I think the end might be very close. For the past year, I have been
breaking down every single day. No hope has felt real. Nothing has
brought me any solace. The streets have become constant reminders of her
and what she did, every time I step outside. I can't move freely in this
city—I am like a prisoner. A prisoner of my own mind. I don’t know what
to do. I don’t know who to talk to. I don’t know how to ease this
restless mind. I have no one who truly listens. Everyone somehow laughs
inside at me: "It’s just a girl. Forget her. Let her go." But what they
don’t see are the deep emotions I felt for the first time—with her. All
the care I held inside for her. All the love I experienced in her
presence and in her absence. No one knows. Not even she.
Sometimes I feel like reaching out, to tell her about the suffering she
caused—the life she shattered. I know it’s my responsibility to rebuild
my life, but when we open ourselves to others, they affect us, sometimes
permanently. She knew how I had been fighting myself and life for the
last ten years. She knew she wasn’t just a girl I dated. She was my
first home—the first person I ever truly connected to. And for fleeting
moments of happiness, she chose to throw it all away. She decided to
watch me break and walk away, cold-bloodedly. I don’t know if I’ll
survive this. And I don’t want anyone reading this to think I’m petty. I
have endured what most wouldn’t. But there’s a limit. There’s energy.
There’s a capacity to tolerate. There’s always a cost-benefit
tradeoff—and the cost I’ve paid far exceeded any gain.
The government here keeps announcing harsh immigration regulations to
limit the number of immigrants. Sadly, it will most likely affect me,
preventing me from settling here. I will have to find a new place
again—this will be the fourth time. I will have to start over from
scratch, but this time carrying a heavy weight of pain inside.
I’m sorry, but I’ve had enough. I can’t control my mind. I can’t think
clearly. I try to work out. I try to talk to people. I try to make
friends. But nothing works. Every day feels like going into battle.
Without my mind functioning, I can’t do well. My job is falling apart.
My entire life here has become a daily struggle to survive. The anger I
carry inside is unbearable. Nothing soothes it. Nothing softens the
pain—except her. Except the one who caused it. I know she is the only
one who can end this bitterness and frustration. But she doesn’t want
to. For her, it’s easier to break me and feel good about it than to face
or fix anything.
And please, whoever reads this, don’t humiliate me in your mind. Don’t
think I was weak. Don’t think I didn’t try. Don’t think I just gave up.
You have no idea how much pain I’ve endured. You don’t know how powerful
the mind is. How could I change or improve my life and thoughts when the
machine responsible for all thinking and processing—my mind—is broken
and malfunctioning? How could I be normal when this machine is damaged?
I am nothing but my mind—it is me, and I am it. Please don’t see me as a
coward. I have lived enough. I have faced things most people never will
in their entire lives. And yes, I will die with some sense of
pride—pride in having done everything I could.
Please, never give anyone that kind of power over your life.
I am not depressed, I don't hate life, I don't dislike people. I had too
many dreams. I wanted to do a lot of things. I planned trips, hobbies,
investments, projects, and more. Most of that was with her I know but I
am someone who can build a life and live. I just don't want that
anymore.
The end is near, I think. The decision to do it for the final time feels
real and close. I am not being emotional.