It was one of the most beautiful Sunday mornings I could remember, as she stood before me vulnerable, emotionally wracked and helplessly pleading. My eyes are empty as I search for a reason to get her back. She demands to why I don’t want to fight for her. She is beautiful in her short shorts, rumpled tee shirt, and hair that still smells like morning.

More than ever, I want to reach out and hold her. I want to hold on until forgetfulness sets in and everything is right with us again. Alas, my phone rings and I insist that I must answer it. She stares and glares, confused as to why she has pushed me into a corner and I won’t push back.

We were in love just a month ago. Although we had been together for five years, our relationship still had the new car smell. Yet, underneath that smell, there was some old food under the seat. Something that is rotten and forgotten. That’s why I stayed out too late. That’s why she returned my calls an hour later than she should have. I thought she could do better. She knew that she could. For a longtime, we told each other that love was enough until it was all we had. Then we said the words and realized there was an ocean between us. Then I kissed another girl.

Of course, that kiss did not lead to our breaking up. We were already a bunch of frayed nerves, disingenuousness, and anger. No, the kiss confirmed that she really could do better.

A drunken mishap, with a girl that could never measure up to my ex girlfriend, told me everything that I needed to know about myself. My clumsy pawing and feigned regret told me one thing. My dishonesty told me everything else.

I became colder and more distant. I was convinced that she would see what was obvious and do what was necessary. She called me and challenged me. I was evasive…. She said we should end it and I weakly agreed. I would get over the broken heart. So, what the hell is she doing here this morning, Sunday morning, wondering why I won’t fight for us? I am silent. It is better this way. You can do better than me. She leaves in a rush. The girl in my bathroom slinks out, gets dressed, kisses me on my forehead, and leaves.

I disgust myself.

Louis Meadowbank, 30, self-employed

Perhaps the worst breakup I ever had the misfortune to go through was in the summer between my junior and senior years at college. My girlfriend was a year older than I was and had already graduated and lived five states away, which put some stress on the relationship. But we were still together, really more out of sheer obstinance and the safety that comes from a boring daily ritual — the telephone call. It would typically resemble something like this:

Me: So how was your day?

Her: Fine. How was yours?

Me: OK.

Her: Well, I have to get ready for dinner. Bye.

Well, I was studying to be an archaeologist at the time, and this summer was going to get my feet wet on my first expedition. So I signed onto a dig on one of the Greek islands. The town I was staying in didn’t have internet. Heck, it barely had a payphone. When you think of one-horse towns from spaghetti Westerns, upgrade the scenery to the mid 1980s and you’d have a good picture of the place. Needless to say, with the technological gap and the time difference, the daily phone calls went away.

To be honest, there was also this girl I met… Well, there might have been three girls. One of them even needed help on how to get over her ex girlfriend. Sometimes it’s nice to work in a profession where women get daily exercise digging in the dirt, thereby ensuring a relatively low fatty-to-hot girl ratio. In America, we’ve become so used to the obesity epidemic that we forget how large of a percentage of the female population is attractve when you only have to subtract out the fuglies. And even the fuglies have their moments when they’re pouring you that 22nd shot of raki, which is Greek moonshine that’s usually made in a sink or a toilet bowl, judging by the taste. But I digress.

Breaking up was definitely in my future. After a couple months and three girls, I go back home to talk to my girlfriend. I was still young and naive, so I figured I’d tell her the whole sordid story and break up with her. That’s what happens when you have a conscience that’s weak enough to let you do what you want, but strong enough to make you feel guilty about it later.

Unfortunately, she broke up with me first. She’d cheated on me while I was gone — several times. Even though I had done the same thing, I was devastated.

I suddenly didn’t know how I’d get over a broken heart. I spent the next year trying to simultaneously get her back and get over a broken heart. I’ll spare you the nasty details, but I was unsuccessful on the first count, but did discover one of life’s great truths. I was able to get over my ex girlfriend by getting under someone else. That’s the best way to survive a break up. And as a word of parting advice, based upon my experience, Swedish girls are better in the sack, but Norwegians are better cuddlers.

Pyrrhus, 25, archaeologist

It’s not a secret that getting over a break up isn’t easy, but I never realized it could be nearly impossible until one horrible night at a local Mexican restaurant.

It had been about a month after the break up with my on-again, off-again ex-girlfriend of two years. I knew I wasn’t over her, but I was dealing with the pain in the usual fashion—dating someone new and drinking lots of alcohol. Thanks to an icy margarita and the pretty face sitting across from mine, my mind was happily diverted from my previous relationship that particular night. Then my ex walked inside … with a guy I used to know in college. What could be worse? Well, let’s just say that my buzz completely died when the hostess sat them at the table next to ours. There wasn’t enough tequila in the house to help this awkward situation.

