Since October 2025, my life not felt the same.
Something inside me changed during that time, though it’s difficult to describe exactly what happened in my life. Many painful things happened in a short time, one after another, almost without giving me time to breathe or understand what was happening. Some of those things were completely outside my control, and the helplessness made the pain even heavier.

It felt as if life suddenly placed a weight on my chest that my heart and mind were naver prepared to carry.

Before October, life felt clearer. My thoughts were sharper, my memory felt reliable, and i could move through my days with a sense of direction. But after the trauma, everything began to feel different. My mind felt heavier, my thoughts became harder to organize, and even simple things sometimes felt confusing. Day by day, my body start to feel weaker.

I wake up tired almost every morning, even when i try to get some rest. the exhaustion does not feel like the normal kind of tiredness that sleep can fix. It feels depeper than that, like my energy has slowly been draining away ever since that time. Sometimes it feels as my body is still carying the shock of everything that happened, even when the world around me has already move forward.

But the hardest part is not only the physical exhaustion. The hardest part is my memory.

My memory has become very fragile. Sometimes, i try to remember something simple, like what happened yesterday, what i ate in the morning, or what someone told me a few hours ago. And yet my minds feels empty, as if the memory was never there to begin with. I’m really scared of it. It’s like trying to hold water in my hands. No matter how tightly i try to hold it, it keeps slipping away through the spaces between my fingers.

There are mornings when i wake up and my mind still believe it is the year 2025. For a brief moment, everything feels confusing. It feels like i’m still living in those days right after the trauma happened to me. Those days were filled with emotional exhaustion, confusion, and kind of pain that is difficult to put into words. My mind seems to return there again and afain, like it’s trapped in that moment.

It takes time before my mind realized that months have already passed. But, even tho the calendar keeps moving forward, part of my mind still lives in those days. And that is what makes this life so exhausting. No matter how much i try to move forward or how much effort i put into healing myself, the wounds inside me still hurt, as if everything only happened yesterday.

Five months have already passed since then. But, time feels strange right now. Every day i try to take small steps to heal myself, to be strong, even my mind feels lost and my heart feels heavy. Some days i feel a little stronger, but other days the pain comes back again like a wave that i can’t stop.

People talk to me, and i try my best to listen. Some friends ask how i’m doing, and they show me care. I know they mean well, i’m very grateful for them. But the sad truth is that sometimes i can’t really remember their kindness, the messages they sent, the words they said, or the moments when they tried to be there for me.

And that makes me feel even more alone.
It’s a strange kind of loneliness. Not because there is no one in the world by my side, but because my own mind can’t trust them or hold the memories of the people who care. So, i choose to distance myself from my family and my friends because i feel very sad and hurt about how bad my memory has changed. I deleted my social media, reduced my conversations with other people, and slowly disappeared.

Living like this is confusing and painful.
I hope life finds a way to bring peace to everyone who has been hurt.

I think, i’m a such coward.
I hate that i grew up learning to be quiet instead of learning to be strong. I hate that i believed love had to be earned by being obedient, by being small, by not asking for too much. Somewhere along the way, i convinced myself that if i just followed every rule, never complained, never showed how much things hurt me, then i would finally be loved the way i needed.

But it never really worked.

Maybe, because i’m a coward, someone who never learned how to stand up for myself, i was never really given a choice. My life was shaped by my family, directed, and decided for me. I got used to following paths that were already chosen. I got used to saying yes before i even knew what i felt. I didn’t learn how to refuse, how to reject and of course i didn’t learn that my voice could matter.

I really hate it when people think i am smart just because they assume i like math, when in truth i have always hated it. Math drags me back to when i was four years old. I should have been laughing, playing, being a child. Instead, i was forced to memorize multiplication tables, separate tens and ones, and study late into the night until my head ached like it might split open. It feels like my childhood was stolen piece by piece.

