Everyone is Full of Shit




I have this theory: everyone is full of shit.

After I had my heart broken I tried googling all these motivational stories. You know, ones about girls who’ve been in the same situation as me and gotten through it to be strong independent women who don’t need no man. I read poetry about moving on from first love, and personal essays about why you deserve better then to only be someone’s option. I always felt a little bit stronger after finding solace in the words of like minded strangers.

I needed to know it would get better because I couldn’t bare to be in so much agony all the time. All I thought about was him. The last time we spoke. What I said. Trying to remember what he said. Maybe if I said this or did this or played it more cool or more interested things would be different.

I catch myself having imaginary conversations with him in my head. I’ll be walking to the bus stop, and suddenly I realise we’ve had two different arguments and broken-up and gotten back together several times in the space of three blocks and I don’t even realise I’m doing it. Like, this is me getting mad over hypothetical situations that have never, and will never happen! It’s pathetic, really, not even my own brain can pass the Bechdel test.

I told myself that going overseas would solve everything. I wouldn’t be thinking about him so much because I would be too busy drinking gin with my new friends and flirting with hot European men with exotic names like Sven who can get a tan when it’s snowing outside. I would learn to just love myself and see that I deserved more. I would Eat, Pray, Love myself better! Besides, every film I’ve ever watched taught me that if I left, he’d realise how miserable he was without me and come crawling back. Or, I’d find my soulmate. It was a win-win situation.

But with every city I visited, every Instagram photo, every fun-loving post on Facebook, all I craved was his attention. His approval. What would he think? Is he hurting too? Look at me now. Look how much I’m enjoying life without you. Do you miss me?
But when people would ask me how I was doing, I would put on a brave face and say: “yeah I’m fine! Totally much better off without him haha SO GREAT hahaha. Love being single and travelling. Woo!”

I’m so fucking exhausted!

Honestly, the highlight of my trip was Santorini. Because he watched all 32 of my Instagram stories. ALL 32! I know I’m starting to sound a little obsessed, but come on! Not even my best friend watched all 32. I asked a guy I was drinking with at the hostel bar what that meant, but all he said was “men are visual creatures. It’s easy for him to watch your stories. Not so easy to give you a relationship. Don’t read into it.” And this guy was HOT! So what did I do? Took a photo with him to add to said stories as a big F U to ‘Mr Voyeur’.

Seriously you can sit through thirty-fucking-two of my Instagram stories but you can’t send me a txt? Can’t get on that fucking phone and call me? To apologise. To say you see me. You see me, and you miss me too. Let’s work it out, yeah? Fuck you!

You’ve ruined Europe for me, you jerk. You’ve ruined Santorini. I wanted to come back here for my future honeymoon and you’ve ruined it because now it’s the Greek Island where I got drunk and uploaded 32 fucking Instagram stories for you, cried about it to this super hot French dude, who I kept singing “voulez vous coucher avec moi, c’est soir” to, and then vomited on his shoes before passing out in the hostel lobby.

So I’m calling it: the whole world is full of shit. Once you’re broken that’s it, you can’t be fixed.

All that’s left is a walking cliché with trust issues and a $10,000 credit card debt.