[From the Diaries]

To you it was a white lie. Maybe it was.

But the way you lied to my face, I couldn’t comprehend it. And it wasn’t just one lie. It was one lie after another, built to protect the first lie you told.

I understand where it came from. You were afraid I would get mad if I knew the truth. But even then, the right thing would have been to say it honestly. Instead you lied and snuck around behind my back, expecting me to believe you. It made me feel stupid for trusting your words.

Right now my biggest fear is not that you would talk to other girls. My biggest fear is that you would do things like this that could destroy our life together. But in that moment it felt like the same pattern. You were trying to hide something you knew I would disapprove of, so you chose to lie and do it behind my back.

And when you realized you had been caught, suddenly it was “I’m sorry, okay,” followed by explanations and justifications. “It just happened.”

Then five minutes later it became, “Ana meehunna vaahaka dhahka iru okay dho.”

And I have to say this clearly. Even if my intention was never wrong, after everything that happened, after you spoke to multiple people behind my back while we were together, even romantically, you still felt comfortable throwing that at me to get yourself out of trouble. The deflection was unbelievable. All because you were upset that I was upset at you for lying directly to my face.

Every day right now I am trying to understand whether we can actually build a stable life together. Whether we can even have healthy arguments. Because disagreements will always happen in any relationship. But every time we fight, it turns into chaos.

I was upset. I was hurt. And somehow you got angry at me for not getting over it fast enough.

I would have gotten over it. I always do eventually. But you did not give me the space to process it. Instead you tried to turn the whole situation around on me and justify your behaviour.

And just to explain why I asked you to come with me that day. I wanted to eat healthy. I wanted to go to Café Ier. I wanted to do something simple with you instead of sitting alone. That is why I dragged you along.

But I could barely even do that. I was so shaken that I had to cancel my dress fitting.

You looked me in the eye, gave me your word that you would never do it again, and I realized I could not believe what you were saying anymore. And somehow you still had the audacity to get mad at me for that.

It made me think about something else. What if we were travelling and something like this happened again? What if I was somewhere far away with you and could not leave? What would happen then? Would you give me space to process it? Would you even be sorry? Or would you just throw the one thing from the past that you hold over me as your wild card?

I was angry and hurt that you lied to my face.
I was even more angry that you kept trying to justify it.
And I nearly lost it when you started deflecting and acting like this behaviour was nothing.

You brought up the past very quickly when it suited you.

I think you expected me to cave. To put up with your rudeness even while I was hurt. But I would not.

Your behaviour was manipulative. Saying “I’m sorry, okay” while giving me no time to process anything. First trying over and over to lie your way out of it, and when that stopped working, immediately dragging the past into the conversation. The apologies disappeared the moment it became convenient for you.

If I am yelling or shouting at you, you should actually be less worried. I only do that when I still feel safe enough to fight.

I go quiet when I no longer feel safe.

And the moment you started deflecting and pointing things at me instead of taking responsibility for the thing that caused this entire situation, I stopped feeling safe.

When I make mistakes with you, I give you time to process them. I do not demand instant forgiveness. I let you feel whatever you need to feel.

Not to mention the last time you were upset, your way of processing it was saying horrible things about X and his family to me. You made it clear that I had to sit there and listen to it. It was disturbing, but I still tolerated it because I thought that was what you needed to get through the moment.

And now you cannot even give me a few minutes to process what you did without trying to turn it against me.

After everything that happened, you were clearly in the wrong. Yet somehow you still found a way to throw stones at me.

[From the Diaries | June 03, 2024]

I am honestly so tired of this relationship.

I don’t know why I believed things would change. Maybe because I believed your words. Maybe because I wanted to believe them. But here I am again, carrying the same burden I thought we had already confronted.

The other week you slipped. You cried. You apologized. I tried to understand. I told myself people make mistakes. I told myself growth takes time.

But then two days later you did the same thing again.

And that is the part I cannot understand.

I am so tired. Truly exhausted. Tired of having to mother you. Tired of analyzing every word you say, trying to decode what is real and what is another half-truth waiting to collapse. Tired of carrying the emotional weight of loving someone I cannot trust.

