Once upon a time, I had a guy, and he broke it off with me. Broke it off in my ass, I might say, because he had the nerve to do this: first, he got some private time with me, and he had me suck him off. Then, as we were snuggling, he said, "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't tell anyone about this, because [new chick's name] and I are monogamous now.
It's not exactly a secret now, is it.
Also, he and I had a screaming breakup fight in the campus dorm convenience store, and the only reason that we didn't get kicked out and/or the cops called is because the guys there knew us both, and they were waiting for me to haul off and beat him about the head with the duct-tape sword I was carrying, because he so deserved it.
And, I flipped off his bride as she was walking up the aisle. (He knows about this, now. Revenge is sweet, especially when chilled for three years.)
I wouldn't exactly call me Super-Ex, but I wouldn't call me psycho either. Depressed and furious, yes, but with good, very good, cause.