When I was a teen, I learned a key thing about dating from “Ann” and “Ben.” They were heterosexuals, but it happens in gay relationships too. Here it is—each lover borrows behaviors from the other. This is Mimicry101. We do it as early as the first month of life when a parent sticks out its tongue and we reply with the same message. We do it for talking and dancing and dating and every everything that can move from one person and stow-away in another.
When a relationship begins, lovers mimic the other, sending a message that perpetuates cuteness and cuddling. When a relationship ends, the mockingbird effect can begin again for the lover(s) who hasn’t let go. It’s creepy to your friends, but—if they love you—they realize it’s a means for you to deal with the loss. (Perceptive friends monitor the intensity of your borrowed identity, watch for decreased uses and then send signals when you’ve stowed away in your lost lover’s personality and are offering no sign that you'll come out. Perceptive sadists throw you in a bath of ice cubes when you’re brain has been on fire too long. Still, the message gets to you before you waste ½ a decade of your life.) Love is love in many forms.
I first realized that people temporarily don their lover’s characteristics after Ann and Ben ended their torrid teen tryst. She had been a shy girl who was tyrannically sheltered by her parents. Ben was a guy who had the credentials to be trusted. He rescued her on Friday nights. Two weeks before graduation, Ann’s dad allowed her go to the beach with girlfriends, and then she left. I mean she really left. Ann went on a romp, following an unemployed guy to the other end of theworld state. Because of lifelong brainwashing, she married the stranger on the day that they had sex, and then she called her parents and asked for bus fare(s).
Over the next year, I watched Ben become more like Ann; I watched Ann become more like Ben. (She became animated and daring in her mismatched marriage. He became sensible and less of a pompous ass. Those are the generic things that I can describe.) They morphed, making up for missing parts that each had grown to love in the other. Maybe you’ve seen this lost-love mimicry with dearly parted couples? (Or, maybe you’ve seen a friend take a lover who resembles the old lover— like when Richard Gere fell in love with Pretty Woman (Julia Roberts) and then married Cindy Crawford? (Didn’t they look soooo eerily similar?) That’s where we see Gere adapt.) Lost lovers find a way to make up for what’s missing with an ex’s absence.
Letting go of a relationship is like the famous study by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, in On Death and Dying. Originally, she published 7 stages. But—after a decade long recession, fastfood value meals, and bulk warehouses—there are 5 stages:
· Denial
· Anger
· Bargaining
· Depression
· Acceptance
E.K.R.’s stages are—rightfully so—traumatic. Survivors go through these phases of hell after a loved one’s death. This lost-love mimicry of Ann and Ben occurs at the onset of the breakup, when the prematurely-parted one is knee-deep in denial—certainly, before anger.
But after the termination of a love affair, there are two (living) survivors. They can’t talk to each other if they expect to live normal lives ever again. (I have a friend who has a decade long friendship with an ex. They have a modified version of the relationship they decided to terminate. I can’t say it’s unhealthy, but it’s weird because others can see why they broke up but can’t determine if they broke up.) Separation is the key to passing through the light and into the next love.
I went through semblances of Kubler-Ross’ phases after all three break-ups. I touched-down for a mini-vacation (in hell), got gnarled and twisted in a myriad of all, and escaped. This time, it took Bear to come over and say, “Snap the f*@# out of it. You’re getting laid tonight.” Oh yes—it was a nice promise, and Bear at the bar made for a great distraction, but she has not fulfilled her threat to date.
If you’re going through a breakup, ruminating through your mind is a nice Molotov of ex-thing’s good and bad spirits. In these, hope that she left the good stuff in your decanter. There’s no point in trying to remember who you were before. That girl is curled up on a pallet and under the back blankets of your mind. She’ll come out after she sleeps off this apocalyptic hangover.
Drawing from my experiences with Ann and Ben, and my studies in Psy101, I’ve identified the stages of a break-up—On Dating (and) Death. Kubler-Ross observed a totally different audience, so I propose these new ones:
· Denial = Partying ‘til Stupid
· Anger = Stalking after Stupid
· Bargaining = Sharing friends
· Depression = Creating Crazy
· Acceptance = Unfriending
You might feel like you’re stuck in muck in the middle of the black break-up forest. I say—leave this stage of Dating Death. Manifest the next one and the next and then get the heck out of this funk before the Dollar Stores clear their shelves of muck removal.
“All you have to do is keep your ears open and breathe. The rest is bonus.”
