I started going to the gym again. Eight months of stagnation, of
watching my body shrink, my strength fade. For a few hours after working
out, I felt something—something other than emptiness. But then reality
hit: I lost six kilograms. Three years ago, when I first started
lifting, I worked so hard to gain 13 kg. Now, half of that is gone, just
like everything else in my life.
The rush of endorphins was fleeting, a cruel reminder that my body is
still capable of feeling something good. But as quickly as it came, it
was drowned out by the same inescapable weight—her. The memories, the
loss, the endless loop of thoughts I can’t shut off.
I don’t know what to do. I am trapped between hope and despair, and
despair wins most of the time. There are moments when I convince myself
that I’ll be okay, that this suffering is temporary. And then, just as
quickly, I collapse back into the same abyss. I look at my life and see
nothing but ruin. My work is suffering. My health, both physical and
mental, is wrecked. I can’t even step outside without feeling like the
whole world is suffocating me. Because she is everywhere. Because she
lives ten minutes away. Because every street, every corner, every place
I go is a place we could have been together. A place we could have made
memories in. A life that could have been ours.
I know life doesn’t stop for anyone, but that’s a lie, isn’t it? Life
does stop. It stops in all the ways that matter. The world keeps
spinning, but my world is frozen in time. Places lose their meaning. A
new place isn’t a fresh start—it’s just another empty, lifeless space.
Celebrations feel like a cruel joke. I watch people smile, laugh,
embrace, and I wonder how they do it. How do they not see the emptiness?
How do they not feel the nothingness that I feel? Every big event, every
holiday, every moment that should hold some joy only twists the knife
deeper. Because the one person I wanted to share it all with is
gone—without a second thought, without looking back, without caring.
Sometimes hope tries to creep in, but it never lasts. It’s fragile, a
thin layer of ice that shatters under the weight of a single memory. A
single thought is enough to drag me back under. I don’t know how to move
forward. This—this pain, this void, this absolute nothingness—is the
only thing that has ever broken me to this extent. I don’t even know how
to think about her anymore. How do you process something like this? How
do you make sense of a person who could destroy you so completely and
walk away without a trace of guilt?
How do you watch someone break, watch them fall to their lowest, see
them on the edge of life itself, and still look them in the eyes and
say, I like someone else. He is nice. He is my boyfriend. How?
What is wrong with people? What is wrong with this sick, hollow
world?
Two years. Two years of knowing every single part of her—every trauma,
every secret, every dream, every fear. Two years of shared nights,
whispered confessions, promises that now mean nothing. Two years of
believing, only to be discarded like I never mattered. And for what? For
someone she doesn’t even love? For someone who will never know her the
way I did?
Eight months. Eight months and I still can’t look at another girl. It
feels wrong. It feels like spitting on everything I felt, everything I
gave, everything I was. It feels like a betrayal—not just of her, but of
myself. A betrayal of all the times I told her I loved her. That she
mattered. That she was everything. And the worst part? The part that
makes me hate myself the most? If she called me tomorrow, if she needed
me, if she was hurt, or lost, or even just lonely—I wouldn’t hesitate. I
wouldn’t walk away. I would be there in an instant.
Because no matter what she did, no matter how much she tore me apart, I
could never abandon her. But she abandoned me without a second
thought.
And I don’t know how to live with that.