Shiri Appleby has been on such hit shows as 'Roswell' and 'Life Unexpected.' She currently stars in 'Dating Rules From My Future Self,' and was kind enough to give us a glimpse into what a famous breakup looks and feels like in this personal essay.
Breaking up is my least favorite thing in the world to do. How did something so good get so bad so fast? It boggles my mind. I toss. I turn. I emotionally vomit my pain on anyone who'll listen. I'm awful at breaking up, especially when the person I'm not so thrilled about breaking up with is famous. Why, you ask? Well, because then I take my wrenching pain to a whole new, obsessive level.
More from YourTango: I've Broken My Own Glass Slippers A Million Times ...
The main difference between a famous breakup and ending it with an average guy is that, in the case of the famous split, I have to possess some award-winning self-control, which I do not have.
In the wake of my last famous breakup, within seconds of waking up and starting my day, I turned on my computer and began the first round in my self-torture chamber. I clicked on the bookmark for Just Jared (my all-time favorite gossip website) and began to browse. In that moment, there was no way I could deal with Perez telling me, "I told you so!" 10 Best Celebrity "Breakovers": Look How Hot They Got!
More from YourTango: Farrah Abraham's Photos Show Shocking Plastic Surgery Changes
Before the first hit of coffee had even touched my lips, I was scouring a plethora of new paparazzi shots of my newly minted ex-boyfriend out and about the previous night. It was a weird experience, and it hurt to see photos of him existing post-breakup. It was like having the truth smack me in the face, shouting that he was no longer mine and that I was now, in fact, single. Looking at those paparazzi shots, I knew I was bordering on stalker, "Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction" behavior, but I didn't really care. It wasn't like I was doing something other girls don't do. Facebook and Twitter anyone?
But, instead of imagining the pain and agony he was living without me, I was able to see actual proof that he'd moved on (whether or not that was true). I knew I'd be screwed if it appeared that he was loving the bachelor limelight. If he looked tortured and lost and all those painful adjectives that appear in every love song imaginable that I was then playing on repeat (see Alicia Keys' "No One"), I knew I was golden because it would be clear that I made a difference to him. That's all I really want to know when a relationship is over: Did our time together mean anything?