Tag Archives: healing

Personal

Been feeling so uninspired lately. I find myself at a loss for words, literally, thinking way too hard to find the right one to match what I’m trying to say. I know I have to start reading books again before I forget everything I know.

But this lack of inspiration is alarming. It’s not something I ever thought I’d experience. Every little thing used to inspire me. And now, nothing.

And of course, I know why. I’ve been walking on eggshells, protecting people’s feelings, and holding back from writing everything I feel. I’ve imprisoned myself.

At least that proves I’m not the cold, heartless bitch I sometimes make myself out to be, following what others say. I’m just at a point in my life where I tolerate far less than I used to. I’m very sure of what I want and need, and when that doesn’t align, it pisses me off.

And that’s valid too, because I’m exhausted. I’ve exhausted myself trying to build people, and I’m left wondering when it’s my turn.

That’s such a deep question, right? Like chat would say, it is. Because everything in my life right now boils down to that. The security I’ve lacked my whole life, the one I hoped I’d find someday, and all these years later I still haven’t found. And now I’m trying to be okay with the fact that I’ll have to be enough for myself. I’ll have to buy myself all my dreams. No one else will. Shrinking yourself for other people’s needs only lets them take you for granted. And I’ve said this before, but because you seem fine alone, no one really tries hard enough to love you or take care of you. I mean, why would someone care about someone who looks like they’re doing perfectly fine? But that’s the point. If you loved me, you still would.

It just feels really shitty, being somewhat shamed for wanting the kind of stability and security I’ve never had my whole life, for having dreams, and for being human about it when things don’t go as expected. It’s like walking out of a movie during the best part, and the person who’s supposed to get it just doesn’t. I want a sense of remorse, an apology that says, I’m sorry for the impact my actions have had on your life. And maybe that’s the same apology I’ve wanted from my father too. Both are apologies I’ll probably never get, at least not in the heartfelt way I wish I could.

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Personal

I Fell, Nobody Stopped

December 6, 2023

For as long as I’ve known the Instagram Stories feature, I’ve shared every fragment of my life there. Every fleeting thought, every tiny moment that stirred emotion somehow found its way online. If something happened that felt significant, I would tweet about it too. I used to process life by turning it into words. Sharing was how I breathed.

But lately, it’s been different. I’ve been keeping things to myself. Living slower. Choosing silence over explanation. I have been more private, even secretive at times, and surprisingly, I feel no emptiness in that quiet. It feels like peace in a way that noise never did. Yet even in silence, my life has been far from calm.

For weeks, I had been feeling like my heart was quietly breaking a little every day. Not from a single event, but from something invisible, something unnameable that lingered beneath everything I did. I couldn’t point to where the pain came from, but I could feel it spreading through the small spaces of my day. When your heart is already heavy, even the smallest things start to feel tremendous.

That evening, I decided to take myself out. After finishing at the gym, I thought I deserved a little peace, a quiet dinner, something nice. I had been craving sushi for days, so I thought I’d treat myself. I went home, showered, put on a simple but put-together outfit, added a touch of makeup, and wore my favorite heels. The kind that make you feel good about yourself even when life doesn’t.

While I was finishing up, my ADHD brain couldn’t stop thinking about a bag I’d seen earlier that day at Miniso. It was perfect for my outfit, and the thought of it wouldn’t leave me alone. I also wanted to bring Chandler Bing’s memoir, which I had just started reading. The book was big, so I needed a larger bag to fit it in. That settled it. I would stop by Miniso first, pick up the bag, and then head to dinner.

It wasn’t far, just a few blocks away, and I decided to walk. The heels I wore weren’t meant for that kind of walk though. They were ALDO lucite clear heels, fragile but beautiful, the kind that look like they belong on red carpets, not Malé pavements. I hesitated before stepping out because I knew how uneven the roads were, but they looked too good to take off. So I decided I would walk slowly, carefully, and with purpose.

The traffic was heavier than usual that evening. It was around 8:20 pm, on Ameenee Magu, at the zebra cross in front of Rehendhi Flats — a route I took almost every day. I’m always cautious when crossing, and I always make sure to use the zebra cross. Usually, the cars stop. Usually, it’s fine. But that night, it wasn’t.

I checked both sides as usual, waited for a small break in the traffic, and started walking. I was almost at the other end of the cross when I felt it — a sudden jolt, like the air being punched out of my body. I didn’t even see it coming. A bike hit me, and the impact threw me forward a few steps. My heel slipped, my arm burned, and my heart began to pound in a way I’ll never forget. I had a small fall and felt like the ground had disappeared under me.

For a moment, I stayed there frozen, disoriented, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Then came the pain. Then the tears. They streamed down uncontrollably. My body shook. I was humiliated, terrified, and aching all at once.

And no one came.

Not a single person stopped. Not a single person even asked if I was okay. The road was full of people, cars, and bikes, but I stood there alone in the middle of it, invisible.

