How to Get Through a Breakup (Lessons from The Loony Bin)

I have no clue what kind of tricks God and Susan Miller are playing on us, but lately I feel as if the whole world has lost its mind. Since I live in a current event-free bubble that floats somewhere between Style.com and my Instagram feed, by “whole world” I mean my friends. Ever since last Sunday, I have been bearing witness to some sort of mass heartbreak limbo, which entails all my friends getting dumped and then blowing it WAY out of proportion by engaging in ridiculous behavior. At this point, I feel like I’m operating a boutique mental institute, checking in on their status at least 3 times a day and keeping them all under the same roof, with one administered chaperone present. Luckily, my patients make for some really interesting case studies, which will make for even more interesting content for you guys! And so, without further ado…

How to Get Through a Breakup (Lessons from The Loony Bin) 

1. Drink a lot. What regular people consume by the glass, you can consume by the bottle. This way, you are guaranteed to always be exactly 5 times more drunk than the rest of them! While my friends prefer drinking everywhere they go, I would approach this strategically, depending on the desired outcome. Drink alone for drunk texts, in public for drunk hookups, and at friends’ houses for a comfy couch to pass out on!

2. Dress the part. My friend, God bless her, has adopted an entire Grey Gardens wardrobe to match her broken heart. She now dresses exclusively in huge billowy caftans (curtesy of Dries van Noten), which blow dramatically as she stumbles around with her wine bottle, screaming “I am a spinster!” Other role models to emulate: Britney Spears, Alanis Morissette.

3. Make a Crazy Gesture. Why wait for a Grand Gesture that will never happen, when you can make a psycho one instead? Many years ago, a man did me very wrong. As a counterattack, my friend and I drove to McDonalds and purchased two Happy Meals, which we used to decorate said douchebag’s pretty silver Mercedes. Ketchup packets under tires, milkshakes in the windshield, a burger in the exhaust pipes, you get the gist. I promise you that the experience felt better than sex (especially sex with this particular individual.) Another time, I shipped back all my ex’s clothes back in a FedEx box – all his clothes that retailed under $500, that is. The rest, I consigned. Every little evil counts. 

4. Deleting his number would be way too easy. My suggestion is to call him A LOT. Call him and yell, then call him and cry, then call him and threaten him. Then sext him something special. (Loony Bin Patient #2 did it this week. The girl’s response? “I’m glad it still works.” Ouch.) Your goal is to push it to the point where they seek a restraining order against you. This way, you will have no choice but to move on!

5. Make a list of all the things he’s missing. You know, the one you’ve been making it in your head throughout the entire relationship. Email it to him, cc his friends for good measure.

6. If you have any embarrassing pictures of him, now is a the time to reveal them. Your motto is “the fatter, the better” – if anything, use a Fat App. Throwback Thursday that shit with a sweet passive-psychotic caption à la “booboo likes his ice cream.” The goal here, of course, is to ensure a restraining order extension.

7. Buy yourself something awesome from Dries Van Noten, because he’s the one man who will never let you down. Max out your credit cards, then report the whole thing as identity fraud and blame him.

8. After you are done being psychotic, get your shit together and MOVE ON. Find the most ghetto boxing gym you can and work out with a trainer the size of the Hulk, who will simultaneously make you cry with his “motivational insults” and make you feel like a woman with his poring eyes. Have sex with the Hulk. Book a vacation and get the fuck out of Dodge. See the world, see the big picture. Realize that the world doesn’t revolve around you, and it certainly doesn’t revolve around that limpdick prick without a college degree. MOVE THE F*CK ON.