The chapter is closing. Our story is over even if the ink on my pen hasn’t dried and I never stopped writing what happened after..
Everything I did, every step I took was for this. Every single move was full of hope. There’s still hope, but hope for something that might never be. 
Deep down I know it’s useless. Even stupid. I’m gonna try, and I might fail but even so I will try again and again and might get shot down but someday I’ll move on. Every now and then I’d be back to square one on getting out of this, the struggle is hard. 
I remember too much. Constantly smiling at memories unaware. But that’s beautiful because you’ve given me so much to remember. All too happy to be forgotten. And some too sad to be remembered. But that’s what a wrecked love leaves behind. And I carry every piece of it with me. Without all those I don’t know who I’d be. 
I was so depressed and broken, couldn’t make any conversation other than feeling all caught up with the sad past. I was hurt and broken. 
And now I’m unaware of what I am. Still caught up. A bit. But that’ll only heal with time, a lot of time. Months and years maybe. But just months I hope. 
Wishing you nothing but happiness. Seeing you happier kills me a bit but that also gives me a reason to move on. Clearly the way you have. You were always stronger, immune to unnecessary love. You are lucky. To have loved and forgotten, because it’s painful to remember the dead. Knowing you won’t see them again the way you did before, knowing that you no longer will laugh over the silliest things and share the same jokes, and make love or fuck hard after a long week or day. I miss how I looked forward to spending time with you.
I was cleaning all day, finally settling down at home. And at one point I couldn’t stop thinking how great it would’ve been if we were still together, I’d get to see you at the end of the day. And that would make everything okay. That would complete me.
Sometimes love is not enough and the road gets tough. I don’t know why.

The chapter is closing. Our story is over even if the ink on my pen hasn’t dried and I never stopped writing what happened after..
Everything I did, every step I took was for this. Every single move was full of hope. There’s still hope, but hope for something that might never be. 
Deep down I know it’s useless. Even stupid. I’m gonna try, and I might fail but even so I will try again and again and might get shot down but someday I’ll move on. Every now and then I’d be back to square one on getting out of this, the struggle is hard. 
I remember too much. Constantly smiling at memories unaware. But that’s beautiful because you’ve given me so much to remember. All too happy to be forgotten. And some too sad to be remembered. But that’s what a wrecked love leaves behind. And I carry every piece of it with me. Without all those I don’t know who I’d be. 
I was so depressed and broken, couldn’t make any conversation other than feeling all caught up with the sad past. I was hurt and broken. 
And now I’m unaware of what I am. Still caught up. A bit. But that’ll only heal with time, a lot of time. Months and years maybe. But just months I hope. 
Wishing you nothing but happiness. Seeing you happier kills me a bit but that also gives me a reason to move on. Clearly the way you have. You were always stronger, immune to unnecessary love. You are lucky. To have loved and forgotten, because it’s painful to remember the dead. Knowing you won’t see them again the way you did before, knowing that you no longer will laugh over the silliest things and share the same jokes, and make love or fuck hard after a long week or day. I miss how I looked forward to spending time with you.
I was cleaning all day, finally settling down at home. And at one point I couldn’t stop thinking how great it would’ve been if we were still together, I’d get to see you at the end of the day. And that would make everything okay. That would complete me.

Spent the most amazing time with my best friends. Remember when I hated them for not understanding me? Well turns out that’s not true at all. My judgement was clouded by my doubts. It’s because they don’t know me very well. Underneath the fun-loving Ana is a broken little girl. Years and years of piling up she forgot which broke her the most. And there have been things I never talked about to anyone because it was too embarrassing for me. Talking about rape or sexual abuse has never been embarrassing to me. But domestic violence and child abuse is, because that actually defines your family and the environment you grew up in more. And that’s a shame for me and my family. And they mean so much to me, to believe they were cruel meant standing alone.
I was too lazy to take a shower to head out, so I was just lying around while everyone else went out. Except one of my best friends, she stayed in ’cause she was bummed that she couldn’t make it back home that night. And as I was about to take a shower, we got to talking. We talked about her problems and then somewhere along I broke down too. And the more she told me how strong I was the more I broke down. We hugged and cried for hours. It felt so good, she had no clue I was almost topless. That will always be a defining moment of my life.
So what did I breakdown on? My childhood, of course. A place I never revisit even in my head. I didn’t realize I was running away from it. I was a daddy’s girl, always. My mum was never that fond of me. I can feel tears welling up.. this is clearly a very sensitive topic for me. As a little girl every time I cried Dad was always the one to comfort me. While my mom would just say I was being dramatic for his attention. And when he isn’t around I’d cry until I’m too tired to anymore. So I loved my father, more than anything. When they divorced and he moved out, I was alone. My mum hated me for not being like her, I had become more like my nanny. ‘Cause she was the one who took care of me, my mum was always absent. She was a very hard-working woman. I don’t blame her. But she blamed me for picking up habits from my nanny, there was a time I loved my nanny more than my own mother. Sadly my father ended up marrying my nanny. Which made her hate me even more I suppose. When my father moved out after the divorce, everything I did used to make my mom mad. It’s like my presence made her angry. We’d go on not talking for months, I’d sleep all day to avoid her. And stay up all night to avoid her as well. But then she’d come and scream at me to switch the lights off since she’s the one who pays the bills. So I’d sit in darkness all night. And as soon as the sun rises I’d go to bed. And she’d tell me to get the fuck out of the house every time she got mad, sometimes I just suck it all in and cry silently, other times I’d lose it and cut myself, ’cause even bleeding didn’t hurt as much as her words did. And that’s when I started looking for love in all the wrong places. I was so lonely, and guys were an obvious distraction to a teenager. The list is so long because I was unlucky and desperate. I’m not ashamed of any of that though, I did what I had to survive. And I have. I’m not perfect. No one is. And I love my parents. And I hope that someday someone loves me too, despite being so broken.