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#TBT Edition: Here is everything you should NOT do after a breakup

#TBT Edition: Here is everything you should NOT do after a breakup

You all remember South Jersey? The one I met following my devastating breakup with B. Yea, him. That entire spring 2008 semester we were inseparable. Movie dates, he spent many nights at my off-campus apartment, etc. While I was smitten with Jersey, and his dimples did make melt, I was still an emotional wreck from my breakup with B. By any means necessary I wanted to get over him so if that meant getting under a new fine AF man, well then sign me the hell up. I was 19-years-old, and didn’t know any better (well in my twenties I continued to do the same thing, but I’ll digress lol).

I easily broke every don’ts to breakups. Cussed out shorty via Facebook [check], drank the poisonous cup called resentment [check], cut up all his old basketball jerseys that I knew he cherished [check], placed the blame on him [check], told him he wasn’t shit [check], dated someone new as a temporary fix [check]. I did everything but show up to his doorstep like the venomous bitch I felt I was turning into. As the semester ended, Jersey told me he would be going overseas for an internship, which meant I would have to face my feelings and find a way out of this wretched fog.

To make matters worse, I was slated to attend my cousin’s wedding—alone. My first freaking wedding, and I had to attend it lonely and broken hearted. On top of dealing with my emotional damage, I also had to attend my uncle’s funeral in Canada. Let’s just say that entire summer was simply a shit show. B got word that my family and I were mourning the loss of my uncle, and attempted to reach out. I rejected every call. I just did not want to hear anything he had to say. I tend to deal with breakups by burying my feelings and finding something productive AF to do, and luckily for me I had enrolled in summer classes at BMCC to quickly earn the necessary credits for my political science minor.

One day I woke up and decided to chop my hair off. Many say you shouldn’t make a rash decision post-breakup like cutting your hair or getting a tattoo, but I say screw them. The new cut made my bruised confidence a tad better.

As the summer ended, I realized I hadn’t run into B so I let my guard down and began to enjoy the few weeks left to my vacation—dumb mistake. Ladies, the very moment you let you guard down is the very moment you unexpectedly run into that ass. One day while shopping in SoHo with a few friends, there he was. His 6’4” stature was hard to miss. I remember grabbing my friends hand. We made eye contact, and she uttered, “So what do you want to do?” I stood there frozen. The whole world was spinning in front of me, I instantly felt nauseous, and became hysterical. We were standing in front of Forever 21, while B and his best friend were just a few feet away standing in front of the Armani Exchange store.  It was the first time I’ve seen him since our dramatic ass breakup, and here I was being just as dramatic as the day we broke up. Reminiscing on it now, it’s hilarious. Can you imagine seeing a hysterical black girl in SoHo carrying on as if someone shot her mama. He initially made a gesture as if he was going to walk over, but something inside of him changed and he decided to go the other way, which enraged me. As he walked away, I followed him. Yea, I didn’t give shit. He already told all his friends I was crazy so I wanted him to see how crazy I could be. *Cue Beyoncé’s “Hold Up”*

I followed him for maybe 10 or 12 blocks until his scared ass hopped on the Q train at Canal Street. That was the last time I ever saw him. 

Moral of the story, minus cutting your hair, ladies please do not go bat shit crazy and stalk an ex, or become hysterical in public or do anything I did. Learn from my mistakes, please!

This is the ninth installment of The Prim & Perverse’s weekly sex and relationship diaries series. Check back every Thursday for another exciting, life-changing and sometimes embarrassing throwback tryst.

RELATED CONTENT: ONETWO, THREE FOUR,  FIVE , SIXSEVENEIGHT.

Written by Nikki Shariee
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