When I was in college, I lived with a guy who was in a marginally successful underground rock band. We broke up and went our separate ways, but I always believed he was the one for me. He became a rock star; I went on to a successful career; and 15 years after we broke up, he came back, begging for another chance and declaring his undying love. Although I had reservations—he is on antidepressants and can't get it up without Viagra and seems to have a really insecure need to be recognized on the street by fans—I went back. He told me he loved me, that he wanted to get married and have kids, and then six months into it, he blew me off cold. Now my heart is broken and I feel like a complete idiot. What should I do?
My Sad Sister,
I feel your pain! I too am suffering from heartbreak and a chronic case of idiotitis! Just about three months ago this boy swept me off my feet, and six days ago he dumped me on my ass. Despite warnings from my friends, his friends, and my better judgment, I allowed him to run away with my heart. Where my friends saw sociopath, I saw wild man responsible for more fun than I'd ever had before. Well, that wild man took my heart in his sweaty little palm and proceeded to wipe his ass with it. I was gutted.
So what did I do? Probably the same thing you did. Day One I sobbed uncontrollably into my pillow, talked for hours on the phone—forcing my friends to listen to every last horrible thing Satan Spawn said to me—and felt sorry for myself. Then I realized I had a dinner party to attend, so I showered, pulled on some clothes and a brave little smile, and went to the party. It felt good to be out among the living again, but I still felt a little shaky.
Day Two started off pretty much the same as Day One: lots of tears. Then at noon I got a call from my lawyer letting me know that a case our tenant group had filed against my landlord had been settled and I would soon be in receipt of a lot of money and a greatly reduced rent. Well, that certainly perked me up! That night I went out with some friends and managed to have a really good time. All my cute guy friends told me how crazy the ex had been to dump me, and several even volunteered to have sex with me! (I declined, but it's nice to have options.)
Well, when I got home that night there were two messages from the ex on my machine. Turns out that things haven't been going so well for him since we split up. His dad had a heart attack and his dog died. He apologized profusely and asked me to forgive him. Though I felt very bad for him (and still do), he broke my heart and that's not something I can forget just because he's going through hell.
What I'm trying to say in a very long-winded, convoluted, seminonsensical way is that if you look at it practically, breaking up with him gave me a net gain of $13,560.44. It cost me a bit in tissues and long distance service, but overall, I came out OK. He did not. Now this might sound kooky, but I believe in karma.
Se�Rock Star was a major fuck-up. Do you really think he will come out of this unscathed? You are a young professional woman; now I may be generalizing, but I'm guessing he's used to "dating" brain-dead skanks who adore him simply for his proximity to schmoes like Carson Daly. They think he's boss just because his band opened for Green Day. You want to know what books he's reading (hint: uh, none). He probably did flatter himself into believing he was ready to move into the realm of the smart chick, but the reality was probably more than his ego could bear.
You, on the other hand, gave him your love. You believed what he said and trusted him to act like a human being. He betrayed your trust and acted dishonorably. You are not the idiot in this equation. Take comfort in the fact that you dated him in college—15 years ago. That places you guys somewhere in your mid-30s. You are a beautiful, successful woman at your sexual peak. Not only is his sexual peak a distant memory, but he can't even pop a wood without pharmaceutical assistance. My advice: Find yourself a barely legal boy stud, bang him senseless, and move on.
Wood won't pop, no matter how hot the fire gets? Write firstname.lastname@example.org or Dategirl, c/o Seattle Weekly, 1008 Western, Ste 300, Seattle, WA 98104.