Last week I did the unthinkable.  I took a break from the thing I spend the most time with. It is the first thing in my hand every morning, and I find myself checking it every chance I get.

That’s right — I cut off the near-physical appendage known as a cellphone.

Just like how my Lenten promise to give up Diet Coke last year alerted me to how serious my soda pop addiction was, my week without a cellphone left me in such severe withdrawal I felt like I could relate to Lindsay Lohan.

My Verizon LG Voyager, I discovered, is a tremendous crutch. It’s in my hand as I walk between classes, when I’m out with friends and if my mind ever starts to wander during conversations. I have trained myself to reach for my cellphone whenever I change locations, a conditioning that could make Pavlov himself drool.

I started to realize that my dependency was quite unhealthy — I don’t even have a data plan. But in my time of isolation, I began to see that it wasn’t just me who had a dangerous reliance.

I’d be mid-conversation with a friend when our chat would be rudely interrupted by a buzzing which could not be — and never was — ignored. Attention would shift from the face-to-face interaction to the rectangular gadget’s promise of better stimulation. Without my phone, I was unable to retaliate with other contacts and connections of my own.

This happened several times with several friends, and each time was more uncomfortable than the last. “Sorry, I just have to respond to this real quick,” my friend would mutter, if she said anything at all. “No big deal,” I would reply instinctively, shuffling my feet and picking at my nails. After a minute, conversation resumed, but it left me feeling awkward, and more often than not, entirely unimportant.

I noticed how often I wanted my cell just because others were using theirs in my presence. It happened in class, it happened at parties, it happened over meals. While I was the only one purposely cellphone-less, it seemed no one I knew could go longer than 15 minutes without checking messages.

Clearly, we are consumed by our phones. It’s hard not to be. We naturally crave human interaction, and with the world at our fingertips, who can resist the urge to be in constant contact?

That being said, I think resistance is worth a shot. While our connections are perpetual, they are also vast and vapid. Mass texting is quick and easy, but much can be lost through our incessant tapping of messages.

Although I missed out on some things and didn’t see many of my friends, it was refreshing to actually speak with others. I had conversations with people who I usually only waved hello to in between classes. My roommates and I had plenty of things to fill each other in about over dinner. I never knew where anyone was sitting in the library, so I actually got work done. And whenever it was my turn in line, I was actually paying attention.

Sure enough, my time seemed to multiply.

Still, as soon as my week was up, I turned my phone back on. As refreshing as it was, it’s unrealistic to not have that constant connectivity. But it did make me realize that I don’t need to use my phone as often as I do. I would think my attachment issues have subsided.

But, for the record, I checked my phone for messages at least 19 times while writing this column.