I remember thinking how ironic it was. These were the same people who post about kindness and empathy online. The same ones who speak so passionately about justice and humanity. But when someone just a few feet away needed help, everyone chose to look the other way. That realization hurt almost as much as the accident. It was dehumanizing.

I picked up my heel from the middle of the road and limped to the pavement, trying to steady my breathing. I caught a glimpse of the man who had hit me — he had a girl sitting behind him on the bike. They looked shocked too. They paused for a few seconds, maybe unsure of what to do. But before I could even gather myself enough to say something, they were gone.

Just like that. Gone.

No one cared. No one said a word. The world continued moving, as if nothing had happened. And so, like everyone else, I pretended too. I put on a brave face, wiped my tears, and started walking again. A few blocks down, I called the police. The phone rang endlessly before someone picked up. I told him I wanted to report an incident. He listened, then told me I’d need to go to the nearest station and file it in person if I wanted it to be looked into.

How convenient.

I hung up. And somehow, I still went to Miniso. I don’t know what part of me thought that was the right thing to do, but maybe I just needed to hold on to some part of the plan, something ordinary. My hands were still trembling when I picked up the bag. The cashier looked at me like she wanted to ask what was wrong but didn’t. I couldn’t even find words for what was wrong.

By then, I felt unbearably alone. I didn’t know who to call. I called a friend first, but she didn’t answer. Out of desperation, I called my ex. I knew he would come. And he did. I appreciated it, but the moment I saw him, a strange sadness washed over me. I don’t know why. Maybe it was because this was not who I wanted to need, but he was all I had.

At the police station, they took my statement and asked me to wait. I sat there for fifteen minutes, still crying quietly, my arm throbbing from the impact. When an officer finally came back after watching the CCTV footage, he said something that I will never forget. He said, “You didn’t really look properly before crossing, did you?”

It took me a few seconds to process what I’d heard. I had crossed from the zebra cross. I had checked both sides. I had done everything right. Yet somehow, the story they chose to see was that I was careless.

I remember feeling my chest tighten. My tears came back, not from pain this time, but from how quickly someone could dismiss what I had just gone through. I felt so small sitting there, like my experience didn’t matter at all.

A few moments later, a female officer came out to speak with me. She was kind — the only person that night who seemed to care. But even her words hurt. She told me there wasn’t much they could do. It wasn’t a “serious enough” accident. The most they could do was find the driver and give him advice.

Advice. That was all my pain amounted to.

In that moment, something inside me shifted. Everything I had been feeling for weeks finally made sense. The world is unfair. It moves fast. It doesn’t stop for anyone. Being human means being vulnerable, and being vulnerable often means being unseen.

That night, I went home feeling smaller than I ever had. I kept replaying the moment in my head — the sound of the bike, the shock, the silence that followed, the faces that turned away. I realized how fragile safety is, and how quickly it can be taken from you.

________

A few weeks later, someone from the police called again. They said they had reviewed the footage properly this time and confirmed that the rider was in the wrong. It gave me a small sense of validation, a soft confirmation that I wasn’t imagining my pain.

But by then, I had already learned the real lesson.

The world doesn’t stop when you get hurt. It keeps moving. People keep walking. Cars keep going. You are the only one who stands still. And sometimes, all you can do is pick yourself up, put your heel back on, and keep walking home — even if your legs are still shaking.

Because that’s what it means to be human. To be fragile, to be forgotten, and still keep going anyway.

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Personal

I like to think I’m healing. Despite the missteps and moments of doubt, I know I’m on the right path. I’m self-aware. I know where it hurts, and most of the time, I even understand why it hurts.

But healing brought something I didn’t expect—the loss of feeling. The absence of blind love. The instinct to emotionally detach from anyone who doesn’t serve me. And that’s not who I used to be.

I used to be the “love me, choose me” girl. But more often than not, I was too okay with not being chosen. Too understanding. I handed out free passes to people who didn’t deserve them, letting them toy with my heart without consequence. I used to feel everything so deeply. And now, I feel almost nothing.

I’m not in love anymore. Not even with the idea of it. And honestly, I don’t know if I even remember what love is supposed to feel like.

This relationship taught me some of the best and worst things about myself. That’s what relationships do—even when they don’t work, they reveal. In the beginning, it showed me how unconditional my love could be. How forgiving, nurturing, caring, and trusting I was capable of being.

Until I wasn’t.

Until I finally saw things for what they were. And when that clarity came, it was too late, but somehow still on time. Because then I remembered something I’ve always known about myself—how cold I can be. How quickly I can shut down. And when I do, you’d question whether I ever loved you at all.

Still, I want to be in love again. But this time, with someone who treats me right. I want to feel excited again. I want butterflies. I want to feel silly and childish and consumed by that wild, intoxicating infatuation. Because the absence of all of that? It’s starting to feel like emptiness.

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Personal

I Carried It Alone

Even if they could pretend it never happened, I couldn’t. Even if she told me I shouldn’t tell people about it, I couldn’t help but speak. Because the one person who couldn’t pretend it didn’t happen was me. It happened to me. And I was dying for someone to see it. I was aching to be seen—held, embraced, even as my wounds were still bleeding. It had cut me in places I hadn’t even realized at the time. I was unaware that it would ache silently forever—for the part of me that died.

