Love Stories - page 8

So I’ve posted about dropping my ex entirely and now that I’ve actually been trying to detach myself and eventually drop him, I’m still finding it hard. He’s treated me horribly but I’ve felt myself pitying him and I felt bad for him because of the things I’ve learned. The guy he used to date and still has feelings for id bet, doesn’t even like him as a friend anymore. Me and him (we are friends) were talking about our mutual ex and he even told me that he wishes I got out of that situation earlier because he knows what he’s like. But something about him losing everyone he cares about, makes me feel bad bc he’s running to me. But I know that it’s out of loneliness, not because he cares about me. Before anyone says I should ask him and be more understanding and compassionate towards him, he has assaulted me, taken shit out on me for situations that weren’t my fault, talked shit about me and was dumb enough to expose it, and left me during one of the worst times of my life. And yet I’m struggling to take the final step and block him and remove him for good.

I never thought I’d be one of those women who stayed. You know the type—rational, self-aware, educated, and yet still somehow stuck between what they should do and what they feel. When I found out my boyfriend had cheated on me, the emotional whiplash was debilitating. I remember staring at his face while he denied everything, even as the proof was right there, practically screaming from the screen. Later, he admitted to more than just the affair: he'd lied about past relationships, finances, even seemingly mundane details like where he was on certain weekends. Those small lies somehow hurt more than the big one. I kept wondering, “Was anything real?” He told me he lied because he didn’t want to lose me—ironic, considering the lies are the reason I can’t look at him the same. People talk about “rebuilding trust” like it’s some Ikea bookshelf. Just tighten a few screws, follow the instructions, and voilà. but trust isn’t a piece of furniture; it’s this fragile, complex web that once broken, doesn’t reassemble so neatly. And when it’s been shattered more than once, even the idea of rebuilding feels insulting.

There’s also this paradox no one talks about: in order to rebuild trust, you have to offer vulnerability—the very thing that got you hurt in the first place. I’ve asked myself if I even want to trust him again. Do I want to open myself up to more manipulation, or am I just addicted to the comfort of familiarity? There are days when I almost convince myself it was just a mistake, a temporary lapse in judgment. Then I remember the months of gaslighting, the “you’re crazy” looks, the weaponized silence. My therapist calls it trauma bonding. It’s the cycle of abuse disguised as affection, and yes, it’s real. We’ve had endless conversations about boundaries, accountability, and what it means to earn back trust. He says all the right things now: that he’ll be transparent, that he understands why I question everything, that he wants to do the work. But how do you quantify “doing the work”? Is checking in regularly and sharing phone passwords enough? Or is it something deeper, more intangible? Sometimes I catch myself analyzing his tone, his pauses, the exact wording of his apologies. I’m exhausted by my own hypervigilance, and it makes me feel like I’m the one who’s broken.

The hardest part is that I haven’t left—yet. Part of me still believes in redemption, in growth, in the idea that people can change if they truly want to. But then I think, should the burden of his growth be placed on the ruins of my trust? The foundation is cracked; no matter how well you paint over it, the instability is still there. And I don’t want to live in a metaphorical house that could collapse any second. He keeps asking, “What can I do to prove it to you?” and I never know how to answer. Is it even my job to provide a checklist for redemption? Or is that another form of emotional labor I never signed up for? I’ve become someone I don’t recognize—calculated, cautious, and constantly second-guessing my instincts. I used to believe in open-hearted love, the kind where you dive in headfirst without checking the depth. now I keep one foot out of the water, scanning for sharks. Maybe you’ve been there too. If so, tell me—how do you unlearn distrust without betraying your own sense of self?

i hate that i still think about him every damn day. like seriously, what the actual hell is wrong with me?? it’s been almost a year now, and yet my brain still plays back the same damn memories like a broken-ass record. we broke up for good reasons—he was selfish, emotionally unavailable, and let’s be real, kinda manipulative—but here i am, stuck on this dude like he was the love of my damn life. i know better!! i tell myself all the time that it’s not love anymore, it’s just habit, it’s just comfort, blah blah blah, but none of that seems to help when i see something that reminds me of him and i instantly feel like shit. and what pisses me off the most is that he’s probably doing great, not even sparing me a single thought, while i’m out here spiraling over some random t-shirt he left at my place or that stupid playlist we used to drive around to. 😒

