It seems as though 2007 came and went without any written record of my whereabouts.

Though I am confident that I would have scribbled my feelings into a notebook from time to time, I have been unable to locate such an article. If a diary from this period of my life ever surfaces, I will have to skim it for particularly telling tidbits of information. But until that day, the explanations that follow will have to suffice.

Adam and I broke up soon after the New Year. When I say “break up” I actually mean detonated.

By this point in time, I had just quit my job in preparation for my move to San Diego. Up until our demise, we had still planned to move in together. However, I had a swift change of heart about two weeks before signing the lease. Something in my spirit told me that moving in with him would prove to be the biggest mistake of my life, so I ended up planning to move down there on my own. As I’m sure you could guess, Adam wasn’t the slightest bit blessed by my decision.

The actual breakup was rather dramatic and abrupt. I remember trying to reach him by phone quite late one evening. When my calls went unanswered for several hours, I grew worried about his whereabouts. By the time he finally answered, I was met by all manners of noise in the background. His salutation was slurred and sloppy— he was undeniably intoxicated. I knew how the call would end the moment I heard his voice. I had had enough of his buffoonery.

To be honest, I wasn’t upset that he was once again out partying with his co-workers (whom I had already decided were not a benefit for our relationship). I mean, no, I didn’t think someone his age (much less someone with children) had much business acting like a freewheeling high schooler, but I knew he hadn’t had much of an opportunity to party earlier in life. So while it wasn’t something I viewed as ideal (far from it), his inebriated outings weren’t the primary issue at hand.

For the most part, I had grown tired of him not telling me his plans ahead of time, leaving me clueless in waiting. I didn’t enjoy having to worry when he’d suddenly go AWOL for hours on end. You see, his behavior had become more and more erratic in the weeks leading up to this fateful phone call. He’d started driving on winding roads at night whilst drunk, claiming that he was trying to flip his car off an embankment. I’d been woken up two or three times by rambling phone calls during such drives, so I was starting to grow quite concerned indeed.

I may never come to understand what happened to Adam during this time. Looking back, I’m starting to wonder if he had seen the end of us as clearly as I had… if self-destructing was the only way he could cope with our impending fate. At the time, however, it seemed as though his new work “friends” were a terrible influence on him, exposing him to activities I would have never permitted myself to engage in. I tried to warn against associating with them outside of work due to his increasingly wild behavior, but he wouldn’t listen. Instead, he falsely assumed that I was trying to prevent him from “having friends” and “having fun”.


If drinking himself into a stupor before risking his life along with the lives of others was what he considered “fun”, then yes, I was a miserable, unrepentant killjoy. As for “having friends”… I truthfully didn’t care whether he had a million pals or lived the life of an antisocial, unwashed hermit. What I did care about was him. I mean, if I had known him to be one way before meeting these “friends” of his, but I had watched him grow into a complete stranger afterwards, what was I to think?

Our conversation escalated as we went round and round in circles. Each of my questions were met with intemperate insolence. Growing increasingly angry and hurt, I paced my bedroom floor as he drunkenly babbled something or another about wanting to “do what he wanted”. Arguing with him was absolutely pointless, as the liquor disallowed any logical understanding to fall upon him. The more we bickered, the more we exhumed issues in our relationship that had nothing to do with the situation at hand.

I was so taken aback and disgusted by his rude and uncharacteristic behavior that I hung up on him several times. He called back a few of them to yell at me when I’d hang up out of frustration. Other times, I would call back when he’d hang up on me. Remembering this night makes me shake my head a bit because I can only imagine what his friends were thinking about us arguing back and forth. Why we didn’t hang up and block each other is beyond my understanding. The end result would have been the same, but at least I could have saved myself the trouble of fussing with a significantly impaired brick wall.

Eventually, everything came to a head. I don’t know what it was I said to him, but when he responded, it caused some girl in the background (one of his troublesome coworkers) to throw her ten cents into the conversation. She said something about him needing to hang up on me, and I swear I just about lost it. I was triggered. Months and months of pent up frustration was suddenly regurgitated into the phone. If I could have foamed at the mouth like a rabid dog, I’m pretty sure I would have.

My anger was about so much more than some random floozy ignorantly running her mouth in the background. The real issue was that I felt gravely used and disrespected. I’d been feeling used and disrespected. From where I was standing, it seemed to me that he’d gassed me up long enough to get me to believe he was the type of guy I was looking for. By the time he had me “hooked”, he’d flipped the script on me, leaving me to pull all the heavy weight in the relationship.