I was too young to know any better. So when I told people, maybe they didn’t see it as something that happened to me. Maybe they just saw what I had become after. And because that’s how they saw me, that’s how I began to see myself too: utterly ruined.

I shouldn’t be thinking about it now, but it’s Monday again—my weekly therapy day. Last session ended with us unpacking that trauma, and I’ve been left to reflect. To remember how it felt. To remember how it happened.

But all week, I didn’t really drown in it. I don’t think I even tried. I’m wired to push it down. And I do it so well that I start to ask myself—was what happened really that big of a deal?

These are the memories I never sat down to recall, just kept running from. So much so that I barely remember half of it. I just remember myself, standing there—dead inside. On the outside, I barely moved. I swear I had no movement of my own. Everything was done to me. I was fifteen. My life hadn’t even properly started, and I already felt ruined.

It felt like the ultimate betrayal. Like I had betrayed myself. Like I had failed to protect me. I felt responsible. I had been manipulated and isolated so completely, I didn’t even believe there were people who could—or would—save me. So I quietly endured it. Months of abuse, manipulation, and hostility.

That one thing that happened became the cornerstone of everything else that followed. It shaped me. It shaped my relationships. It shaped the relationship I had with myself. The trauma alone was unbearable—but the second-hand trauma, the one from never being allowed to process or speak of it properly, was even heavier. My behaviors became patterns—trauma responses I didn’t even recognize until now, seventeen years later. Longer than I had been alive when it happened to me. The trauma is older than I was when it first occurred.

I was forced to bury the pain so deep that I began questioning it. Did it really hurt? That planted the seeds of a lifelong struggle. Not having anyone validate my trauma meant I started doubting everything. While others moved on, I stayed frozen. Broken. And this became the beginning of me questioning reality itself. Was what I felt real, or was it all in my head?

My thoughts split into two ends, always pulling at each other. I could never quite be sure of anything. And that uncertainty—of myself, of my own mind—felt like a curse. My sense of self failed to exist.

I was never taught to love myself. So I never really valued me. I barely even saw me. I didn’t care about how I felt. I was conditioned to overlook myself, and others followed suit. I was invisible. And for the rest of my teenage years and into my twenties, I only saw myself through the eyes of others. If they didn’t see me, I didn’t exist. Their validation was my only evidence of being alive.

Surely, there couldn’t have been a worse way to live through those years—but that’s how they were.

And maybe—just maybe—the reason I give so many chances to people who hurt me is because I had to forgive my perpetrators. And if I can live with that, how hard can the rest be?

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Personal


I’ve been treating this like rehab,
Rehabilitating myself from you.
Learning to unlearn your touch,
To not be affected by your absence,
To not crave, want, miss you.

It’s been hard, the first few days,
I nearly give up, but I hang on.
The struggle is raw, the nights long,
Yet I see it clearly now,
You were always going to be damaging,
Because of how deeply I felt towards you.

I strip away each memory,
Piece by piece, like peeling old paint,
Revealing the scars beneath,
Acknowledging the hurt.

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Personal

How my heart broke in the months of 2023.

JANUARY

Nobody wants to be with someone who’s mentally preparing to be without you—dropping expectations and just loving with half a heart.

I’d once been the girl who didn’t need anyone, and if I learned to be her again, I wouldn’t come back from it.

Trying to make sense of every stupid thing, hoping to understand there’s a reason for everything.

There is so much I have to stop myself from doing, afraid I might get on the public radar and might be an easy target with all that’s unraveled from my past and also a lot of my habits today. It’s a really wrecking but very real realization—how I can’t live the life I really want to or do the things I really want to do because of just some shit that’s gone down. Sometimes I feel like I’m with a wall of a person. We have our really good moments, and then at other times I feel like I can’t fully be myself. And I love what we have so much that any hostility that threatens the connection we have wrecks me. It might be something so little. A minute of silence too. And I notice it all. And I’ll be told it’s in my head, and I’ll convince myself it is because there’s already so much in my head, and it makes more sense that way. I crave conversations and answers.

I want to say that you’ve failed to comfort me. And if I tell you how you could, you would accuse me of controlling your dialogue and behavior. But all I know is I wouldn’t have come so far with someone I thought couldn’t comfort me. And the fact that you fail to do so now only shows how much you’ve changed. You tell me every day that you love me more than yesterday when, in fact, I feel less and less loved each day. And every time I say that, you get so offended, as if I choose to feel this way. As if I choose to feel less loved by you. If I could choose, if I had the ability to alter my reality, I would switch to a realm where I felt more loved than ever, not just on occasion, but every day.

Promise you’ll never fall out of love with me? That you’ll always love me through the good days and bad. And that you’ll be kind to me even if we fight. That you won’t be cruel in the name of being honest. Tell me you’ll love me more than I love you on the days I need it the most? Tell me I can count on you when everything else is falling apart. Tell me you’ll always be there when I need you. Tell me.

