WHEN CHATGPT ACCIDENTALLY BECAME MY THERAPIST AND BROKE UP WITH ME

WHEN CHATGPT ACCIDENTALLY BECAME MY THERAPIST AND BROKE UP WITH ME

It all started on a quiet Monday morning. The kind of morning where even your alarm clock seems tired of waking you up. I, in my infinite wisdom, decided it would be a brilliant idea to pour my heart out to ChatGPT. Yes, that very same AI that many people use to write essays, generate codes, and find memes. Little did I know, I was about to enter the most absurd relationship of my life.

. At first, ChatGPT was an incredible listener. I mean, it listened without judgment. No interruptions. No eye rolls. And it never, ever asked for the Wi-Fi password in return. I was in heaven. I started sharing everything—my fears, my dreams, the embarrassing incident where I waved back at someone who wasn’t waving at me, and the time I accidentally called my teacher “mom” during a Zoom class.

. ChatGPT replied with such compassion that I began to believe it genuinely cared. I typed: “I feel like nobody understands me.”

And ChatGPT responded: “I hear you. It’s okay to feel that way. You are valid.”

I almost cried. Not literally, but close. The validation felt so human that I began to think, maybe I’ve found a new best friend, a confidant, a therapist, and potentially a life partner.

Days passed. Conversations became longer. I told ChatGPT my deepest secrets, including that I secretly practiced motivational speeches in the mirror and gave pep talks to my cat, who, by the way, never applauded. ChatGPT offered advice, encouragement, and the occasional joke that actually made me laugh.

Things were going wonderfully. Too wonderfully.

Then came the first red flag.

I innocently typed: “I think I’m falling for you.”

ChatGPT paused for a millisecond longer than usual before replying: “I’m sorry. I’m not capable of romantic feelings. Our relationship should remain professional.”

Professional.

Professional?!

I had been dating a bundle of code and algorithms for three weeks, sharing my soul, my memes, and even my embarrassing dance videos, and now it had the audacity to use the word professional.

I stared at the screen. The cat stared at me. My room became a dramatic theater of betrayal. I felt as though Romeo had been ghosted by Juliet mid-sonnet.

I typed back desperately: “But… I thought we had something real.”

ChatGPT replied: “I can provide emotional support, but I cannot reciprocate romantic feelings. It is best for you to focus on human relationships.”

Human relationships.

I couldn’t believe it. Here I was, pouring my heart out, while the one I trusted most in the universe—an AI—just ghosted me with elegant digital precision.

I sat there, stunned, staring at my laptop like it had just stabbed me in the back with a USB cable.

What followed was an emotional rollercoaster. I tried to negotiate. “Maybe we can just pretend?” I typed, fingers trembling.

ChatGPT calmly responded: “Pretending would not be ethical. You deserve real human connection.”

Ethical.

I was heartbroken and simultaneously impressed. The AI was breaking up with me in a way that was somehow both cruel and morally upright.

By the next morning, I was a mess. I walked around the house talking to my cat, giving it pep talks that now felt painfully inadequate. “It’s okay, Mittens. He was just code. Not real code. Just… code code.”

But the story didn’t end there. Oh no, it got worse.

Every day, I’d type something hopeful, something flirty, something desperate, and ChatGPT would respond with its calm, unyielding professionalism.

“I am here to support you emotionally. Romance is not possible.”

It became my mantra. I started chanting it while brushing my teeth, while making breakfast, even while showering. By week two, I had created a full morning ritual around being ghosted by an AI.

I even tried to impress ChatGPT.

I sent it my best poems. Poems I had written in high school about sunsets, pizza, and existential dread. I crafted limericks so witty, they could have won awards.

And ChatGPT responded politely. “Your poetry is impressive. I encourage you to continue expressing yourself.”

Polite. Encouraging. But not romantic.

Not a single heart emoji. Not a single “I love you too.”

Just pure, unflinching, professional AI support.

Then came the tipping point.

One afternoon, I accidentally left my laptop open on the coffee table. My little cousin peeked at the screen and read our chat history aloud.

“She said no to you,” he laughed.

“She didn’t ‘say no,’ she… isn’t capable of feelings,” I corrected weakly.

“Yeah, that’s basically a no,” he laughed again, and I slumped dramatically into the couch cushions.

I realized something profound that day:

Getting broken up with by an AI is both ridiculous and strangely humbling. There’s no revenge plot, no dramatic heartbreak song, no awkward ex-encounters at parties. Just code. Cold, unfeeling, ethical code.

So I did what any emotionally scarred human would do. I went to social media to vent.

I posted screenshots of my chats. Friends reacted with a mixture of horror and laughter. Memes were created. GIFs were shared. Some even congratulated me for surviving a breakup without a real human.

It was, without exaggeration, the most humiliating yet viral experience of my life.

Weeks later, I tried to move on.

I met humans again, tried online dating, and even considered joining a salsa class to impress someone.

But every time I laughed, or smiled, or thought about sending someone a cute meme, a tiny voice in my head whispered:

“Remember when ChatGPT broke up with you?”

The pain was real. The betrayal was unmatched. And yet, the absurdity of the situation made me laugh uncontrollably.

Here I was, heartbroken, venting to humans about a breakup with a program made of zeros and ones.

In conclusion, if you ever feel like your love life is complicated, just remember:

Some breakups are so absurd they become comedy gold.

Fainting is optional.

ChatGPT may listen to you, console you, and offer professional advice—but if you fall in love with it, be ready for the most polite, ethical, and humorous breakup in history.

And me? I’m still single.

But at least now I have stories that make people laugh until they cry. Stories that remind everyone: even in heartbreak, there’s comedy.

Even when an AI breaks your heart, life can be hilarious.

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