Dumped, blanked and blocked: Why I’m finding it impossible to get over my pandemic heartbreak
As I spend yet another night in my own company – amid the soothing sounds of George Michael – I oscillate between looking at photos of us together, to swiping endlessly on the apps
Your support helps us to tell the story
From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.
At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.
The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.
Your support makes all the difference.I met Simon* months after the world spiralled into chaos in lockdown 1.0. I’d just come out of a short-lived relationship that left me both exhausted and disappointed; and didn’t have any expectation of meeting someone new on a dreaded dating app. It was then that a little heart popped up on my screen and I discovered I had a new admirer.
I didn’t know what to make of dating during a pandemic, but moments after meeting each other IRL (in real life), I thought I had met my match. Not only did we have a million-and-one things in common, he looked at me with a thoughtful intensity that could have been mistaken for love.
Brought together during a time when we were busy adapting to a lifestyle suffocated by restrictions, we spoke of far-fetched fantasies and all the places we could consume together. Sunday mornings were spent in each other’s support bubble, and we soaked up each other’s every word. He quickly became my favourite person.
Starved for adventure outside the confines of east London, we watched with fervent intensity as discussions of air bridges and travel corridors started to surface. Barely containing the giddy excitement usually seen in young children, we booked flights and set off to experience the joys of life together under brighter skies.
We spent days floating like fish in the Italian Riviera, and nights devouring plates of shellfish; while he sweetly serenaded me to Wham’s “I’m Your Man”. Driving along the coast, like Grace Kelly and Cary Grant, I thought I was living a love story for the ages. It made all the preceding years of heartbreak feel like it was worth it.
But for reasons I still don’t understand, 36 hours after landing back on British shores we went from lovers to strangers – in the blink of an eye. He executed our break-up call with the robotic indifference of an “out of office” message. Most of my questions went unanswered, save for a few jumbled sentences about how he was “unsure we could make it 40 years”. I still don’t understand how he could make assumptions on the next four decades, when there were still so many limitations on the next four weeks.
While my ex and I have now spent more time apart than we were together, it’s taken me what feels like forever to move beyond the heartbreak. The longer I’ve sat with the pain, it’s made me realise I reminisce about our time together with the same rose-tinted nostalgia I associate with the first lockdown. Those unprecedented and fear-riddled times were a first for many; punctuated by vibes of hope and camaraderie that are now distinctly missing in lockdown 3.0.
As I spend yet another night in my own company – amid the soothing sounds of George Michael – I oscillate between looking at photos of us together, to swiping endlessly on the apps. I’ve come to understand it's not just the broken promises of a love that never materialised that has been so hard to get over, but the perpetual pause on my future.
Whether I chalk it up to sheer loneliness, the epic disappointment of numerous park dates, or a combination of both; I still let myself believe that once the chaos of coronavirus ended, we’d find a way back into each other’s lives. I wanted myself to believe the fairy tale.
As for my previous lover? He expressed time and time again that he wanted to be friends, but we didn’t speak frequently; and when we did, it left a lot to be desired. We didn’t have heated rows or flirty, wine-fuelled messages at inappropriate times of the night; but a bland exchange of generic updates you would usually share with your grandma. It then came as utter disbelief when I saw he’d blocked me on WhatsApp.
And just like that, any possibility of reconnecting evaporated – just like the desire to make banana bread, gossip about Normal People and host Zoom happy hour sessions. Unlike last spring, these winter months continue to linger; morphing into an endless state of darkness as I desperately await the arrival of good news.
My heart still aches and it’ll take time until I can partake in my usual break-up remedies, such as dancing under a disco ball or making out with a stranger; but as news of an end to lockdown approaches, the hope I once had starts to renew – and so does my subscription to dating apps.
Jen Kaarlo is a dating, sex, and women’s rights writer and commentator
*Name has been changed at the writer’s request
Join our commenting forum
Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies
Comments