The rest of the evening is still a blur. I am, however, pretty certain that my date wasn’t impressed when she had to drive me home. We never went out again. What I do remember is that I didn’t get squat done at work the next day. Instead, my ex-girlfriend and I emailed each other back and forth for hours.

I emailed my ex girlfriend and I carefully crafted each sentence to somehow let her know how much it killed me to see her with another man, while still trying to hold onto at least a little bit of pride. Her responses were much more humble.

She explained how she had to hold back the tears from her date the entire night. She even told him that she wasn’t ready to go out again. It may sound petty, but I was thrilled to know that she was just as miserable as I was.

While we didn’t get much accomplished at work, that day proved to be very productive in another aspect. I finally figured out that this breakup story wasn’t over just yet. It was time for my ex-girlfriend and I to change the ending—and get it right this time. Somehow that horrible night gave us the inspiration we needed to fix our relationship. Seven years and two kids later, I’m happy to say that it’s still working.

Like breaking my leg skiing last year, I never thought this would happen to me. Never in my worst dreams did I think I would get dumped …never thought I could be laid so low by a tiny red head. And, I didn’t see it coming, didn’t have a clue she would walk. Jan and I were the perfect couple and I still think we could make it, but she has moved on.

She moved out and moved on big-time. The heartbreaking part was that two weeks after she left me she was engaged to Mike, a senior partner at the insurance office up the street a couple of blocks. Maybe it wasn’t me personally.

Maybe, as a lowly sales rep, out building my business day and night I just wasn’t successful enough for her. I don’t know and Jan isn’t talking to me. The breakup wouldn’t be quite so heartbreaking if I still had her as a friend.

My pal, Lou tells me to get over it; no woman is worth the heartbreak according to Lou. Women fawn all over Lou. Every time we go out he is surrounded with his choice of women and I go home alone. Of course, his choice isn’t always a choice woman; take the one who lifted his wallet when she left in the middle of the night!

I used to tell Lou to look for a better quality of women, ‘someone like Jan.” Now, stinging from the relationship heartbreak of losing Jan I’m not giving advice anymore. Still, breaking up would be easier if the woman wasn’t great in every way, like Jan. Oh, Jan had her faults, like bringing home strays and I don’t mean cats or dogs.

She brought a woman with four kids home when I was recuperating from my broken leg last winter. They turned the apartment into a zoo! They took over my home office, the couch and the kitchen. Jan said I didn’t need the home office anyway because I was off work and neither of us liked to cook so the kitchen was no big deal. They camped in my apartment for a grueling two months.

I am starting to look at the bright side of breaking up. No more surprise guests, and I have the closet and bathroom back. And, there’s a fine looking women who just moved in across the street.

Randy – Insurance sales

I remember trying to get over my ex pretty vividly. In fact, it took about six or seven months, I’d say, to really get over my ex girlfriend Jess. I tried to get her back relentlessly but nothing was really working! Eventually I figured it all out though – and no, it didn’t have anything to do with getting too drunk to remember the entire relationship!

Jess was the most beautiful girl on the planet to me. I probably would’ve done anything for her. Now I’m not usually like that when it comes to girls, I’m more of the love ‘em and leave ‘em type, but Jess finally settled me down for a while. We were together for a long time. Like three years or so. That’s a real long time for me.

So when it came time for me to ship out to Iraq for a thirteen month long tour, I was hoping we could stay together. Surprisingly she told me she didn’t really have any interest in that. Her career was taking leaps and bounds and was going to involve her traveling alot and I don’t think she felt like having to miss me all the time. Still doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me but like I always did with Jess I respected her wishes.

Getting over her was rough, luckily I had a lot to distract me overseas but I still thought about her all the time.

I found that getting over her was almost like waging a miniature battle in my head that always left me mentally spent and exhausted. But eventually I moved on.

I still think about her a lot and I am glad that she helped straighten me out as a person. God knows I needed it! I look back now and think about all the times we had together and how she helped me improve myself. I feel positive about the whole situation. Let’s just say I might still love some and leave some, but I think I’ll be hanging around the strip clubs a little less from now on.

While I’ll always remember her and save a place in my heart for her,  though difficult, getting over my ex girlfriend showed me a lot about my resilience as a person. Now I’m ready to kick some ass overseas and face a whole bunch of other challenges that I can’t even begin to describe.

