Personal

[From the Diaries]

I never really talk about how bad it gets. There is so much shame around things people do not understand. Anything outside the norm becomes “icky” or “what’s wrong with you?”

But it is just my reality.

Some days are hard to explain. I can usually feel a low coming before it fully lands. It sits somewhere deep in my body. But the timing is never convenient, so I ignore it. I push through. I function.

That is what they call functional depression. You still show up. You still do the things. It almost feels like it operates on your terms. It takes over quietly, and you learn how to coexist with it.

I stayed in bed for over twenty-four hours. The day before, I forced myself to go for a run because the voices in my head were getting louder. I felt uncomfortable in my own body. Restless. Exhausted. I thought moving would fix it.

It didn’t.

It made everything heavier.

I am not paralyzed, but I feel mentally impaired. Like my brain is moving through fog.

And then there is the weight of relationships.

I only have one that truly matters right now. And even that one feels fractured some days. So damaged that I do not know where to begin repairing it.

When I am in these lows, I no longer try to analyze them. I let them wash over me and wait for them to pass so I can feel like myself again. So I can have the energy and the will to exist properly.

And then something happens.

Something small on the surface. But not small to me.

An interaction. A name. A presence that already carries history and discomfort. Old rumors. Old wounds. Old doubts that were supposedly resolved.

Weeks ago, I had already discovered conversations that should not have existed. Explanations that felt thin. Timing that felt suspicious. I wanted them to make sense. I really did. But they didn’t.

And my mental state is not an excuse for anyone to take advantage of my vulnerability.

I am supposed to be with someone who understands me. All of me. Especially the flawed parts. Because they are part of the package.

Instead, I kept uncovering little deceptions. Names disguised. Details hidden. Small acts that required intention. Not accidents. Intention.

When I saw the most recent thing, I snapped. It felt disrespectful. Especially when we are supposedly rebuilding trust.

What shocked me more was that he was angrier at my reaction than at the behavior itself.

He did not understand how it looked. How it felt. How, in the middle of trying to repair something fragile, actions like that feel like someone stomping on glass.

I do not even have the words anymore.

I was already mentally drained.

And now I am just tired.

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Personal

[From the Diaries]

I can forgive you. I know you’re sorry.

But will I ever be able to trust you again?

And what are we without trust? Just two people tiptoeing over shards of glass, careful with every word, every silence, every notification. I don’t want a love that feels like that.

I don’t want to be bracing myself all the time.

We can admit that we had something beautiful and now it’s just broken.

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Personal

[From the Diaries]

At six in the morning, when you couldn’t sleep, who came to your mind?

We weren’t even fighting.

So at six in the morning, out of the “kindness” of your heart, who did you reach out to? Another woman.

The same woman you’ve been rumored to link with. The one who caused so many arguments. The one you hid in plain sight. An affair you will still never admit to, even as you make me feel stupid for questioning it.

And then this.

You still care about her.

My man does not embarrass me like this. And yet, you already have. So many times.

Chance after chance, only for you to show me exactly who you are. Not who you promise to be. Not who you swear you’re becoming. But who you are.

The lying. The deception. The humiliation.

If only you cared about me enough to pause and think about how I would feel before doing any of this.

Knowing how fragile our trust already was. Knowing that fully. And still, you chose to reach out to her.

I’m sure you reach out to others too. You just forgot to delete this one. That’s the mistake. Not the insincerity. Not the betrayal. Just the incompetence to cover your tracks this time. And you’re usually so good at that.

But here’s the thing. I see right through you. Every time. I always have.

If I chose to believe you, it wasn’t because I didn’t know better. It was because I hoped it would finally be different.

You have hurt me too much for us to continue like this. I have forgiven things that should have been unforgivable. And every time you do something new, the old wounds start bleeding again because they never healed. I just covered them up for you.

So let me go.

Let me go to someone who deserves me. Even if that person is myself.

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Personal

[From the Diaries]

I dreaded coming home.
To the stillness. The emptiness.

Nothing had changed. The furniture was the same. The walls were the same. The air was the same.

Except he wasn’t there anymore.

Work was chaotic as ever. There is no possible way the world should feel this still with the amount of stress sitting on my shoulders. But it did. Without the concept of his existence in my life, everything felt dull. Boring. Pointless.

He was the little bit of purpose I had. Even if it was small, it was still purpose.

Maybe I do love him.

And just like that, I am back in that same indecisive loop. Only this time I have more facts. More clarity. Thanks to the amount of therapy I have had over the past five years.

So now the question becomes: is it love?

Or is it my unhealthy, insecure, anxious attachment style gasping for air like a fish out of water simply because he is no longer there?

I walked so much today my feet are aching. I took the longest route home just to avoid facing the reality that now exists.

I did buy flowers on the way back. I could not bear to look at the dead ones slowly collapsing in my vase at a time when it feels like I am facing a kind of death myself.

Do not misunderstand me. This is not just about a man. Not just about a breakup.

It is about the pain I carry in general. And not all of it was caused by him. I have my own issues. My own wounds. Things I am still working on.

He did not take my pain away. But his presence made me feel less alone in it. On the days I felt rotten, he made it feel survivable.

Now that changes.

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Personal

[From the Diaries]

Who am I to grieve love? What have I ever truly known about it?

Sure, I’ve written endlessly about being in love and falling apart in love. But have I ever really loved? Do I even know what it means to love and to be loved?

