I played out the possible scenes in my head, to prepare myself: he would show up with a paper bag of my clothes in one hand, my KitchenAid mixer in the other, and I would let out a defeated, "No," and melt to my knees in tears.
Or I would slam his head into the door a few times before throwing it shut, SYMBOLICALLY, and kicking it for good measure.
Or I would be light and fluffy and smile hugely and play dumb.
Or I would do nothing, just stand there, rejected.
I probably would have done nothing.
He didn't come over with all my stuff, but he did come over to break up with me, because rather than discuss what is bothering me, I shut down. On a monthly basis. Almost on a schedule, almost exactly when I start my period and stop doing yoga.
I talked him out of it by reminding him that I've made some progress: I used to ignore him completely.
Then I would stop speaking except to ask him to take me home.
Then I would stop speaking and fall asleep in a ball in the corner of his bed.
Then I would start speaking, but stop myself when I thought he wasn't understanding, and sleep on his couch.
That's where I'm at now. But that's progress, however slow over the course of seven months, from not saying anything at all to saying nothing, but out loud.