Breaking up is hard to do. Just as hard as loving you.

  • My mum usually spends the weekends at her boyfriend's house. She used to bring him over once in a while but my brother outwardly dislikes him and I don't laugh at his jokes so she just goes there now. He's 38 and has never driven a car in his goddamn life. He has no intentions of getting a license. He lives cheque-to-cheque and couldn't save a penny to save his life. Recently, his ex girlfriend decided to move in with him and his roommate, claiming that she is now a lesbian. And this is supposed to be okay with my mother. Whatever.
    I'm expecting my mum to come home sometime on Sunday, but she walks in the front door on Friday night. I guess they fought and she got pissed and left. Kay. Now it's Sunday, and my mum's been in her room all day, and she comes out at about 5pm to say "My boyfriend broke up with me on the phone." She looks at me for comforting words but I'm silent for a good thirty seconds before I come up with "He's a manbaby anyway, who needs him?" I'll never be good at this kind of thing. She calls my grandmother to tell her she's coming to pick up my brother and I can hear her giving my mum a hard time on the phone as she is audibly choking up now. I offer to go with my mum, and this perks her up a bit. Dealing with my grandmother is a often a traumatic and stressful event, on a good day. We get my brother and come home. My mum goes to her room and I cook dinner for myself and my brother. She cries to someone on the phone.
    I will never fucking understand breakups. Because I think a breakup with this specific man, or manbaby, would be an ultimately liberating gift from the Universe. Though, I've never known love like anyone whose had their heart broken. And there lies the rub. I can't fathom why people cry over things they can't change.
    It's like in junior high, and someone would call you a bitch online and it would be reeling in your head for days. It's like a thorn that tears a hole in your thumb. It bleeds for a bit, but you wouldn't cry. And it takes a few days to fully heal, but until then, you will feel that little sting when you touch something and when you feel it, you remember that thorn. Then soon it's gone for ever. From your thumb and from your mind. Now why can't a breakup be like that? Why does is linger for longer than a couple days? Why cry about it?
    My favourite concept I've come across in my studies of Buddhist philosophy is that you effectually responsible for all of your own suffering. Which can be disheartening, but upon further reflection, you realize that since you alone cause yourself to suffer, you can go on to void yourself completely of such strife. I wish I could explain these ideals to people in person, but I find myself sounding like a babbling infant when I try to speak. I want my mother to understand this. Though I do wish the foolish manbaby would disappear, and my mother to be happy, I know he'll be back soon. It's just the way it happens with these sorts of things. I always thought you would need to break up once to know for sure that it's over, but this is not so. Everyone breaks up. All the fucking time.
    The only redeeming thing I've seen him do is buy my mum a ring from Tiffany's that she said she loved for Christmas. It was the wrong size though. They have a Tiffany's in Vancouver so when she picked me up in January, she went to their store to see if she could trade it in for one that fit. But they didn't have it. The man at the counter said he would take it and order the right size and get it mailed to our home.
    Fed Ex is coming tomorrow. I have to be up before noon to sign for the package.
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