Personal

[From the Diaries]

I loved us. God, I loved us so much it hurt.

From the very beginning, I gave myself to something that wasn’t whole. You weren’t really free, not then, but you told me you loved me. You told me I was yours. And I wanted to believe you so badly that I did. Even when the truth was right in front of me, staring me down, I closed my eyes and clung to your words.

Those months of waiting for you to finally choose me, to finally make space for me, nearly drove me insane. Months of questions with no answers. Months of waking up with a knot in my chest, wondering if I was temporary, if I was disposable. And every time I thought about walking away, you pulled me back in with those words: “I love you.” I wanted to believe them so badly that I let them ruin me.

And still, there were moments that felt like magic. Like that silly afternoon when BML wouldn’t work and I couldn’t pay for the lilies I wanted to buy for myself. I remember standing there, defeated, ready to leave them behind. And then you pulled out cash, like you had been sent by the universe to save me from walking away empty-handed. Such a small thing, but I carried it in my heart like proof that you would always be there for me. Proof that you could be the one.

But the truth is, I spent so long bargaining with myself. Telling myself that if I loved you enough for both of us, it would somehow be enough. Telling myself that your words mattered more than your actions, even when your actions told me over and over again that I wasn’t enough. I fought for us until I had nothing left to give.

And then, when I was already cracked open and bleeding, you finally fell in love with me. Or at least you said you did. The cruelest twist of all. It was everything I thought I wanted, but by then I was already too broken to carry it. My heart was so heavy with hurt that there was no room left for the love you were finally trying to give.

Still, I stayed. I believed you again and again, even after every broken promise. Until the last one. The one that shattered me in a way I don’t think I can come back from. That was when I finally understood: life with you would always be this way. Always me fighting. Always me begging. Always me hurting.

Now the pictures from those days show up sometimes, and every time they cut through me. In them, I look so in love, so devoted, like you were my entire world. And you were. But now I see the truth more clearly. Those pictures are proof of how deeply I loved you, and how alone I was in loving us.

People used to ask me why I stayed. I would always say the same thing: because you were my best friend. Because there was nothing in the world we couldn’t talk about. But the truth is, you were also the person who hurt me the most. You were the wound I kept pressing my hand against, hoping one day it would finally stop bleeding.

Maybe this is my penance. For falling for a man who wasn’t fully mine. For ignoring every warning sign. For believing that love could somehow change the truth.

I’ve tried to imagine my life without you. And it doesn’t necessarily look happier. Just quieter. Just lonelier. Maybe freer to make better choices, choices that wouldn’t include you. But even now, I don’t know if that freedom would feel worth the emptiness of not having you in my life.

This love has wrecked me in ways I don’t know if I will ever fully recover from. I won’t come out of it the same person.

Maybe one day I’ll settle for something safer. Something calmer. Something convenient and steady. Something that doesn’t tear me apart the way loving you did.

But even then, I know I’ll still remember the version of us I believed in.

What hurts the most is realizing that I never really knew you. Not completely. You gave me pieces of yourself, fragments, glimpses. Enough to keep me hoping. Enough to keep me tethered.

And I called it love because I didn’t know any better.

Maybe there’s someone out there who will love you the way I couldn’t. Someone who won’t have to beg for pieces of you or twist themselves into something smaller just to keep you.

Because I am tired.

Tired of bending myself around your edges.
Tired of holding back parts of you just so I could survive loving you.
Tired of betraying myself every time I chose you over me.

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Personal

[From the Diaries]

Can you please, just for once, be honest with me? Did you relapse, and are you struggling to stop? Is that why you’re lying to me?

Are you avoiding the truth because you think I’ll be angry, so instead you keep choosing to hurt me over and over again?

I’m not strong enough for this.

I thought my tears would move you. I thought seeing me break down again and again would make your heart ache. I thought it would matter to you.

But it feels like it doesn’t.

It feels like my pain means nothing to you. Like I’m standing right in front of you, begging you to love me the right way, and I’m talking to a wall.

And all the while, you keep hurting me.

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Personal

[From the Diaries]

I’m sorry. This is a very difficult place to be in. When a relationship is already damaged and slowly dying, trying to repair it while carrying all the wounds it has already caused both of us is incredibly hard.

