This Is The Hard Part About Breakups No One Talks About
A funeral and an argument lead to one of the hardest breakups of my life.
“I’m pretty sure that if you put a wig and googly eyes on a traffic cone, they’ll talk to it as much as they talked to me at the last rave,” I told my husband.
“It’s not like they’re much better with me,” he said. “They constantly talk shit about me behind my back.”
“Yeah, but you’re a DJ. I don’t do anything but write about shows, and apparently, that don’t matter much to them,” I said. “They don’t even try to talk to me.”
“They’re not my friends.”
“They made it clear they aren’t mine, either. I’m done, dude. I’m really, really done. I’m tired of trying to bend over backward for them. I don’t want to see them ever again.”
It was 8 PM last night, and I’ve not been having a good week. Neither of us have. One of our closest friends died and due to unforeseen circumstances, we need a ride to the funeral and couldn’t attend the Irish funeral part of it after.
We were unable to get the ride we needed.
This is just one of a long, long series of moments where our so-called friends dropped the ball when I really needed them. Before that, it was the book. Before…
