This stays between us

My ex and I broke up in February, just before our one-year anniversary. The relationship was a whirlwind of emotions. We built something unstable and toxic, but I genuinely think we brought out some of the best in each other.

Anyway.

Fast forward to today: Day 2 of no contact (initiated by yours truly).

I finished my 12-hour shift at the hospital on a high note. I was exhausted, but I was on a mission.

A mission.

I drove to his favourite grocery store, which is about 10 minutes out of my way. But I knew. Oh, I knew. I had him in a sweet spot.

Right after the gym he frequents closes for the night. Maybe a few minutes after 8pm, because he likes chatting with his buff buddies before leaving. He goes to the grocery store for his regular stuff. No biggie.

And he used to tell me am the time that he loved my look after work. Slightly unkept. Natural. Skin flushed. Tired. Hair up. Tight pants, loose shirt, a few buttons undone. The shoes he got me.

This idea literally drove me there. Seriously, I was so excited.

I parked and waited.

Every now and then I’d poke my head out of the car, scanning the parking lot for his vehicle. I practiced looking casually through my bag in case we made eye contact from our cars.

Totally normal behaviour. Right? Right.

Ten minutes pass.

I’m hyping myself up.

“Okay. Say this. You’ve got this. Maybe a little, ‘Oh, fancy seeing you here!’ With a smile.”

Perfect.

Except I started feeling doubtful. Sweaty. Slightly disturbed by my own behaviour. He was my first ever relationship. The first man to hold me and let me cry. He was there for me through a lot. He also tolerated a lot but punished me to get back at me in horrible ways.

I remembered something my therapist said:

“Remember your goals. If you don’t think he’s husband material, is he obstructing you from your goals?”

The answer?

Yes.

(FML.)

I got out of my car because, despite appearances, I actually did need groceries.

I adjusted my jacket.

Grabbed my keys.

Reached for my purse.

Ah, forget it.

I have Apple Pay. And besides, I don’t want to be carrying around a slouchy bag when he inevitably embraces me for a quick grocery store reunion hug.

Right?

Right.

I put the bag in my car. Shut the door. I manually locked my car door from the inside and shut it.

Immediately—immediately—my face dropped.

SHIT.

I just locked my keys inside my car.

In that exact moment, I realized this wasn’t romantic.

It wasn’t fate.

It wasn’t a cute story.

It was me, standing in a grocery store parking lot, locked out of my own vehicle because I’d become the lead character in a delusion I personally wrote, directed, and produced.

For a brief second I wondered if I should break no contact and ask him for help.

Absolutely not.

Looking back, I can laugh about it now. But holy hell.

I simply cannot deal with myself sometimes.

The universe really watched me orchestrate an entire grocery store meet-cute and said:

“No babe ❤️”

Anyway.

Day 2 of no contact and apparently my biggest obstacle isn’t my ex.

It’s me.