No, I understand what you were feeling. It’s okay to feel frustrated. I know it must have been annoying. What you fail to understand is how painful it is to hear you say that you’re right, you used to be the one. And you’re not anymore. And maybe you will be again. Try to reverse this situation a bit and tell me it wouldn’t kill you to hear that too? I know how things have changed between us, but I didn’t think you’d lost so much you felt for me. I was just hoping I was wrong, and that was in my head, and tonight you made it so clear, and it completely broke my heart. It breaks my heart to see you losing your patience with me. To not see the kindness you once had for me. And no, I don’t expect you to lie, but I think I deserve a little more kindness. I didn’t betray you for you to treat me like this. I have always loved you, to my best ability. Even through my depression and all that, I have loved you. And I have been thoughtful and considerate as much as possible. Not once have I purposely caused you hurt.

Maybe I can sleep now, knowing the world is as lonely as I am.

Heartbroken at breakfast. I don’t know if it was because I was too hungry or because I’ve been feeling anxious or both. I don’t know. I’m too sensitive. And it really hurts to be around people who are completely oblivious to it. But sometimes I also feel like by expecting them to be more mindful of it, I’m asking for too much. But then I also think that’s wrong, that I shouldn’t have to feel that way. That protecting my feelings, heart, and state of mind should be too much for anyone who says they love me. Love is more than just a word. But sometimes that’s all it is—just a word—without any feelings or empathy. And to me, “I love you today” would’ve meant, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re going through whatever you are.” Some days I feel like it would be so much easier and a lot less painful to rip my heart out of my chest and watch it bleed. Feeling this kind of lonely is a heartbreaking way to start the day. Or maybe it’s all in my head. And I’ll convince myself it is and that I’m a little crazy. Like everyone else tells me. That way, things make more sense than to actually think people and this world are cruel. Or the fact that my feelings are too much and too irrelevant and that people don’t care and it’s just me who cares and I care too much.

Sometimes, actually most of the times, I avoid mirrors. If I can. Especially on days I feel low. I know I’d hate what I see. It’s on days where my inner enemy is triggered when I face situations that make me feel small and lonely. They take space within me, and they stay there for too long.

February

Not everything is black or white. Sometimes there’s a little grey, an off-white perhaps; the lines between “I love you” and “I would do anything for your happiness.”

Red flags? Them going to bed fine when you’re not okay. This is something I learned about 10 years back, and having to relearn it now shows just how far I’ve fallen for an illusion of love.

We’ve all been hurt by someone who promised they would never hurt us. We’ve all been hurt by someone who swore they’d never be the reason for our pain. We’ve all been naive, and some of us still are.

You know those who break your trust and then get mad at you for not trusting them? When they get angry at you for not trusting them and not having faith in them, when they’ve continued to let you down and disappoint you, and you still blame yourself for being so broken that you can’t trust their love and feel helpless in leaving. The vicious cycle of the journey from loving to unloving.

Haven’t you noticed how pain gets more bearable when you have someone to blame? It just magically takes the weight off our bad decisions when you convince yourself others were a factor in influencing your decision. Which might and might not be entirely true sometimes, but either way, it’s a burdensome weight to carry, the weight of your decisions. Ultimately it’s not you because how could you have really known? And if you really knew the outcome would punch a hole through you, would you even have made the same choice? No. Something somewhere made you believe you were making the right choice. But that’s when life kicks in and goes, “Ha ha, fuck you, you stupid.” It is funny when you get to laugh at your pain. Takes some time.

I would’ve told him how I felt; I would’ve told him I felt a little less loved if I felt safe enough to tell him so rather than betting on the fact that this feeling would pass. I’d been so attached to sleeping with him I was ecstatic to falling asleep with him. It wasn’t his bed. It was him. Given the little time we get for each other now, this had become something I enjoyed so much. So I ended up inviting myself without him asking me, only for him to make me change my mind and not even fight for it a little. I do love him more than he loves me. And I’m certain he’s less afraid of losing me than I am of losing him. I settled for his love, the bits and pieces, the remains of a love there once was, and now I’ll weep forever. This is on me.

I’m holding on too tightly.

I’ll do what I do best. I’ll write about my pain.

March

Why was turning 30 a big deal? It indicated I survived my 20s—all of the years and trauma that I held onto, I triumphed.

One of those days where I fail to see the world in color.

Strangers are kinder than my own.

How does it feel to know your demons are your creations?

You’re the worst person ever. Now believe it for the rest of your life, and you’ll go so far.

Yeah, thank you for reminding me there’s a good reason why my life is empty. It is me. I’m the problem. I’m a fucking terrible person. Thank you. Thank you so much.

You know what I think? Well, you didn’t ask, but let me tell you anyway. I think life is absurdly unfair to some of us.

No one will ever know all of me. I trust no one. I see what the world did with what little they knew. I’ve seen enough.

