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"3beb"><a href="https://readmedium.com/final-chapter-of-heartbreak-d005aa7eeeb7">I hate that I still love him</a>. I hate that I don’t think poorly of him. Folks on Medium and friends in real life think Jeremy’s a selfish asshole. If I were in their shoes, I’d think the same thing. My brain still thinks he’s wonderful and caring.</p><p id="b60a">That’s what makes it hard. My souls still bask him in a ray of unrealistic light while placing him on a pedestal made of diamonds and kittens.</p><p id="838f">Today I did a dry run at work for a presentation I’m giving tomorrow. Breakup hell began the same weekend I found out I was giving the presentation. Jeremy gave me loads of rah-rah pep talks and how I’d ace it.</p><p id="b34b">I wanted to message him after the dry run. I wanted so badly to give him an update.</p><p id="c724">I want to message him after everything, to be honest. No one tells you that it’s not the loss of someone you love when they say there are other fish in the sea. It’s the loss of a friendship and all meaningful friendships are one-of-a-kind.</p><p id="618a">Today was going to be a solid No Cry day. But I cracked this afternoon. I’m telling myself that tomorrow night is the one-week mark from Jeremy’s last call. I’m allowed for one week to be a sobbing mess. After that, fuck him.</p><p id="f3ac">I’ve never had a relationship end when things were <i>perfect</i>. Or at least, perfect for me. What I wouldn’t give to flop into his broad shoulders, sniff his body wash (<i>he doesn’t wear cologne</i>), and feel his hoodie-laden body against mine.</p><p id="094c">It’s not <i>fair</i>. I want to whine and scream to the ether that I married the wrong person. I’m in my late forties. When can I have a lasting relationship that makes me sublimely happy? The Avoidant in my Fearful Avoidant self distrusts and dislikes everyone.</p><p id="6533">Fuck, my mascara is everywhere right now. My white keyboard looks like I took a Sharpie to it.</p><p id="bde4">I have a date in two hours. Not with Ray, the guy I slept with last week. This is with Kris, a guy I bailed on because I didn’t like his lack of enthusiastic plann

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ing. Shockingly, Kris made an effort to continue seeing me.</p><p id="8575">I should be excited for tonight. I just don’t care.</p><p id="4a1d">I have two dates tomorrow night. No idea how I’m going to make them work but my time is limited. <i>I miss when I had scheduling and custody timing down to a science with Jeremy</i>. None of this is healthy. I know.</p><p id="4752">Let me take heroin to withdraw from my meth addiction.</p><div id="6166" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/dating-advice-from-chatgpt-4edb6932c08a"> <div> <div> <h2>Dating Advice from ChatGPT</h2> <div><h3>It’s cheaper than therapy.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*qSnwgNscdDqYOova)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="38b4" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/when-will-divorce-anger-end-d1ad72f57936"> <div> <div> <h2>When Will Divorce Anger End?</h2> <div><h3>It’s the gift that keeps on giving.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*YNkfQO6ve-z1_UKP)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="fd95" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/the-importance-of-fathers-to-daughters-c0c09507828e"> <div> <div> <h2>The Importance of Fathers to Daughters</h2> <div><h3>45 years later and I’m still impacted.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*9uo33JRzawlDU6Lw)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Day 5 of No Contact for the Last Damn Time

This requires nerves of steel

Day five of No Contact from the first man I loved since my divorce. After months of happiness and no fighting, Jeremy told me he wanted to date other people while also discussing blending our families. Homeboy didn’t even offer a week of commitment or actual effort.

I was a nine-month fling. It still hurts.

Six days of No Contact is the max so far. Jeremy called me a week ago and reset the clock. So here I am, digging my nails into the palms of my hands.

Speaking of hands, I’m annoyed that I have a permanent scar on the back of my left hand from a cooking incident at his place when we started dating. He can forget I exist but I’ll forever have his memory visible at all times when I’m typing (which is kind of my job so…that’s fun). As I type this, I can see in my peripheral vision the white dot glowing from my skin like a tiny beacon.

I cried over this at the end of Day 4. It was midnight (so technically Day 5) and my body curled up in a ball on my bathroom floor, convulsing from the incessant sobbing.

Yesterday, I vowed to stop being a crying little bitch. Is Jeremy crying? Nope. He’s actively working on getting his dick sucked. It hurts to know that I would have championed him to the ends of the earth but he wouldn’t call me his “girlfriend” until a month after we broke it off.

I hate that I still love him. I hate that I don’t think poorly of him. Folks on Medium and friends in real life think Jeremy’s a selfish asshole. If I were in their shoes, I’d think the same thing. My brain still thinks he’s wonderful and caring.

That’s what makes it hard. My souls still bask him in a ray of unrealistic light while placing him on a pedestal made of diamonds and kittens.

Today I did a dry run at work for a presentation I’m giving tomorrow. Breakup hell began the same weekend I found out I was giving the presentation. Jeremy gave me loads of rah-rah pep talks and how I’d ace it.

I wanted to message him after the dry run. I wanted so badly to give him an update.

I want to message him after everything, to be honest. No one tells you that it’s not the loss of someone you love when they say there are other fish in the sea. It’s the loss of a friendship and all meaningful friendships are one-of-a-kind.

Today was going to be a solid No Cry day. But I cracked this afternoon. I’m telling myself that tomorrow night is the one-week mark from Jeremy’s last call. I’m allowed for one week to be a sobbing mess. After that, fuck him.

I’ve never had a relationship end when things were perfect. Or at least, perfect for me. What I wouldn’t give to flop into his broad shoulders, sniff his body wash (he doesn’t wear cologne), and feel his hoodie-laden body against mine.

It’s not fair. I want to whine and scream to the ether that I married the wrong person. I’m in my late forties. When can I have a lasting relationship that makes me sublimely happy? The Avoidant in my Fearful Avoidant self distrusts and dislikes everyone.

Fuck, my mascara is everywhere right now. My white keyboard looks like I took a Sharpie to it.

I have a date in two hours. Not with Ray, the guy I slept with last week. This is with Kris, a guy I bailed on because I didn’t like his lack of enthusiastic planning. Shockingly, Kris made an effort to continue seeing me.

I should be excited for tonight. I just don’t care.

I have two dates tomorrow night. No idea how I’m going to make them work but my time is limited. I miss when I had scheduling and custody timing down to a science with Jeremy. None of this is healthy. I know.