My first really tragic break up happened when I was eighteen years old. My girlfriend at the time had left me for my best friend so it felt like I had to get over a break up twice. First I had to get over Beth, my new ex girlfriend, and I also needed to deal with the betrayal of a friend that I had known for most of my life.

The following evening, I invited some people over to my apartment and I proceeded to get completely and utterly wasted. The only things I remember about that night are drinking half a bottle of Jack Daniels, half a bottle of Gordon’s and carrying a bottle of Rumpleman’s Peppermint Snaps around the apartment saying “Rumpelstiltskin” repeatedly until I fell face first on my kitchen floor.

The next day, I would soon regret the previous night’s activities. I woke up throwing up, but was so stubborn I decided to go to work despite the fact that I was violently ill. I was a door to door alarm salesman. I lost three sales that day because during the middle of my pitch I would have to quickly run away to vomit. Getting over my break up had taught me never to subject myself to the level of alcohol poisoning I had that night, and that alcohol was definitely more enjoyable in moderation.

After a break up, I have always been self conscious. I pondered what was wrong with me, and why Beth had left me. I also wondered why Jon, my best friend, had placed more importance on a relationship with Beth than our friendship. I also had thoughts of vengeance toward both of them. Ironically enough, karma would come into play.

Eventually, I moved on. About a month after getting over the break up, I got a call from Beth. Jon had left her for another man. I hadn’t known, but he was bisexual when he stole Beth from me. Now, he had decided that he was completely into guys. She asked me to take her back, but despite feeling mean, I couldn’t help laughing. In fact, she hung up on me while I was still laughing at her.

It seemed that Beth was the one that needed to get over a break up now. Yet, I didn’t have a care in the world.

John Warbuck, 27 years old, Self employed

It has come to my attention that mending a broken heart is much easier when the person with the broken heart is a female. Females have multitudes of heartbreak routines and a steadfast support system of friends. When a girl gets her heart broken, the immediate remedy is ice cream and The Notebook. After her eyes can no longer produce tears, the circle of girlfriends comes over to bad mouth the heartbreaker. The circle of girlfriends and the heartbroken girl hit the clubs, the mall, or anywhere else where males run rampant. A rebound relationship complete with pictures to plaster all over social networking sites proves that her heart is whole again.

Yes, so much easier being a woman with a broken heart. However, for all the males out there, it is a much more complicated process. My girlfriend and I had been going out for eighteen months. I thought everything was going just dandy. Then, the complaints started.

“Why can’t you express your feelings?”

“Why can’t you ever be romantic?”

“Why is it always physical with you?”

On and on and on it went. I tried appeasing her grumbles. I tried to limit the amount of time spent on adult activities. I tried throwing out sentences filled with love whenever I could. I tried to please her, but the complaints piled up and soon she was fed up. After eighteen months with the girl I thought I was going to marry, it was over. She was my first love. I was eighteen, and she was seventeen. It was over.

She asked me not to contact her anymore, to make the healing process easier. I tried to focus on my own healing process, yet I did not know how to go about it. This was my first time trying to get over a broken heart. Going to my male friends was not an option. It is said men are not sensitive. This might be a stereotype, yet I found it all too true in regards to my friends. I went into a period of depression. I relived all of our memories repeatedly. What had gone wrong? What could have been different? The few girlfriends I had were amazing and pulled me through. One girl in particular was extremely effective. We went to the same college, and she spent time counseling me every day. She sure was effective. So effective, in fact, that she became my new girlfriend! Five years later, we are still together, engaged and with no complaints!

Tom Whindfield, 23, Algebra II teacher

Getting over a relationship that blossomed in the summer can be difficult. The cache of memories built over escapades in the hot sun are unforgettable–unless you’re black out drunk. Unfortunately, that’s what I happened to be most the time to start my senior year in college.

Lara and I started dating early that summer and decided to keep it going into the school year. What can I say, I was a catch: a drunk that skipped class and slept on the stained couch of a bunch of stoners because I didn’t want to pay rent. However, our relationship progressed and really got serious when I moved into her apartment. I even went as far as telling her that I loved her–while tripping on mushrooms.

