Separated Chat

Maria left her half-drunk coffee on the kitchen table. The mug with the faded logo of a trip to Benidorm that will never be repeated. On her phone screen, her ex's last message remains unanswered: *"We need to talk"*. But not today. Today, it's time to open her laptop, connect to a server that's been listening to stories like hers for over a decade, and type */join #ChatSeparados*. It's not therapy, although it sometimes feels like it. It's the only place where no one will tell her *"time heals everything"* while chewing gum with a face of circumstance.

Here, we talk about what hurts, but also about what brings relief. About that first birthday without him, when you bought the chocolate cake he loved and ended up throwing it away because you didn't feel like celebrating. About how to explain to the kids that dad no longer lives at home without using the word *"abandoned"* (even if it's technically true). About the anger that comes from seeing his Instagram profile full of photos with *her*, the one who *"was always there"*, as if love were a game of musical chairs. And about the small triumphs: the day you realized you no longer cry when passing by *that* restaurant, or when your friend told you *"you're more beautiful than ever"* and it didn't sound like a pity compliment. We also discuss practical things: how to divide the 90s vinyls without it ending in war, or what to do with the engagement ring you keep in the drawer *"just in case"*.

What makes #ChatSeparados unique is not the advice from a manual — no one here will tell you to *"get over your past"* like it's a yogurt slogan. It's the mix of voices that have been going through the same thing for years. There's Carlos, who got separated at 50 after 25 years of marriage and now shares memes of *"divorced grandparents"* with more humor than bitterness. There's Lucia, who at 22 had her heart in *"Windows blue screen"* mode and now helps others not to make the same mistake of getting back with their ex *"because it's cold"*. And there's the *@Recuerdos* bot, which every night at 3 a.m. — guaranteed insomnia hour — posts phrases like *"Did you know that 68% of people check their ex's WhatsApp at least once a month? You're not special"* (yes, you are, but it hurts less if a script says it). Here, there are no likes or algorithms reminding you of how happy you were in 2019. Just raw text, no filters, and the certainty that on the other side, there's someone who understands *"it's not about not going back, it's about not wanting to"*.

To join, all you need is a nickname — it can be *"SadAnon"* or *"TheOneWhoDoesntCry"* — and an IRC client. If you're on mobile, try *Revolution IRC* or *IRCCloud*; if you're on PC, *HexChat* or *mIRC* (yes, that program you used in 2007 to download music). The address is *irc.chatzona.com*, port *6667* (no SSL, like in the old days). No registration is required, no email, no pretending you're fine. Just connect, type */join #ChatSeparados*, and let the keys do the rest. It's been online since 2007, surviving social networks that promised to *"connect souls"* and ended up being catalogs of perfect lives. Here, there are no beautiful photos, just words. And sometimes, that's exactly what you need.