I hate makeup that everyone says i am good at because it only reminds me of the times when my face felt ugly. I was bullied for looking imperfect, and no one cared about how much it hurt.

I hate the color pink, the color everyone thinks i love. It drags me back to my mother’s words, telling me i was cute in pink. Even that cute was just another expectation. It was another way i had to perform to be loved.

I really hate all these things about myself. I hate how they remind me of a life where i never had a choice. Even the simplest joys were taken from me. My own existence sometimes feels like a collection of things i can’t stand, yet somehow can never escape.

I hate everything I have achieved in myself because I realize I only did it to make other people happy. Every skill, every talent, every good thing about me was not for me. It was to earn approval, to avoid being rejected, to make others like me. Knowing that makes me feel empty. None of it was ever truly mine.

So i became someone who obeys, who adjusts, who sacrifices herself just to be allowed to stay. I grew up into a people pleaser, always trying to understand others so they would not leave me. I held back my anger. I apologized all the time for everyone even when it wasn’t my fault and trying to understanding them. In the end, i still ended up hating myself for it.

I am angry at myself for letting the world decide my worth, for letting fear quietly take control of my life. I chased approval the way a child chases shadows. I always believed love was something i had to beg for, instead of something i deserved. But the truth is, i was terrified of being abandoned, of being unwanted, of being too much. That fear taught me to say yes when my whole body was screaming no. It taught me to abandon my dreams before i even had the courage to try. It make myself smaller, softer, easier to leave behind.

And still, people left anyway. Or they stayed but never really saw me.

So what was all that sacrifice for?
Sometimes i look at myself and i feel disgusted. I see someone who pretends to be strong but breaks down inside. Someone who looks independent but is actually starving for love. Someone who wants to be brave, but keeps choosing the safe path just to avoid rejection.

I hate that i became someone who searches for love everywhere except within myself. I hate that my happiness depends on whether someone texts me back, chooses me, praises me, or stays. i hate that i gave other people that much power over my heart.

And the worst part is… i know.
I know that love shouldn’t feel like begging. I know that being quiet doesn’t guarantee you’ll be loved. I know that being “good” doesn’t protect you from being hurt. I know all of that, and yet i still fall into the same patterns like i ’m trapped inside a version of myself i don’t know how to escape.

It makes me angry.
It makes me sad.
It makes me feel weak.

Because deep down in my heart, i know i deserved more than what i accepted. I deserved to be asked how i felt, to be protected, to be chosen without having to earn it. But i didn’t fight for that version of my life.

I just kept surviving.
Quietly.
Obediently.
Hoping someone would finally notice me and say, “You’re enough.”

No one ever said it the way i needed. And now i ’m left with the responsibility to say it to myself, but i don’t even know how. When someone comes into my life and says they will love me, i hesitate. I question it.

Why would they like me when know i do not feel worthy of it?

When they begin to involve me in their lives, i feel happy, like finally someone sees me. But at the same time, i am terrified. I am terrified that i will be left again. So i push them away first, even though deep inside my heart i just want someone to stay, to see me as i truly am. When someone kind comes into my life, I don’t know what to do with that kindness. I get confused. I end up hanging all of my hopes onto them, wondering if this is what love is supposed to feel like.

For once, i thought maybe it was safe to be honest.
So, i tried once.
I tried to speak.
I tried to explain how i felt.

And what happened?

I gave everything i had, trying to fix myself so i could be worthy of love, learning from every mistake along the way. But i was still left behind. And just like i feared, the moment i finally believed i had healed, the moment i showed who i truly am, i was abandoned anyway.

In the end, I choose to disappear.
I choose silence over being misunderstood.
I choose distance over being left again.
I choose to erase myself a little, piece by piece, just so i don’t have to feel that kind of pain anymore.

I stop reaching out. I stop explaining. I stop hoping too much. Because hoping feels dangerous now. So, i make myself smaller again. I make myself quieter, less visible, easier to forget. And maybe people didn’t leave anymore the same way because i am already gone before they can.

