You know, it’s pretty common to hear people complain that “dating is the absolute worst.” They recount the endless swiping, the terrible first dates, the ghosting, and the general feeling of hopelessness that pervades the modern search for connection. But honestly? When viewed through the lens of genuine emotional pain, those people have it all wrong. In the grand scheme of romantic disasters, breakups are the undeniable, heavyweight champions of emotional distress and deep-seated misery. If I were truly given the impossible choice between a severe, debilitating, multi-day case of food poisoning and the crushing, soul-sucking emotional turmoil of a romantic split, I would gladly choose the former—the physical agony—every single day of the year, without a moment of hesitation or question. The physical misery, while intense and vile, is mercifully finite and offers a clear path to recovery; the emotional fallout from a breakup often feels amorphous, unending, and cripplingly confusing.
For me, the experience of officially breaking up tends to unleash a terrifying torrent of dramatic, high-volume sobbing that could rival a poorly written opera; it means dedicating an entire, precious weekend to consuming an absurd, maybe even alarming, number of alcoholic beverages—we are talking about thirteen margaritas, give or take a few tequila shots for good measure—and it absolutely mandates the immediate, self-pitying consumption of multiple oversized tubs of gourmet, high-end ice cream (specifically Talenti, because if you’re going to suffer, suffer with the absolute best quality available). When you meticulously list out the symptoms of isolation and distress, perhaps the aftermath of a breakup is pretty much the emotional, behavioral equivalent of food poisoning, just without the actual, verifiable bacteria. I’ve been completely immobilized by past breakups, unable to leave my bed, shower, or even open the curtains for days on end, finding comfort only under a heavy duvet. I’ve turned into a miserable, uncommunicative, and totally unreliable companion to my closest friends during these painful, self-absorbed periods. And, yes—cue the dramatic string section and swelling violins—I’ve even felt like I lost a piece of myself or my core identity in the exhausting, painful process of trying to recover and re-orient after a serious split. Regardless of whether you are the rejected party left reeling in shock or the person who bravely delivered the rejection and now faces the guilt, breaking up is universally acknowledged as a messy, profoundly painful, and deeply unpleasant ordeal that deserves all the hatred and avoidance tactics we can collectively throw at it.
