Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
I only had one response in return. “Get out.”
Five Ways To Mend After That Guy Got Past Your Walls
Okay, ladies. It happened. You tried to safeguard yourself against him, but he weaseled past your walls. Where do you go from here? Hopefully, he reciprocates your feelings. You’re together now, and you get to enjoy romantic strolls in the park, holding hands, the joys of touching in a darkened theater. Those are the good days. Those are the days you’re hoping for, but what if things aren’t ending with happy ever after? In that case, you need to move on (again). This is what you do:
* Booze. Lots and lots of booze. Normally you’re probably careful about your alcohol intake. This is the time you can throw that out. Write it down, then rip it apart. Burn the paper. In this circumstance, the more booze, the better off you are. Just be safe, of course. No driving, no drunk dialing, and know your limits!
* If alcohol doesn’t work for you, go the healthy route. Focus on exercise. Get a gym membership. Become a runner. Power-walk your ass off. If you can’t numb the heartbreak, use it to fuel something productive. Get high off those endorphins, ladies!
* Music! Sad music. Happy music. Blues. Folk. EDM. Whatever works. Fill up your phone, and blast it any time you need a dose. Combine number three with number two, and off you go into the healthiest, best-looking you ever. You can combine number three with number one, too. Number three can go with anything.
* Food. Now, while I’ve controversially recommended unlimited booze to numb your feelings, I have to offer this option with stricter guidelines: Indulge in food for the first weekend only! Ice cream. Pasta. Pizza. Whatever is on your forbidden list, order it in for that first cry-fest. Feel the food. Feel the emotions. Anger. Sadness. Whatever you need fill that hole he left in you, use food, along with booze or music, to help you ease the pain. But when the tear ducts stop working, because eventually they will, put the food away. Start on number 2.
* Friends/Family/Fun. The three Fs. Use them. Have your friends to take you out, make you laugh—put them through the wringer. That’s why they’re your friends. Lean on your family. Go to them if you need support, or just to forget reality. If you need to revert back to your early childhood years when everything was safe, go there. Embrace this time when you can be selfish. You’re the one hurting. You’ll hold them up later, when you can hold them up. Until then, be selfish. Enjoy their support, and above everything else, seek to have some fun at the end of the day. That will chase the heartbreak away, little by little. And if all else fails, go on to number six.
* One-night stands. Getting under someone new can be the best way to jumpstart getting over someone old. But just be safe about it. Don’t let a one-night decision, or a more-than-a-few-nights decision, alter your future. And if you go this route, empty a drawer and fill it up with condoms. Take charge, ladies. Don’t rely on the guy. After all, that might be why you’re in this mess in the first place.
With that said, drink up, eat up, let the tears flow, use the anger, and proceed with whatever helps you endure the pain. You’ll have your walls back up in no time.
I left.
Sia drove me to my parents’ house, a few hours away. When the door opened and my dad appeared, wearing his usual blue plaid flannel pajamas, I couldn’t hold the tears back any longer.
This was when I raged, when I threw things, when I screamed, when I let everything out. But when it was over, the next week, I wasn’t sure who I was grieving: Liam or Cole.
My parents were speechless when they first saw me, but I ignored their reactions. I didn’t have the words to explain, so Sia did once my dad had carried me inside. I heard their soft conversation on the porch as I waited in the kitchen, tears pooling on the table. And that night, when they came back in and after Sia asked for the seventh time if she should stay and I told her no again and walked her out to her car, my dad pulled out a bottle of whiskey.
My parents didn’t drink a lot. The alcohol was for special occasions, maybe one glass on holidays. But that night, my parents were lushes. My mom kept crying. She’d wipe her tears away, remark that they shouldn’t have let me have my space even though I’d requested it, and get a forlorn look in her eye. Over and over. And every time that look appeared, she’d refill her glass.