From the very beginning of our relationship I had bent over backwards to nurture what we had together. Time, energy, money. Despite all of his flaws and “baggage” (things most girls my age would have run screaming in the opposite direction over), I willfully and cheerfully welcomed him into my life. My parents had gone far above and beyond to help him in ways his own parents had never bothered to. I’d always done my best to encourage and support him, but in a split second, I came to see that it was all for naught.

I was the one making all of the sacrifices in the end. I was the one flipping tricks like a puffed up circus pony, trying to make things easier for us him. Running up hotel bills. Burning through gas. Quitting my job to move to his neck of the woods. Cutting off male friends I’d had for years. And now it was I who suddenly felt so betrayed… so stupid. Meanwhile, he was over there unraveling at the seams with several screws loose in the name of “fun”. With one shrill laugh, that nameless, faceless girl had knocked the rose-colored glasses off my face, exposing my boyfriend as an immature and reckless gossip. I could see everything so clearly now.

Yes, I made the decisions to do the things I did in our relationship. No one forced my hand to do anything against my will. All the same, I did those things out of the goodness of my heart. I did them because I loved him and I cared about the well-being of our relationship. If there was one thing that mattered to me, it was “us”, but I could no longer care about “us” by myself. I had grown tired of having to mother him and hold his hand through everything. I was tired of dating a 26-year-old child who never took life seriously. But above all, it hurt that he could remain perfectly silent as an irrelevant bystander mocked me from the background.

The truth of the matter was that he too had been running to his friends, complaining about our relationship. This reality cut so deep I didn’t know what to do with myself. I didn’t care about their opinions, but still, I felt so embarrassed. How had things between us suddenly soured to the point that other people needed to know our personal business? Why were we unable to come to each other with our woes? Then there was that girl in the background. Instigating. Laughing. Reveling in my realization that she’d been after him all along, whispering in his ear.

Leave her. She’s this. She’s that. Come out with us, Adam. Forget about her, Adam.”

Her cackling voice rang in my ears, drowning out the other background noise. It didn’t matter anymore though. It was too late for us. He had unwittingly set himself up by confiding in another woman. I knew that. She also knew that. That girl had been masquerading as the unbiased, sympathetic shoulder to cry on for Lord only knows how long. She probably knew everything we’d ever fought about, all the right buttons to push. And now that she had wound him up and convinced him that I was once again infringing upon his ability to “have fun”, it was game over. She now had firsthand knowledge of how fragile our relationship had become, how little it would take to replace me.

That was when I decided that I’d throw Adam away long before I’d allow another girl to take him by force. Besides, I didn’t see any other options… no, not anymore.

You know, I could have probably overlooked the recklessness, the partying, the emotional strain of it all. He could have gone home right then, sobered up and called me in the morning to make things right again. And I had always taken responsibility for my own shortcomings in the relationship, so I could have vowed to work on them. We could have swept everything under the rug and lived to love another day. But no… he had to let that laughing hyena run loose in our affairs. This was his fault. Without so much as a warning, my concern for him combusted into a full blown rage, engulfing my prior restraint in flames.


Out from my mouth flowed the longest, most scathing tirade known to man. I used every cuss word I could recall. And when I had run through them all, I said them again— this time in Spanish. Heck, I even made up some swear words of my own by breeding preexisting ones together. I’m not even sure what happened to me in that moment. It was just as though every negative feeling I’d experienced throughout the course of time dating him resurfaced in the form of really, really unsavory speech.

It took me awhile to realize that I was actually screaming at the top of my lungs. It wasn’t the angry yelling of a scorned woman as you’d expect, but the sorrowful moan of a fatally wounded animal that had been left for the vultures. By the time I stopped, my throat was sore and my voice was thin. Through ravaged vocal chords I managed to croak, “Don’t you ever (bleeping) call me again. We’re done.”


Concluding Assumption:

I spent the remainder of the night crying.

Historical Fact:

It took me all of six years to stop.


What about you guys? Have any of you ever “accidentally” broken up with someone you really loved, but couldn’t stay with another day?
I’m curious to hear about it (or just about anything else you’d like to say), so please feel free to share down below.
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Written by nellsinaeternum

Just a girl lost in a daydream who is trying her best to color inside of the lines like everyone else, but is finding the act of smearing watercolor outside of the lines much, much more enjoyable.

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