What was the hardest and/or worst break-up you have had?

Never had one......

nothign so far. see them as something to learn from. blessing in disguise.

On Christmas 2004, I won a game of Monopoly against my husband. He stormed out and I went to find him. He was lying down, so I tried to hold his hand. He grabbed my wrist and twisted it, so I tried to pull away. He kicked me in the back of the head. By the time I literally clawed my way out of my sweater and hid in the closet, he was crying and apologizing. I was out of love and didn't know if I could ever get it back. My head was bleeding and he'd broken my wrist. (I thought it was bruised until April, when even grating cheese was too painful to handle and I got treatment.) His family laughed at his tantrum and gave me painkillers like this was perfectly acceptable.

We got home from Christmas and he'd refused to pay the electric bill, so we had a house full of rotted food and no heat.

Late in January, I had to sing a concert with my choir and was out of the house all day. I got a voicemail from my Dad saying he'd argued with my husband and had reason to believe I wasn't safe. I assured Dad that I'd be fine and talk to my husband. Before ending the call, Dad suggested he buy me a plane ticket so I could spend a little time with my sister and give my husband some space. I spent the whole choir rehearsal crying and told the conductor it was just because of the broken tail bone I'd sustained on my way down icy stairs earlier that month.

Saturday was fine. Sunday, we went to church and I made dinner. There was a choir rehearsal that night and we were both supposed to go. He yelled at me for siding with my dad in Friday's argument and I told him I would meet him at choir rehearsal, but I didn't want to fight. He grabbed me by the throat and slammed me into the cupboard several times, screaming that lying bitches didn't get to go to choir rehearsal. I blacked out as soon as he left.

The next day, we had to go apartment hunting because we were going to be evicted. He left for work and as I walked home, my sister called to talk me into visiting and she was the first person to find out.

The same day, I decided to leave for a few days. I ran into a mutual friend at choir and she gave me a granola bar and bus fare home so I didn't have to walk in the cold. On the bus was another mutual friend, who was the first friend to find out. She called in sick to work and told my husband we were having a girl's night out. Instead, she talked me into taking the plane ticket and announced she'd pick me up that Sunday at 8 p.m.

The next day, I told my aunt, who's a therapist. She agreed with my sister and friend that I needed to leave for a while. We all attended a concert and were on our way to a family birthday party when my husband decided to push me over and start screaming at me in public. The people who called the cops to break the altercation up were a pair of psychologists who gave me their phone number and offered to treat me for free.

He didn't touch me again before I left and tried to talk me into being back in time for Valentine's Day.

I kept having severe back pain, but no one believed me because there was no bruising or swelling. (He broke two ribs, it turns out.) I couldn't be back for Valentine's Day, so he threw the phone through the wall. I e-mailed Dad and asked him to find me a divorce lawyer.

I went into hiding until the papers could be served. That took nearly two months. One day, I DID go out with Dad and ran into him. He was overjoyed that I'd come back and baffled when Dad stepped between us and got me in the car. He followed me to their apartment and no one would let him in the building. Dad went down to explain what was happening and 13 floors up with the windows closed, I could hear my husband screaming at him that my family had turned me against him. He then ran to his grandparents’ place and they had the police take him to the hospital for psychiatric admission.

That weekend, I saw his family once when they got his things from the basement apartment where he'd moved us after the eviction. I had to clean up the rest and stopped frequently to have panic attacks or cry.

The psychologists from the concert started treating me for PTSD. I found myself unable to deal with school or work. I would wander the city at night so I wouldn't go home and kill myself. Months later, his grandmother informed me that I had put him in a mental hospital and it was my fault that he now had a diagnosis of Aspergers instead of ADHD. I had no words.

In 2013, he found my e-mail and tried to reconnect because we had something special and I'd just gotten out of control. He was a kindergarten teacher in Michigan and liked a girl who didn't like him.

In 2016, he got engaged to that girl. Because we had been married by church authority and he wanted that to happen again, I was asked to write a letter about why we split up. There are things in that letter that I haven't told family or friends. I listed the years he could have spent in jail instead of getting counseling and family support. I admitted that I hadn't seen him in 11 years and didn't know what he was like now. I pointed out that his syndromes had nothing to do with our breakup, but the three times he choked me and three bones he broke and the PTSD I developed did.

He has yet to get married after I sent in that letter, but I'm pretty sure he will. I haven't been able to find a good man yet.