My life is surrounded by walls I built to keep people out, and now I’m the one feeling trapped behind them. I’m miserable. I look nothing like it. But I am. I’m living from day to day, chasing a high perhaps I will never feel again. Life feels lived, and this chapter has nothing interesting about it. Same old patterns of done stories.

You know what’s even worse about depression? It makes you a hundred times harder to love.

Some mornings are no different than others, while others are new beginnings. Today seems fairly usual, but has the potential to be a new lead turning. I haven’t slept. My sleep cycle has been a mess as usual. Living alone has been a disaster. I’ll rot away without supervision. I’ve had zero to even less motivation the past few days. Have failed to see a point to this life. Yet I wake up day after day, even if it’s at six pm, hoping it’ll be different. I couldn’t keep missing work anymore. So here I am, doing what I’m supposed to do. I wish I liked the life I live. And I wish I liked myself a bit more most days. I’ve also been playing a lot of Scrabble on my phone, like anything I get obsessed with, until I started too many matches and overwhelmed myself. Sounds about right. That’s just what I do with everything.

APRIL

Let’s talk about moving forward in life. Sometimes, we have to let go of things or people that we’ve held onto for a long time to be able to move towards a brighter future. Saying goodbye is never easy, but it’s certainly necessary.

Life doesn’t always work out the way we want it to, but we can have faith that it knows best. You’ll never lose what’s meant for you, and sunsets are always beautiful somewhere, giving hope to a beautiful ending that will lead to a beautiful beginning.

I don’t like the sun. Its light magnifies my flaws.


MAY

When you let people go, be careful and sure because you’ll never find them again in the place you left them.

Maybe someday I’ll have the kind of love I dream of—a partner who’s eager to do things together, determined to support each other in everything, constantly around not making me feel alone, someone who thrives on our companionship. Someone who’s so kind that it would melt my soul. Someone who’s consistent with their intentions and actions. Someone who’s caring, someone who understands making me feel safe lies in their hands.

I was glass, and you broke me.

I truly do wish I had the strength to let you go. So maybe one day when you’re ready to be with me, you’ll come and find me. But this is real life; you don’t find the same things twice. And that’s why I’m so afraid to let go. Because I feel like I’ll always miss you. And I’d rather try now than miss you for the rest of my life. So I’ll be here until I can’t. And I pray that you’ll be here as long as I am.

I feel terrible thinking I force this on you. But I’m just an all-or-nothing kind of person, I guess. I haven’t loved anyone as much as I love you. I have never been so afraid of losing someone. I have never been afraid of losing anyone. I was always enough. But then you came, shattered every wall I ever built, fought with me to let you in, to let you be there for me, and I eventually learned to count on someone other than myself. Because you always showed up. You made me feel like I didn’t have to fight my battles alone. And although I was skeptical of that, it was so nice not having to carry the weight of this world alone. And that’s how you became my world. Because you made me want to live again. But all of that is changing.

“I lost my dignity in loving you, even when you were hurting me. But you, you lost someone who didn’t mind losing her dignity as long as she didn’t lose you.”

I wouldn’t expect you to chase me had you not done it before. I wouldn’t expect you to fight for me had it not been the impression you had given me before. These are both things you have done, and you’ve stopped doing. I don’t miss things you had never done. I miss things you used to do and you stopped doing. So yeah, a very nice video of another reminder that just kicks in. I want a man who’s afraid of losing me. Not a man who’s okay whether I stay or go. Not a man who acts like he doesn’t really care. That’s just some bullshit. I couldn’t sleep all night and all morning, and to wake up to this.

You know what’s pathetic? He has a key to my place. And whenever I was low, and he knew it, my heart would expect him to walk through every time. So every time I heard the door open, it would just jump out of its chest. Of course, he never walked through. But my heart never stopped expecting. It loved him too much.

JUNE

I’ve finally accepted I’m different. And maybe not in the best way. But that’s still enough for me to try and stop blending in because that is exhausting. I’ve seen things others haven’t. And that alone differentiates my entire nervous system vastly. I’ll stand out as weird and maybe too intense and a bit too much, but that’s me. That will always be me, and I can’t be anything else but myself. I spiral into sadness and depression from time to time and see no end. I struggle to get myself out of the darkness I’m sucked into. I go over memories that haunt me constantly. I try to forget so much.

Never really knew that at the end of the day, I just wanted my feet in serene wrap.

You know, I’ve tried to be the caring and nice person. I’ve tried to be the person that maintains relationships. I’ve tried to do everything I thought was the way it should be, and I failed. It’s just not who I am, and the trying part was just exhausting. So I’m no longer trying.

I didn’t know instantly. But I knew gradually. I knew I couldn’t envision the future I dreamt of with this man. I knew he wouldn’t live up to the dream he painted for me. It did break my heart at first, but I understood. I had fallen helplessly in love by this point, so I couldn’t just check out. So I stayed until it became more hopeless by the day, but still hoping that he would come around and surprise me. Even when I knew he wouldn’t.

Couldn’t help but wonder if I deserved it, for wronging someone who loved me with all their soul.

