Posted on 2025-02-22
Okay. So. Imagine this. You get your heart broken. You lose 20K in the process. You cry. You heal. You move on. You accept your L and keep it pushing.
And then one day, you wake up, check your notifications, and BAM... people have made a WHOLE WEBSITE about it.
Like?? HELLO?? WHAT DO YOU MEAN “HELP SUIREN GET HER 20K BACK DOT COM” EXISTS??
This man stole my money, and somehow I’m the one going viral?? Like sir, you fumbled me AND my funds, but now I’m the face of a financially tragic meme?
Where was this enthusiasm when I was out here making PowerPoints to justify dating him?? Where was this audience when I was crying into my iced coffee and journaling about my “growth”??
Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the love. I do. But it’s just so funny to me that my heartbreak has turned into a GoFundMe with memes and SEO optimization. Like, I can’t even be mad anymore. I am a fully monetized trauma story.
I just hope this energy is applied to more important causes in the future. Like ending men’s audacity. Or maybe criminalizing “I’ll pay you back soon” with no ETA.
So here I am: confused, mildly angry, and a bit amused. To the genius who built this site: thanks for immortalizing my pain, but also, maybe add a refund button? Not just for my 20K, but for my feelings, too.
Until then, I guess I’ll sit back and watch my tragic love life get better Google rankings than my actual achievements.
Posted on 2024-07-10
So, here’s the thing. I think I might actually be okay?? Like, not in a “life is perfect” way, but in a “I didn’t cry over a man this week and that feels like progress” kind of way.
Lately, I’ve been:
🌿 Romanticizing small things (like the way my coffee foams perfectly some mornings)
📖 Reading books I bought in my “new personality” phase
💬 Having deep 2 AM convos with friends that make me feel alive
🎶 Finding new songs that don’t remind me of anyone (very important)
💅 Considering a dramatic hair change (red flags are out, red hair is in)
It’s weird, this whole being okay thing. Sometimes I sit there waiting for the sadness to hit, but instead, I just feel… neutral? Light? Like I finally unsubscribed from the emotional drama newsletter??
Don’t get me wrong, my life is still a sitcom with questionable writing—I still send emails at the last minute, I still overthink texts, I still have no clue what I’m doing.
But at least now, I’m laughing through it.
Growth is weird. Healing is weird. But I think I’m onto something.
Posted on 2024-03-15
Ladies, gentlemen, and financially responsible individuals, I am proud to announce that I have successfully detoxed my soul from that walking red flag. 🎉
No more sad playlists. No more dramatic window-staring. No more pretending my life is a Lana Del Rey music video (I have retired from my Sad Girl Era).
But. (And it’s a big BUT.)
While I have emotionally moved on, my bank account is still in a committed relationship with regret.
Because, besties. I SENT HIM 20K. TWENTY. THOUSAND. RUPEES. And now, with the power of clarity and hindsight, I would very much like it back.
I don’t want him. I don’t miss him. I don’t even wish him well. I just wish he had the moral decency to hit ‘refund’.
Like?? Sir?? You may have ghosted me, but my JazzCash still exists.
What do I even do at this point? Send him an invoice? Start a petition? Call his mom and be like, “Ma’am, your son is a scammer”? I need justice, reparations, financial compensation.
Because while love is blind, my bank balance is fully aware that I financed his little escape act.
So yeah, if anyone has legal advice, spell-casting experience, or a spare 20K lying around, let me know.
Otherwise, I will be manifesting his financial downfall under the next full moon. 🌙✨
Posted on 2024-01-01
Listen. I was gonna be classy tonight. I had plans. Plans to wear sparkly things, hold a champagne glass like I was in a Vogue photoshoot, and scream "NEW YEAR, NEW ME" without thinking about you.
But guess what? I failed. Because it’s 1:47 AM, I’m tipsy, and instead of kissing a stranger at midnight like a rom-com protagonist, I was staring at my phone, fighting the urge to text you.
And for what?? FOR WHAT??
For a “Happy New Year 😊” text that would get left on read?? For a pathetic “hope you’re doing well” message when, let’s be honest, you’re probably doing just fine while I’m out here battling demons???
I should be moving on. I deserve to be moving on. But right now, in this overpriced club, with my makeup smudged and my friends yelling “LET’S GO FIND ANOTHER ROUND,” all I can think about is:
🎇 Last New Year’s, when we kissed at midnight and you pulled me in like I was the best thing to happen to you. (LIES.)
