I thought I should write something about Justin and myself. How I ended things. How I kicked him out that night, because I knew I wouldn’t be strong enough the next day. How we spent an hour separating our socks and toiletries and vinyl records. How we fit every last reminder of him into the back of my VW. How for a week the taste of a clementine made me cringe. How I saw his face in every guy on the street in tight jeans. How I changed my Facebook status to read “Single”. How I cried in the shower, in the car, in front of friends. How I couldn’t eat. How I looked at photos of us and wanted to scream. How I watched seasons one through three of Sex & the City just to fall asleep. How I couldn’t listen to music, because it was all too much. How he left a gift on my doorstep, and I returned a friendly thank you over the phone instead of a hug and kiss. How I felt betrayed, disgusted, embarrassed.

But strange, isn’t it? How after three weeks, I feel more relief than pain. That’s how I know I will be okay. I am feeling okay. I am going to be single. Even the word looks scary. SINGLE. Every codependent girl’s nightmare. But I know I have the strength, because I had the strength that night when I stood up for myself. That night I didn’t know how I would go on. How I would stop talking to him. How I would pay my rent next month. How I would tell all of our friends and family. How I would make it through a day without crying over him.

But I did, I eventually did all of those things. And frankly, I’m goddamn giddy about it.