As a college student, I was prepared to experience a bunch of “firsts.” First time being away from home, first time pulling an all-nighter, first time going to a fraternity party.

However, I was unaware that one of my “firsts” would consist of my first break-up.

I came to Wesleyan with multiple academic scholarships, while my boyfriend came for academics, as well as baseball. After enduring a long-distance relationship with this boy for nearly two years, college seemed like the happily-ever-after for our relationship.

I was wrong.

The first couple of weeks was an adjustment. My boyfriend and I went from seeing each other a couple times a month to literally living across the hall from one another. It seemed like something out of a Hollywood love story. We would wake up, go to breakfast, go to class, study together, eat dinner, hang out, go to sleep, and repeat it all the next day. We were with each other so much that the smell of his after-shave cologne began to stick to my clothes even when I wasn’t with him.

It wasn’t long before problems began to arise. He made friends well before I did, leaving me to do nothing but watch him and his friends play video games. The resentment and tension grew every day. I wanted him to spend more time with me, while he wanted to go out and have fun with his baseball team. We began to take each other for granted. Picking fights about almost anything and everything. It was toxic, but at the time I was blinded by my need for affection, and so I pushed and pushed until he finally broke.

So there I am. At 1:42 a.m., lying on my dorm room floor, crying about the fact that the love of my life had just broken my heart. I was in shock, for I never thought he would take this step and leave me. I cried, I begged, I told him I would change, but the reality hit me that he was serious. He wasn’t interested in getting back together.

Over the next couple days, rumors began to fly. People were voluntarily giving me information about how he was so happy and telling me all of the horrible things he was saying about me. (Spoiler Alert: These rumors were just that. Rumors)

I had zero motivation to get out of bed, I stopped eating and ended up losing 10 pounds in one week. My friends and family constantly reassured me that the pain would subside, but all I wanted was to be alone. The color in my face increasingly faded over time and it wasn’t until I looked in the mirror that I saw how unrecognizable I was. The moment I stepped on the scale and saw my weight, I knew I needed to get better ASAP.

Hours turned to days, days soon turned into a week, and although my heart was still aching, I slowly found the strength to feel like my old self again. After a week or so, I started to think that maybe this wasn’t the worst thing to happen to me. I came to the understanding that I had been so concerned and focused on my then ex-boyfriend’s well-being, that I had forgotten what it was like to focus on me. I found the will to take care of my health again and I began to channel all of my energy into doing things that I thought were important. Suddenly jokes became funny again. Food and water agreed with my taste buds once more. I was on my way to a better Lauren, and I was happy about it.

My ex at the time began to see the changes I was making, not for him, but for me. We ended up talking things out and realizing that there were issues we both needed to fix about ourselves. We were ready to try again, but this time it wouldn’t be toxic. Surprisingly, I’m beyond happy and thankful I was hit with my first heartbreak. It was still no doubt definitely unexpected and not quite one of my favorite memories. However, had this never happened, I know that I would still be extremely unhealthy. This break-up taught me that I only have one life to live, and no matter how much I love a boy, my health, and my individual self should always be my number one priority.