But after a few months, things changed. Lara was taking full-time classes, while I was ahead to graduate and only needed a few credits, leaving me plenty of time for extracurricular activities at the bar. This displeased her. One day I opened my email to find a message from her that she was ending the relationship and we were breaking up. Talk about being preemptive, I still had a damn key to her place. And who knew heavily drinking at the age of 22 was relationship ending material? Usually, that isn’t terms for breaking up until kids are involved. We didn’t even own a cat.

I didn’t reply. Instead, I returned to her apartment, set the key down in front of her and left without saying a word. Needless to say, I was back to sleeping on the stoners’ couch. I smoked their weed and drank my beer in hopes to hazily move on past the relationship break up.

Over time it became apparent to me that I did love her, and maybe she was right: the drugs and alcohol were a tad excessive. So, that second semester–my last semester of college–I actually substituted the booze and weed for studying. Surprisingly, the components of human-computer interface design did a much better job of keeping my mind off the break up than whiskey.

But, it was in the bar where it would all continue. I saw her again for the first time since the break up. We drank, we kissed and we have been together ever since. So, I guess the moral of the story is: getting over a relationship doesn’t require alcohol, just to rekindle it.

“Jane” and I were attached at the hip the moment we saw each other.

I began to feel heartbreak just within a couple of weeks into the relationship. I had applied for a job out of state prior to meeting her, and as luck would have it, I began to get requests for more information and interviews. Things were going so good for Jane and I that I did not let the thought of leaving deter the natural progression of the relationship. We became closer. She met my children and I met her son. He was a great kid and he captured my heart as she did.

When I was offered the job, I knew I had to accept it. Breaking up with Jane was something that I did not want to do. Even though we had only known each other a couple of months, my feelings for her were strong enough that I asked to her go with me. She declined. It was heartbreaking to hear that although she loved me, she was not willing to give up the stability she had to move with me. I had a choice to make. I made the wrong one.

Jane helped me pack my moving truck. As I pulled the door down on the truck, the tears started to flow. This break up was the hardest I had ever had to bear. There was something about this woman that I did not want to let go of. We listened to a couple of sentimental songs on the radio as we hugged, kissed, and cried our goodbyes.

I settled into my new job and life. Jane and I talked less and less. It was heartbreaking for me to hear her voice so I think I just avoided it. Eventually our communication dwindled down to a few friendly emails here and there. We both started dating other people.

Jane is happily married now with three children. I never have found anyone to fill the hole in my heart that she left. I recently talked to her. I finally got to tell her that choosing my job over her was the worst decision of my life and I will forever have to live with the heartbreak that I have caused myself. I wonder if she feels the same.

“Michael”, 40. A radio personality

Have you heard the old Neil Sedaka song, “Breaking Up is Hard to Do”? Allmusic.com describes it has “two minutes and sixteen seconds of pure pop magic”; an assessment I was in complete agreement with until it happened to me. The heartbreak of losing the girl of my dreams turned an otherwise enjoyable song into the melodramatic theme of my twenty-something tragedy.

I’m still not sure why it happened. We had it all, I thought. Sunday nights at the pizza shop, hours-long conversations on the couch, hopes and dreams for the future. I never saw the breakup coming; much like the tree that jumped in front of me just days after I got my driver’s license.

I guess the biggest heartbreak of that relationship was the way it ended. My girl decided to tell me in the parking lot after my brother’s wedding reception. What joy! Apparently she decided I was “too good” for her and as she spoke, her words fell on my stunned ears with all the grace of a sumo wrestler performing Swan Lake. Opening the door and exiting my truck she struck the final blow to my broken heart with the words, “I still love you.”

Then she was gone…..

In the days following I was convinced my sweetheart would come back. After all, I let her go just like that stupid poem says. But as the days turned into months I discovered there’s something even more heartbreaking than losing your girl – the realization she’s not returning. When it finally hit me I kissed Neil Sedaka goodbye, figuratively speaking of course, and decided to embrace the attitude of Clint Eastwood’s “Heartbreak Ridge.”

