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That’s it. That’s my elevator pitch. If you asked me to succinctly describe the end of a relationship that’s how I’d do it. Then I would silently curse you for making someone like me describe something like that in 30 seconds or less.
Luckily for the 5 of you reading this short and sharp has never been my thing so if you’re interested in the full Ted Talk, read on.
People have written books and Instagram posts and memes and poems about love and breakups for years. Names and love hearts have been etched into school bathroom cubicles only to be crossed out the next day. Hands have been held during morning tea and first kisses exchanged at lunch. We’re shooting our shots into DM’s and taking chances with catfish on Tinder. We’re listening to songs that were once a celebration of what is and are now painful reminders of what isn’t. Our phones are a portal into a world that for our own benefit, we should no longer have access to. Which brings me to my point – how does one move on in today’s modern age when reminders of everything we once held dear are at our fingertips? How do we stop searching for the details of a life that no longer includes us? When does ‘us’ end so that ‘I’ can begin again?
Before we get started I want to make it clear that if you think I’m going to provide definitive answers in this blog, you should stop reading. I’m writing this in Harry Potter pyjamas under a Harry Potter doona in my childhood bedroom because I still live at home. Don’t get me wrong – the Hogwarts paraphernalia that surrounds me is of my own doing but I’m still waiting for that magical moment where I finally grow up – so I’m not exactly a beacon of hope or wisdom. I’m just a woman who overthinks everything and puts it on the internet.
If you’re still reading up to this point then you’re obviously a curious Ravenclaw so let’s continue…(Side note: Am I seriously referencing Harry Potter in my blog? This is a new low, even for me).
Whether you’re in a full-blown relationship or a ‘let’s not put a label on this’ entanglement, we don’t often get a choice in how things end nor will we always achieve the closure we so desperately seek. What I’ve come to understand and perhaps even appreciate about the journey of love is that the end is never really the end – especially in the age of drunk texts and testicular Snapchats. Much like the Taken movies there’s a part 2 and a part 3 and eventually you find yourself knee-deep in Taken 57 when you know damn well you should have stopped once you rescued your daughter from that fat c*nt on the boat. You know, an entire 56 movies ago. You’re very quickly spiralling out of control and in the case of Liam Neeson you’re taking your reputation with you. But as guilty as you might feel for sneaking a boozy shag with your ex in the backseat of his car it might help to understand that what the end actually signifies is the beginning of the break-up phase, which, unlike previously mentioned shag, can last a very long time. If social media is the revolving door of lost love then Facebook and Instagram are the gateways through which we preserve our feelings of loneliness, anger, jealousy and pain. But even in the absence of the online world does the post-break-up closure we seek actually exist? Is there a secret recipe to moving on?
I don’t know everything about relationships. In fact, I know very little. But what I can tell you without a shred of doubt is that I’ve experienced ‘closure’ in the most serendipitous of ways. The kind most people can only dream about. The illusive type we pursue. All those questions we lay awake at night asking ourselves. The scenarios we run over and over in our heads – I’ve been there and done that. Don’t be fooled though. It started off as gut-wrenching, appetite ruining heartbreak that turned into some seriously unhealthy social media stalking, resenting his new relationship, reading old emails, staring at the ceiling at 2am, ruminating over what I could have done differently, torturing myself with familiar songs, swiping through iPhone albums to eventually just deleting every message he had ever sent me and removing him from my socials. My phone was my lifeline and my worst enemy. A connection to the past and a hindrance to the future. It was a treasure chest of memories and the rabbit hole I couldn’t escape.
When it comes to heartbreak I don’t really know if I’m a sinker or a swimmer. All I know is that every time I dove into my phone looking for remnants of his life with someone else, I lost complete sight of the shore. How the fuck was I supposed to make my way back? And for good?
I can’t give you a play-by-play or a 10-step guide on how to quit stalking your ex on social media. There are too many loopholes on the internet and women were born to be FBI agents. We’re the AFP, the CIA, the KFC, the 123 and the XYZ. We’re all the acronyms, even the fried chicken ones. Women are cracking cold cases from the comfort of their own bedrooms and spotting Becky with the good hair in the grainiest of Snapchats. The level of investigative talent within us has proven to be both a blessing and a curse. So for the sake of those who are serious about hanging up the badge then my advice would be to deactivate your profiles, delete the apps, take up a hobby, go to places that remind you how small you are, limit your screen time or trawl eBay for a Nokia 3310 and see how long your snake can get before you run into a wall. Upon exiting Facebook’s revolving door and stumbling my way through the break-up rite of passage, I personally just had a light bulb moment. I was tired of staring up at the sky searching for answers outside of myself. Sick of asking my Dad to show me a sign and getting nothing in return. I was done perpetuating this cycle of resentment when there was a perfectly good life waiting for me on the other side of it. It was time to make a choice. With tearstained cheeks, shaky determination and the promise of 9245 wet pussy shots from my friends, I chose me. It was as simple and as complicated as that.
Then one fateful day some years later as my taxi driver was taking me to the airport, a voice in my head told me that I would be running into my ex. Whether or not you believe in the power of the Universe or synchronicity is irrelevant to me. I’ve experienced enough weird shit to know that Einstein was right – coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous. As I made my way to Row 10 of International Departures the silhouette I’d grown accustomed to over many years came into my vision. I looked at him without fear or trepidation and smiled at how far I had come. At no earlier point in my life would I have been ready for the conversation we were about to have. To hear all the ways he’d moved on would have broken the girl I’d once been. With the help of 9245 wet pussy shots and some seriously questionable penises (not recommended), I did it. I survived.
Over the next three hours we discussed a life that although once so familiar, was now as foreign to us as we were to each other. We asked questions, exchanged realisations, admitted mistakes and shared parts of our lives that signified new beginnings. I couldn’t help but think back to the girl who sat on her bed in tears wishing she could understand why or how or what if. Willing life to answer all the questions that would help make sense of the mess she had made. At 40,000 feet in the air, as close to Heaven as I may ever get, the Universe handed me a box full of closure. I thought to myself, “Wow Dad, nice of you to finally show up”.
That sounds like the perfect end to this story and if I were anyone else, maybe that’s where I’d leave it. But if I wanted to write about an unrealistic and over romanticised series of events I wouldn’t have started a blog predicated on honesty about life. And more importantly, about the common threads that weave women together. The truth is – we aren’t living out a Nicholas Sparks fairy tale and we won’t always get our happy ending. You don’t have to be ok with that but like me, you do have to accept it. I disembarked that plane with what I thought was a genuine sense of peace. I was grateful…right up until the point that I wasn’t. With each hour that passed all that peace I’d allegedly conjured up through the façade of closure began to fade away. The how’s and why’s didn’t disappear with the answers I’d been given in the light of day; they invited follow-up questions to keep me awake at night. It became abundantly clear that whether I dove into my phone or sat at 40,000 feet with my ex by my side, I was never going to find what I was looking for. The search for closure had revealed itself for what it truly was - a completely futile pursuit.
When one door closes, it doesn't necessarily shut. I had to throw away the key.
With love, always
J
