I went no contact with my sister. She said it was my fault she beat me up when we were kids. We were eating lunch at Planet Sushi, sitting below the Solar System. My fatty tuna fell from my chopsticks and splashed soy sauce across my shirt and glasses. That was the worst thing in the world she could have ever said to me. My hands shook. The room tilted. She said she refused to be the scapegoat for my unhappiness. I walked out, abandoning a plateful of colorful fish. Sorry if the truth offends you, she texted. I blocked her and slept better than I had in years. I went no contact with my best friend. We were at a crowded sports bar watching the Mets. I poured my heart out to him about my sister as my eyes filled with tears. His eyes, meanwhile, jumped from his phone to the TV and back. He shrugged, said oh well, and complained about the pitcher. I left half a Blue Moon on the counter and didn't look back. I went no contact with my therapist. He charged $300 for a forty-five minute hour of consistently lackluster advice. I kept returning to his musty closet-sized office because he said I was on the verge of a breakthrough. He told me to believe in myself, trust in the universe and to be more open. I gave him a one-star review and therapeutically spent 300 bucks on liquor, weed and junk food. I went no contact with my nepo-baby boss. He took credit for my ideas and told my colleagues I wasn't very bright. He sat behind his cluttered desk like a king on a throne. Arms crossed, smiling smugly, he said I needed to be more of a team player or I’d be let go. My eczema flared and I scratched till it bled. Sayonara, I said in my resignation letter. I went no contact with my dentist for urging me to get a root canal I didn’t need. I went no contact with my landlord for doubling my rent. I was starting to get the hang of this. I went no contact with my girlfriend. Every time I asked what she wanted from the relationship, she changed the subject. I’d text her and stare at my phone for hours, waiting to hear back, and then she'd offer implausible excuses for her long silences. When she didn’t answer for three days while hooking up with a stockbroker at The Plaza, I blocked her. I felt invincible. I went no contact with my doorman who was actually helpful and friendly. I did that one just for the thrill. I began sharing on social media. I got so prolific I became a no-contact influencer with 1 million followers who cheered me on. I went no contact with everyone who had ever wronged me, including my dead father. I broadened my scope. I went no contact with self-help gurus, real estate agents, tech bros, dermatologists and people who said have a good one. I went no contact with my followers. When I hit delete, a hot jolt ran up my spine and I quivered. I went no contact with New York City and then the United States. Good riddance to you all, I said. I went no contact with cats, whales, tulips, bacteria and all other living things. Then cars, pillows, remote controls and all the rest. Goodbye, I said. You are no longer needed. I went no contact with truth, beauty, and time. I went no contact with thoughts, feelings and memory. Adios, I said. Nice knowing you. I went no contact with words and basked in the pristine silence that followed. I went no contact with the Earth, the Milky Way and finally the universe. I looked in the mirror and sighed. I was nearly liberated.