My {Breaking} Point: Cutting the Cord

I never wanted to be the kind of person who broke up in a letter, but here we are. I’ve tried and tried, but every time I’ve gotten on the phone with you recently, the conversation has devolved into a 45 minute fiasco. It couldn’t go on. I am sorry if this is impersonal, but then again, no I’m not.

I don’t love you. I don’t even like you any more.

When we got together after college, it just made sense. It was easy and we were compatible. We had some great nights. Movie nights, dinner parties, and all those baseball games. But here’s the big thing. The years went by and being with you conditioned me to settle for less. Things never got better like you said they would; I never got happier like you guaranteed.

Back then, I stuck with you because I was convinced there weren’t more fish in the sea. But now, I have options. And sticking with you is as cowardly as it is easy. At some point, that me-shaped butt indent in the couch becomes more than just a metaphor for what we have.

I need to get up from here. I need to stretch my legs. I need to unplug. I need to get away from you.

Tell me something: Did you ever think that you were happy, and then pick your head up and see everyone else around you? They are never complaining about their relationship. They never seem to carry the same burden. I want that feeling, that lightness again. I’ve finally learned that the good doesn’t have to come with the bad; that sometimes the good just exists by itself.

Bottom line: You are not healthy for me.

I am at my worst when I am with you. Lazy. Ambivalent. Unremarkable.

I know this sounds harsh, but you keep sucking me back in. And to be honest, this isn’t the first, second, or even third draft of this goodbye. I have envisioned this ending so many times and in so many ways.

I dreamed myself coming to your office and returning your stuff. I pondered whether I could call and demand you to come and clear your stuff out of my apartment, but I remembered your track record with showing up for appointments on time. In that version, I reminded myself, “Josh, don’t show weakness. Don’t get emotional. No extra details. Just call up and say goodbye.”

But every time I tried, you made it so difficult. You dragged other people into our mess and then left me alone out there, hopelessly trying to explain what went wrong.

Do you know how many times I’ve felt passed off? It takes a special kind of perversity to not understand, or worse, completely disregard someone else’s needs. I tried to communicate countless times, though I’m sure you never counted. In fact, it always felt like I was talking to a brand new person. You went away, and when you came back, you’d offer me something completely different, as if you were putting yourself out for me. I’m done with that. I’m tired of being the sucker.

And don’t get me started on the bragging about your promotions, your precious promotions! I can’t remember the last time you asked me what I wanted or how things were on my end. You talked me into getting a landline! You assured me it “made sense.” Do you even know me?

I have given up so much over the years.

I spent my hard-earned money on you and so many hours waiting… always the waiting. The spectacularly timed inconveniences. And for what? Exactly the same shit as when we started.

Comcast, I want you out of my life. I want your stuff out of my house. I don’t care if my contract is not up for another three months.

This long distance, long-term relationship cannot go on. My friends don’t like you. Your charm has worn off on them and on me.

I can’t keep sitting here thinking that you’ll change. I am cutting the cord. Or if that doesn’t work I’ll find someone else.

Enclosed you will find my user agreement and customer satisfaction form, though I think we both know how redundant that will be.

No longer yours,
Josh