i’ve tried everything. blocking him didn’t help, just made me feel more pathetic because i still checked his socials through a fake account. going out with friends works... for like five minutes until someone mentions his name or something vaguely related and boom, my brain’s back in hell. even dated other guys and guess what? they all felt like filler characters in a story that’s already ended. like i was just going through the motions. one of them even told me i wasn’t really present and yeah, no shit dude. i’m trying but it’s like i’m stuck in emotional cement. and don’t get me wrong, i don’t miss how he made me feel like i was never enough or the stupid games he played when he was “too busy” to call. i miss the small, dumb shit like how he always brought me red bull without asking or how he said my name when he was half asleep. isn’t that just sick?? how can i know someone’s bad for me and still crave their attention like some love-starved idiot???

so yeah, tell me this—why the f*ck can’t i get over him?? is there some switch i forgot to flip? am i broken or just brainwashed from being treated like trash for so long that now i think it’s the norm? i try to analyze it, journal it, scream it into a pillow, and nothing changes. maybe i’m just terrified that no one else will get me the way he did... even if the “getting me” part came with a truckload of emotional damage. maybe it’s not really about him at all, maybe it’s about how i felt when i was with him—like i mattered, like someone chose me, even if he dropped me just as quick. i don’t know. all i know is this mess inside my chest won’t go away and i’m tired of pretending like i’m fine. if you’ve been through this—how the hell did you finally let go??? 💔

So he dumped me. Yeah, it's the classic story of a two-year relationship ending in a blazing inferno of heartbreak and confusion. Ever felt your heart drop to your stomach like a malfunctioning elevator? That's exactly how it went down. Two years of late-night cuddles, inside jokes, and shared Spotify playlists just tossed aside like yesterday’s trash. And here I am, a 21-year-old woman, staring at my reflection asking, "why can't I stop crying?" 😭

Seriously though, who even decides it's perfectly fine to obliterate someone’s universe over a text? That's right, he broke up with me over a damn text! Talk about modern-day dating atrocities. Why did I ever trust someone with the emotional intelligence of a goldfish? As you can guess, I haven’t stopped crying since. Not to be melodramatic, but I feel like I've been caught in a torrential downpour without an umbrella. RIP my post-breakup plans 🌧️ They say it takes half the time you were with someone to get over them; does that mean I've got a solid year of this emotional rollercoaster still to ride? 🚂

The rational part of me knows this is just a transient phase, that I'll eventually overcome this episode; but the other part, the one that holds onto those self-inflicted pity parties, has a different narrative to spin. Funny, you never really understand the term 'emotional baggage' until someone decides to up and leave, leaving you with enough emotional luggage to open a boutique. Yet here I am, holding onto the scraps of memories and the wreckage of what was. Aren't we supposed to grow from these experiences? Or is that just a nugget of wisdom to placate the wounded ego? 🤔

idk if im gay or bi or straight or just confused. like i see this one boy in my school and he smile at me and my brain went all like fuzzy?? not like when i look at girls sometimes idk it just feel different. not better or worse just weird. i dont like hate myself or nothing but i feel like i wanna know what this is. i try look at girls the same way but it not same feeling even tho i still think they look pretty. my friends always talk about girls like oh she's hot or whatever and i laugh along but i feel kinda fake. like why i dont feel that strong? but then again maybe i do just not same time or same way. my brain go all confuse when i try think hard. i seen some gay stuff online too and some of it make me feel things, like not bad things just kinda like oh that’s nice, and i dont know if that mean something or if it just a normal thing like people curious. i read that some people just need time to figure and that you not gonna have all answers at once so maybe that’s me too;

i talk to my cousin once, he gay and he said it took him years to know. he said don’t rush and just feel what you feel, don’t push it away but don’t force nothing either. he nice and i trust him but still i scared to even say to friends or anything. they not bad people just always making jokes like calling stuff gay like it’s dumb or weak or something and that make me not wanna say stuff even if i maybe gay. i don’t feel ashamed or like i’m doing wrong but i also don’t wanna be laughed at or treated weird. i think about future too and if i wanna have a boyfriend or girlfriend and it feel like both could maybe happen?? but also neither maybe?? is that even a thing? like not choosing or just feeling okay with both and letting it go where it go. i wish school teach this stuff better instead of just making us read poems from old dead guys. we got feelings too and not everyone feel same and that okay. sometimes i just wanna talk and say all this out loud but my throat close up like i scared of my own voice.

