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Love Hurts.

(BUT DANCING LIKE AN IDIOT HELPS).

i’ll be honest with you. i’ve only had my heart broken properly a couple of times. whether that’s to do with simply stepping off the love roundabout minutes before it screeched to a sickening halt, or choosing spilt-milk men who are barely worth wasting a tear over, or perhaps being tough as **** in the fashion of linda hamilton in terminator, or even a combination of all three, is a matter for debate.

the fact is that i’ve come a cropper more than once, & can confirm that it is just about the most agonisingly beautiful & painful thing that can happen to a person outside of being personally exfoliated with sandpaper by all four members of kings of leon. my last stint in club heartbreak, i was so stricken by an emotionally inept, tousle-haired tumbleweed that i was physically unable to eat. i lay on the couch, sweltering in the baked-oven heat of a perth summer, & tried to rid my brain of his lanky limbs & doe eyes & perfect nose whilst willing myself to pick up a fork & attempt to masticate some solids. i knew it was serious when i couldn’t even look a wheel of white castello in the eye & started to resemble the sort of big-bellied ethiopian child middle-class ladies sporadically send money in order to justify the adorable photographs stuck to their fridges.

not only that, i’d barely left the house in weeks, holding out hope that my troubled paramour would be drunk enough to stumble oven at 3am & tap on my window. all the usual heinous palaver was in place- listening to dirty three records at full volume, refusing to take calls from concerned friends. punching walls with my fist & pretending to be martin sheen. i was officially broken-hearted.

obviously this called for immediate action. i needed to recover from my maudlin obsessing & pick myself up to love & live another day. i also needed to share my sensible & in no way destructive ways to mend a broken heart with you. you don’t have to thank me now; it will only embarrass me.

step 1: drink yourself silly. piffle to those wowsers concerned about aching livers & dehydrated skin. plentiful shots of gin are really the only way to start the healing process. everything is beautiful when you’re five measures of shickered, particularly you. you can dreamily address yourself in the mirror & perform languid interpretive dance to gotye & convince yourself you are so freaking loveable it hurts, & no one will judge you harshly.

step 2: write a facebook bulletin in rhyming couplets. what better activity to partake in while under the influence of liquid depressants? let the lovelorn poetry flow through you & out into the greater world of emo teenagers. hopefully your heartbreaker will see it. & my, won’t he be impressed by your linguistic skills!

step 3: reconnect with your friends. “hi, remember me? i’m the one who hasn’t been returning your texts for a month. how about we hook up for dinner so you can sit & listen to me talk incessantly about some furrow-browed guitarist who blatantly refused to capitulate to my charms? …hello?

step 4: stand outside your ex-beloved’s window holding a ghetto blaster above your head. hey, it worked for john cusack

step 5: breathe. because when all’s said & done, you’re going to get through this, just like you got through being dumped by scott webster in grade five, & just like you got through that stomach-turning fight with your best friend where she called you a vapid bore. & in seven months time when you see him again you’ll offer naught but a breezy smile & a whiff of intoxicating perfume, leaving him wistfully wondering about the magnificent creature he let slip through his fingers.
blehtolife blehtolife 22-25, F Mar 25, 2012

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