First, tell the other person that you want them to be happy. You're not lying. Say it with your teeth clenched through a forced smile, say it loud and confidently, and go home knowing that to you, the word happy is just a synonym for suffering.
Two, realize that it's okay for you to want them to suffer. That doesn't make you bad, it just makes you human.
Three. Smoke weed. Lots of it.
Four. Realize that getting high wont save you from hitting rock bottom.
Five. Hit rock bottom. Hit it hard, and fast, and without an ounce of shame in your body. Listen to the sounds of your bones cracking once you land and know that this is what it means to be real.
Six. Watch porn. Lots of it. Let yourself sink into a deep black hole of twelve minute videos that make you feel the tiniest bit of pleasure, get yourself off, then understand that, just like your relationship, none of that shit is real.
Seven. Lie to yourself. Tell yourself you are strong, you are worthy, you will get through this, lie until your nose stretches all the way across the country, lie until it becomes the truth.
Eight. Talk. Talk to a friend, talk to an enemy, talk to the bus driver, talk to the invisible audience watching you do your makeup in the morning, talk to your own god damned self because there are things that he never gave you a chance to say and you deserve to get them out anyway.
Nine. Cry. Let it out. Cry in the bathtub, in the break room, on 480 east, cry into his hoodie that he left in your room, cry whenever you want to because you shouldn't have to swallow down feelings that he made you feel. You shouldn't have to pretend like it's okay. Maybe, in the same way that our bodies burn calories through sweating, it finds healing in tears. So cry, cry, cry until the bones run dry.
Ten. Stop crying. Unclench your jaw, unfurl your fist, stop walking around the city with your head towards the pavement. Look up. Dry your eyes just enough so that you can see that it isn't the end of the world. Look closer, and see that it was only a corner of the world, that there's still so much unexplored territory waiting for you. Take a deep breath. Straighten your shoulders. Fuck him. Fuck all of them. They left, yes, but look ahead. There's still a whole world waiting for you to find it.
Lastly. Never get over it. Ever. Keep the stain of him in your back pocket like the pair of jeans that you spilled bleach on, but you look so good in them that you can't throw them away. Wear the memory of him like it's a fashion statement, like it's a part of you, because that's what it is. Let it change you for the better. Let people look at you and say, damn, she looks good with a broken heart. Believe it, believe them, believe everything. There is no way to get over a broken heart. Only ways to make it work in your favor.