Sometimes it seems like there’s just no way to do it. After all, I can’t just turn off my feelings. I’m not a machine, a computer that can be rebooted and everything will be all right. Nope, I’m human, and when she kicked me out, I thought I would never get over the broken heart.

Things seemed so great with us, like a match made in heaven. We had all the same interest, the same sense of humor, politics, and views on parenting. We did everything together. We spent every moment together, even moved in together. The day I came home and found the locks changed, I was absolutely stunned.

My first thought was that there was something wrong with the key. I mean, really, who expects to come home from a long day at work to find the locks suddenly changed? There I was, tired and worn out so I knocked on the door for her to let me in. That’s when I heard her voice from the upstairs window telling me I couldn’t come in, I had to leave. How does this happen? How do you go from being so in love and spending all your time together to standing on the front porch trying to figure out how you’re going to get your pool table out of the basement?

Changing the lock was her not so subtle way of breaking up with me. Well, obviously, I got mad and started pounding on that door. After all, I paid the rent, if anyone was moving, I figured she should.

But, the cops didn’t see it that way. I did eventually get my stuff back. But it took a long time and the help of mutual friends.

For almost a year, I was incredibly conflicted about her. I loved her so much, and yet I also hated her with an intensity that was surprising. There was no middle ground. There was no thinking of her fondly. When I thought of her, I did one of two things. I yearned for her, and desperately thought of things I could do to get her to take me back. Or, on the opposite end, I would consider making a little blond haired voo-doo doll that I could stick needles into. Any chance I got I would complain about her and put her down, all to try and ease my heartache. After all, hating someone is much easier than loving someone you can’t have.

Over time, it got easier. I felt that my broken heart was slowly mending. Gradually, I felt less hatred towards her. I could think about her without the intense, powerful feelings. Getting over that broken heart definitely took time and patience. But I’m proud to say that I did, eventually, get there.

Different people have different kinds of experiences with girlfriends, but mine was especially painful. Weeping for the broken hearted had not typically been my MO, but when I was forced to get over my ex girlfriend , I started to understand what all those guys were talking about. I found out quickly that the best way to get over a broken heart is to pick yourself up off the floor and move on to more important things. There will be more girls, and breaking up is not the end of the world. At least in my case, it was the start of something new.

We had been friends for quite some time in college, with both of us having different significant others at one point in time. The timing was never exactly right, so we just hung out when we could and we let things happen naturally. When we both became single early in our senior year of college, it was time to see what we could do. The relationship went well for the whole year, until the time came for graduation. She was heading back to Philadelphia and I was heading to Las Vegas to try my hand as a professional poker player. Could we make it work? It sure beat the prospect of breaking up.

During our long distance relationship, my ex girlfriend and I would talk regularly and try to keep things going. She just couldn’t stand being alone, so she did what any liar or cheater would do. She lied, and she cheated.

The signs were obvious and it became apparent that things just weren’t going to work. We broke up and for a long period of time, I thought to myself, “We’ll eventually get back together…” She was my best friend, after all, but there was nothing good about the relationship in its current form.

I had to get over my ex girlfriend by getting a plan about the future. I scraped the poker career three months in, not because of ineffectiveness, but because it was a dead end road. I prepared and applied to law school, while also dating a few other girls to ease the pain after we finally broke it off. I found that my world was full of potential girlfriends, so I made a clean break with the ex and never really looked back. Though painful at the beginning, it was one of the best things to happen to me.

Craig D. Law student - 24

When Belinda moved in, it was the beginning of the end for us. Granted, we had been seeing each other for over a year, and quite often spent the night in each other’s beds, but something about cohabitation triggered the breakdown of our relationship. In retrospect, all of my actions proved unwise in my attempt to get over my ex girlfriend.

I could say there was a myriad of reasons behind our breaking up, but that wouldn’t really be true. Honestly, the sex just became terrible. When Belinda moved in, a certain complacency set it, and she seemed to treat me more like a roommate than a boyfriend. Most of my attempts at intimacy were brushed off, and when she did succumb to my advances, it seemed forced and she seemed uninterested. When I finally confronted her with this harsh reality, a sad fight/discussion ensued, with tears flowing from both of us.

Belinda told me she just didn’t find me sexually attractive anymore, and I had to admit I felt the same way. We still had an emotional connection and a friendship, but it was clear the romantic aspect of our relationship was over. However, most problematically, she now lived in my house and didn’t really have anywhere else to go.

