9 Feelings Every Girl Has After Seeing Her Ex For The First Time

OK, that was jarring. You can't feel your fingers or toes. You kind of feel like you have to poop. People poop their pants when they die, right? This is probably just your body preparing, given this experience. Your face takes on twelve different expressions as your try to decide which hysterical feeling to lead with.

Next, you call someone close like your mom or bestie (or in my case, whoever my Uber driver is at the time). But let's face it, unless they're grabbing for their pitchfork and asking you for his exact location to make him RUE THE DAY he came into your contact, you're disappointed and annoyed.

Quick! How many bread items do you have at home right now?! *Hint* The answer is literally always "not enough." Rush to the nearest convenience store to load up on cereal, ice cream and literally ANYTHING with cheese. Don't even wait for the food to cook through because taste really doesn't matter here. Throw caution to the wind and scarf down a partially frozen Walgreens smorgasbord.

Fuck that guy, your new boyfriend is vodka. Svedka may not be fancy, but he makes you feel better. He chills you out and keeps you company, now that you're suddenly very aware of your extreme loneliness. 

Once the booze starts to kick in, you finally recognize a feeling—and that feeling is boundless rage. Suddenly, you're ablaze with the anger of Tyra Banks dealing with an unappreciative ANTM candidate. You wasted your best years on that pond scum! Plus, American Apparel wouldn't take back that fucking hoodie you got for his birthday, (bullshit scam of a return policy) so there's fifty bucks you won't get back. Fucking ASSHOLE.

But you shared your best years with that pond scum. He taught you how to drive a stick. You took care of him that time he had mono. And when that jerk at Duffy's spilled his beer on you, he got in a fist fight in your honor. Thinking to yourself, "sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead," you put on his intended birthday hoodie. Cuddled up in bed with your computer, mascara stained tears rain down upon the fifty dollar hoodie while singing "Someone Like You" for three hours.

You don't feel either. The movie just soothes you.

Laying in bed atop the mound of mixed dirty and clean underwear, you stare at your screen, working furiously to unblock him. You dissect every status for underlying messages and themes that could relate to you (none of them do).

His new Facebook profile shows him smiling in a ski suit atop some snowy mountain. Oh, you're sooo outdoorsy and athletic suddenly!? pfft. Your teeth look stupid. Also, that snow suit makes you look chubby. You pick apart his Instagram, sending screen shots of every photo with a girl in it to your best friend. You want to know two things: Who is that bitch? And, is she prettier than me?

You turn off whiney Adele and turn up Beyoncé ."Of course she isn't prettier," you think, wiping green snot from your upper lip. What am I even upset for? I'm a total catch and he's just a sad, emotionally stunted asshole who's going to end up alone.