I take my healing seriously. My peace is not negotiable anymore. These are some of the hardest days of my life, and yet not once have you put me first. Every decision you make seems to revolve around your own impulses, your own comfort, your own momentary desires.

Meanwhile I am here trying to hold my life together.

I am finishing my thesis. I am pushing myself through something that should be a proud moment in my life. And I am doing it without even the smallest ounce of support from you. And when I say support, I’m not asking you to solve my problems. I’m asking you not to create more of them.

But you don’t seem to understand that your actions have consequences. And for far too long I have been the one forced to absorb the damage of those consequences.

I’m tired of being the adult in this relationship.

I’m tired of holding the emotional structure together while you keep shaking its foundation.

Every morning I wake up wondering what you may have done the night before. I wake up wondering what new story I’m about to hear today. What new lie I’ll have to untangle.

I wake up already tired.

This relationship is slowly draining something out of my soul.

And the saddest part is that I have so many other things I should be focusing on right now. My growth. My work. My future. My peace.

But somehow the focus keeps coming back to you.

I don’t understand why your words never seem to match your actions. I don’t understand why the version of you that promises change never shows up in reality.

Maybe it’s because you simply don’t have the capacity to be there for me right now. Because you don’t have your own life together.

But how long am I supposed to wait for that?

How long am I supposed to wait for you to grow up? For you to be responsible? For you to make sensible decisions and follow through with them?

Because right now it feels like I’m waiting for someone who isn’t even trying to arrive.

And I didn’t want this life. I didn’t want this kind of relationship.

I’m just so tired.

[From the Diaries]

And to answer your question — why did I take you there?

Because I wanted this to work. I wanted to believe we had a future. I didn’t introduce you to my dad for nothing. I didn’t bring you on a family trip because I had better ways to waste my time. I took you there because I was serious.

A week before we left, you were relapsing and lying to me. A week before that, you disappeared and stopped answering your calls. This wasn’t about a game. It was a buildup. Layer upon layer of instability that I kept swallowing.

You invalidating my help with your loan is what’s sick. If you didn’t need that help, you wouldn’t have convinced me to give it. You can pretend it meant nothing, but until you received your payment, that is what carried you. Don’t rewrite history to protect your ego.

You’ve lost your temper with me more times than I can count. You’ve turned my room into chaos. You’ve slammed doors. You’ve thrown things. And every time, I cleaned it quietly. I protected your name. I made sure no one saw that side of you.

This was the first time I was in an environment where I was dependent on you. For food. For water. For mobility. And you know how much you hate public chaos. Yet when I didn’t have anyone else around, you weaponized my worst moment. You punished me for it. You humiliated me for it.

You didn’t ask if I was hungry. You knew we were running out of water and didn’t get any. You let me sit there, isolated, because you didn’t care.

You only started caring at the airport.

And even then, at one point, you said you didn’t give a fuck if we broke up.

You have lost your shit in this relationship countless times. And every time, I cleaned up the mess. Emotionally. Physically. Socially.

This time I lost my shit.

And I cleaned that up too.

[From the Diaries]

I am honestly so tired of this relationship. I don’t know why I thought you would change. I believed your words. And now I have to carry this weight all over again.

The other week you slipped. You cried. You broke down. I understood. I held space for that.

Two days later, you did the same thing. And that is where I stopped understanding.

I am tired. I am exhausted. From having to mother you. From overthinking every word you say. From carrying the emotional burden of not being able to trust you.

I take my healing and my peace very seriously. These are some of the toughest days of my life, and not once have you truly put me first. Your actions have been selfish. I am completing my thesis, pushing myself to the finish line, without a single ounce of real support from you. And by support, I do not mean solving my problems. I mean at the very least not adding to them.

You do not seem to care that your actions have consequences. And I have been living in the secondhand damage of those consequences for far too long.

I am tired of being the adult in this relationship. Tired of managing the emotions. Tired of managing the chaos. I am exhausted.

I wake up worrying about what you might have done the night before. I wake up bracing myself for whatever new story I will be told. I wake up already drained. This relationship feels like it is slowly killing something inside me.

I have so many other things I should be focusing on. My growth. My work. My future. And yet my energy keeps circling back to you.