But the truth is i am still here. I still want to be seen. I still want to be chosen. I still want someone to stay even when i am fully, honestly myself. I just don’t know how to ask for that anymore without feeling like i am risking everything. I just want to be loved without begging.

For myself, i want to say thank you.
Thank you for surviving, for holding on, for carrying your wounds quietly. Thank you for loving, even when it hurt, and for still being here. I see you, i honor you, and i am proud of you for enduring, for growing, and for becoming who you are today.

Since i was a child, i have never really lived with my parents. I was moved from one relative to another because they had to work, and the world of childhood that other kids seem to know never belonged to me. My life was full of homes that were not mine, rooms i could never call my own, and adults who treated me kindly but could never truly see me.

My parents always tried to give me money and support, and they told me they loved me, that they knew everything about me. But love is not only words, and knowing is not the same as feeling. I never felt the kind of warmth a child needs, the kind of attention that makes you believe you are enough.

Also, they always gave me what i needed, but it came wrapped in anger when i asked for it. I could feel their frustration, as if my asking itself was a burden. Sometimes i wanted something small, something that seemed so ordinary to other children, and yet the way it was given made me feel guilty for even wanting it. It was love and care, yes, but it left a bitter taste, and it taught me early that needing someone could make you wrong.

I remember playing with some other children once, and something went wrong that was not my fault. I had done nothing wrong, but the adults who saw it said,

Oh, her parents are far away, no wonder she wasn’t raised properly.

I was confused and hurt. I did not understand why i was blamed for something i did not do, why my absence of parents made me seem less worthy. It was one of many moments that made me feel invisible, small, and unloved, even when the world around me said otherwise.

I learned early that asking for too much would not bring comfort, only rules and expectations. I learned that cruel words could land on me, sharp and cold, and i had to swallow them quietly. I became angry often, not because i wanted to, but because i had nowhere else to put my pain. I wanted attention, any attention, even if it was a scolding, because even being noticed in anger was better than being invisible.

People would call me spoiled, selfish, or demanding, but they did not know the weight i carried, the nights i spent wishing someone would just hold me and tell me i was safe. Sometimes i feel trapped inside my own heart. I love my parents deeply, i really do, and i know they tried in the way they could.

They worked, they provided, they sacrificed, and i cannot fault them for that. But love tied to obedience, love tied to expectations, leaves scars in places words cannot reach.
I wanted to tell them about my hurts, the moments i was ignored, the times i felt unseen. I wanted to share the small tragedies of childhood, the things that made me feel small and broken.
But i did not have the words, or maybe i was too afraid to use them.

I remember nights when i would sit alone, thinking about how i wanted someone to just stay. Just stay and look at me the way a parent looks at a child, full of love that is patient and quiet. I wanted someone to ask me how i was without expecting a perfect answer, someone to notice the little things that went wrong in my day. I wanted more than gifts, more than money or comfort, i wanted presence. And that absence created a hunger inside me that nothing else could fill.

I am still angry sometimes, at the world, at people, at myself. I am still afraid to be too much or too little, afraid to need too much love or to show too much pain. I carry this sadness quietly, behind smiles, behind the way i try to be helpful or kind or obedient. I have learned to hide it because showing it felt dangerous. Showing it meant being judged, being called spoiled, being a burden.

And yet the sadness is always there, always awake, a shadow that follows me even when i am surrounded by people.

Even now, i feel the tension between love and hurt. I love my parents, and i am grateful for what they gave me. I am grateful for the sacrifices they made. But love alone cannot erase the wounds of absence, cannot replace the quiet spaces of childhood that were never filled. I am learning to live with this, to feel both my gratitude and my pain at the same time, but it is not easy.

Some days, it feels like the sadness might swallow me completely.
Some nights, i lie awake remembering every small moment i wished for something more, and the tears come quietly, as if the years of waiting for someone to notice me are pouring out at once.

