Life after a breakup is a process. On top of all the questions as to why it ended, you have questions as to how to simply be again. How do I start over? How do I let go? And sometimes, who do I move on to? Whether it be a one time thing or until the next thing, rebounding is real as fuck. Below, Rae Witte chronicles a week of rebounding post-breakup.
Part of my process is working out. Since, historically, weight loss occurs for me with an unfortunate end to a dating situation or relationship with me, I try to hang on to the new figure long after I’m feeling better.
That said, I took some major Ls shopping for new vintage denim. I have only two pairs of jeans that fit currently and they are both black.
I heard from this 26-year-old model on Raya I chatted with, about meeting up when he was back from Los Angeles. Truthfully, I’m not really interested. In my experience, fashion industry men LOVE to sleep with a girl with some curves, but they always end up with these model types, which is totally fine. I just don’t really know if I’m attracted to him enough for that, and perhaps another 26-year-old isn’t in my best interest currently. I haven’t answered, yet.
I did, however, set up an ice cream “date” for Tuesday night with a “safe” guy I went out with last week. Cute.
I slept like absolute shit last night. When I tell you nothing worked, I mean NOTHING worked. I couldn’t take anymore Nyquil at 3 a.m., all the words were written, and all the batteries are dead.
I ran a nine minute mile for the first time in about 10 years today. After I made myself mad about money and randomly about the man who was living at my house, but will very likely never speak to again, I stopped at the gym purely to run before grocery shopping. Totally worth it.
I caught up with a girlfriend, whose live-in boyfriend of three years broke up with her, about my other girlfriend, whose man’s anger was not a good fit for her and her three children. These are two of my oldest friends. I’m happy to be their rock and also put my shit in perspective through our talks.
I was with someone that meant a lot to me and he lied—flew to my house to lie to my face—but we had zero plans to get married, nor do I have any kids. Big pictures include these women and being there for them.
I also asked my friends who knew him to let me know if and when they heard he’d be in New York. I unfollowed him on Instagram today. He might as well be dead to me. No one wants to run into a ghost, though.
Later I hear from another very attractive younger man. Are there not 35-year-olds who like women that look younger than their age rather than just younger women?
I tried to set up coffee with this guy that has been texting me since December. He’s out of town and nearly every time he hit me in the last couple months, the guy I was seeing was at my house. He asked what we are doing. I told him it seems we’re pen pals.
I heard from the guy I stopped seeing in March 2016, who has apologized to me 137 times at this point, but I still don’t know what he is looking for. He was really hot about me upfront and then pushed me away, which is par for the course of my entire dating life. I just cannot answer this email today.
I skipped the gym today because I had a meeting in the city before my date. Had a little detour, though, when my good friend lost her main freelance client. One glass of rosé to drown our collective stress in and I had him meet us at my fave wine bar. He was cool about having a second glass with her.
Ice cream before dinner and more rosé on the roof–am I a juvenile or a fun date? Does it even matter? I think he might fall into the category of boys that are in over their head with me. It was good nonetheless.
I finally got some…sleep. It was great. A little disruption in my current routine was necessary apparently. I’d recommend starting all of your dates by 6 p.m. on beautiful sunny New York evenings, making it so you can drink PLENTY and not go to bed late as fuck. And it’s in this moment writing this I realize I am washed dot com.
I got a FaceTime from this boy that took me to see Majid Jordan in the fall and that I randomly ran into during Fashion Week. It was nice to hear from him, although he checked the shit out of me for always FaceTiming me first. Fair. He does, but it’s because I was seeing someone else. I really was curving boys out here. Unreal. He’s in Paris until the end of the summer. I can’t really say I’ll FaceTime much until he’s back.
My friend threw an R&B party called PDA. I had every intention of being home by midnight, then it turned into the unofficial kickoff of summer. He played “Body Party” and “Bump ‘N Grind” during his set. A lot of my close friends were there. My roommate and I decided to indefinitely share locations with each other, and I sent a few drunks texts to the Tuesday night date boy. This is progress, right?
Hangovers are dumb, and the internet is a shitshow this morning. Some middle-aged guy with money has been profiled in the Post because he will no longer date “hot” women, but only “merely beautiful” ones. Fuck him and the guy who wrote it. Trump dropped a literal bomb. Fuck him, too.
I spent the entire afternoon with my girlfriend helping her shop for shoes. Being outside in the sun with friends makes everything better. I catch up with some more people later.
This boy I know who hasn’t been in town for a minute was like, “Hey, you know who should interview?” and drops the man’s name I’m rebounding from. Like, the Kanye blinking gif, I just looked at him with total defeat. I told him why I would not be interviewing him. He later tried to kiss me. Boys are funny, man.
I listened to Frank Ocean’s “Nights” for two hours straight and didn’t feel sad, even every single time he sings, “Stayin’ with you when I didn’t have a address, Fuckin’ on you when I didn’t own a mattress.” No more dating guys without an address, by the way.
Half of my laundry went missing from the dryer today. I’m livid. I have to push my meeting an hour so I don’t absolutely kill someone. One thing that I need to work out during this period is my temper. As someone who identifies as patient and doesn’t allow too many things to get to me, it seems like I get angry a lot easier.
I needed to go to the gym to work it off, but it had to wait. My meeting went well. I’m going to have an hour-long live online radio show twice a month. I’d like to keep adding more and more and more and more to my schedule. That’s generally how I deal with and emotional challenges in my life: add more work.
I visit one of my other girlfriends after hours at her new office. The sunset is perfect 19 floors up facing midtown Manhattan. We take it to the benches, a meeting spot for all of the girls for optimal “joint-watching.” All the boys and girls on this block look great.
I fill her in on my date earlier in the week. Everything is different from the guy I broke up with, which is good, I guess. I told her I miss what I had with him, but I don’t miss him anymore. It’s a wack feeling, but reality.
I got my laundry back after leaving a series of threatening notes around my building. Small wins.
I stayed in all day besides a trip to the gym and the grocery store. I heard from a bunch of random boys I don’t really care to converse with. Those empty convos end up so unfulfilling.
Young March 2016 is in my Instagram DMs asking why I haven’t responded to his email from Tuesday. He goes on to remind me how one of the last texts I sent him said something along the lines of, “Good luck finding someone that is half of what I’ve been to you,” which I did, and clearly he hasn’t because this is where we are, arguing in IG DMs 13 months later. Honestly, let me just draft that and save it for every man I let in my life in the future and put it on my tombstone. They always come back.
I stay in all night. We’re having a cookout tomorrow, so I get some work done and prepare to bury the day in rosé with friends and have a perfect Sunday. I’ve invited Tuesday night date boy and the boy that tried to kiss me, which I did before he tried to kiss me. Maybe both will come. Maybe neither will come.
Summer will be interesting.