No Contact: Third Time’s The Charm

When you relapse by seeing your love drug.

Do you know what’s really obnoxious? When someone posts about going No Contact repeatedly.

Oh wait…that’s me. I’m the one doing that.

Dammit.

My affair with Jon lasted a year. To make an excruciating pandemic even worse, I suggested to him last spring that we should end things so that we could figure out what we were doing with our marriages. Despite that I adored the hell out of him, I didn’t want him to be the reason that I ended my marriage and I wanted to be sure of it.

In hindsight, that was dumb. The act of falling in love with someone else and having an affair is the reason to end a marriage.

I had suggested this when Jon’s wife almost caught him. It was a knee-jerk reaction because we lived in perpetual fear of her finding out. We weren’t in fear of my husband catching me because he was so oblivious in his own world and ignored me most of the time.

We ended things with the naïve thought that we needed to get out of our systems whatever needed to be done post-divorce if that’s the path either of us took. The No Contact rule should have kicked in, except I already had surgery with Jon planned so avoiding him completely wasn’t an option.

I also naively didn’t think I would have so many post-operative appointments. Jon was fixing a shoddy tummy tuck scar and my previous plastic surgeon saw me twice at best after my “Mommy Makeover” (such a fucking condescending term for something that should be called “Post-Baby Reconstruction”). Since he ultimately redid my entire abdominoplasty, I was forced to see him weekly for over a month.

A word to the wise: if you let your ex-boyfriend operate on you, that means he sees you in your shitty, horrific post-surgery phase. I had all the sex appeal of a cow in heat. Not how I wanted him to remember me. And yet, we did anything from simply kissing to hooking up despite my Frankenstein body when I had consultations. I assumed when I had my last consultation, all communications would cease.

I tried my best not to contact Jon. He had a new girlfriend and I didn’t want to interfere or be “that ex” who tries to drive a wedge. I respect that if this is his person, then it’s simply meant to be. It’s not on me to artificially break them up.

However, he contacted me every few weeks. Briefly getting a hit of his drug made me euphoric. I’d forget that we split up and I’d revel in that feeling of love again. But then reality kicked in and I’d remember that he isn’t mine.

It felt like breaking up again.

And again.

Feeling breakup pain every few weeks for months is excruciating torture. The peak of it was when I realized Jon’s relationship had gone longer than half a year and that by now, they were in the Love realm. He confirmed this and I went berserk, pointing out that just 20 days prior he was still messaging me that he loved me.

I mean come on. That’s fucked up.

Realizing that my love for him was hindering my ability to connect with anyone else, I channeled my inner Dr. Drew and quit my Jon drug cold turkey by going No Contact. And it suuuuuucked. With a relatively powerful internet presence, it took feats of strength to not Google his name and longingly stare at pictures of him as I did for Joey McIntyre in 6th grade. I had the shakes and cried endlessly, which is less than ideal when trapped in a home with 3 other people.

And then he wrote me.

All that No Contact effort down the drain. I fell off the horse and got back on. Yes, I could block him. However, I’ve learned in the past that not knowing if he was messaging me drove me even more nuts.

I didn’t even get to 30 days before Jon messaged me again. I replied by text that he’s in love with someone else so why the fuck does he still care about me? Upon his reply that I’ve got dozen of guys on speed dial (I do not because it turns out, I can’t enjoy sex when I’m still in love with someone else), I went postal and wrote that he can fuck off.

The next day, I told him we needed to have a “Come to Jesus” conversation. Once and for all, air out all the things that keep getting said in little spurts. I needed Jon to fully understand how every time he gave me a sliver of attention, it ripped me apart and it stops me from truly moving on.

Last night, I saw him for the first time in months.

Sitting in Jon’s bachelor pad felt surreal. I had been shaking all day and my nerves hadn’t settled despite two shots of tequila. I yelled at him for putting Lagostina cookware in the dishwasher (which I have since learned, the brand has gone downhill and is in the Target pricing range). I stood in awe of his waterfront-view from his balcony. I tried hard to ignore his damn mojo.

I explained to Jon how I can’t get intimate with anyone else while I’m still in love with him. While I loved the hit of the drug when he reached out, he had to know that it kept me in a loop from the same month we broke up last year without any chance of me being able to move on and give someone else a fair shot.

By the end of the night (which may or may not include some adult-related activity however I am patting myself on the back for jumping off and yelling “the power of Christ compels you!” with my fingers in a cross), Jon wasn’t so sure that we were any further ahead in terms of understanding than we were before.

I disagree. Maybe for him, it’s all the same still.

For me, I made it clear that if he messages me, I simply cannot reply. It’s not for a lack of love or desire to respond. I just can’t.

I also appreciate that he owned up to his hurtful actions. By doing so, it opened my eyes to things I didn’t realize. I held Jon to an impossible standard upon the decision to end things. His dating pattern was something I chose to ignore and I expected him to behave exactly as I did.

Looking back, I infused my own brand of toxicity into our relationship. I took for granted his extreme confidence and didn’t consider that he was human, with standard feelings like jealousy and insecurity during our time together. How can I blame him for his acts to protect his heart when not clearly conveying my emotions was my own act of self-preservation?

Last night opened my eyes to the double-standard I held him to. I expected him to behave a certain way regarding our breakup to respect my feelings when I didn’t consider that he needed to act differently to process his feelings.

I caught myself wanting to constantly touch him; rub his arms or anything I could get a hold of without seeming like a total creepster. I’m not a touchy-feeling person. I forgot that with Jon, his body is the metal attracting my magnetic hands.

Upon leaving, I gave him a book of poetry that I love with notable passages marked. My thinking is that I had lacked the words to adequately tell him how I felt about him and us. Perhaps the words of someone more eloquent could get my message across about how he was (and still is) revered.

Even if we never reconnect down the road, at least I received clarity. I hope he did too.

Day 1 of No-Contact-For-Real-Third-Time’s-The-Charm completed. Yes, I’m back to feeling as utterly heartbroken as last June when we split up. Thoughts of him play on an infinite loop. The Me of Today hates the Me of Yesterday because that bitch at least got to hold him one more time.

I hope that when I come through the other side, my thoughts of Jon will be happy again like they once were. For now, I’m stuck with the fear that we missed our window because we met at the wrong time. Am I allowed to mourn the loss of a relationship we never experienced? It’s thoughts like these that make No Contact so brutal; resolving a story that never started.

Do I feel like my No Contact attempt will work this time? I believe so. I have to put my money where my mouth is. I know I can hold out on contacting him. It’ll suck balls and I’d rather eat glass, but I can do it. If Jon contacts me, I have to show my intentions have meaning and that I can hold true to my own words.

The way to plow through No Contact is to employ every trick in your arsenal to prevent falling back. As usual, I fuel my thoughts not with how it’s better for me, but how it’s better for him. Not that my needs aren’t as important. But it’s a lot easier for me to prevent someone else from a drug relapse than to prevent it for myself. I’m also able to tell myself that after a few months of not speaking, I’ll be a relic on the back shelf of Jon’s mind. It’s much easier to not reach out when you feel they don’t want to hear from you anyway.

And most importantly, No Contact means patience with yourself. Taking things one day at a time. I survived Day 1.

My goal today is to survive Day 2.