The Great Dopamine Fix: why you can’t get over your stupid ex

Is it undying love? Or just the relief of hoping it isn’t over?

Authors Note: I’m going to use neutral pronouns in this piece before we all end up exhausted by a very long Life of Brian sketch. But obviously, this goes for all genders, all sexualities, and all identities.

Once upon a time at home, sung Kirsty MacColl many years ago, I sat beside the telephone, waiting for someone to pull me through, when at last it didn’t ring, I knew it wasn’t you. Admittedly you might need to swap the landline for WhatsApp, but many of us are still there today. That suffocating, hollow limbo of wishing that person wanted us as much as they once did. That we are on their minds, desired, hoped for, that this numb ache, this unsatiated hunger, haunts them as much as it does us. Of course, it doesn’t. And hasn’t for a very long time. Perhaps it never did.

This probably isn’t because they hate you. They aren’t desperately avoiding you. On the contrary, they aren’t even really aware of you, now. They just have their own cacophonous mass of arguments with siblings, MOTs to sort, jury duty, work, new crushes, mediation hearings, and whatever other junk flows through our lives and clutters up that space between us and our friends and lovers. You just don’t really feature. You’re not a swelling mass in their neo cortex, a throbbing headache unresolved until that delicious, guilt-filled relief of sending a vapid, unnecessary text. Good morning. Hi, how are you. Hey, just checking in. Hi, hope you’re doing well.

And then, the greatest high of all, the unrivalled euphoria when you get:

hi do u no anyone who can bbysit on fri

Followed by an inevitable engagement that immediately makes us regret replying and remembering why we didn’t want to continue talking in the first place.

Why do we do that?

The good news: most of us probably have some wounds over our recent failed relationships. That could be the end of a three year serious relationship, or just three dates you really wished had turned into something more. You’re not crazy. Your brain got such a massive dopamine fix off that person that you’re probably still trying to get a micro dose of that drug, even if very consciously, you’re aware that it’s never, ever going to happen. You might even notably dislike that person: they could be rude, neglectful, cold, uncaring, selfish. You might very much never want that person back. But your brain still responds with that absolute reverie of engagement.

You’re getting your fix.

No matter how stupid, boring, irritating or flat-out exploitative that engagement is: your brain experiences the same happiness of that time when you did matter to that person, you were loved, you were wanted, you were safe and taken and off the market. When you weren’t alone, when you weren’t chasing. I get it. Really I get it. The high will always burn off really fast when they just want you to find them a cleaner or talk to a girl they fancy, but that little bit of joy stops the depressing, withdrawal like symptoms of the dreaded not talking.

You, dear reader, are an addict.

I know you won’t like it, but you do have to acknowledge it, and treat it like you’re hiding dextroamphetamine sulphate in a sock or putting vodka in your pumpkin spice latte. You have a problem. And it is a problem. It’s not healthy. When you’re texting your ex, you’re not moving on. When you’re texting your ex, you’re entertaining the illusion that this contact doesn’t hurt you. When you’re texting your ex, you’re not making room for new people and new activities that can help you heal. And no: you’re not still friends. If you were just friends, you wouldn’t be worried about finding out that they were dating again. You wouldn’t be waiting up to hear from them. You wouldn’t have messages drafted in notes for them. Denial isn’t helping you.

But not texting at all is too painful!

Withdrawal is painful. It’s horrifying. Really, really bad. And you are going through dopamine withdrawal. But you can get through it. There is another side of it, however much you complain that there isn’t. As your brain rewires and finds new things to enjoy and look forward to, the stress and sadness around losing that person will lessen.

I’ve done it: and so can you. Here’s what you need to do.

1. Accept you’re having dopamine withdrawal, rather than genuine feelings of love or attraction to someone.
2. Treat it like an addiction: don’t get even the smallest hit. Delete their number, don’t text, don’t call, don’t bump into them. Mark off each day ‘clean’ on a calendar. Treat yourself to something every week you manage.
3. If you think they might still get in touch: block them or change your number. I’d avoid big dramatic exit speeches: they’ll leave you wanting more engagement and you’ll end up unblocking them or texting again to try and get an acknowledgement or attempt to continue. Just say you’re taking some time off social media if you absolutely have to.
4. Immediately fill up your diary: go to that salsa class, take up hiking, agree to go to Paris for that boring art exhibit, meet up with friends you haven’t seen for ages and join that podcast. You’ll find it easier to heal if you’re busy.
5. Mindfully acknowledge thoughts of getting in touch again or scenarios where you end up back together. These are normal and ok: but don’t act on them. Gently assert yourself by reminding yourself why you don’t want that person in your life.

It really does get better. But you aren’t going to move on until you commit to actually doing it: for good.