Question #3: “How Do I Deal With Being Dumped?”

10 Dec

Olef  from Chattanooga asks this question. First of all,  I’m sorry to hear that you’ve been dumped. I’ve been there before.

Before Cindy and the kids ruined my life, I was in a relationship with another hell demon who dumped me like a dead body. She did it with a phone call one morning, rousing me from a deep sleep with three pitch black words: “I’m leaving you.” She told me we might get back together if I changed.  Let’s just say that 6 months,  2 dozen please-come-back-to-me-baby doorstep poems and accompanying flower bouquets, and a whole lot of alcohol and tears later, she was kind enough to send me  an invitation to her upcoming wedding.

A year later, she sent me the honeymoon pics.  The two making out on a terrace overlooking Rome. I was working a telemarketing job at the time,  back living with my mom in a trailer home, and dating obese girls I’d met in online chat rooms.

I think I’m qualified to offer you sound,  non-biased advice on this matter, so let’s get down to it.

The first thing to understand and accept is that it will probably never be as good as you just had it.

Contrary to what well meaning liars often say, you may never find anyone even nearly as good as  her. let’s face it: she was obviously, at one time, in your league, but clearly this is no longer the case.  This much can be inferentially derived by contrasting the position of  loneliness that you are now in, with the position of intimate companionship that your dumper is likely now enjoying. I know, I  know, ”there is no one else, she would tell me, I know her.”

Well, I’d be willing to bet that, just a few weeks ago, you thought you knew your dumper well enough to be certain that they wouldn’t dump you.  If you’ve learned anything since being dumped, it’s probably that you don’t know much of anything at this point,  that life is barely worth living, and that there are far too many people who call or text message you who are not your dumper, giving you that momentary glimmer of hope that it’s your dumper calling to reinstate the relationship, only to be crushed and infuriated to realize that it’s  your mother calling to talk to you about some idiot cousin who just died.

There probably is someone else; your dumper is  lying to you. If your dumper isn’t currently having sex with someone else, they have most certainly, at the very least, tenderly laid their head on someone else’s shoulder. They wouldn’t do that with you anymore, because they hate you now, want nothing more than to ruin your life, and as you are well aware, have generally transformed into a complete fucking monster.

That omnipresent, sick, wrenching feeling in your stomach is perfectly normal, don’t be alarmed; it’s all scientifically explainable. You see, the lack of natural light due to the entire fucking firmament being permanently blotted out since the day of your dumping has caused a significant reduction in the levels of endorphins being released in your brain,  or some shit, and so you are actually now what is termed a “zombius  miserablus”  (from the latin), meaning “one who just wanders around in a constant daze, unable to do anything but neurotically obsess over every little thing having to do with your dumper, things you may or may not have done wrong to deserve this, and things you could possibly do to get your dumper back, without ruining your chances by seeming to try too hard, or maybe it’s determination and heartfelt emotion that will win her back, maybe I should keep leaving poems and flowers on her doorstep once a week, hoping she’s watching me through a crack in those closed blinds as I stand forlornly in the rain,  wait, I think I do see a crack in those blinds, she’s probably watching me now and realizing she still loves me, she can’t bear to be without me any longer, and after she opens her door and reads that poem, and sees the flowers, she’ll remember the kiss that I blew at her; I know her so well and she’ll realize that–I know her like nobody else ever will– with my telepathic-like knowledge of the fact that she’s watching me in the rain, standing there behind those nearly-closed blinds, yes, I’ll blow a kiss at that crack in the blinds, and soon everything will be back to the way it was…

There is no crack in the blinds, Olef, you were just imagining it. They are completely closed, because she’s fucking some guy behind them; some guy she is newly and madly in love with.

And afterwards, in the effulgent afterglow of that monstrous betrayal, she will issue a mellifluous sigh, and tenderly lay her head on his shoulder.

Hope that helps, Olef.

Relationship problems? Feeling the blues? Turn that frown upside down! I’m here to make things better! I’m a certified advice columnist and former couples counselor. I can turn those grey skies blue! Email me at I answer all questions ever.


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