“You want to come over and fuck?” I knew I shouldn’t have snooped.

“You want to come over and fuck?” I knew I shouldn’t have snooped. I had never done it before, with anyone. My heart wrenched as I scrolled through images of girls baring themselves to him.

The words “my ex” stared right back at me, my throat tightened. I guess that was accurate, we hadn’t even been sleeping in the same room for the past 6 months. Were we even together? Were we even friends? My heart sank deeper.

I looked around at the room I had been asked to sleep in, the mattress laying on the floor, the dirty spare sheets, no personal artifacts. I felt like an animal. Most days we hardly spoke to one another. I felt alone, more alone than I had ever felt in my life.

“You shouldn’t have snooped, it’s your own fault” I told myself, choking back tears.


I always blamed myself for everything and he did too, confirming my own self-depreciating beliefs. If I wasn’t the only one, didn’t that make it true? He still wanted me physically, didn’t that mean there was some spark still lingering?

My head and heart felt unsettled. Should I confront him? Would I? Maybe I just wasn’t enough.

“You deserve this.” A voice inside my head shouted. “You’re worthless and pathetic. You deserve this.”

My gut had never misled me before and it hadn’t betrayed me now. Why had I stopped trusting it? My intuition was nearly never wrong, so why was I telling it to shut up now? It had begun to present itself in physical forms demanding my attention — inability to eat, to keep food down, chronic stomach pains, sleep deprivation, dizziness.

I locked his phone, wrapping my arms around my bare legs. I felt frail, fragile, weak. I looked at myself in the mirror, sullen faced and sunken cheeks. Who was this girl staring back at me? I no longer recognized her. I rested my forehead on my knees, and I cried. Deep down I was glad I had looked. That was the day I started to trust my intuition once again.

Memoirs of a broken spirit.

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