I don’t think I do.

The man I once called the love of my life, the one I genuinely believe would have given me the entire world, I kicked him so hard I’m surprised he never kicked back. We did not have ugly fights. No screaming. No name calling. We just, hesitantly moved on.

And the final breakup elated me.

It was the only breakup that ever did. I knew he deserved better than the way I was treating him. Even though it hurt to let go, even though I was losing so much, I had to. I think a part of me always believed we would find our way back to each other once we were more grown.

The part I forgot was that he was always grown. I was the one who needed to catch up.

And with the way I treated him, why would he ever wait? He didn’t.

That entire relationship was me questioning whether I had ever really loved him at all. I mistook adoration for convenience because I was a girl who had never been treated right. And he treated me right. There was nothing he would not have done for me. That is not nostalgia talking. That is fact.

I was young. Messy. Stupid. Too young to see the bigger picture.

It has been over six years. He has moved on. God knows, he probably has a family of his own. The one he would have had with me. Actually, he would have. If I had been patient. A little more mature. A little less broken.

All I had to do was grow up. But I wanted to have fun.

Do I miss him? Not like that. It is more the realization that if I could have found love, happiness, and loyalty in one person, it would have been him.

Loyalty.

I say that word carefully now because I have never felt as betrayed as I do today. Not once. Not twice. Over and over again. And now I understand the value of it. Loyalty feels like a prized possession I casually threw away a long time ago.

I am too fabulous to be in the wrong relationship and let a man treat me like this again and again. I really am. This is not arrogance. I have worked too hard on myself to throw it all away.

So what is stopping me?

Everything any woman my age would consider.

But do I really want to gamble the biggest decision of my life? Is the man I love, the one I carry around like candy and armor, someone who will constantly embarrass me?

Lord knows I have allowed it so many times already. And he continues to do so. Is that love? Does he even love me?

He cannot. You do not do these things to someone you love.

I know that because, for a brief moment, I was madly in love with this very man. And he ruined my love for him by never truly loving me at all. I gave him more than enough chances. And in every single one, he let me down tremendously.

But maybe what truly terrifies me is this: for the longest time, I believed I was incapable of real love.

The only real love I can remember is the one I felt at nineteen. I gave him everything. When it ended, it took years to recover. And once I did, it felt like I had never loved him at all.

And then, years later, I felt this soul-consuming love. Brief. Intense. Maybe synthetic. But it felt real.

I wonder where I went wrong. I loved this man. I wanted a life with him. But his honesty did not exist for me. Karma, maybe. Lord knows, sometimes I feel like I deserve this.

But all the lifestyle changes I made could not have been leading me here. To this place where I am utterly and hopelessly confused. There has to be more.

With my lost love, I cried wolf. I drove him to his edge and then cried about it. As if who he became was not partially my doing. Anyone would have changed under the weight of how I behaved. I was terrible.

That is not to say he did not hurt me too. He did. But compared to what I had done, it would not even measure. Anyone runs out of patience eventually.

But right now, this man pushed me here while I was in a better place. A softer place. A more loving place. I had healed. I had figured out what I wanted in life.

He does not know how good he had it. He does not know how many people would have hoped, wished, prayed, and begged to be loved the way I loved him. And I gave it so easily. So freely.

All that love I had saved. Guarded. Protected.

Poured onto the wrong man.

Not because I was broken. But because I was healed. More loving. More grown.

The twisted fate of timing.

So now what?

Do I accept that I missed my cue to start a happy life? Maybe. I could tell myself that. I probably already have.

But I am too fabulous to belong to the wrong man. And too fragile to end up in the wrong hands.

My sensitivity is not always tears.

Sometimes it is slammed doors.
Shattered glass.
Rage.

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Personal

[From the Diaries]

I loved you when I barely had any reasons to.
And I love you even more now, because I have so many.

You’ve somehow grown into everything I ever wanted. Not perfectly. Not magically. But intentionally.

Thank you for the effort you put into yourself. And into us.
Thank you for not giving up.
Thank you for loving me through some of my hardest days.
Thank you for never looking at me like I was less than because of my mistakes.

But most of all, thank you for sliding into my DMs eleven years ago.

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Personal

[From the Diaries]

I couldn’t help but wonder if it was some kind of sick punishment. Somehow, everything I thought we had resolved didn’t seem very resolved. And if we truly did, how could this be happening?

So many questions ran through my mind, like they always do whenever something so uncertain happens. So unexpectedly. And when it prolongs, it poisons your mind and devours your sanity. You’re left wondering and wondering, one question after the other.

How could this be?

I too am a very simple person. I handle the truth well. What I, or I guess anyone, doesn’t handle well is confusion.

Just tell me. Why is it so hard to tell me?

Tell me, and I’ll make peace with it. I promise.

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Personal

[From the Diaries]

Maybe,
this isn’t what being loved feels like.
Maybe this is what being trapped feels like.

There is so much I want to say, but the words won’t come out the way they need to. They sit heavy in my chest, refusing to form.

Am I just a pretty face in your possession?
Someone you won’t love properly, but also won’t let anyone else have?

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Personal

[From the Diaries]

Holding you in my arms feels like I’m holding my entire world.
So fragile. So precious.

I don’t think I’ve ever truly tried hard enough in any of my past relationships. I always held something back. But with you, I don’t want to do that. With you, it’s go big or go home.

I’m not here halfway. And for the first time, I’m here to give my all.

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