I do not understand why your words never match your actions. I do not understand why loving you feels like carrying a constant anxiety.

You cannot be there for me because you do not have yourself together. And I keep asking myself, how much longer am I supposed to wait? For you to step up. For you to be responsible. For you to make sensible plans and actually follow through.

You do not.

There is always instability. Always excuses. Always something unfinished.

This is not what I wanted.

I am just so tired.

[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.

[From the Diaries]

This is for you to read someday, if you’re ever sober.

I am truly sorry I couldn’t be there for you through your recovery and support you the way I wanted to. I wanted to. But the way you were treating me left my spirit in the trenches.

I was slowly losing myself. My confidence. My ability to have faith. It felt like I was always standing at the edge of a cliff with you, and you would either push me off or jump yourself, just to get away from me. Because you lacked the capacity to comprehend my emotions.

It’s hard to imagine that you were once the man who promised that my smile was all you wanted to see for the rest of your life, if possible. And yet lately, all I’ve found is myself crying hysterically, breaking down with no one to hold me. Wondering how love could feel this way. How someone who swears he loves you, and still says he does, can make you feel nothing but stab wounds.

Every time you hung up on me when I didn’t want to let you go.
Every time you left when I couldn’t bear to be alone.
Every time you drove me to the worst corners of my mind simply through your lack of empathy and compassion.

I miss the man who loved me. I will forever miss him. My heart belongs to him.

I don’t blame you for your condition. But who is going to take care of me while you are throwing yourself away? And not just throwing yourself away, but hurting me terribly in the process. Even when I tell you I am in pain, you feel little to nothing. It’s like your empathy has vanished. And I am left feeling like nothing.

I can’t keep doing this to myself. I am not walking away because I want to be without you. I am walking away because trying to be with you has become the hardest thing I have ever done. You constantly push me away and kick me to the ground. I find myself lying there helpless, like a wounded soldier after war, hoping someone will find me.

But no one will. So I have to take care of myself.

I pray that you find your peace and your path to righteousness. I hope that someday God rekindles your ability to love properly. Most of all, I hope you find your way back to yourself, because he is pretty damn amazing, and the world misses him.

All my love, my baby.

I will try not to call you. But I am weak too. I hope you will be kind to me on the days I lose the battle between my heart and my mind and reach out.

But I will try my best not to.

Is It Really Embarrassing to Have a Boyfriend in 2025? With the wrong man, absolutely yes. It is.

Women everywhere have read this question and felt something stir. Because in 2025, it does feel embarrassing to have a boyfriend, not because love itself is shameful, but because of the collective disappointment that often comes with loving men today.

You can be in a relationship that looks loving and stable, and yet carry a quiet fear that it could all change by tomorrow. That uncertainty is not paranoia; it is a learned survival instinct. Modern love has become a balancing act between trust and vigilance. You can never feel entirely safe in it. You can never truly rest. Somewhere deep inside, you know that many men have made it difficult to trust that love will protect you. And only a rare few have proven that they can love with the same sincerity, depth, and emotional consistency that most women do.

It is easy to take a woman for granted, perhaps because her nature is to nurture. She feels deeply, forgives easily, and holds on longer than she should. The world has long justified this imbalance by claiming that men and women are “wired differently,” that their emotional patterns are governed by biology. But in practice, it is women who adapt, who accommodate, who study men to understand their silences and soften their sharpness. Women stretch their empathy wide enough to hold both love and disappointment, until even pain begins to feel like devotion.

Yet the truth remains: it is not having a boyfriend that is embarrassing. It is having a boyfriend who performs love instead of living it. A man who knows the script, the gestures, the words, the public display, but cannot follow through in private where love actually counts.

Modern dating has only made this performance easier. Micro-cheating has become normalized, digital infidelity disguised as harmless engagement. There are now infinite ways to betray someone quietly. A reaction here, a comment there, a private message that blurs boundaries. The world rewards attention, and loyalty has become outdated. What is truly humiliating is not just being cheated on, but being made to feel naïve for believing in exclusivity.

Because when a man gives other women signals, it is not only you he disrespects. It is you he embarrasses. It is your dignity that becomes collateral in his quest for validation. You become the woman others pity, the one whose partner performs devotion publicly but desecrates it privately.

