means working is basically impossible. I doubt any sane person would want to have sex with me, given the state that I\u2019m in. The sad truth is, the only way to get over the pain of a breakup is time. You can\u2019t expedite the process.<\/p>\n
A couple of weeks after the breakup, Kate emailed me a link to an article about how being dumped by someone actually does change you, neurologically. The article, which compared brain scans of people recovering from recent breakups to those of people overcoming a cocaine addiction, found that both engage in the same neural circuitry. In a weird way, knowing this was comforting, because it was so objective. And it made me realize that, after a breakup, we have the choice to \u201cget clean\u201d\u2014to cut all contact and try to move on. The alternative? We can keep feeding our addiction with texts, breakup sex, and visits to their Facebook page, stoking the craving and signing ourselves up to be dragged along further for an even more painful ride. And yet it\u2019s so tempting to be dragged, to linger in dark denial, because it\u2019s easier than admitting to ourselves that it\u2019s really over, that it can\u2019t be fixed.<\/p>\n
One of the things that\u2019s surprised me most about this breakup: what I miss. I don\u2019t so much miss the big, obvious things that one would assume would be the hardest to go without: sex, sharing a bed, nights out at the movies. Instead, I obsess over the stupidest, most seemingly insignificant moments. I miss walking to the crappy deli near her house to get egg wraps, then eating them on her living room couch in our underwear, passing back and forth a bottle of Sriracha. I miss the gross organic toothpaste in her bathroom that I would always complain about. I miss her endless array of colorful socks.
\nI understand that romantic relationships are not the be-all and end-all of happiness, and that eventually, with time, I will be over this breakup and feel normal and happy again. And even now, part of me is saying, \u201cYou are a single woman in her 20s in New York\u2014go have fun, you dummy!\u201d But I have also learned over the years that I am just a relationship person, as cheesy as that might sound. After every breakup I\u2019ve told myself, \u201cO.K., now I\u2019m going to be single\u2014I\u2019m just going to do\u00a0me.\u201d Partly because I believed that, as a modern, independent \u201cLean In\u201d feminist, I should be able to love myself and be happy alone. But I actually think that\u2019s bullshit. I actually think that I\u2019m a better, happier, more productive person when I\u2019m in a loving, supportive relationship, and I\u2019m not embarrassed to admit that.<\/p>\n
One of the hardest things to get over, for me, has been accepting the fact that the breakup was largely my fault. There are aspects of being in relationships that I\u2019m not the greatest at: monogamy isn\u2019t easy for me; when I\u2019m drunk, I sometimes neglect to answer my phone for an entire evening; during fights I say hurtful things that I don\u2019t mean. I suppose these are all pretty standard flaws, but during a breakup you can\u2019t help but relive every mistake you made along the way and wonder whether, if you\u2019d just done one tiny thing differently, it could have all worked out. When someone loves you\u2014and especially when you have the upper hand in the relationship, as I did for most of it\u2014it becomes far too easy to take that love for granted. I think I got to a delusional point where I thought I could make mistake after mistake and that she would never leave me, because, \u201cDuh, it\u2019s me.\u201d Shockingly, this was not the case.<\/p>\n
I get that ultimately, breakups are not always \u201cbad.\u201d Sometimes, even if it hurts, ending a relationship can be a mature and healthy decision. In the past, some breakups have felt like relief, or even something close to joy. One of the hardest things about being dumped is realizing that the person who dumped you probably isn\u2019t suffering as badly as you are. In fact, they might be happier without you, and worse, there might be someone better for them out in the world. That\u2019s really what hurts the most: the prospect that they were right to move on, when for you, they felt like the one.<\/p>\n
Karley Sciortino writes the blog Slutever. <\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Ze zegt, Adele gaat uiteindelijk in bijna alle liedjes schreeuwen. Nu ik het hoor is het zo. Het is een hete nazomer, de regen moet nog komen. Ik probeer zoveel mogelijk mensen te spreken, zodat het vernis van de dingen afgekrabd wordt. Je kunt gerechten rechttrekken met een bouillonblokje en genoeg knoflook. Je kunt jeRead more »<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1714,798],"tags":[416],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.imhd.nl\/log\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/45205"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.imhd.nl\/log\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.imhd.nl\/log\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.imhd.nl\/log\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.imhd.nl\/log\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=45205"}],"version-history":[{"count":13,"href":"https:\/\/www.imhd.nl\/log\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/45205\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":46286,"href":"https:\/\/www.imhd.nl\/log\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/45205\/revisions\/46286"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.imhd.nl\/log\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=45205"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.imhd.nl\/log\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=45205"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.imhd.nl\/log\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=45205"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}