A guide to getting over your ex

Block their number, unfollow their social media, and delete all photo evidence of their existence. Expect to feel a sense of freedom from the weight that's been sitting on your chest like your childhood cat used to. No more sneak attack Instagram posts that pop up when you check to see what new restaurant your friend posted about. No more recommendations from TikTok to share the video with you of a millennial mom dancing to “Gives You Hell” by All-American Rejects. Your iPhone storage will thank you as the thousands of photos free up 3.5 GB of space. Get hit with the realization that now you can’t keep tabs on them, maybe that's for the best, you never liked what they posted anyway, and their lack of texting infuriated you. Now, you will probably blindly run into them because you’re in the same friend group, and that’s a fun surprise.

Write down all their bad qualities and light the piece of paper on fire. The flames will slowly eat away at any remembrance of them, leaving only ash piled up in your hands. Blow it off your palms into the backyard of your 3-story apartment. The burnt flakes cascade down, dancing a bit. An ember you didn’t realize was still lit catches the grass below on fire. Your rented property is now up in flames because you wanted to better yourself. You’re homeless now.

Call your mom and scream-cry about how much you hate them. How their stupid curly hair isn’t even that hot and their jokes were shit. They made you feel stupid, you shouldn’t miss them and once they made you shrimp scampi that tasted like rubber so you’re not missing much. Between sobs, explain how there were good times like when they bought you your favorite book or paid for every dinner. Begin to reminisce and feel the pit in your stomach grow. Feel it claw at your lining until a nail pops through your belly button. Mom reminds you how “me and dad broke up 3 times before we got married”. You mouth the end of her sentence because she’s told you it so many times, it hasn’t helped then and it’s not helping now. She tells you it’s normal to mourn, it’s human, and feeling just means your living. You take her advice and buy ice cream after the call ends because you want to feel the cold lump fall down to your stomach and meet the pit within.

Buy cheap wine from the liquor store around the corner from your apartment. Something fruity, like Moscato, that slides down your throat like juice. Bring home your excessively large bottle to share with your roommates as you shit-talk your ex. They know all about them so the conversation flows as quickly as the glasses being poured. You share intimate details of your sex life that make you cringe yet the wine dissolves your apprehension. You’ve never talked about such personal things like this with them before. They remind you how, initially, you weren’t even attracted to your ex. They weirded you out at first; coming off way too strong. Why is that always the case? you ask. They don't have an answer. Tears are shed after the fourth glass, yet it’s not pain you’re feeling but appreciation. Your ex never gave you the sense of comfort your roommates did.

Throw your phone off the Fullerton train platform. Watch as the car snaps it in half without a second thought. Realize you can’t access your Ventra card anymore to transfer to the bus you need to get home. You feel around your coat pocket for your wallet, but it’s not in there. For a split second, you think, should I grab it off the tracks? There’s no train coming, and it's right there, so close. Ultimately, you decide it's not worth possibly losing your life. You walk the 35 minutes it takes to get home in dead silence.