It is the quiet betrayals that erode you: the half-truths, the convenient omissions, the late-night “friendships,” the messages sent under false names. The lies so absurd they almost insult your intelligence, but so consistent they begin to rewrite your sense of reality.

It is the emotional affair that lingers for months while you keep breaking yourself, hoping he will see how much you love him. You keep showing up, keep forgiving, keep hoping, and he keeps taking. You plead for honesty from a man who takes pride in how well he can hide. That is the humiliation, loving someone who turns deceit into sport.

He builds a dream for you, then abandons you to carry it alone. You give everything, your peace, your energy, your stability, for a man who swears he is “trying.” You stay, because love has always been portrayed as endurance. But love cannot save you when you are the only one fighting to keep it alive.

And then, one day, you end up in an emergency room at four in the morning, bleeding and terrified, and he does not come until the next evening. You ask him once, just once, to come with you to change your stitches. He chooses instead to attend an event where his rumored affair partner is waiting. Something like that is not just painful; it is dehumanizing.

You sit at home, watching it unfold in real time. You learn that he tells her you were upset he went, and she weaponizes your pain, mocks you publicly for trying to “stop him from supporting noble causes.” And he lets her. He stands by silently while others ridicule you.

What could be more humiliating than loving someone who allows the world to harm you, and says nothing? What could be more painful than realizing you have been dying for him in silence while he watched, unmoved?

Over time, the dismissal becomes internal. You start silencing yourself. You start thinking maybe you overreacted. Maybe you were too sensitive. Maybe you deserved it. You learn to gaslight yourself into numbness.

That is what women mean when they say it is embarrassing to have a boyfriend in 2025. It is not love that embarrasses us. It is the exhaustion of loving someone who makes you question your worth, your perception, your sanity.

It is embarrassing to love a man who was never going to love you back. It is embarrassing to be loyal to someone who would not defend you or keep you safe. It is embarrassing to let someone dismantle your selfhood while convincing yourself it is love.

The embarrassment does not lie in the emotion itself, but in how recklessly it is handled by those who have never had to earn it.

So yes, maybe it is embarrassing to have a boyfriend now, not because women are bitter or cynical, but because we have learned to see love for what it truly is in this generation: fragile, unreliable, and often undeserving of the devotion we pour into it.

And that is why so many women choose to be single, not out of pride, but out of peace. Because the most humiliating thing of all is not being alone. It is being unseen by the one person you trusted to see you completely.

Is there an age where it becomes embarrassing to still want the love you dream of? A quiet shame that creeps in when you find yourself hoping for a fairytale ending—like if it hasn’t happened by now, maybe it never will?

I don’t think it’s about a lack of options. It’s not that there aren’t enough men in the world. But there’s definitely a scarcity of men with the right intentions. And I’ll be the first to admit—sometimes I don’t even let the kind ones in. The ones who are gentle, who show up, who don’t play games. My heart rarely ignites for them. And maybe that’s on me.

This is the paradox I live in.

I fall for those who unsettle me. Who throw my nervous system into chaos. Because that’s what love looked like to me growing up. Unpredictable. Unstable. It’s what I knew. It’s what felt familiar. So now, when someone comes along and treats me with genuine care, I often feel… nothing. No spark. No pull. Just a strange hollowness.

Because healthy love feels boring. Steady feels boring. And god, how I envy the people who flourish in peace—those who are at ease when things get calm, when love slows down, becomes routine, becomes real.

The love I’ve known is messy and loud and intoxicating. At first, it feels like a high. The uncertainty, the chase, the edge—it keeps me awake. It keeps me wanting. It feels like the only kind of love that exists for me.

And I hate that.

Living with a personality disorder doesn’t define me, but it shapes me. It shapes how I love, how I attach, how I respond to safety and chaos. I’m not trying to make it my identity, but I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t left fingerprints all over my life.

At some point, you have to be honest with yourself. Maybe I’m just wired differently. Maybe what’s supposed to feel like home never quite will. Maybe my kind of love exists outside the lines of normal—and that’s something I’m still learning to sit with.