It was time to adapt; time to rise above my pathetic love life and secure the elusive objective of true love. I trained. I learned. I cleaned up my apartment.

And then one day there she was…sitting across the room in a pale-yellow prairie skirt and tastefully matching blouse, her blond locks cascading down to her shoulders. It was time to go into action. I reached down deep to pull up all my training, and a breath mint too, and headed her way. You can fill in the rest.

Matt Gerwitz, 44, pastor and free-lance writer

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

As a guy, I don’t usually think too much about the whole “heartbreak” thing. Usually that world only applies to when my favorite team gets upset by the worst in the league. However, I have definitely dealt with relationship heartbreak once. You know – breaking up, and the muddled months afterwards. My ex girlfriend Amanda held a nasty secret from me for a good long while, and I’ve gotta say, it was definitely one of the more heartbreaking things I have ever had to deal with.

Amanda and I were together for four years. We met at work, became casual acquaintances and eventually our relationship bloomed into something that was a mature and trusting relationship. At least, I thought so anyway. Somewhere near the end of the line, Amanda had found someone else. To this day, I’m not sure exactly who he is, or why she left me. She didn’t leave me with a lot of kind words or explanation past “there’s someone else”. What I felt next was pure overwhelming heartbreak.

Like I said, as a guy, I don’t really know how to deal with this stuff well. There were a couple of days after we broke up that I don’t really remember due to some extracurricular activity with my friend Jack Daniels. Actually, maybe there were a few more than just a couple days that I don’t really remember after we broke up.

Searching for answers and putting the blame on yourself is real easy to do in that situation, but it doesn’t help any.

Getting over heartbreak is about as difficult as anything can get. Sitting around, binge drinking, binge eating are all natural tendencies us guys want to find solace in, it dulled the pain for me but it didn’t get me an closer to actually getting over her.

Instead, try distracting yourself. Find a new hobby or regain interest in an old one. I found that reading over thousands of baseball stats went from being something as boring as Golf to something that can keep my mind off my ex. God knows what she was doing anyway. I focused on my work, school, or hobbies and keep a fresh outlook on the future. Taking a vacation also helped me get over the broken heart – how can you be heartbroken with some of your best buddies on a cruise ship getting tanked every night? I found that a heart can be as easily mended as it is broken (trust me, the Dallas Cowboys remind me of that every year).

James D, 27 - Teacher

Heartbreak, as a rule, is best left to other people; indeed, that is who we imagine heartbreak to be for.

Until it happens to us.

True to the beer slogan, you never forget your first girl. I don’t know what counts as your first girl in that slogan, but for me, it meant the first one you take seriously. You know, the first one you think of as part of yourself, the one you may occasionally commit the cardinal sin for, and choose over friends… and even beer. She’s not the first one you explore sexuality with or have a laugh with. She’s not the first girl you dated or the girl you brought home to mom and then apologized for.

She’s the first one you apologized to on behalf of your own mom.

For me that girl was Maryanne.

We met in college, and I suddenly and instantly lost interest in the carnal smorgasbord that was campus life. The Tri Delts are drunk, and playing a game involving blindfolded body part identification? Ho hum. There’s an ecstasy-fueled cheerleader dogpile in your dorm room? Sorry dude, gotta study. You get the picture.

Maryanne and I weren’t joined at the hip. We didn’t have to be. Neither of us had been subjected to heartache, so our trust (being untested) was absolute. We had no idea we would break each others’ hearts, never mind what it was like.

I’ll spare you the details of what made her storm out one night, and the details of why I didn’t go after her — though part of me (a lot of me) wanted to. Suffice it to say we had said things that could not be unsaid. It was over, whether the break was clean or protracted.

I was ready for a hard night without her. I was even ready to reach for her in the morning, and realize she was gone. What I was unprepared for was how long she would not be there, to wit, forever.

My heart wasn’t broken. There was a Maryanne-shaped hole in it. There was no mending the break, no curing the heartache with tequila like you cure a headache with aspirin.

There was only living until the hole grew over with new experiences and new loves.

Mark,  47 - Writer/editor

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