To start the countdown, I will be starting with the relationship that failed: Doctor Who books.
Let me make one thing very, very clear: I bloody love Doctor Who.
But seriously. I do. I could go on for hours, so if you want to talk Doctor Who, you know where to find me. It was a few years ago that I was just beginning to really grow obsessed. I had to get my hands on all things Who and fast. (To this day I still have a ton of memorabilia.) And one thing I started in on with a particular relish were the book adventures. My two great loves combined, right? Doctor Who and books could not equal a greater love.
And it is true that the stories are not bad, or even poorly written. They're decently told and actually quite entertaining, but don't let the fact that it comes bound in proper book format and is sold in proper bookstores fool you: all it is is glorified fanfiction. (Which, as a girl who got her start in writing in Pirates of the Caribbean and Lord of the Rings fanfiction, I will never condone or mock fanfiction--it's the heart of every fandom.)
It's just that, well, there are infinite Doctor Who books out there and it's hard to stop once you've started (I had to have read thirty or more; they're quick reads, too). The reason these are "the books I loved once" (because, oh, how I loved them--I'd go to the library and check out each one I'd never heard of, have a stack a foot high, work my way through them, go to the bookstore and buy all the new ones, every time I bought more, I just couldn't stop) "but it didn't work out" is because eventually I got sick of them. One day I thought, "you know what? I haven't read a real book in awhile" and picked up something else and never looked back. Months later I still had maybe two or three straggler Doctor Who books leftover that never got read, and I realized then they never would be. I simply wasn't interested anymore. I had burnt myself out on them.
I certainly haven't been burned out on the television series, of course--but there's where Doctor Who is staying, at least for me. Inside my TV, and from there, through all of time and space. But between the pages of a book he will never again appear, because every time I remember all the ones I've read (though it's hard to remember them; they're easily forgettable!), all I can do is lament all the time wasted that I could have spent reading...anything else.