I think it’s strange, some of the things we’re all supposed to do. Girls especially. The things that are expected of us. Like, we’re all meant to smell like roses, or vanilla or essence of ylang ylang (no i’m not sure what it is either, but it’s a cool pair of words). Now that’s easily achievable, a splash of perfume every now and again and we’re off on our bouquet scent way, but it’s not exactly natural is it? Or like how we’re meant to have smoky black eyes, yet no dark circles. Just invert my eye sockets shall I? Or like how, in a breakup, we’re meant to be something impossible. Girls are simultaneously expected to show signs that the loss of the relationship is significant, yet not be specific about how.
There is nothing worse than a girl moaning publically about a break-up, especially if the breakup was over a week ago. It’s cringey and uncomfortable and we all kind of want her to get a grip. It’s pathetic really, someone that won’t let go like that, stalking or moaning or bitching in a continued fashion. The expiration date of our tolerance to dumped women comes incredibly fast. It’s like soft fruit.
But, conversely, if a woman post breakup does let go, go out with her mates (in a non-im-going-to-get-so-drunk-im-going-to-cry-all-night-kind-of-way) have fun, meet new people, smile publically and move on with her life, she’s either a cold hearted bitch or lying. And that’s not really very natural either, is it really? We can’t cry, we can’t smile – we have to somehow balance a look of internal suffering with a brave glaze of optimism. But not for too long, there’s a careful social balance where you steadily have to fade out the suffering (over a period of about 2-3 weeks) and blend in a new found confidence and peace with the world. As if the bloody breakup wasn’t hard enough we’ve got to be facial contortionists as well?
I’ve got to thinking about breakups because someone I know has publically, on a social networking site, chastised her ex for being a selfish player. Now I think this is a bit embarrassing to be honest, it’s the cyber equivalent of crying and screaming going up and down the street after him. It’s not a route I would chose, but let’s be honest, who hasn’t done something they regret during a break up because they’re in a rather painful place. I certainly have, a story of too much booze and having his friends shoulders to cry on. Literally. They had to change their shirts by the end of it. I woke up mortified the next day. Embarrassed about what... that i’d told the truth? That I was in pain? But we don’t do that, do we. Tell the truth in public.
And that’s the awful thing. Breakups are painful, they bring to the surface issues and emotions that are simply too raw for normative behaviour, and the pain makes behaving like a sane human being more of a challenge. You are, in effect, grieving for something, the loss of a future or friend or lover and knowing it won’t ever be the same is, well, bloody awful.
And the process of getting over that loss takes time. Not for everyone, not for every relationship, but what I resent are these socially constructed time limits we seem to have applied to breakup etiquette. The pressure people feel to be seen to be moving on is enormous; they’re in a race, trying to beat their other half, or the rest of society, or against the voice in their heads telling them they’re not really ready. We’re expected to fall in love fast, and hard, to open ourselves up to another person and share the most intimate parts, lay our emotional selves bare and give trust that person implicitly; and then, when it all goes wrong, we’re expected to pack up shop and get over it. Logically it can’t work like that. It takes time to gather our emotional belongings and vacate the relationship.
And sometimes, just when you think you’re out the door, you realise, all of a sudden that you’ve left something behind. I’m always doing that, on buses and stuff, so how much crap do I forget to heave out of the relationship with me? Forget to check under the proverbial seat for that feeling I get when he calls me that nickname, or the time he tried so hard with my friends and I realised I loved him. This emotional baggage takes time to collect. Now I can just about tolerate being hurried off a plane or a bus the moment it opens its doors, heaving my luggage behind me, but these are our relationships were talking about here, and I think we should be allowed to take our own sweet time.
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