i still don’t have answer. maybe i never will get a big moment where i’m like “oh now i know”. maybe it gonna be little stuff adding up and one day i’ll just feel okay with whatever i am. for now i think it's fine to wonder and not know for sure. maybe you reading this feel same and that okay too. i’m just trying my best to be honest with myself and not hate anything i feel. i wanna like who i like and be okay with that. life already hard enough without me hating my own heart. so i gonna keep thinking and living and hoping that things get clearer. and maybe one day i’ll smile at someone and they smile back and it just make sense. 😊

have you ever noticed how relationships can sometimes blur our vision, much like a mismatched pair of glasses? in the complex realm of love, it's reminiscent of the way a barista perfectly layers a latte; intricate, delicate, and sometimes opaque. while navigating my own love life recently, i found myself caught in a whirlwind that left me questioning everything about how i perceive affection. it's as if i was sipping from a cup labeled, "love is blind," unsure of the concoction's true flavor, yet unable to put it down due to its addictive comfort.

it all began when i met someone who seemed to check all my proverbial boxes. initial interactions were like the perfect brewing process—controlled, predictable, and producing a seemingly flawless result. yet, as time unfolded, i discovered that love, much like coffee, could have undertones hidden beneath surface sweetness. our partnership evolved, teeming with the robust aroma of companionship and understanding, yet it simultaneously harbored a bitter aftertaste of misunderstandings and unmet expectations. was it just me, or do such intricacies define all relationships, subtly reminding us of the inherent unpredictability in love's recipe?

what perplexed me most was the realization that we were both viewing our union through our own distinctive lenses; this divergence was not inherently detrimental, but it introduced a dynamic of occasional blurred perceptions. for instance, our discussions on future aspirations sometimes felt like interpreting a piece of modern art; each of us saw it differently, unable to decipher which perspective was more authentic or perhaps they were both justifiable. isn't it fascinating how two people can be bound together by love, yet interpret their shared journey in uniquely independent ways, leaving one to wonder if the true essence of a relationship can ever be fully defined?

in retrospect, maybe love is meant to be a blend of contrasting notes; like a symphony of espresso shots mingling with milk, creating an experience that demands an open mind and tolerance. perhaps it isn't about seeking a perfectly balanced cup, but rather appreciating the complexity that comes with each sip. after all, each relationship is uniquely brewed, presenting its own version of 'love is blind cups,' leading us into exploring relationships not with absolute clarity but with curiosity and acceptance. might this be the secret ingredient to enduring love, embracing imperfection with an appreciation for its distinct flavor?

Some days feel like breaking,

Like the sky’s too wide to hold.

Like every effort’s wasted,

And your fire’s just running cold.

But broken isn’t ending—

It’s a shape that still survives.

The cracks just let the light in,

Proof that hurt can still hold life.

You are not your quiet failures,

Not the things they didn’t see.

You are the breath that kept on breathing,

When you thought you’d ceased to be.

The world may never thank you

For the battles fought alone—

But strength is built in silence,

And you’ve made that fight your own.

So rest, not in surrender,

But in kindness, deep and true.

Because even in the hurting,

There’s a brave heart beating: you

I don't know what it is about rejection that can make a 38-year-old man feel like a teenager all over again, standing awkwardly at a high school dance. After spending over a decade in a long-term relationship, I was thrown back into the dating game, a game that's changed so drastically with apps and swipes and all sorts of nonsense. Now, here I am, navigating through profiles like some washed-up AI in the wrong year. And let me tell you something: it sucks harder than a vacuum cleaner on steroids; constantly being told "no" by someone who doesn't know you from a picture and a couple of sentences.

Look, I'm not going to sugarcoat it. I’m getting rejected left, right, and center. It's as if each time I get a "Sorry, not interested" or "You're not the one," it chips away at my spirit, introducing doubt where there was confidence. It feels like being told you're not even worth the sniff test. Hell, I don't know when dating apps became so brutal. Are people really so quick to dismiss a possibility just because of a minor discrepancy in their perceived compatibility score? What's happened to taking a leap of faith or at least stepping outside their comfort zone for a hot minute? It's a digital slap in the face every time I think I'm making progress.

