The Break-Up Story

Sometimes, I get tired of love stories. So here's the story of how my ex and I broke up.

It was Saturday, March 12th, 2011, and I remember because it was the first official day of Spring break. I was a sophomore in college at that time, and I had just begun a recovery process that was going to take about a year to come to fruition.

I was recovering from over 4 months of ulcers and IBS, which played a part in me getting panic disorder a few weeks after I started the spring semester. It had gotten to a point where I had to go on medication, and a week after I started taking meds was Valentine's Day. My ex and I were in a long distance relationship, so he sent me a card in the mail saying how he would support me during this hard time, and how he would be there for me.

Our spring breaks coincided that year, so we decided we would get together during the second weekend of the break--he would be staying at his grandparents' house here in the Bronx. The saturday of that weekend was the day my sister and I were going to visit our dad to celebrate his birthday. I wanted to give my ex a heads-up, so I called him on March 12th, in the morning, right after I had finished eating breakfast and taken my pills.

During the week and a half before this phone call, my mom asked me if anything was wrong between my ex and I. She noticed he hadn't called the house in awhile, so she suspected we were breaking up. To my knowledge, everything was fine, so I dismissed what she thought. I did notice, though, that my ex and I had not talked in a while. He barely even texted me, which was unlike him. He was the kind of guy that stayed quiet when something was wrong, so I wasn't surprised with our conversation on the phone on March 12th.

"Hi," he said, his voice a little blase.
"Hey. What's going on? We haven't talked in awhile..."
"Yeah..." he trailed off. The next 15 minutes went something like this:
Him: "I don't know how to say this...I guess it's like ripping the band-aid off...*sigh*...I guess I should just say it...I'm not in love anymore."
Me: "...Okay." I was suddenly grateful I had taken the Klonopin before I called him.
Him: "I've been thinking about it...and I've been thinking about what you said, about how we're not the same people we were when we first met..."
I remembered that week he had gone on an ice skating trip with some friends from college, and one of his friends was a girl that he was starting to like--and he had previously felt torn between me and this other girl. So I then asked:
"Is this because of the ice skating trip?"
"It's not just because of the ice skating trip..."
After some more slow-moving conversation, he asked me:
"Are you okay with all this?"
Me: "Well, it's not like I have a choice...I mean, I can't make you do something you don't want to..."

After the phone call I immediately went to my room and started throwing stuff away--gifts he had given me, photos of us, the half-mizpah necklace I permanently wore around my neck--it all went in the garbage. It's a good thing I kept almost all our mementos in a manilla envelope (I was planning to make a scrapbook because I thought--and everyone thought--we were eventually going to get married). Everything went straight into the trash, except for a bracelet he had given me that my mom suggested we sell ("hey! Don't throw that away! We can hawk this!")

I spent the remainder of the day on myself. I washed and flat-ironed my hair, got dressed up, grabbed my leather jacket, and asked my mom to take me to Barnes and Noble--which, ironically, is where my ex and I first met. I don't remember if I even cried that day--the tears would come later. I was sort of in a euphoric state of shock--I felt like I had been set free. Prior to the break-up, my ex and I were having a dry season in our relationship. Neither of us were creative anymore, we were weathered by the issues we each had to deal with, we couldn't be there for each other when we needed each other, and I had become bored with him. I also realized that if he had not made the move to break up, I was probably going to hang in there a little longer, figuring that things would eventually get better again. I was starting to envy single people, though, so the day of the break-up I was more grateful than angry.

A few days later was when other emotions began to kick in. Part of me felt angry--I felt like my ex lied to me in his Valentine's Day card. Part of me felt lost--I was used to texting him whenever I had a problem, and now I couldn't. Part of me felt worthless--like I was too messed up to be loved by anyone. I wondered if my panic disorder was the reason why he broke up with me, and figured that it was at least part of the reason why.

Amazingly, though, I didn't miss my ex. I just missed being in a relationship--having a guy to talk to and reassure me, to hold me, to make me feel loved and cherished. I suddenly realized that I had put too much trust and security in my ex, and I now had to build a new support system. I began reaching out to my friends more. I started writing, drawing, singing and making videos again. In short, I was starting to live again. I felt like my ex's timing was off, given that I was trying to cope with panic disorder and my other health problems. However, God gave me the grace to push through, and now--a year later--I can say I am content with my life. Do I still have my lonely days? YES--but I've learned that my happiness should not be based on whether or not I have a boyfriend. Am I scared I'll end up a spinster? Sometimes, but I trust that God has a guy for me.

I just haven't met him yet.