Living In Sin: Heart of Darkness
Every week in Living in Sin, Jen Sincero provides advice to LA's sexually curious. You can see her column in print, too, in the LA Alternative Press. Ask Jen your questions: all are posted anonymously.
How do you get over a broken heart? About four months ago, my boyfriend of over six years and I called it quits. While it was somewhat mutual, I can't say it was what I really wanted.
I'm generally OK unless he's "around." A phone call or e-mail
gets me upset, and a recent visit has had me crying for days. I know we can't try to fix things. Still, I'm having a hard time moving on. I have a new job, great friends and have been dating (and having sex) like crazy. Yet none of it gets this man out of my mind. I miss him all the time, and worry I
still love him. Please tell me it gets better.
I was heating up some leftover lasagna the other day, put it in the microwave for a minute or so, and it was still cold, so I punched in another minute and Jesus Christ it still wasn't hot enough, and I had to wait a whole fifty-five seconds more before it finally got it together and some cheese started melting around here. It's an old microwave, and I swore right then and there that I was going to get a new one because this was ridiculous.
But then, people, we all know who the ridiculous one really is, now don't we?
It's so easy to lose perspective in this jiffy lubed world of ours, where if the stupid page doesn't download in less than ten seconds, we log off in a huff. You were with this guy for six years, and now, a mere four months into your break-up, you're wondering when the torture will stop? Oh dear - look what we've done to ourselves.
Here's the thing. Regardless of how speedy speed dial gets, the body remains unaffected. And unimpressed. It will always take nine months to make a baby, years to recover from emotional trauma and a near lifetime to grow out a bad haircut.
If you say you're OK unless he contacts you then....tell him to stop contacting you. This whole "let's still be friends" trip is a giant, steaming, fly-ridden pile of wishful thinking. All it does is pick at the already slow-healing scab, and prolong your pain. Erase him from your cellphone, delete him from your Myspace page, keep on fuckin' and someday, when your heart is done lollygagging its way down Woe Is Me Road, you'll feel better. I promise.