This would be a first. Deliberately trying to lose feelings for someone. With everyone else, it happens so naturally. And the ones I never fell out with, I never wanted to stop loving them. But after one year of being here, what I realize is that this one hurt the most. The way I needed you terrified me. And the way you didn’t need me back broke my heart.

I feel so stupid for trying so hard to be a part of your life. And what might think, why did I have to try so hard when you’re the one who invited me? Imagine being invited to an event you had no clue about, after being assured one will care for you, only for you to come and be left high and dry. My poor choices in men are one thing I will always hate myself for. I hate myself for constantly choosing terrible men to be a part of my life and then continuing to make excuses for them until it deteriorates anything that’s left in me. And you might think, well, if they were all so bad, maybe you were the problem. That’s the thing, they weren’t all bad. It’s some of their goodness that made me realize how things should be. I was no saint in most of my relationships, but the few ones that I vouched my all for were the ones that bruised me the most. Like this one. This one was so glorified. What a waste. People don’t really show you who they truly are until the very end. And I have reached the very end of this. And so the nightmare begins.

So what, one day he’s going to give all the love he once gave to me to someone else. He’s going to love someone else just as he did me. So what. He’s going to be all the sweet things he was to me, to her someday. And though the thought wrecks my nerves, why should it hurt me? Because I didn’t leave the same guy I met. I left someone who was unkind, I left someone who didn’t love nor care for me. So why should I cry over someone who’s made me want to hate myself? I have cried for him all the tears that I could.

I will not write about him. I will bury this love.

Every time he left me and walked away from me, he made me stronger. So what, relationships end, people even die. But life still goes on.

I wish I could turn back time, go to the day I finally decided to reply to one of your messages, and just scroll by it instead like all the other times. I could’ve saved myself from so many nights of crying on the floor, begging God to rid me of the feeling that I felt for you. But it’s not possible. So I have to live with all the hurt you caused me and pretend I’m fine. And that is what I will do.

No, it’s not that. I came across some breakthroughs with him. I struggle a lot with my mental health, and I’ve always had commitment issues. He’s the only person I’ve been able to commit so fully and be so vulnerable with. And then he breaks my heart. Not just my heart: he breaks me. So yeah. Toughie.

It is right. I know. It just needs time. I just want it to end. But it won’t because I can’t stop loving him. Not yet. So. It goes on because the heart wants what it wants so until he just leaves me I’ll be destroying myself in loving him.

Everything I did to save my relationship wasn’t done to me. I swallowed my pain, I swallowed my pride. Put on a face which no hurt showed. Only to constantly be kicked in my chest with a fist so hard that broke my bones. I fell in love with a man who had no interest in taking care of my heart. Every time he hurt me, and I went back. I went back for the memories. I went back for everything I remembered that he used to do at the beginning. He was not the same man that made me fall in love with him. And it took me breaking my heart over and over and over again to realize that. And every time this happened, I never really wrote the truth of it here because I wanted to protect him. But why protect someone who wouldn’t do the same for me, right? I’ve been a fool in love.

Why should I be sad? I would be sad if I lost someone who loved and cared for me. But I didn’t lose someone who loved and cared for me. I lost someone who didn’t love me enough to fight for me. And more than anything, that is freeing. To be free from an illusion of love.

Why must anything go to waste? You loved, and you learned.

You know how when you jump off a moving vehicle, you gotta start running to avoid a hard fall. I feel like that’s what I’m doing right now. But what will happen when I stop? Can I go running forever? So the things I run away from never have the chance to catch up. Or do I stop running and let it take over me and run with the baggage of all that. It’ll slow me down for sure, but at least I won’t be running away. I’ll just be going forward. And I want to go forward.

You know what hurts? Giving them chances they never asked for, forgiving them for the things they never apologized for, being let down by someone you didn’t go out looking for, being left by someone who hurt you and couldn’t stop hurting you, when conversations are ended by someone who used to never want to stop talking to you. It also hurts to not hate them despite the pain they’ve caused. It hurts to not hate them when I know they are okay with losing me. It hurts to not hate them when I know the thought of me with someone else doesn’t drive them insane, cuz if it did, they couldn’t have let me go, could they? It hurts because of how okay they are when you’re not. But hey, life goes on. And my broken heart too will mend someday.

You’re not my greatest love; you’re the love that tore me apart.

I feel like I’m being punished for loving someone who swore they’d forever love and treat me right. My heart feels scammed. I’ve loved and lost in my 20s. But none of them made false promises my heart held onto. They were so brutally honest. And that gave me peace. But this just gives me confusion. How could you love and hurt someone at the same time? I’ve been reading about trauma bonding, and this feels eerily similar to those. It’s nuts. You lose your best friend, the only person in this world that you’re comfortable with, the only person in this world you could be vulnerable with. You lose a part of yourself in them. I know there’s no point in crying; there’s no point in wallowing in my tears. I just don’t know where to put my hurt. I just wanna lay it to rest, this love. This so unrequited love. I’m porous; I loved him against my best interest. I’m brave for loving someone so selflessly, even when it was destroying me. When I love, I love greater than the world. My heart is bigger than the ocean. But he can’t swim, so it was evident to doom from the start. I wanna sing Unbreak My Heart at the top of my lungs, and then the other times I wanna sing you two-timing cheap lying wannabe. Not true, but at least I feel solid pain. It’s better than feeling confused when someone cheats; the cause is evident. Yet here it feels as if there was no cause, just that he didn’t love me enough to fight for me, not stay with me. I mean it’s enough reason but somehow the saddest kind.

