As you may (or may not) have noticed, I have been a little…absent shall we say from most things internety. Aside from some mildly ambiguous tweets, I have sorta fallen off the grid…for a whole week. Which in blogger time, is like a fucking eternity. The super good news is that my ass is still functioning all fine. So is my heart, and eye balls, and well everything on my bod is still in good working order. But I guess I did sorta just lie, my heart is hurting. Not my real heart that pumps blood all over and is squishy and red and important to keep me alive, but rather my figurative heart that is directly connected to my vagina because I’m a women. Speaking of which, why are lady hearts so obnoxious? The figurative ones I mean, not the real ones. The real ones are good and useful. Can you tell I’m trying not to piss of my real heart?

Anyway, Internet. Last week I broke up my boyfriend. I know for most of you this is anticlimactic, but for me its a big deal and my lady heart/vagina is really sad about it. Also, if you’re a member of said boyfriend’s family, I’m sorry you have to read about this on my blog along with the rest of the internet. At least its not Christmas and you’re trying to figure out why I blew off your family party (which we both know I wouldn’t do)…because I’m sure he’s not going to go out of his way to tell you.

So I’ve been trying to navigate these post break up waters, because I have no fucking idea what I’m doing. I have literally been in one relationship or another since I was about 14 (and by one or another I literally mean two). The last breakup I had was so dramatic that it could have beat out Mad Men for drama of the year and it was awful and painful and I was like 22 so I’m sure I cried an extra 25 tears for every second we were together because thats what young people do. Also, about a minute later I was dating my current (and now ex) boyfriend. I didn’t really do this on purpose, but it happened and it was a really pleasant thing at the time. Fast forward now, 4 and a half years later and our relationship was anything but pleasant and a break up has been long overdue, just ask me. Don’t ask him, he doesn’t agree.

Since this blog isn’t titled “Blood, Poop, Tears and Jackie’s Love Life”, I don’t spend a lot of time on here talking about said love life. I also got to the point where even I didn’t want to hear about the mind fuck that was my relationship, so I stopped talking about it to anyone and everyone. Don’t take it personal internet. It has also taken me a a long time to realize how vital a relationship with someone you love can be during your sickness. I SHOULD have been writing about him. I SHOULD have been able to talk about how supportive and helpful he was. But I couldn’t, because he wasn’t, so I didn’t.

Call me weak, call me stupid, call me whatever you want, but this is what I’m trying to figure out with my brand spankin’ new therapist. Because when anything gets hard in my life I go running to therapy, and don’t you judge me because the world would be a much better fucking place if we all sat around and talked about our feelings with strangers. I mean….yea I guess that I do that on this blog, its different because when I explain ridiculous things that happened in my relationship I can actually SEE my therapist roll his eyes.

So I may or may not be talking about this more, I can’t decide. I don’t want this blog to become a “Dear Diary” for my broken heart. Mostly because thats not the point, and also those kind of diaries are really only useful when they belong to your sister and she hides them under her pillow and it has one of those shitty “locks” on it. I say “locks” because I’m pretty sure you could just breathe on it and it opened. Maybe it was a magic lock, that didn’t take a key, but just some air. Thats some Harry Potter shit right there. Also, I’m sorry sister of mine, but I read the shit out of your diary when I was little. I’m sure this is no real surprise to you.

Well friends that about it. I’m really sad but I know this was what is best for me. And that is really shitty. So feel free to send me chocolates, or french fries. This is definitely a “get fat” breakup and not a “get skinny” one. Which is a serious deterrent to my ability to find a new mate. I have also been living on grilled cheese for about 3 days. I ran out of bread AND cheese yesterday and I almost had a melt down. Or not a melt down, I mean, I didn’t have any cheese to melt. My pant size is growing, and my blankets might be covered in snot, but I think my writing is better. So we all win. Mostly. Not really.

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