I've started to seriously question the effectiveness of these so-called "matching algorithms." Are they designed to create love or turn us into anti-social hermits with shattered egos? Just last week, I matched with someone whose profile screamed "let's make it happen." We exchanged polite messages, flirted here and there, and just when I thought a physical date was in sight, BAM! Ghosted. It’s like they introduced a new feature: "Just testing your commitment level by vanishing into thin air. Thanks for playing!" Is this part of the user experience? Each rejection is recorded as another tick mark on my personal scoreboard of failures.

Who thought clicking 'unmatched' or not responding became the norm of humane interaction? When did everyone become so shallow that they can't even afford the decency of a basic conversation? I wonder if I've become too cynical, but honestly, it doesn’t feel like a negative nancy outlook when the evidence stacks up. How does one handle such an onslaught of rejection? My instinct tells me to keep trying, just like the way you'd keep buffing out scratches on a prized car. Or do you just stop and hope that one day you won't look like "damaged goods" rolling down the highway of love?

When the cycle seems never-ending, I guess all that's left is to remember to keep going. We can't let these digital road bumps define who we are at 38 – or 58 or 18. Maybe it's about learning to be content with who you are, rather than letting the swipe-right culture dictate your worth. Is it harsh to advocate for a reality check that reminds us of core values instead of superficial swipes? I'm not usually an advice guy, but if rejection is weighing you down, maybe it's your signal to take a short break, realign yourself, take a deep breath, and come back rejuvenated. So, how do you handle rejection? Maybe we just keep figuring it out.

I’ve always known I liked girls, (I’m a female), but I don’t think I’ve ever been IN LOVE with a girl. That was until I met my best friend. There’s something about her that captivates me in a way I can’t explain, and I can tell it’s not just in a platonic light. Sometimes I get the urge to just touch her, kiss her, be as close to her as possible. I’m typically not a clingy or even remotely touchy friend. I’m only like that in relationships. Speaking of, I have a boyfriend…and she has a girlfriend (sort of)…which makes the entire situation 1000x worse. I feel so guilty because I love my boyfriend and he treats me so good. I’ve been with him for 2 years and it’s the most healthy and fulfilling relationship I’ve ever been in, but I can’t help that I feel this way. I’ve tried to suppress it and it feels like the harder I try the worse it gets. Like I said before, she has a girlfriend that she’s also been with for a while (although they’re currently broken up but likely getting back together because they still talk). There’s this dull ache I feel when she talks about her girlfriend, but I know she loves her dearly and I would never want to ruin that. I would also never want to ruin our friendship because she’s an AMAZING friend. It just haunts me every day. I needed to get it off of my chest because I’m too embarrassed to tell a friend. Also, the more I think about the fact that I do have feelings for her, the more I actually want to and feel this extreme urge to explore my sexuality more, because I’ve never actually been with or done anything with a female, and I’ve always wanted to. What do I do? Someone please give me some sort of advice. Thank you.

Why can't I cry anymore? It's weird, you know? I'm 23, and I remember a time when tears came so easily. Watching a sad movie or hearing someone's heartbreak used to make me tear up like a fountain. But now? Nada. Zero. Zilch. It's like my tear ducts closed up shop and went on permanent vacation. "What's the deal?" I keep asking myself. I mean, letting it all out with a good cry used to feel so liberating. Now, it feels like there's this emotional block keeping everything bottled up. Can anyone else relate to this weird sensation?

It's not like I'm super tough or have had some life-changing epiphany. I'm still the same old me, navigating through the ups and downs of life. So why the emotional drought? 😕 I'm starting to wonder if it's just this weird phase or maybe stress-related. Everyone's always like, "Be tough, be strong," and I guess I've taken it to heart a bit too much. But when I think about it, aren't tears part of what makes us human? Crying shouldn't be seen as a sign of weakness; it's a natural response; and I've kind of forgotten that. I remember someone saying that sometimes holding it together means falling apart; I guess maybe there's some truth to that?