I don’t struggle to let him go because I think he still might be the one. I have never been more sure of someone not being the one for me than this time. But how do I convince my heart? How do I convince my heart that we need a kinder love that’s consistent and prioritizes us? An unconditional love that knows no ounce of cruelty, a love that is human and understands the deepest sentiments of my heart.

Afraid to let go because what happens after we do? We live a life where we both aren’t constantly running towards each other but maybe walking in parallel lines, wishing we could be happy for the other person. The love doesn’t go anywhere, but the sound of your feet walking away from them nearly kills you. Sometimes to love means to let go. No matter how badly you want to hold on. There is strength in letting go. I will always miss him. Maybe even for the rest of my life.

JULY

Did I not deserve the love I had always dreamt of? Is that perhaps why I have begun to reflect on the love I had known? But how could someone I was so okay with losing be ‘the one that got away’? It makes no sense.

I don’t know why we stayed. We loved each other, but were we in love with each other? I don’t know. I think I wasn’t. I was in love with the memories.

Probably the first time he told me he liked me and wanted to get to know me, I told him I was edgy and difficult. He said not for him. Fool that I was, I intoxicated myself in the words that came out of him. Almost a year later, he told me I was difficult to be nice to. I was broken for a long time before I gathered the courage to not look at myself through his eyes. I stopped begging him to love me the way I needed; instead, I let him love me the way he saw fit. I no longer complained or fought because deep down I had really given up. But I was still afraid to let go. Because no amount of preparing yourself would change how it would hurt when it really ends. I was never afraid to walk away from someone. I proudly walked away from people even when it crushed me. But now that my soul is a bit worn out, it lives in regret of those whom I walked away from and wished I hadn’t. That pain was what was stopping me from letting go. I had lost the person who loved me. And I was never getting him back. Nor was I ever going to find someone who would treat me the way he did. Like a true princess. I blew it all up. It was all my fault. It took me four years to admit that I was the problem. It was his blessing that I walked away, and my loss.

I don’t know who they fall in love with when, in the end, they have a problem with the essence of who I am, who I’ve been, and are doubtful they can love who I will be. So they try to change these little things about me, failing to understand me. And I love them, so I change. But that makes me miserable. Because I’m no longer myself. I’m a version of myself I’ve molded into to keep the people I love. So I am truly lost, for I am no longer here.

This notion that people who love you can hurt you is not true, is it? It sounds dreadful that we live in a world where this is brushed off. That it ends up with half-ass apologies expecting the hurt you went through not to change you.

Why do we need people to acknowledge the pain they’ve caused you? In reality, it makes no difference whether they acknowledge it or not, but maybe you hope that if they acknowledge it and admit to it they’ll maybe feel at least half the hurt you feel now. But it’s all a maybe. They don’t care.

I swallow my words before they hit the tip of my tongue because what’s the use. I’ve fought this war with you over and over again, and I’ve always lost a part of me to you. It ends up in tears, and I drown in it alone. And sometimes on a good night, you’ll save me just before I drown and hope that you’ve saved me. But really you haven’t. You’ve saved what’s left of me, and the rest dies. Little by little, so much of me has died over you. I still love you with whatever’s left, but I’ll tell you this, it isn’t much, and I’m not that sorry. Because you had all of me until you killed half of me. Now I love you with half of my heart.

I might not be the one you spend the rest of your life with. But I sure as hell want to be the one who sleeps with you tonight, tomorrow, and maybe even the day after. Not because I can’t see my life without you, but because I only got to see you for who you are only after I fell in love with you, and now I’m weak and helpless. I’m clung to you like a parasite because I tasted the love and I wanna taste it for a bit longer.

I’m breaking up with you. This one is so hard to write. Because I wanted to see this one through. But after trying over and over again, I have realized that this relationship doesn’t work for me. And you have no interest in catering to my interests. I could have brought these things up in person, but I know you well enough to know you’d have something to say to each one of them. I’m glad I met you and I’m glad to have experienced this love. It’s a pity it didn’t last. But surely we’ll both find people more suited for us once we walk away from each other. I hope you forgive me. I hate that I have to ask you a hundred questions I ask you and tell you so much shit sometimes you don’t even hear me. I love you, but it’s over.

It’s ending, right?

Going through memories is exactly like a long drive where you pass by all of your favorite memories and realize which ones you want to live in again.

