Ice Cream Cake Heartache

I was riding the subway home late at night, and mad at the world. It was a freezing January night and I had just broken up with my boyfriend of two years. It was the hardest thing I had ever done and probably a few months later than I should have.

He didn’t exactly treat me the way I knew in my gut that I deserved, but I spent months hoping against hope that it would all work itself out. It took a lot of encouragement from friends and a little harsh dose of reality to wake me up to the fact that our relationship wasn’t going to change if I continued to let things go the way they were going. So I gathered up all the courage I had and held back the tears as I told him that I could no longer be in this relationship the way it was going. He said nothing and offered no alternative solution. That was that.

So I hopped on the subway and felt the numbness creep in. I couldn’t cry; I couldn’t see straight. I hated him for failing to fight for me. I hated myself for letting him treat me the way he had. I hated the winter for freezing my fingers, and the subway driver for taking forever to reach my stop. I was heartbroken and angry; nothing could make me happy.

My one and only consolation in that moment was remembering that I had one leftover piece of ice cream cake left from my New Year’s party. It had been sitting in the freezer for weeks, and none of us in the apartment had touched it. That was all I wanted right then. Mint chocolate chip ice cream. Rich chocolate fudge. Pieces of ice cream sandwich mixed with oreos and deliciousness. Sure, I had just broken up with the man I loved who didn’t love me back, but hey, chocolate happiness awaited me.

I got home, took off my hat and gloves, and headed straight for the freezer (oxymoron, I know, but heartbreak clouds your brain). I could not wait to grab it, plop down on the couch, and eat straight from the container. But as soon as I swung open the freezer door, I realized that it was gone! MY ice cream cake! That I had made, and saved, and that NO ONE had touched for weeks until the very DAY that I DECIDED TO BREAK UP WITH MY BOYFRIEND!!! Now I could add all my roommates to that list of people in the world I was mad at. I decided to just go to bed.  I felt completely deflated, still numb, and with zero motivation for life.

The next morning, one of my roommates asked how I was doing, and I told her the whole story of the night before. Quick to deny charges of being the ice-cream-eating-bandit, I immediately felt horrible that I had painted such a picture. I let her know that obviously I wasn’t actually mad at whoever it was that ate it, but that I was just such a wreck, and that the ice cream had been my one piece of good news.

I went to work that day and felt like shit. I was working at a small startup, and all my other co-workers were out that day…leaving me alone with my very happy thoughts on life. It was so awful! I basically cried the entire day. I finally dragged myself home, and heard my roommate in the kitchen. She was making me a new ice cream cake!

What a gem. I felt like my whole world was caving in on me, and here was this wonderful person, taking care of me in my darkest hour. I know it was a stupid cake, but it meant so much to me. Someone was treating me with kindness and love, rather than the apathy I had gotten so used to with my boyfriend. It was a breath of fresh air and touched me deeply.

My heart was still broken, and I would still need to deal with that pain for a really long time, but she saved me with the smallest gesture. Even though my boyfriend and I had broken up, I was able to see what incredible friends I had surrounding me. I was going to be ok. I was going to be loved.

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