I'm Over My Ex — And Had Sex With Him To Testify It

After a split that nearly devastated me, I spent weeks in bed instead of simply days. The best way to describe the condition of my mind and heart was to say that I wasn't only broken but, whatever the next step worse than that, brutally heartbroken. I was certain that I wouldn't get over my heartbreak, as everybody who has recently gone through it is. After a split that nearly wrecked me, I spent not just days, but weeks in bed. The best way to describe the condition of my mind and heart was to say that I wasn't only broken but, whatever the next step worse than that, brutally heartbroken. I was certain that I wouldn't get over my heartbreak, as anyone who has recently gone through it is. But as time went on, I gradually got a little bit stronger every day. I relocated to New York City, made a fresh start, and even started dating once more. I had the impression that everything had come full circle, and all that remained of him was a faint memory—one that I hoped I would never have to revisit. Then the unthinkable occurred one night: I ran into him. He was present in every bar in every city in the world. It turned out that he had also made the decision to reside in New York. My stomach sank. I started to tremble. I was unable to feel the ground beneath me, and I was very certain that I would vomit all over the floor, anyone nearby, and myself. It was going to be the kind of projectile vomiting that results from severe emotional turmoil. As my friend approached me, I grasped his hand to help me maintain my balance. I found it hard to believe he was coming my way. He remarked on the length of my hair while I made a weather comment about how hot the summer had been. Dammit, I wanted another drink, so I placed a second order. The worry and anxiety started to fade as I continued to drink more. Despite the fact that it had been over two years, I was able to laugh and our level of comfort was back. Despite feeling sick to my stomach and shaking earlier in the evening, I recognized that even though I missed him and will always miss him, I was in the process of moving on from him. To be honest, I felt great. I agreed to go home with him when he asked me to. Since I did, OF COURSE. Having sex felt like the best way to really confirm my belief that I was over him, so I thought I could somehow prove it to myself even more. Yes, at the time, it was a drunken idea, but some of the best decisions we make come out of a bottle of whiskey.

When he kissed me, I felt nothing.

I was far less eager than I used to be when we were formally in love as our clothes started to fall off. I experienced a strange sensation of empowerment as if I were finally receiving the closure I never experienced when we split up because I was now in charge. I was in control because I had sex with a man I had once loved to show myself that I was over him, which I most definitely was. In addition to realizing that the great sex I had with him was actually pretty average, I also knew that there wouldn't be any more tears shed at his memory at that point. It was a lovely epiphany.