THE THREAD

Title: Drifting Pieces of Me

Journal Entry: January 8th, 2023

Almost 19, still dwelling on the pain of losing the first guy I looked at and truly felt something for. A new session, my third year, and yet I haven't lived. I'm searching for something, though I'm not sure what it is.

The weight of heartbreak is suffocating. The disappointment, failed hopes, dashed dreams. Watching someone you care for deeply become a stranger and being powerless to stop it. The excitement I once had for school is gone, replaced by apathy. I see him everywhere—in my dreams, in strangers' faces, in spaces we once stood and talked.

I feel trapped.

Why do I still think of someone who clearly didn't care about me? They say time heals all wounds, but time feels like a slow poison. Each day drags endlessly, and with every hour, I sink deeper into the hollow he left behind. I just need to know I was enough, that I am enough.

Days are quiet, but my nights are deafening. My roommate offers temporary relief, but I'm not one to open up about my struggles—I learned that lesson the hard way at 8.

To escape the drumbeat in my head, I sought refuge outside. It's ironic, really, for someone who crawls and hides in the dark. But now, the inside was louder than the outside. My thoughts echoed within my room's walls, so I ran. I started partying, hoping to drown my pain in noise, but parties weren't my thing. They did little to help.

While others laughed, drank, and got high, I stood on the sidelines, lost in my own mind. I met a string of guys, surrounded myself with friends, desperate for distraction. It felt like chasing a drug—addictive, but hollow. Deep down, I wasn't ready to feel again.

For a while, it was good to laugh, to let loose with friends, but when left alone, the memories I tried so hard to suppress crept back in. I hated who I was becoming. What was I doing to myself? Searching for shallow connections, lost in the chaos of my own making.

I missed the old me.

Before all of this. Before HIM.

At least back then, I wasn't emotionally tortured—or maybe I just didn't notice. Every guy in the room felt the same: a distraction. None of it was real. I didn't feel real, either. Slowly, I was turning into everything I once criticized, and it broke me.

How could one person have this much influence over my life? Was I really that weak? He didn't have the right to make me feel this way.

No, it was all in my head.

I gave him the power.

I knew I couldn't continue like this. I couldn't keep running from my emotions. I needed to face them. ALL OF THEM.

The holiday break brought much-needed relief from the torment of school and social media. School had been tough—financially, academically, and emotionally—and it weighed on me.

Now 19, I returned home.

I decided it was time to confront my feelings, to grieve fully. I had to feel the pain I'd been burying for so long. I let the memories flood in. It was time to let go. I cried myself to sleep, it was easier blocking away all the hurt or was it? Slowly, the pain began to fade. They couldn't hurt me anymore; they were just memories. And I was here. I was standing.

No encounter is a mistake. They all teach you something.

I learned pain.

I learned to face my emotions.

I found courage.

I met new people and started feeling lighter, more in control. I began to learn how to be okay with being alone again. Or maybe I was never truly okay—I just hadn't realized how much it bothered me. I leaned on anime and online gaming, distractions that once masked my loneliness.

The loneliness lingered, but I wasn't the same girl I was when I got here. I was stronger. I wasn't there yet, but I was closer. And for now, that's enough.

Break flew by, and soon, it was a new semester—my final year in university. I could breathe again. I was healing.

And as I stood at the park once more, I felt something that had eluded me for over a year:

Hope.