Ah, social media; where the world will hear what you have to say about that no good so and so.
At first, I am ok about reading details. I understand you’re upset and looking for some support. I want to be informed about your life events.
But when you claim, “I am moving on.”
I think, sure you are. I can tell. For days.
Question. Why are you so compelled to pull out your phone to ensnare the rest of us in the drama?
Now, I am old school. I was alive before the internet existed. I didn’t even know about a cellphone. Yes, I am ancient. So, what does a broken, pissed off, hurt girl (or woman) do to get a grip?
I would pull out a stack of notebook paper (paper with lines and three holes punched on the left side), a blue/black ink pen, and began writing a seething “Dear John” letter.
I would vent, telling him how I felt, my plans, he would regret the day..blah blah blah. When words wouldn’t come, I’d draw, doodle, and used my red pen for anger arrows or emphasis. Everything out. I wrote until nothing else needed expression.
Then, I would read my mini book. Pages written on both sides and numbered. Pure satisfaction. I would even edit it.
As a teen, I would take the letter out to our BBQ and burn it along with anything I had left from my ex. With a soda in hand, I would toast to the rising smoke.
As an adult, I would take the letter out to a BBQ pit with a bottle of wine in hand. As the flames burned that sucker to ashes; I would be drinking the bottle of wine as final tears flowed freely.
A proper funeral for a dead relationship. Up in smoke. It is done. All those bad feelings and thoughts concerning what happened are now a pile of ashes. A fitting end. Satisfaction.
You can do it alone or invite your best friend to the funeral part. I’m sure your friend will love the closure.
And the rest of us will be grateful because we won’t have to unfollow you while you are “Moving on.”