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Post Breakup Behaviour Disorder


We’ve all been there, the dreaded break up; you can feel the end creeping closer like the Grim Reaper. The end of a relationship or, relationshit as some would have it, eventually comes to fruition and you have either crushed someone’s world or it’s your world that has been broken. Breakups are tough; they’re difficult, messy even, but at times necessary even when you didn’t want to believe it. As life would have it breakups are, typically, where many, many lessons are learned, “oh he was an asshole”, “my friends were right”, “I can finally relieve myself of this stomach ache I’ve had for the past year.”

On the bright side, breakups show you (to quote Aladdin) “a whole new world.” All Disney movies aside, post break ups can liberate your soul, make you free from constraints, but can also bring extreme drunkenness and bad decisions. The first year of my single life, after not having been truly single for over seven years, was the most fun, and most intoxicated I’ve had. I don’t think I would trade that year for anything. At one point I almost wanted to thank my ex for being the catalyst to grant me that year – but I could never give him that credit, you know with resentment and all.

Do you agree after a breakup, anywhere from three months to a year a person acts or behaves slightly off kilter from his or her normal self? I think because our world has already been rocked, nothing else could be as bad as what’s already happened; and that’s where the booze comes in. Wine Wednesday becomes part of your religion and you pray to St. Pinot Grigio instead of worshipping your boyfriend. Post breakup behavior disorder (PBBD) is in fact the best part of any breakup. At least one time in your life you have to toss your inhibitions to the curb along with your credit cards, self-respect and morals and embrace some mischievous activities.

My favourite PBBD story is one of my own. Three months post breakup I decide to have a night in, full of movies and relaxation. Two minutes later my phone rings, its my best friend, she informs me there is no way I am aloud to be alone on a Friday night and to come have a few glasses of wine at her work while she’s bartending. I thought what could be the harm in that, well apparently everything. I post up at the bar, and it was like an unstoppable force came over me, I went from zero to loser-bombed in about 60 seconds. I couldn’t control the drunkenness, like drunkenness often does; it consumed me. My friend and I decide to go downtown for another few drinks (as if I needed more) we went to meet more of our buddies down at The Pint. My friend decides she’s going to go rendezvous with a sporting gentleman she met a couple weeks ago. Having to work the next day and my vehicle all the way in the south, where this particular gentleman lived, I begged her to let me come with her, to her dismay she agreed. I took back two more doubles and about 100 more shots and we’re out the door. With any evening caller sobriety isn’t favourable, so my friend decides she wants to stop at the liquor store for a bottle of wine. I tell her I will buy the bottle of wine for her as a thank you for putting up with me all night, but apparently the store clerk didn’t agree with that and I was kicked out of the liquor store. I guess some people had a real problem with the level of my intoxication. May I also inform you it is now 1:50 a.m. my friend’s patience has now been worn down to ice thin. We arrive at the gentlemen suitors humble abode and I pass out on his kitchen floor, like any respectable lady would do.

As the morning sun rises on a typically lovely November’s morn, I have no idea where I am. I wake up cradled in a ball on a love seat sofa and quickly think to re-trace my steps finally realizing I’m in Copperfield. I get up, walk to the bathroom, take a hard look at myself in the mirror, consumed with remorse, and sit to go to the bathroom. Let me also confirm in this moment I am only taking a numero uno. Stand up, flush the toilet, go back to considering my life’s actions and look over to see the water in the toilet bowl rising. I think to myself, “oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, what do I do?!” As any 23-year-old blonde-haired idiot, who knows nothing about plumbing would do, close the lid and watch the water pore over. Fuck. Run to the bottom of the stairs; begin yelling both of their names, no answer, so I say “Your toilets flooding!” The gentlemen caller rips down the stairs past me to find an ocean of water flooding his kitchen and bathroom. I hear another dripping sound; run downstairs into the basement his pipes have burst. I think to myself, I have to get the fuck out of here! I run back upstairs to see my friend bathing in her post coital glory and say “get your fucking pants on – we have to go!” Ill never forget the look she gave me and said, “What did you do!?” We come downstairs to see the man of the night mopping up water and looking oh so upset. My friend calmly asks, “Is there anything I can do,” as her and I are slowly creeping out of the house.

As we exit the house, I look to my friend and say, “I know you’re pissed, but this will be something we laugh about later, and in fairness to me I didn’t even want to go out last night.” My friend drops my remorseful-ass off at my car, I apologize for the millionth time as she rolls her eyes and drives away. 10 minutes later my phone rings, its her hysterically laughing.

The hilarious thing is now my friend and the gentlemen caller live together and are very much in love.

What’s your favourite PBBD story?

XOXO Witty Kitty


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