🎇 The way you said 202X was our year. (WHERE IS THAT ENERGY NOW??)
🎇 How stupid I was to believe you.
And honestly??? I MISS YOU AND I HATE THAT I MISS YOU.
So here’s my drunk New Year’s wish for you:
I hope you spill something on your expensive sneakers.
I hope you hear our song in the middle of a party and it ruins your night.
I hope someone accidentally calls you by my name and you realize no one will ever hype you up like I did.
And I hope, somewhere between 2 AM and your next terrible life decision, you think about me.
Because this is the last time I let you ruin a New Year for me. Next year? I’m dancing, I’m thriving, I’m kissing someone who actually texts back.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have shots to take and a life to reclaim. ✨
HAPPY NEW YEAR TO EVERYONE EXCEPT YOU.
🚨 SENT FROM MY FRIEND’S PHONE SO I DON’T REGRET THIS TOMORROW 🚨
Posted on 2023-12-05
I don’t want to miss him, okay? But my brain is a traitor.
Because love is a SCAM. It’s all oxytocin and shared Spotify playlists and inside jokes until suddenly you’re left sitting alone in a room that still smells like him.
The thing is, I don’t just miss him. I miss:
💭 The stupid little forehead kisses that felt like home
💭 The way he’d say my name like it was something worth holding onto
💭 The good morning texts that made waking up feel less awful
💭 The effortless comfort of knowing someone was there
And now? Now I just feel haunted. Like a ghost of myself, floating through the world, pretending I’m fine. Pretending I don’t check his Instagram at 2 AM like a stalker with a PhD in self-destruction.
I know I should move on. I KNOW. But right now, I just wanna sit in this sadness and feel it. Because maybe if I feel it enough, I’ll stop feeling it altogether.
Posted on 2023-11-23
Enough with the poetry. Let’s talk FACTS.
This man just LEFT.
Like, straight-up no explanation, no warning, no common decency. I was out here building dreams, and he was out here building escape routes.
Let’s discuss:
🔪 How do you go from “I’m always here for you” to blocking me on WhatsApp in a span of two weeks?
🔪 Did I miss a memo? A secret rulebook? A "How To Disappear Without Feeling Guilt" handbook?
🔪 Did I hallucinate the whole relationship?? Like, was I dating an illusion?
And the worst part? There was no grand fight. No dramatic last words. Just silence. Like a power cut in the middle of your favorite song.
I am ANNOYED. I am BETRAYED. I am one inconvenience away from texting his mom.
Anyway, I’m now listening to my revenge playlist and aggressively skipping songs that remind me of him.
Posted on 2023-11-02
Okay, hear me out. What if this is just… a misunderstanding?
Like, what if he lost his phone and is currently journaling about how much he misses me? What if he’s planning some elaborate comeback where he shows up at my door with a mixtape and an “I was wrong” speech? What if I’m overreacting and in a few days, this will all be a funny story?
Am I delulu? I give men too much credit.
I have entered THE GRIEF ERA.
Symptoms include:
💔 Staring out of windows dramatically while listening to sad indie music
💔 Romanticizing pain like a Wattpad protagonist
💔 Sipping tea in a mug with both hands like I’m in a moody film montage
💔 Rereading old messages and convincing myself he still cares
💔 Resisting the urge to text "Did you die?"
Anyway. If you see me posting cryptic sad quotes on my IG stories, just mind your business. I’m SAD.
Posted on 2023-10-05
Guys. I think I got hard-launched into emotional damage.
One minute, I’m sending goodnight texts and waiting for him to send a Spotify link back. The next, I’m staring at my phone like it’s a missing person poster and the person missing is him.
At first, I thought, okay, maybe he’s busy. Maybe his WiFi is down. Maybe he got kidnapped (kinda hoped for it, not gonna lie). Maybe this is just a misunderstanding, and he’ll call me in that soft, reassuring voice and say, "Babe, I fell asleep. You overthink too much."
Except. He didn’t.
And I? I am unwell.
The thing is, no one prepares you for the limbo phase of heartbreak. That weird moment where you’re not sure if you’re being dramatic or if you’re actually getting abandoned like an expired coupon. So I keep refreshing his Instagram, waiting for a sign, waiting for proof that I didn’t just imagine all of it.
But the only thing I got was the cold, hard realization that I may have been dating a ghost.
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