The worst thing about a breakup is that you lose your best friend at the same time. You can make out or hookup with anyone. But there’s something magical about getting to kiss the same person you want to tell everything to.
You will, of course, dissect all of the “isms” with 20/20 hindsight. You will lay that moment when he asked you to “stop dressing up for dates” down on the examination table and slice it open. Inside, you will uncover the same fears ingrained in you since childhood – he was trying to control you, he somehow thought you were a slut because you wore a dress, he didn’t like you the way you were. You will cringe at these familiar fears and then hold the magnifying glass up to his flaws. The car he drove, his meaningless tattoos, the drinks he ordered, the music he listened to – was he ever really good enough for you? You will conclude that it was never going to work anyway because he vaped
and you can’t marry a meme.
Next, you will go through what I will refer to as the ‘Ariana Grande’ phase. You will shop. You will buy outfits and makeup you’ll never wear. You’ll get your nails done and your hair done. You’ll have “God is A Woman” or “No Tears Left to Cry” on repeat for days. You will go to Ulta or Kohl’s or wherever Ari’s latest perfume is out and buy the biggest bottle you can find. In the car, you’ll unwrap the crinkly packaging and douse yourself in cotton candy or freesia or sparkling berries with a hint of musk. And then, it will hit you, like a stomachache after too much candy: you wanted it, you bought it, and now you feel empty in a way you can’t articulate.
At that point, you will work. You will hyper focus. Let’s say you’re a nurse. You will advocate for your patients. While you would’ve backed down before, you now stand up to egotistical doctors. One of them might be impressed. He might ask you to lunch. You will turn him down and eat lunch in your car while you fill out applications for med school. Ariana will remind you from the radio that God is, indeed, a woman.
When you get your acceptance letter (when, not if), you will have a really strange moment. You will wish you could tell someone who knew how much it mattered and you might think of him. You might fantasize about calling him and telling him. In the fantasy, he will tell you that he is having a baby with his best friend’s girlfriend, and you will tell him congratulations and be unable to end the call fast enough.
You will then be glad you didn’t call him. You will be glad you broke up with him. You will be glad he vaped and drove a red car and ordered banana flavored drinks and used the word ‘Americana’ when you asked what his tattoos meant. You will be glad you got in to med school and you will promise yourself not to become the egotistical doctors you hate. You are still on the fence about Ari’s perfume, but you will always have “Thank U, Next” in heavy rotation on your workout playlist. You’ll be fine. – ©️ 2021 Portia July
Portia July 