I wanted to believe you wouldn’t do anything that would hurt me again. But it turns out that’s not true. And it happened so soon. Maybe it wasn’t intentional, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You say you understand me. You say you want to be my safe space. But right now, those feel like words without much truth behind them. And when someone is trying to move past a hundred painful things, even one small incident can bring all of those hundred things rushing back.

I understand that you’re not well right now. And honestly, I’m not either. We’re both in difficult places, and I don’t know if either of us has the patience or emotional space to hold the other properly.

Sometimes two broken people care about each other deeply, but still can’t make it work. Two broken people can’t always love each other in the way they both need.

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Personal

[From the Diaries]

Look, being in touch with you isn’t doing me any good right now. I told you earlier that we needed to take a break because I needed the space, but that was ignored, and things have only escalated from bad to worse. At this point, I need to go no contact, and I need you to respect that.

These recycled conversations are exhausting. You did things that made me angry, and now you act like you don’t understand why I’m reacting the way I am. This didn’t come out of nowhere. Your actions and the way you’ve handled things brought us here, yet you keep acting like you don’t know where any of this is coming from.

So please, leave me alone. I don’t know for how long, and honestly, I’m okay if it ends up being forever, because being in contact with you is bringing out the worst in me.

The only reason I haven’t blocked you is because I thought we could remain civil. But you continue to cross the boundaries I’ve tried to set.

I know you’re going through a difficult time, and I’m sorry for that. But right now I can’t help you. I need to help myself.

So please, for the sake of both of us, just leave me alone.

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Personal

[From the Diaries]

After my last run about two weeks ago, I really thought I was getting back into my running and fitness groove. But since then, two weeks have passed. I’ve planned in my head so many times to go to the gym or go for a run. And then when the moment actually comes, I just can’t do it.

It’s not physical. It’s more like I’m mentally drained, almost frozen.

A lot of people say that challenging yourself helps you get out of whatever stuck place you’re in. And maybe that’s true for some people. But honestly, when I’m in a crash, going for a run or working out doesn’t magically fix it. I’ll finish the workout and come back home and continue crashing. Sometimes your mind just has to take its natural toll before it settles again.

But today I was tired of waiting for that.

So I challenged myself. Not because I thought it would suddenly fix everything, but because I wanted to prove to myself that I could still show up, even while feeling like this.

So here I am, on this run.

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Personal

[From the Diaries]

The tweet wasn’t even a direct call-out. It was a general reflection. But you think everything is about you because you can’t step outside your own self-importance long enough to empathize with someone you’ve wronged.

I don’t owe you explanations for my tweets, but since you clearly don’t get it: it was about how that kind of language is used to guilt-trip people into forgiving abuse and betrayal.

But if the shoe fits, please fucking wear it. And I bet you know that it damn well does.

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Personal

[From the Diaries]

I don’t really love my scars.

Honestly, I hate them. I hate them every time I see them because they’re so ugly. And that anger always pulls me back to the moment they happened. It’s an instant trigger, something I’ll probably have to live with for a long time.

The scars from before had mostly healed. They were barely visible anymore, like quiet reminders fading into the background. Until this last time.

I hate myself for doing it. I hate how visible my suffering has become, how it sits on my skin for everyone to see. It feels like something that should have stayed private, but instead it’s written on my body.

But strangely, I don’t think about it all the time.

I just live with it.

Some days I notice them more than others. Some days they make me angry. Some days I wish I could erase them completely. But most days, they’re just there, part of the landscape of my body, part of a story I didn’t know how to survive any other way at the time.

I don’t love them. I’m not ready to call them beautiful.

But they are proof that I’m still here.

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[From the Diaries, July 2025]

Healing

I’d like to believe I’m healing. With a lot of missteps here and there, I still think I’m on the right path. I’m self-aware. I know my wounds. I know where it hurts, and for the most part I know why it hurts too.

But healing brought me something I wasn’t prepared for: the loss of feeling.

I don’t love people blindly anymore. I don’t hold on to people who don’t treat me the way I deserve. And that’s a big change for me, because I used to be the complete opposite.

I used to be the “love me, choose me” kind of girl. But the truth is, most of the time I was also the girl who stayed even when I wasn’t chosen. I was too understanding. Too forgiving. I gave people the space to play with my feelings without expecting any accountability from them.

