Break-ups are not awesome. They must be one of the worst things a person has to endure in a lifetime. You may think I’m being dramatic. I probably am.

I was dumped a month ago. Not the we’ve-been-together-for-three-months-and-I’m-so-in-love kind-of-dumped. But the we’ve-been-together-for-over-a-year-living-together-he’s-my-best-friend kind-of-dumped. And, my God, does it mother effing suck.

I’ve been broken up with five times now — with only two different guys. Yup. I’m that girl. You would think that this time it wouldn’t hurt as bad. Wrong. My first break-up — the one to whom I gave my entire heart to — was one of the worst feelings I have ever experienced. I lost ten pounds, I couldn’t feel anything, I would cry just getting out of the shower. But I had my best friends for support.

This time, he’s my best friend. The one that I turn to when I’m feeling sad and I text literally a hundred times a day because I just can’t wait to get home to tell him what happened. In a way, it’s almost worse. It’s not my first love, but it’s certainly the strongest.

Everyone keeps saying it will get better, but what if I don’t want it to get better? Am I not allowed to just wallow for the rest of my life and remember the amazing times we had together and mourn for the amazing times that we won’t get to experience?

I know; I’m being dramatic again. But what do you do when the person you were hoping you would spend the rest of your life with tells you he (or she) doesn’t love you anymore? Jump back on that saddle? That’s stupid.

And things keep happening to remind myself that this happened. Half my room feels like it’s missing. The living room television will soon be taken away. Facebook friendships end. Communication terminated.

Drama aside: I guess now I’m able to “focus on the important things I didn’t have time to focus on.” You know, like graduate school and my future career. Now I can decorate my room however I damn well please and there’s not going to be clothes all over the ground. I can have a solo dance party with no judgments. Hell, I can eat an entire pint of ice cream whilst watching Moulin Rouge.

I know that I’m a baller girl friend. Seriously, I’m just plain awesome. Surely, some man will figure this out eventually. Until that day, I’m going to allow myself to be sad for as long as I feel like it (but no, I will not wallow), I’m going to sing as loud as I want in my apartment and I’m going to take time to cook for just myself.

And you know what? It’s going to suck. But that’s a life lesson everyone goes through, which is a surprisingly really nice reminder.