It's not a typical break up story. I don't miss her. She was actually psychotic, literally mentally ill, and my years with her have taught me a deeper, more truthful meaning of what terror and despair.
But the aftermath, well I just don't want to date anymore. I just don't like people. Fuck people. Caring for people was how I wound up that situation in the first place.
So I dropped out. Of humanity, I guess? But I know I am making a choice of the dull pain of loneliness over the risk of connecting with others. And sometimes, just sometimes, I wonder if that choice is worth it.