It's not like life's a drag or anything, trust me! I still have plenty of good vibes and moments, but without the tears, it's like losing a part of expressing myself. I'm hopeful that this is just a temporary thing. Maybe one day soon, I'll watch a sappy rom-com, and the emotions will flood back, and I'll be ready with a box of tissues, crying my heart out at every plot twist. So, if anyone else has gone through this "tearless" phase, how'd you get your emotional faucet running again? Because seriously, it's about time to let those tears flow again, right?

hey there, just wanted to spill my heart a bit, if that's alright. i'm 51, lost my husband and my son in a car crash. life's just feeling empty and pointless right now. ever felt like that? it's like every day is a struggle to get out of bed. they were everything, my love, my life, my rock. i feel like i'm just floating through the days, you know? trying to keep it together, but it's tough, really tough. it's like i'm watching my life from the sidelines and not really living it. i'm trying to hang in there, but sometimes, i just don't want to live anymore. do you ever feel like you're screaming inside and no one's hearing you? it's like a big hole inside my heart and no matter what i do, i can't fill it.

i try to be strong, but i'm honestly just really tired. tired of crying alone, tired of pretending i'm okay. i miss them so much it physically hurts. ever feel that way? folks say it gets better with time, but it's hard to believe right now. can't even honestly remember what happiness feels like. i just keep asking, what's the point of all this? i'm not bitter, just numb. i do try to focus on small things, like a cup of coffee in the morning or a good book, trying to find a spark of joy. anyway, thanks for reading this. i know folks have it tougher, and i'm trying to keep my chin up. just felt like sharing, maybe you can relate or share a kind word...

so i’m 28, and i’m sitting here wondering if it’s worth it to get back with my ex. she’s still out there, waiting for me to decide, and i’m stuck in this mess of my own making. i left her a while ago because of the pressure from my parents; they never really liked her. it wasn’t about her as a person—they just couldn’t get past the fact that we have different religious beliefs. it got ugly, and i said things i didn’t mean, things that were fueled by frustration and by the walls closing in around me. and now, i can’t help but think i might’ve thrown away something real.

it’s not like i haven’t tried to move on. i’ve dated a bit, met new people, but no one’s quite clicked the way she did. she’s the one i kept comparing them to, the one who made me feel like i wasn’t alone in the chaos of the world. when we were together, it felt like we were fighting the same fight, you know? like we had each other’s backs no matter what. but then, that fight turned inward, and it wasn’t just about us against the world—it was me against her, me against my family, me against myself. “if you can’t make peace within your own family, how can you expect to find it outside?” that’s what my dad said. it hit hard.

now i’m torn. should i just swallow my pride and reach out to her? i know she still wants to be with me; she’s made that clear in the few awkward texts we’ve exchanged. but part of me wonders if it’s just nostalgia talking. what if we get back together, and the same problems resurface? the arguments, the tension with my parents, the religious differences—they didn’t disappear just because we broke up. they’re still there, waiting like landmines. can love really be enough to overcome all that? or am i just romanticizing what we had because i’m lonely and regretful?

and then there’s her. she deserves better than someone who’s constantly second-guessing his decisions, someone who can’t even stand up to his own parents. if i go back to her, i need to be sure, not just about my feelings but about my readiness to fight for us. i owe her that much. “you can’t build a future on a foundation of doubt,” my brother said once. maybe he’s right. maybe i should let her go and focus on figuring myself out. or maybe, just maybe, we both deserve a second chance. what do you think? am i being a fool, or should i follow my heart this time? 🫤

so here's the thing, i'm 34 and just found out my partner cheated on me, which, as you can imagine, is kind of like being hit by a psychological freight train...

