The Seven Stages I Went Through Upon Hearing That We Were Breaking Up

1. Denial

Upon receiving your letter informing me that we were no longer going out (I particularly appreciated the little smiley faces that you put over the ‘i’s when talking about the good times that we shared together, and the sad faces that you put over the ‘i’s when telling me that you were sorry you had found someone else) I almost immediately experienced what psychologists, phone sex workers, and witchdoctors all around the world would refer to as ‘denial.’ Admittedly, it was somewhat pronounced in my case, as I sought to deny that a) we had ever gone out in the first place and b) you had ever existed.

Fortunately for me in this digital age it was a relatively simple measure to remove your head from all the vacation photos I had of you on my computer and replace it with the heads of more famous people. Indeed, many people wondered at the fact that I seemed to spend so much time at Disneyland with Chris Kattan, and, furthermore, that he had breasts. I was undone in my plan to remove you from living memory by the fact that your younger brother works at my video store, and that he, during his frequent telephone calls to my house to demand that I return ‘Corky Romano,’ would always mention how much happier you seemed to be these days. It was at this point that I decided to content myself by simply denying that you weren’t a common tramp who feasts on the souls and the happiness of good men at the top of my voice.

Outside your house.

2. Regression

I simply cannot tell you how happy I was that I still had those Limp Bizkit albums up in the attic when Stage 2 kicked in. That Fred Durst is a lyrical genius. I too was packing a chainsaw – the chainsaw of hurt feelings and shattered dreams. And I too, wanted to skin someone’s ass raw – love’s ass, that is. Just like love had skinned my heart’s ass raw with the chainsaw of broken trust.

Although it seems that nu-metal has fallen from favour since I was last a teenager. Tell me, have you ever heard of this ‘emo’ movement? I can’t say I much care for it, as its proponents were scathing in their abuse towards my Adidas jumpsuit when I tried to get back into the groove at some of my old hang-outs. And it didn’t take long to learn that nobody says ‘Word up!’ anymore. But teenagers are still grateful for people to buy them beer, and I was gratified to see that there was still some way I could make disenfranchised adolescents think I was cool. It was worth the fine I received from the cops who stumbled across our tree-house hideaway, and also worth the muffled snorts of ‘loser’ that I heard many times down at the station, both from the police and my young companions. Later, in the holding cell, I tried to show them how to do the Moonwalk, but my knees aren’t what they used to be.

3. Astronaut

It turns out that those guys have to be really fit, and also, know how to fly a plane. I honestly thought that everything was done with robots now, and that astronauts just got to sit around and see what it felt like to float. Then again I honestly thought that you loved me and would never break up with me in a letter. Just another boner by yours truly, I guess!

4. Retribution

Due to the fact that this letter may very possibly end up in the hands of the county judge that I will be appearing in front of in three days, I cannot go into details on this one. Without saying that I actually did any of these things, I would like to direct your attention towards some of the occurrences of the previous week.

- A series of phone calls that went like this:

You: Hello?

Caller: Hello! Is your fridge running?

You: Yes, yes it is.

Caller: Then you better go and cheat on it. Whore.

or this:

You: Hello?

Caller: Do you have Prince Albert in a can?

You: Yes, yes I do

Caller: Did you put him in there so that he couldn’t look at you with his soft, sorrowing eyes – eyes that deep down within yourself you know see all? Including the blackness of your heart, which is as cold as a next-generation freezer that uses super-technology to get down to absolute zero, and is then launched into the icy reaches of outer space itself? And that has Iceman from the X-Men trapped inside it?

You: Um …no?

Caller: Pffft. Bullshit.

Also, you found me drunk, face-down and not wearing pants on your patio last Thursday, and then called the cops – which I still think was really not cool – and this has lead to my current incarceration. I freely admit that I shouldn’t have accused you of checking out the arresting officer’s derriere and then thrown a punch at the offending rump. Officer Stanley was just doing his job. Also, he is very good at judo. We have become friends during the time I have spent here, and by ‘friends’ I mean when the local officers are hosing me down for the night he allows me to use the herbal soap that I like.

5. Denial

This stage will be kicking in again, I predict, when I am standing in front of the judge.

6. Delusion

I cannot be sure if this is actually a product of our ‘breaking up’ as you call it (I prefer to think of it, your ‘dumping me for some chump’), or the fact that my cell mate, Ivan, has procured some rather good Russian ‘whomping sauce.’ I have not actually heard the term before, but that is what Ivan assured me the strange substance is called back in his home country. For a brief time after inhaling the stuff I found myself less concerned with the fact that we had broken up than with the realisation that my zipper was talking to me in a funny voice about things that it had no business talking to me about. After trying the sauce once I can’t go for more than five minutes without shaking and begging Ivan to give me another hit – wonderful friend that he is, he has given me the number of some ex-Spetsnaz guys who should be able to keep me supplied for the rest of my natural life.

7. Acceptance

After the police found me in the morning, sneezing uncontrollably and clutching weakly at my sinuses, I was sent to mandatory drug counseling, where I met a very nice man named Dr. Morgon. Dr. Morgon has helped me deal with my feelings towards you and my burgeoning addiction to experimental Soviet narcotics left over from the Cold War. It was his idea that I make this list and finally come to some kind of peace within myself with the acceptance that things have changed and that we are both not the people that we were. And so, I have finally found acceptance.
I accept that the videos of that time you had dysentry I posted on YouTube will be quickly removed once management finds out about them, but that in the interim period, revenge is sweet.

The Seven Stages I Went Through Upon Hearing That We Were Breaking Up


Joined December 2007

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