The travesty of a personal heartbreak

From crying to coming to terms with heartbreak, we've all been there

- Niraj Kakade

Something tragic happened to me recently. I got my funny little heart broken. Tragedy is subjective, no? I think so. It wasn't tragic enough to kill me-now that would've been tragic, but also kind of funny in a pathetically poetic way. No, this was the everyday, garden-variety kind of tragic where you start questioning every life choice, have a cute little meltdown mid-work, cry on fancy hotel room floors, and stalk their (private) Instagram from the outside. Not the life-ending kind, but more of a self-inflicted, dehumanizing kind of pain.

Not my first rodeo, either. I remember the first one because it felt weird more than sad at first. Like, "Why does it feel like I have a hole in my heart when I literally don't?" It takes a while to hit-oh, right, you're broken up. That's when the clichés roll in: the pleading, the crying, the denial-all six stages of grief, but somehow sadder. But eventually, you come out of it, until you're in it again. Only this time, you know the only way through is through.

So, how do you claw your way out of this rut now? First, you whore yourself out on dating apps. Swipe right like it's your job, try to flirt with friends, and maybe even attempt to cash in on that old "If we're both single by 30, we'll get together" pactonly to get shut down with a casual, "Shut up, Niraj, you're not dying."