When Alex told me she wanted to end things on a Wednesday at 9:30pm, I kind of tuned out. Not a great time to disappear into one's head, I admit, but I did. I thought about the time. It was late, and I already felt exhausted. How could I make it through this conversation? Should I try to go to work tomorrow or should I get in touch with my boss now? What about that weekend's planned trip to Oklahoma? Should I text my friend -- who I had emailed hours earlier about what to pack -- and tell her we were no longer coming? (I ultimately went, just me and Spencer.) Then, worse than contemplating the immediate future, I started to consider the real future. Flashing before my eyes was the life I imagined for us, crumbling.

I'm a fairly risk averse person. I try not to even let myself think too far down the line so as not to set myself up for disappointment. I think I waited six months into dating Alex to tell my sister about her, just in case. I waited months to mention her to coworkers even at socially liberal NPR. But five years into our relationship, I had finally allowed myself to picture "forever" with her. She seemed to be able to picture it, too, so I took her cues and ran with it. I imagined we'd get married in St. Louis at some point before her PhD was done, assuming gay marriage became legal in Missouri. We'd buy a small house or condo. We might even get a second dog. And in a few years when she completed her program, I imagined picking up all over again and moving to some new place for another adventure. I didn't need to picture where, just as long as it was our little family, us and our dog(s).

As I sat next to her on the couch while it all ended, my mind was racing with these thoughts. On top of them, I had some absolutely stupid regrets. Why had I brought her to Christmas last year? If I'd waited longer, aunts and cousins would have never known this had started, or ended. Why did I buy two sleeping bags and a tent (and remove the tags, god dammit) in advance of the camping trip I hoped we would take and now never would? And why did I encourage my sister, her family, and my brother to visit me in St. Louis? Their tickets were already booked. I had been excited to show them my new life, my little family. Now they'd only see me a mess. Then, another concern. Should I invent a new story for why I moved to St. Louis? Up until now, people I met always asked why I was here. I had always answered "for my partner's PhD program." Now what?

I imagined throwing in the towel and leaving for Boston, my go-to backup plan. Before I left DC for St. Louis, I'd quickly (and jokingly) mentioned to my sister that her basement was my Plan B in case everything went to shit. A year and change later, I guess it had? But it didn't seem like an easy plan to implement. How would I get me, my stuff, and Spencer there? Would I give up a great job in St. Louis for uncertainty in Boston? It seemed like a lot of work, not to mention risk, just to give up. So, within an hour of everything happening, I made up my mind to stay.

I emailed my realtor a week later, and today -- two and a half months after everything changed -- I'm writing this from my very own home. I'm happy with what I have. I feel accomplished for pulling it together when everything was falling apart. I'm excited to have a garage and take a bath in my jacuzzi tub. But in the week since I've been here, I've also caught myself thinking, "Wouldn't this be perfect... if it was our home?" I guess I did buy a condo after all, just not how I had imagined.

I'm sitting on my couch with my dog. I'm surrounded by all my stuff, some in luggage, some waiting to be packed, which I will shuttle to a new place in less than a week.

I'm excited about moving, because -- in the ultimate act of shopping therapy -- I purchased a home. I'm devastated about moving, because it's the end of something I thought would never end.

The first person I told was my boss. In retrospect, that's hilarious. But at the time, it was all I could think to do when I had absolutely no idea what to do. Should I stay in St. Louis, where I moved in a huge leap of faith? Or would I limp back to the East coast to figure it all out later?

I obviously decided to stay. There's too much happening here for me to leave. And maybe that makes it the easiest choice, but I'm okay with that.

It's been two months.

The hardest thing is the decrease in communication. I barely look at my phone. No one's texting me. Gchat is mostly silent. Meanwhile, I hear her phone buzzing and beeping away. I blame it on her younger cohort, Snapchatting and texting at every opportunity.

The upside? I spend less money on food. I don't care what I eat or if i eat when I get home from work. I didn't really go out before. I barely go out now. Those dollars are definitely adding up. Then there are my friends, even the relatively new ones. Their incredible compassion has brought me to tears over and over again, and they've stepped in to fill the void with texts, emails, and phone calls.

Finally, there's Spencer. I know he's "just a dog," but he keeps me going. He needs to pee, he needs to poop, and he needs to eat. He can't do those things without me, and he's so happy when he gets them done. He's my most reliable source of joy.

The last month has been one of faux normalcy, so I think the move will be a huge shock. I've never lived alone.

My Head During A Breakup

Moving