on "no contacts"
you did not “break no contact,” you’re in love with your ex
Wars break out, diseases spread, the gates of hell open, and as the hellfire scorches every square inch of the world, a half-wit guy texts you "yeah i've been doing fine." You break "no contact" and suddenly you're a war criminal, you're on death row, and you should get stoned to death. A simple human emotion has turned into a human rights violation.
Recently I started to think maybe my ex never blocked me and that his profile picture disappeared because he simply deleted my number. Before you call me crazy (and get mad at me) he did text me, with no profile picture in sight, so you know I'm right—HAHA! Sadly, he has enabled me to do the worst: contact him.
Although he's gotten back together with his ex (who's not me as you can tell), I may still have the power to text him on a Saturday, late at night, just for the thrill of it. I can cuss him out, send a photo of my dog, or try to write Sonnet 18 by memory (I don't have it memorized). I can do all of these things if you ignore the girlfriend, the humiliation, the possibility of becoming the hottest rumor, and my self-respect. I can do anything because he has given me the power to do it. I won’t do it, I promise, but it’s all so thrilling.
When I saw a notification from him—after a situation I caused—we had an awkward but civil conversation (for the record, he was single during this conversation). When it ended, I knew we would not date, we’d nod hi in the corridors to keep the civility going, and I'd wish him a happy birthday a day or two late. There was no war, just a few text exchanges that meant nothing and everything. I reached out and he answered. I was curious and distressed, and he was there. After the brief conversation ended with the promise of a longer one, I laid in bed, hugging a plushie for an hour straight, with my dinner up to my throat I don’t know why. That conversation won’t happen, but who cares, he saved my number for twenty-four hours. Now, I could think about it during a bus ride (did you get the reference).
GUNSHOT.
“You did what?” my friend said as I texted her screenshots. The rest of my friends’ reactions were also horrified because they thought I was better than that. How could I talk to such a miserable person? Suddenly, it was a huge deal because I had broken sacred law: I'd spoken to him after a year of silence. “You can’t just break no contact. You have to have a reason,” one friend said. But this exchange wasn’t a breach of “no contact” because I don’t believe in that. We used to talk, then stopped talking. I’m not counting days or losing sleep. To me, this conversation was as normal as moving on.
There are no socially imposed boundaries in any of my relationships. Life has no rules on texts with exes or a social penalty for answering one. Moreso, I think I hated talking to him. I know, I know, my previous post and the intro to this piece hint otherwise, but other than curiosity and a half-hearted catch-up, there wasn’t anything I wanted from him. There was a jagged and nonsensical reason behind me reaching out (I had a panic attack), but it wasn’t a forbidden zone I’d crossed. I just needed my ex-best friend for a fleeting moment. I didn’t do what I was accused of doing, I shouldn’t be locked in the pillory.
Relationships have phases, similar to life, but as death is the end of all life’s cycles, a breakup is the end of all relationship cycles. There’s nothing beyond a breakup, no phase called “no contact.”
No contact is like the spider crawling into a corner of your room. You coexist with the spider and your fear of it. You take a step toward killing it, but chicken out. Instead, you name it something stupid like “Peter Parkour” and get too attached to kill him. No contact is Peter Parkour; you’re not killing what hurts, just renaming to attach yourself to your pain.
No matter which side you’re on—the one who broke up or the one who got broken up with—you’re using no contact as a shield. You might watch out for notifications like a bloodhound, waiting for your phone to buzz, or you’re inspecting their every move—in real life or online—interpreting it as a sign. You either wish for the imaginary rules to get broken or you’re itching to bend the imaginary rules you’ve set. (Sometimes, I’m both the bloodhound and the interpreter—the duality of men)
If the point of a breakup is to cut contact, then there wouldn't be a stage called "no contact;” you simply wouldn't talk to them. The state of “no contact” creates an artificiality in one of the most natural things about a relationship: its ending. Your loneliness becomes intentional the second you force yourself into the phase of “no contact.” It’s a cover for you to stay obsessed, to have an excuse to not get over it. As your “no contact calendar” progresses, it gives the illusion of healing.
That’s why after some point, someone ends up breaking no contact. They’re never meant to work. In theory, you’re no longer together, but in your mind, you attach yourself to them by simply giving it a label, you’re setting unnecessary boundaries. Every blank stare at the cursor or unsent message reinforces their non-present presence—it makes you feel there’s something there to let go of.
I’m no expert on moving on as I wrote a piece on not being over my ex and started this post with a highlight reel of my and my ex’s conversation, but I also severed the contact and never once thought of talking to him until recently.
Let that be my credential: I’m an expert at not talking to my exes for prolonged periods and reaching out not because I want to get back together, but because it’s for my benefit and I’m nosy. So you best believe me when I say you don’t need to create imaginary boundaries.
Count your days if you want, but I’ll stick to living them. I know fast-tracking the healing part, but healing and fun—texting your ex and suffering the consequences—can go hand in hand! Your healing doesn’t have to have a timeline, you don’t need rules to deal with the remnants of an old relationship. So wait it out, archive that chat, don’t search for their eyes, and definitely no spider puns.
I’m a proud no contact denier. Life’s short, love’s too abundant, and who has time to count the days since you last spoke anyway? I’d say let healing find you but I need her first. And lastly, just because I kind of want to get mean, I want to say (both to my “no contact” believers and myself): “GIRL GET UP!!!!!”
Also, I think every insane girl should have the right to annoy their ex every few months (my existence is enough to fill his annoyance quota).
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