After we broke up, I kept him on all of my socials.
I wanted to.
Some small, sadistic part of me revelled in the knowledge that he could see what I was doing without him.
It was great.
Instagram. Snapchat. Even Facebook.
My accounts were littered with a dialogue of my singleton lifestyle; parties, pubs, friends and frequent gym visits.
As long as he could see that I was happy, I was content.
I desperately needed him to see that I was coping without him. No matter how devastatingly heartbroken I felt, I couldn’t let my emotions seep through online. Even if this meant taking a short trip to the gym just to snag a snapchat of the gym equipment for him to see. He had to know that I could carry on with life as normal without him…even if I couldn’t.
In some strange way, the motivation to have something to brag about online encouraged me to go out more. It encouraged me to do things that I definitely wouldn’t have done had my social life remained a secret to him. Without the need to display my happiness online, my post-breakup regime would’ve consisted of nothing more than Netflix, ice cream and tissues to soak up my tears.
I didn’t want to be wallowing in self-pity. I needed a FastTrack ticket to happiness, and these petty posts seemed like the only option.
To me, I was doing the breakup right.
I had a new routine. A new way of life.
I was loving it.
But there was only one problem; if he could see my socials, then I could see his too.
He partied, he pubbed and suddenly had new friends that I had never seen before.
He was happy, and it hurt.
Suddenly I was on the receiving end of the online gratification and it hurt like hell.
Was he really happy? Or was he being just as spiteful as I was?
Questions of his contentment loomed over me and I no longer felt happy. I no longer felt motivated to try to be.
Seeing his face, his smile.
Hearing his laugh, his voice.
It brought me straight back to square one.
How could I expect myself to move on when all I found myself doing was replaying his Instagram stories and checking his snap maps?
The answer was simple.
Let yourself move on.
I was never doing the breakup right at all.
If I was going to be partying and socialising, then it needed to have been done of my own accord, not out of malicious intent.
Maybe Netflix, ice cream and the box of tissues was exactly what I needed.
Maybe wallowing in self-pity was the correct remedy for my heartbreak after all.
You can’t FastTrack the recovery of an illness. Yes, you can take medication to help numb the pain, but ultimately you must rest and let yourself heal naturally.
If I wanted to move on, I had to trust the process.
I had to allow for my body, mind and heart to forget his touch, his words and his love.
I had to learn how to be happy on my own again.
But seeing his face plastered over every social media platform I clicked on wasn’t helping.
There was only one option left, one option that I didn’t even want to consider being an option:
To move on, you must block him.
Snapchat. Instagram. Even Facebook.
You need remove the constant reminder of him from your timelines if you ever want to truly move on from him.
He doesn’t need to know what you’re doing.
And you definitely don’t need to know what he’s doing, either.
Once I had taught myself this, I felt so much better.
Logging online to see posts with no relation to him was a breath of fresh air.
Yes, I often yearned to see him, and would find myself hovering over the unblock button, but I never clicked it.
I finally knew how to move on and find my own happiness again, and I didn’t want to give that up.
I’m happy because I want to be, not because I need to be.