When a relationship begins, lovers mimic the other, sending a message that perpetuates cuteness and cuddling. When a relationship ends, the mockingbird effect can begin again for the lover(s) who hasn’t let go. It’s creepy to your friends, but—if they love you—they realize it’s a means for you to deal with the loss. (Perceptive friends monitor the intensity of your borrowed identity, watch for decreased uses and then send signals when you’ve stowed away in your lost lover’s personality and are offering no sign that you'll come out. Perceptive sadists throw you in a bath of ice cubes when you’re brain has been on fire too long. Still, the message gets to you before you waste ½ a decade of your life.) Love is love in many forms.
I first realized that people temporarily don their lover’s characteristics after Ann and Ben ended their torrid teen tryst. She had been a shy girl who was tyrannically sheltered by her parents. Ben was a guy who had the credentials to be trusted. He rescued her on Friday nights. Two weeks before graduation, Ann’s dad allowed her go to the beach with girlfriends, and then she left. I mean she really left. Ann went on a romp, following an unemployed guy to the other end of the
Over the next year, I watched Ben become more like Ann; I watched Ann become more like Ben. (She became animated and daring in her mismatched marriage. He became sensible and less of a pompous ass. Those are the generic things that I can describe.) They morphed, making up for missing parts that each had grown to love in the other. Maybe you’ve seen this lost-love mimicry with dearly parted couples? (Or, maybe you’ve seen a friend take a lover who resembles the old lover— like when Richard Gere fell in love with Pretty Woman (Julia Roberts) and then married Cindy Crawford? (Didn’t they look soooo eerily similar?) That’s where we see Gere adapt.) Lost lovers find a way to make up for what’s missing with an ex’s absence.
Letting go of a relationship is like the famous study by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, in On Death and Dying. Originally, she published 7 stages. But—after a decade long recession, fastfood value meals, and bulk warehouses—there are 5 stages:
· Denial
· Anger
· Bargaining
· Depression
· Acceptance
E.K.R.’s stages are—rightfully so—traumatic. Survivors go through these phases of hell after a loved one’s death. This lost-love mimicry of Ann and Ben occurs at the onset of the breakup, when the prematurely-parted one is knee-deep in denial—certainly, before anger.
But after the termination of a love affair, there are two (living) survivors. They can’t talk to each other if they expect to live normal lives ever again. (I have a friend who has a decade long friendship with an ex. They have a modified version of the relationship they decided to terminate. I can’t say it’s unhealthy, but it’s weird because others can see why they broke up but can’t determine if they broke up.) Separation is the key to passing through the light and into the next love.
I went through semblances of Kubler-Ross’ phases after all three break-ups. I touched-down for a mini-vacation (in hell), got gnarled and twisted in a myriad of all, and escaped. This time, it took Bear to come over and say, “Snap the f*@# out of it. You’re getting laid tonight.” Oh yes—it was a nice promise, and Bear at the bar made for a great distraction, but she has not fulfilled her threat to date.
If you’re going through a breakup, ruminating through your mind is a nice Molotov of ex-thing’s good and bad spirits. In these, hope that she left the good stuff in your decanter. There’s no point in trying to remember who you were before. That girl is curled up on a pallet and under the back blankets of your mind. She’ll come out after she sleeps off this apocalyptic hangover.
Drawing from my experiences with Ann and Ben, and my studies in Psy101, I’ve identified the stages of a break-up—On Dating (and) Death. Kubler-Ross observed a totally different audience, so I propose these new ones:
· Denial = Partying ‘til Stupid
· Anger = Stalking after Stupid
· Bargaining = Sharing friends
· Depression = Creating Crazy
· Acceptance = Unfriending
You might feel like you’re stuck in muck in the middle of the black break-up forest. I say—leave this stage of Dating Death. Manifest the next one and the next and then get the heck out of this funk before the Dollar Stores clear their shelves of muck removal.
“All you have to do is keep your ears open and breathe. The rest is bonus.”
-Me
For the most part, we all survive. An exception to this rule is if you are still sleeping in her clothes, wearing the clothes that you’re sleeping in, and channeling her voice as if it is your own. If this is you—you need a strong friend who can heave you into ball-and-claw tub that's full of ice cubes, and a new friend who will force you to form new stories and then hand you a towel and clean Levis.
For the most part, we all survive. An exception to this rule is if you are still sleeping in her clothes, wearing the clothes that you’re sleeping in, and channeling her voice as if it is your own. If this is you—you need a strong friend who can heave you into ball-and-claw tub that's full of ice cubes, and a new friend who will force you to form new stories and then hand you a towel and clean Levis.
You might feel desperate, suffocating. But, don’t reach for a new girl until you’re back to your new self. You might find that you’re using the ex-thing’s pick-up lines and swagger (that you formerly appreciated). That would be way worse. In no time, you’ll be in a serious situation because ex-thing has got to go. More, if you channel her to seduce your new next, you’ll be dating yourself and that’s just weird.
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