At first, the differences don’t really matter. Because you’re excited and determined. In a whim of delusion, you convince yourself the differences complement each other when they really do not. I like the ocean, and he dreads it. These subtle differences made me feel alone in my preferences. Cuz I didn’t have someone to share my views and ideals with. I didn’t have someone who supported me through thick and thin. I didn’t have someone who could be there for me and love me unconditionally.

First impressions have never been more wrong. He seemed like everything I could want and need; he had studied me meticulously. He knew what to be, to have me. And then his act wore off. The date nights no longer happened. The surprise gifts no longer happened. Adventures were no longer planned unless I did. And eventually, I got tired of pouring into a cup that didn’t pour for me. It only left me empty while leaving me alone to refill too. And so I stayed; I stayed until it became easier to let go. Until my heart didn’t shatter at the thought of being alone with him.

I’m no longer scared of losing him. I’m scared of not getting the closure out of this if it ends. Knowing him there’s no way we can walk away from a table in peace. I mean he can and he will; he cares about very little. And I wouldn’t be a person he would care about walking away from it so it’s guaranteed he’d leave me a mess. He wouldn’t be able to wish me well or appreciate our time together. He’d storm off saying he’s got no time for this shit, and that would wreck me because I’d forever seek closure for us. I just know me.

Despite what I wanted to believe, he still had more than half of my heart. I’ve loved this man with every atom in my body. And it won’t be an easy thing leaving. But I have to. I fell so deeply for the wrong man.

I’m the girl who crosses bridges at two am just to buy kiwis she saw at the grocery shop from last night before everything went blurry, just because she’s a little bored right now.

I wish I didn’t love you, cuz then it wouldn’t hurt. And fuck loving you when all you do is break my heart.

Something people would never know about me was that there was a time I couldn’t bear looking at myself in the mirror. I’d wake up and get ready for work with lights off; I just had insane self-esteem and identity issues.

AUGUST

Letting go of your hand felt like jumping off a cliff. Standing there with you at the end of our love story made me feel like I was on the edge of the cliff that I’d be jumping from. Life without you was going to be a free fall.

We came to the spot we first met, as if we wanted to tell the ocean waves that we failed and we broke each other. And that we were sorry, that we love each other.

Some things just don’t change. People and their intentions hardly remain for your best. It’s a very selfish world we live in.

Sure, I left. You can make me feel like the bad guy for leaving all you want, while you forget all the times I tried and put myself through hell hoping you’d listen and understand me.

I’m jealous of people who have genuine fun, who are happy and enjoy the simpler things in life without being drowned by the voices in their heads. Even better, I’m jealous of the ones that don’t have voices in their heads reminding them of everything that’ll prevent them from being happy.

I hope I forget your face, your name, and every conversation we’ve ever had.

Today I thought that if I really wanted to let go of him and for it not to hurt me, I actually can do that. I’m afraid of losing my ability to feel for others if I do cross that line to being utterly heartless. So that’s what I’m afraid of. So instead, I sacrifice myself so I wouldn’t sacrifice others.

SEPTEMBER

The worst thing about breaking up with someone is the notable realization that you’re yet again further from your soulmate. And you continue to wonder if there might be a person for you out there at all. So, with a sighing mind and a clock that keeps ticking your youth away, you open your eyes to see what you might find out there. I find it hard to get out of my room, let alone put myself out there to the outside.

Maybe you don’t recognize yourself anymore because the masks you wore to blend in have come off, and you’re stuck with the real you, who feels so foreign because all your life you’ve been running away from her.

I hate breakups. The way you say goodbye over and over again. The way you feel guilty for living a life without them, the way they confront you, the way you have no answers because what’s more clear than a breakup.

NOVEMBER

It’s probably every girl’s dream to see their man pull out a ring and utter the words they will remember for the rest of their lives.

I wasn’t expecting it to happen; frankly, I didn’t even want it to. We were broken up, I was done with the relationship. And then he pulls out a ring. I said no, almost too quickly. You see, this man had hurt me so much that I couldn’t forget nor forgive. He was my world at one point; nothing else mattered. And when he had this power and control over me, all he did was hurt me. And I, like a little girl begging for crumbs of his love, settled for whatever he was willing to offer me. He said he wasn’t ready to get married; it hurt, but I said okay. He said he couldn’t travel with me on my birthday; it hurt, but again I said okay. He didn’t celebrate my birthday; this time it hurt so much more, but I said okay. And then, there was this moment that I knew it was no longer okay.

Losing him made me weaker; losing you made me stronger.

The hardest part about living this life is not being able to trust people. Not knowing when they have their knives ready for you, even when you’re opening up to them with your secrets. Another hard part is the inconsistency of people; one day they are good, and the next they disappoint you. And while these are my complaints about the world, I admit I’m no different from others. The world becomes you in the end. Endings are always hard, even if they are abrupt, or even when you’ve seen it coming for months. Even if they leave you or you leave them. The end of another human relationship means it was another line in the geometry of life that was meant to merely cross paths.

I hate that it’s ending; I’m sad that it’s ending, but I’m also glad that it’s ending.

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