I began last week by waking up at 12:30 Monday morning with my bathing suit still on, lights ablaze and tv blaring. It was the beginning of one of the worst weeks ever. What the heck happened?
In an attempt to convince myself that I can once again be a normal human being, I joined the rest of the 25 year olds at my pool on Sunday drinking every ounce of alcohol that my friend Mary had brought over in her cooler. I remember thinking “if I just act like I am ok, I will be ok.” And it worked, for a few hours anyway. My plans for the evening were thrown out the window and for a brief moment I felt carefree and happy, kind of.
I’m not going to lie, from what I remember, the day was super fun. I even made a few new “friends.” One girl, between asking me if my boobs were fake (always a compliment) and revealing that she had fallen asleep in the stairwell the night before, shared that she too had just endured a terrible break-up and had recently moved-into her apartment to begin a new life. I have no idea what her name is or even what she looked like, but I found comfort in this boozehound and think we may be best friends!
I also met a guy who is in MBA school and I vaguely remember telling him that he was too young for me and that I was kind of a disaster right now. I found myself saying outrageous (although honest) things to him to ward him off, but he asked for my number anyway. Naturally, I gave it to him. (Although, we all know it was probably the wrong number as I have a terrible tendency to forget my number when I am sober.)
Even though I spent the day having my ego stroked by a bunch young twenty-somethings, I felt even worse about myself when I woke up at 12:30, bikini clad with a bottle of patron next to my bed. I realized I hadn’t eaten a morsel of food all day and had blown off my plans to go to the dog park. I began to panic. Who am I? This wasn’t me. Well, maybe it was 5 years ago, but not now. I was the responsible one now. I was the one who opted to stay in Friday nights and wake up early Saturday mornings for a run. I was the one who would voluntarily bounce myself out of a bar in favor of going home to bed. Even when I had the occasional “crazy” night, I always had someone to look out for me and comfort me in the event that I woke up in a panic.
My instinct was to reach for my phone and call him. It was dead which was exactly how I felt inside. I stumbled into the bathroom and looked into the mirror. To my horror, I saw a little girl lost, scared and hungover. And thus began the rest of my week.
This past Monday (yesterday) I woke up at 5:30 a.m. and went and worked out. It has already been a better week.
Heartbreak with Humor 