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I call him? you ask. Why can’t I just reach out and talk to him if it will make me feel a little better? After all, he does have that sweater of mine I never liked, and I really should call him to get it back. These are the questions that will be running through your mind, and the answer is—we’ll say it again—because he doesn’t want to talk to you. Even if you think that he does, you’re probably wrong. If he wanted to talk to you, to check on you, to reconcile with you, he would. If he had the courage to break it off, he also has the ability to use the phone and dial your number, which is already committed to memory. All the broken fingers in the world won’t keep someone who’s truly determined from calling, so any excuse you can think of is just that, an excuse. And quite frankly, even if you don’t want to hear it, the fact that he doesn’t want to talk to you is actually a GOOD THING! It’s just the kind of slap in the face that should make getting past this stage of the breakup easier.

      Even more to the point is that NOT CALLING him eventually sends the bigger message. It speaks volumes and says, “Despite the heartache and loss, the reason you are not hearing from me is that I am too busy taking care of myself and moving on with my fabulous new life.” Isn’t that the image you want to project and—more important—the person who you want to be? A person who is not hung up in the past but is instead moving forward? (Even if at the moment you’re really just lying in your bed all day listening to sad songs in your pajamas.)

      During these times, remember that the phone is your enemy—especially if you’ve been drinking. Leave your cell phone at home when you go out on a bender, and make sure your drinking companions know that you are to be kept away from phones at all times. There’s nothing worse than blowing all your hard work and successful self-preservation on a drunk-dialing impulse. What better way to show someone they should still be with you than by calling them at your worst? More important, notice how you feel after you talk to him—and then ask yourself if that’s really what you want.

      What I Did Wrong BY GREG

      She made it pretty easy for me not to indulge in unbecoming and pathetic behavior because she moved to another state to be with DUDE. So, as painful as that was, at least she had the courtesy to do it in another zip code. It meant I didn’t run the risk of bumping into her at parties and acting out a scene from the popular play How the F*#k Could You Do This to Me I’m Dying on the Inside. There was no house for me to drive by or workplace I could stalk. All I had to do was not call her. I was okay during the day. But as soon as darkness fell, my new bestest buddy Tequila and I would find ourselves at a bar, or a party, or just drunk wandering around my kitchen having a chat, but soon we would have information. Here’s the thing about Tequila: It gives you information. Information you didn’t have prior to drinking it. Information that needs to get to the person who just smashed your heart. It is information that CANNOT wait ‘til morning no matter what the hour. Tequila also has transformative qualities. It can turn the everyday ordinary telephone into a giant mistake-making machine that screams out to you, “Use me!” The phone calls were always the same. I’d just be calling to “check in.” At 2:30 in the morning. Then I’d ask how she was doing. “Good, good. New York’s kinda cold, but good.” And then it would all go to hell with some version of “Why don’t you love me?” or “Do you think we’ll ever get back together?” Or the old chestnut “What’s wrong with me?” Basically, questions that had already been answered, that couldn’t be answered, or were self-evident. To be fair to her, she was incredibly gracious to me as I rambled on like a drunken Morrissey song for sometimes up to two hours. I would have not been so gracious had the shoe been on the other foot. Even writing this now I want to hang up on me. I want to hang up on you. I want to hang up every phone everywhere. It makes my stomach hurt to think of how low I was and how I plagued this person for not being in love with me. And I am embarrassed that no matter how great I feel in my best moments, there is one person in the world who can say, “Well, this one time…”

      How I Got Through It BY AMIIRA

      After about a year and a half of marriage, my first husband and I separated (his idea) but remained in couples therapy (my idea). It became relatively clear that we were moving more toward divorce than reconciliation, and I was crushed. So our therapist suggested that we try to go thirty days without any contact to see how the reality of not being in each other’s lives felt. No talking on the phone or in person. Are you kidding me? Do I look like I’m made of wood? That’s like asking me to climb Mount Everest in strappy Manolos. I’m not at all conditioned for this kind of workout. Aren’t you supposed to ease me into the idea? Wean me off of him over the course of a few months? It sounded like an impossible task. Even though we had been separated, we were still talking every day, taking the subway to work together sometimes, and spending a good amount of time together. Dinners, rock shows, did I mention that we took the subway together? Clearly, I needed to remind our therapist that he was my best friend and that even if we didn’t make it as a couple, we were pretty set on staying friends, so this whole “No Contact” thing didn’t really apply to us. When I informed her of this, she stared at me blankly as though I had failed to make a valid point of any kind and suggested that we begin the thirty days in the morning.

      Is she crazy? I thought. I can’t go thirty days without talking to him. That day he and I talked on the phone until midnight and then said good-bye for a month. At 12:01, I felt like calling him right back to say that I couldn’t do it, but instead I turned on the TV and made myself go to sleep. Surely I could last overnight while I was sleeping. The next morning was harder. But I made myself get through the day, and every time I wanted to call him I called my friend Janet instead. I can’t tell you how often I thought about calling him in those thirty days, because for the first two weeks the number would have to be in the thousands. And you can imagine how many times I called Janet during those two weeks. It was like an endurance test. But I was determined to get through those thirty days. I realized that if this was the beginning of the end and I was about to spend the rest of my life not talking to him, then I had better get used to it.

      So for the first two weeks I thought of pretty much nothing else. But then the most amazing thing happened. I realized that I had gotten through TWO WHOLE WEEKS! That’s FOUR-TEEN WHOLE DAYS of not talking to him, and suddenly I became wildly impressed with myself. I was Superhuman. I spent more time congratulating myself on being so kick-ass than I did thinking about calling him. The reward of my own strength during an incredibly weak time and the pride I felt by getting through each day without caving in and calling him was unbelievably empowering. It was like my strength fed itself once I finally got over the hump. It was hard. I thought about calling every second of every day…until I didn’t anymore. And you know what? On the twenty-seventh day, he called me. He didn’t make it to thirty days. He said it was one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do. And it was. But the feeling I got from being stronger than my weaknesses far outweighed its being hard by a mile. Feeling great about yourself makes you feel invincible, and that’s how I felt. Which is a long way from where I was on day one. And while I hated that therapist for sentencing me to such a harsh reality, I would have never known what that felt like if I’d continued to be a slave to the phone.

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