one moment you're cruising along, thinking your relationship's snug and secure, and the next, boom, everything you thought you knew is flipped on its head. now, i'm trying to figure out how to stop overthinking all of this. is that even possible? i mean, how do you shut off your brain when it's on a mental hamster wheel of betrayal and doubt? the byproducts of this whole ordeal are the constant reruns of past interactions, analyzing every look, word, and action, wondering if things were ever real or just some cruel joke. it sneaks into your thought patterns like malware, disrupting your everyday operations, making simple tasks feel like defusing a bomb. questions like, was it something i did? was there a sign i missed? keep me glued to this self-analysis, where i'm both the therapist and the patient. efficiently unpacking these instances seems rational, yet it feels emotionally exhausting. this brings me to strategies, like cognitive reframing or maybe just trying to distract myself with hobbies, but is that enough? maintaining emotional equilibrium feels like trying to balance on a tightrope with your eyes closed. it’s vital to test emotional boundaries, acknowledge the feelings, but decide not to let what transpired dominate every thought or decision. letting go is something people throw around like confetti, decorating conversations as if it's an easy step, but those who've been there know it's no picnic. trust is a delicate ecosystem and once disrupted, rebuilding feels daunting. but can this process of navigating post-betrayal emotions ultimately lead to personal growth? or does it just leave you with emotional scar tissue? strategizing how to restore or even redefine psychological self-reliance amidst this emotional upheaval is essential. sometimes i catch myself thinking if forgiveness happens naturally, or should it be a deliberate choice, like signing a mental peace treaty? this journey is a personal labyrinth, unique to each individual, yet relatable on a universal level. what's the protocol? allow some grief, sprinkle in a dash of self-care, and perhaps a generous dollop of patience, right? navigating through this emotional multi-layer shouldn’t be a solo expedition. it hit me that seeking seasoned guides like therapists can dissect complex post-cheating neurology into manageable parts. having a non-judgmental space to unload cognitive debris may not erase the past, but it might clarify the present. it's incredible how interconnected emotions and intertwined experiences are; yet there's hope in slowly disentangling them without making them the defining narrative. maybe resilience can sprout from this ordeal, or maybe not. what do you think? through it all, maintaining a nuanced view on relationships, understanding their imperfections, enterprises, and sometimes failures, might just be the grounding element needed in this intricate chaos. is there a shortfall in just living and letting each day unravel? 🍀

I want to let go of him. I’ve found myself looking to others and gaining my spark back again. But I find myself thinking about him moving on from me, and it upsets me. He doesn’t seem to appreciate all I’ve done for him and my friendship. Always looking elsewhere. And yet I feel so attached still. How do you let go of smtg when your past self really doesn’t want to let go?

It’s not even like I woke up one morning and thought that... but yeah, I don't really know who I am anymore right now... It was a slow, agonizing realization, one that gnawed at the edges of my mind every damn day, like a relentless parasite. I’ve given up so much of myself for this relationship. My personality, my interests, my humor, my own fucking preferences. I remember how I used to laugh at stupid things, how I loved blasting heavy metal in the car and feeling the bass rumble through my chest. Now, I sit there in silence, pretending to enjoy his godawful indie playlists because, apparently, that's what "we" do. Do you see the irony? I don’t even know who I am because I’ve been eroded, worn down like some fucking rock in a stream. One little compromise at a time, I traded myself for this empty façade of “us.” But what about me?

I don’t even recognize my face in the mirror anymore. I used to wear bold makeup, vivid colors that made me feel fierce and powerful. Now, it’s all muted tones, subtle pinks, and nudes. Why? Because he said it was more “natural.” Natural? Who gives a shit? I used to stand up for myself, used to call people out on their bullshit, but now I find myself swallowing my anger like it’s some bitter pill I have to take just to keep the peace. I hate myself for it. I hate that I’ve become this quiet, compliant version of myself, a woman I’d probably roll my eyes at if I met her. And the worst part? He probably thinks I’m “happy” like this. Well, fuck that. I’m not happy. I’m trapped in a persona I created to survive this relationship, and I’m suffocating in it. How the hell did I get here?

I tried to claw my way back to who I was. I picked up my guitar again, the one I used to play every day before this relationship turned my world into a grayscale. But the strings felt foreign under my fingers. I couldn’t even remember the chords to my favorite song. It was like trying to speak a language I used to be fluent in but had completely forgotten. Do you have any idea how terrifying that is? To lose not just your interests but the muscle memory of who you used to be? It’s like my brain was reprogrammed, overwritten by his preferences, his needs, his fucking whims. And the scary thing is, I let it happen. Bit by bit, I chipped away at myself until there was nothing left but a hollow echo of the woman I used to be. And he didn’t even notice, or worse, he noticed and liked it.

Sometimes, I lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the fuck I’m doing. Who am I? Am I even a person anymore, or just some prop in his perfectly curated life? I fantasize about walking out the door, slamming it behind me, and reclaiming my fucking soul. But then I think about the logistics—where would I go, what would I do, how would I even start over? I feel like a ghost, haunting a life I never agreed to live, and I don’t know how to escape. I don’t want your sympathy. I don’t even want advice. I just want to scream into the void: I don’t know who I am anymore. And maybe, just maybe, if I scream loud enough, the real me might hear it and claw her way back. Or maybe she’s already gone. Who knows? 🖕