Belinda had a home-based web business, but work had slackened over recent months. She also wanted to buy her own house, and continuing to live with me would be a good way for her to save money.

In the spirit of continual friendship, I agreed to let her stay, which was definitely a mistake when trying to survive a break up. Our relationship became increasingly tenuous, and although I never wanted to get her back, there were moments when I was tempted to crawl back in bed next that familiar body.

The worst part after the break up came when I attempted to start dating other people. In conversations, Belinda assured me that I was free to see whomever I wanted, but that attitude did not go over in practice.

When I finally met a woman I really liked, Belinda threw constant little passive-aggressive fits, and my possible new love was eventually scared away by all the drama. At that point, I had to get over the broken heart by loosing the new girl while still having to deal with the juvenile behavior of my ex girlfriend. Finally, after a year of this, Belinda closed on her house and got out of my hair, but I can’t really say we are friends any more. Sadly, the other girl never came back.

Ever just wanted the world to go away and leave you alone? Ever felt like crawling into a hole and pulling in the dirt behind you?

That’s what I felt like during the whole process of getting over my ex girlfriend. Now I’m a guy’s guy, I would say: I like Clint Eastwood movies and beer. So those two things alone pretty much seal the deal as far as manliness is concerned. Let’s be clear…I’m no wuss. But I fell, and fell hard for this red haired she-devil.

And let there be no doubt, she was a devil. The sex was fantastic. Her body was fantastic. Her temper was…not so fantastic. It was argument after argument after argument. But then there was sex, sex, and more sex. Which was great, but I rapidly learned that even the best sex can’t atone for her calling you a bastard (or worse) every time little Miss Perfection didn’t approve.

I never knew getting over an ex would be such a long, tortuous journey. I experienced things I never thought I would experience.  I lived dangerously, drove faster than ever, and drank much more heavily. Just to get over her… and get her out of my blood and numb my brain until I couldn’t even see her in my mental haze.

But getting over her was the most surprising thing I ever experienced. I listened to the singing of Cher, among other things. That alone is enough to drive any self respecting man insane.

This lasted for the better part of two months. We would drift apart and then the urge would hit and I’d go to her like a moth to the flame. And we would fight and I’d feel terrible for a week. But slowly, I got better at the recovery. I didn’t need so much beer. I didn’t need to get that thrill of speed to forget her. And most of all, I didn’t need to listen to Cher anymore. She just depressed the heck out of me.

And in the end getting over my ex girlfriend was a lesson in self endurance and self preservation. It was long and painful, but I did learn a lot about myself and what it means to be in relationship. Don’t let anyone fool you. Being in love is an addiction, because breaking up and then trying to get her back is an experience that is best described as detox. Pure and simple.

Steve Edwards, 39, IT analyst

As I pushed the “delete” button on my cell phone and watched her contact information disappear into thin air, I realized that what I was doing was the modern equivalent of burning my diary or breaking that heart-framed picture on the nightstand. Somehow, simply pressing a button didn’t feel as satisfying. I was still in the first stages of a break-up, before anger and then heartbreak took their turns. I just felt numb.

There were no excuses this time to allow me to piece together the crumbling remains of my ego or self-righteous anger. She hadn’t cheated on me; she hadn’t fallen in love with some old high-school friend or met someone new. I hadn’t done anything in particular to merit her breaking up with me. The words that had left me speechless were the six most-dreaded in the romantic canon…

“I just don’t love you anymore.”

The heartbreaking lines had been saved for the time when they would have their maximum effect. She had been in New York on business, and I had planned on coming up on the weekend, after her presentation was over, to spend a little time with her there enjoying the sights and sounds of the city. We skated in Central Park, attended a Broadway production, and were strolling down a park lane on a crisp night in late autumn. I pulled her close, and she resisted a little. Surprised, I pulled away and looked at her face. It was ashen, guilty.

“Cole, I have something to tell you. I feel really bad about waiting until now, the night’s so perfect, but I was afraid you were going to propose to me or something so I thought I’d just tell you now…”

Had my hand not been in my right coat pocket, it would have dropped the diamond ring in its case. The night, the setting, the ring, those six little words; the perfect symphony of relationship heartbreak.

About 5 days and 5 bottles of whiskey later, the heartbreak hadn’t subsided, so I decided to lay off the whiskey and go for a walk. Fresh air always gave me a little perspective. The daily walks continued, and my perspective grew.

“Better to have found out before the proposal than 5 years into a pathetic marriage”. It wasn’t Shakespeare, but the thought was something to start with, a “delete” button on a bad break up.

L. Hudd, 29 – Writer