I used to feel everything intensely. Now I feel almost nothing.

I’m not in love anymore. I’m not even in love with the idea of being in love. And honestly, I don’t even know what love means to me right now.

This relationship showed me some of the best and worst parts of myself. That’s what relationships do. Even when they don’t work out, they teach you something.

At first it showed me how big my heart is. How unconditional my love can be. How forgiving, nurturing, caring, and trusting I can be.

But eventually there comes a moment when you realize what’s really going on. And when that realization hits, everything shifts. It might feel like it’s too late, but in reality it’s the moment things finally become clear.

And then another part of me shows up. The part I’ve always known existed.

The cold part.

Once I switch off emotionally, I really switch off. To the point where it might look like I was never in love at all.

But I was.

And that’s what makes this strange. Because even though I’ve detached now, a part of me still wants to feel those things again.

I want to be in love again one day, but this time with someone who treats me right. I want to feel excited about someone. I want butterflies again. I want that childish happiness and that slightly crazy infatuation that comes with liking someone deeply.

Because the absence of all of that just feels empty.

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Personal

[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.

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[From the Diaries]

I don’t usually talk about how bad it gets.

There’s too much shame around it. The kind of things people don’t really understand. When something doesn’t look normal, people immediately react with discomfort. Icky. Ew. What’s wrong with you?

But for me, it’s just, reality.

Some days I can’t even begin to explain how it feels inside my own mind. I think deep down I know when a low is coming. It’s like something in my gut senses it before the rest of me does. But the timing is never convenient, never when life pauses and says, okay, now you can fall apart. So I ignore it as much as I can.

And because I’m able to keep functioning through it, it gets labeled something neat and clinical: functional depression.

Functional. As if that word somehow makes it manageable.

Because from the outside it looks like I’m choosing when to let it take over. Like it happens on my terms. But the truth is, it only looks that way because I fight it until I can’t anymore.

I’ve been in bed for over twenty-four hours.

Yesterday I forced myself to go for a run because the ugly voices in my head were getting louder. I started feeling heavy in my body, fat in my mind, exhausted in a way sleep doesn’t fix. I thought maybe movement would quiet it. Maybe a workout would shake something loose.

Instead, it made everything worse.

I’m not paralyzed, but I feel mentally handicapped. Like my brain is wrapped in fog and every simple task requires a level of effort I don’t have.

And then there are the relationships around you. The weight of them.

Lucky for me, there’s really only one that matters right now. The one I have with my boyfriend.

But even that feels broken some days. Damaged in ways I don’t even know how to begin repairing.

But then there he was.

When I get into these states, when my mind refuses to cooperate with the world, I stop trying to analyze it. I used to ask why. I used to try to solve it. Now I just let it wash over me and wait for it to pass, hoping that eventually I’ll come back to myself. Hoping the energy returns. The will to exist normally again.

On a TikTok live. With a woman he knows exactly how I feel about.

There had been rumors about them before. The thought of them together already made my stomach turn. And a few weeks ago I had found out that he had texted her from one of his fake accounts. His explanation was that he heard her grandfather had passed away, so he thought of messaging her.

“Helloooo,” he wrote. At 06:04 in the morning.

Does that make sense?

I wanted it to. I really did. I wanted to believe the explanation because believing it would have been easier than accepting what it actually looked like.

But it didn’t make sense.

And my mental state, my inability to function sometimes, is not an excuse for someone to take advantage of that vulnerability.

The person I’m supposed to be with should understand me. Especially the flawed parts. Because they are part of me.

But that wasn’t even half of what I discovered.

At one point I realized he had saved his ex’s number under his sister’s name. Clever. Calculated. And another girl’s number saved under a friend’s name, just so I wouldn’t suspect anything.

The level of intention behind that kind of deception is its own kind of cruelty.

So when I saw the TikTok live, something inside me snapped.

How dare you?

But what shocked me the most was that he was more angry at me for reacting. As if my anger was the problem. As if he couldn’t understand how that would look, how disrespectful it was, especially when we were supposedly trying to rebuild trust.

You say you want to fix things. And then you go and do something like that.

I don’t even have the words for the exhaustion that follows something like this.

I was already mentally drained.

And now, somehow, I’m expected to carry this too.

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