Okay guys, real talk today. Got a lot of messages asking about this messy topic after my last post mentioned it, so let’s dive in. I tracked this breakdown in real time, folks. Brutal but necessary learning.
Spotting The First Cracks
It sneaks up, trust me. One minute you’re vibing, next you notice… less vibing. Felt like tiny earthquakes nobody mentions. For me, it started quiet. Little things:
- “How was work?” became “Dinner ready?” Zero eye contact, just grunts.
- Weekend plans? Nah. Solo couch surfing became the default. She binged shows, I hid in the garage.
- Texts? Dry as dust. “K” was her favorite letter. Mine was “Why?”
This weird fog? It hung around WAY longer than I thought – maybe 9 months? Like living on stale crackers. Tolerable, but getting worse by the week. You keep thinking it’s a phase, life stress… till it’s not.
The Blow-Up Factory Opens For Business
Oh yeah, the quiet gets loud. Real loud. That fog lifts and suddenly EVERYTHING is ammunition. I forgot to replace the toilet paper? World War III. Leftovers she didn’t like still in the fridge? I was clearly plotting her misery.
Arguments weren’t discussions; they were personal attack marathons. Things got nasty. Old wounds ripped open. Name-calling like we were back in high school. Every damn conversation became a landmine field. Felt exhausting, constant.
Surprised me how long this rage factory ran: A full year, maybe more? Seemed like it would never stop burning. Every fight left me feeling hollowed out. Like we were actively tearing each other down instead of fixing anything.
Sinking Into The Muck of Sadness
After the constant explosions… silence fell again. But this silence? Heavy. Thick. Cold. The fights died down because nobody cared enough to yell anymore. That was the scary part.
- We moved like ghosts through the house. Rooms apart.
- Physical touch? Forget it. A hug felt awkward, forced.
- Honestly thought about talking, but what was the point? Felt pointless, hopeless.
This numb slog dragged on the longest for me. Almost two years of just… existing next to each other. Felt trapped in wet concrete, sinking slow. Hardest part was realizing the love was just… gone. Emptied out.
Rip Off The Bandaid
That soul-crushing sadness became a weird clarity. One morning I woke up and knew: Done. Finished. Can’t do another day of this pretending. The misery wasn’t worth the mortgage, the shared friends, whatever.
The talk? Awkward, sad, but also… shockingly calm. Like confirming a death everyone already knew happened. Paperwork phase was a blur – lawyers, splitting stuff, finding a crappy apartment. Surprisingly quick once the decision was made, maybe 3 months of hellish admin? But emotionally? I was just done. Ready to stop bleeding.
Biggest takeaway? Don’t trust those “6-month stage” articles. My journey took damn near 4 years from first wobble to final cut. It grinds you down slow. Recording it made the patterns clear, even when I was drowning in them. Learn from my trenches, people. Pay attention before the rot sets in deep.