People like to compare my life to a romantic comedy.
I am a sweet girl oft ignored by men. Or, when I do get attention it is usually not favorable and quite often ends with my feeling unhappy or broken hearted.
So when, after an exhausting week, I saw an ex-boyfriend of mine tonight I was startled and befuddled. I had no idea that he was on campus and that he had such a large entourage of friends. What did I have? A laundry hamper filled with clothes, a messy pony tail, and an outfit comprised of the scraps of clothes that were not being washed. With anxiety coursing through my veins and a dry heavy tongue in my mouth, I pressed on walking behind this ne’er do well and company to return to my apartment. The folly of gravity caused me to drop my phone and my laundry hamper with a loud racket. The group looked back with such nonchalance that I could have not even been there. They made me know that I was nothing. Not even worthy of their help.
My feelings were quick to bruise and I stifled my tears as I picked up my belongings from the side of the road and quickly walked to my apartment building, barely reaching the solitude of my room before unleashing the tears. I felt so stupid and so silly crying over what was really nothing. And yet, I hurt. The worst kind of hurt as well; it is not just your heart, but your entire being breaking all over again.
That’s when I realized that this sort of scene was fit to be shot for a scene in a romantic comedy, but for me was neither romantic nor comedic and that I no longer wanted to be a part of a romantic comedy. I wanted to not be classified as a movie because I have spent my Valentine’s days alone in my room listening to “I want to dance with somebody” by Whitney Houston in a pretty pink dress, or that the same guy who stood me up is now my co-site leader. I wanted it all to end. All of the ploys that romantic comedies use to draw their viewers further into the story.
Crying and receiving a phone call from my Mom was cathartic, to say the least. I was so upset that I was spending my Friday evening crying over a terrible person who I used to be in a relationship with, that I cried even more. The cycle continued to perpetuate with every oval drop that fell from my ruddy eyes.
Knowing that these little bumps in life occur is somewhat comforting because you know that they are bound to happen. It is the when and the why that makes things so difficult.
Crying is ok.
Picking up your laundry basket and phone is the first step.
Watching Pride and Prejudice is the means by which you can judge your full recovery.