I don’t know if i will ever fully understand how to bridge the gap between love and hurt. I don’t know if my parents could have done more, or if i could have asked for more. I only know that the longing for presence, for being truly seen, has shaped me in ways i cannot erase. And i hope, somehow, that this longing will one day turn into something softer, something i can carry without pain.

For now, it lives with me, a quiet, aching companion, reminding me that love is complicated, that absence leaves marks, and that even when you are deeply loved, it is possible to still feel hurt.

I used to think that if i loved my friends well enough, they would stay. That if i showed up consistently, answered quickly, remembered the small details, and made myself easy to be around, i would never have to feel abandoned. So i built myself into someone who was always available.

I was the one who listened at two in the morning. The one who replied even when my chest felt heavy. The one who said, “It’s okay, i will understand,” even when i did not. I memorized their fears. I learned their triggers. I adjusted my tone depending on their mood. I made room for their sadness, their anger, their confusion. I rarely made room for mine.

There was a night i remember clearly. I was sitting on my bed, phone in my hand, staring at a conversation that had slowly grown cold. The replies had become shorter. The warmth had faded. I could feel something shifting, but i did not want to name it.

I typed, erased, typed again.

Did i do something wrong?

I never sent it. Instead, i wrote,

Maybe i am just overthinking. Sorry if i am being sensitive.

That was always my role. The one who apologizes first. The one who shrinks her pain so it fits comfortably in someone else’s hands. I loved them deeply. Not casually. Not temporarily. I loved them in a way that felt permanent. I did not want to disappoint them. I did not want to be the reason anything cracked. So when i felt hurt, i tried to communicate calmly. Carefully. I chose words that would not sound accusing. I softened every sentence. I made sure they felt safe while i was breaking.

I thought that was maturity. I thought that was what healthy friendship looked like. But every time i placed their comfort above my truth, something inside me went quiet. Every time i convinced myself that their intentions mattered more than the impact on me, i stepped further away from myself. I was so afraid of losing them that i did not notice i was losing me.

They saw me grow.
They were there when i was still fragile, still unsure of who i was. They watched me stumble through confusion, heartbreak, insecurity. They knew the older version of me, the one who was softer and more dependent, the one who leaned heavily on their presence. For a long time, i built my life around them.

Not because i had nothing inside me, but because they felt like the only stable thing i had. When everything else in my world felt uncertain, they were constant. When my family felt distant, when my plans fell apart, when i did not know where i was going, they were there.

And because they were there, i attached my survival to them. I measured my days by our conversations. I measured my worth by how needed i felt. I measured my stability by whether they were still responding.

If they were present, i was okay.
If they were distant, i was unraveling.
That is how much power i gave them.

And to be fair, they were not always absent. They showed up. They comforted me. They listened to my fears. They held me together on nights when i thought i would fall apart. That is what makes this hurt more complicated.

Because they were not villains.
They were my safe place.

Which is why when the distance began, it felt like the ground itself was disappearing beneath my feet. I had built too much of my life on something that was never meant to carry that weight. I did not realize that i had made them my emotional home. And when that home began to crack, i did not know where else to go. Losing them was not just losing friends.

It was losing the place where i had been resting all my fears.

And maybe that is why i loved so desperately. Because i was not just protecting a friendship. I was protecting the only stability i thought i had.

Now when i look back, i see how unfair that was, not only to them, but to myself. No human being should be responsible for holding up someone else’s entire world. And no one should shrink themselves just to avoid losing the only thing they think they have.

They saw me grow.
But they did not see how much of that growth was built from learning how to stand without leaning so heavily on them. I am still learning. Learning how to build a life that does not collapse when someone steps away. Learning how to feel safe inside myself, not inside someone else’s presence. And maybe that is the hardest part of all. Accepting that what once saved you can also be what breaks you, if you give it too much power.

And yeah, they left.
Not in one dramatic explosion. Not with screaming or betrayal. They left in slower ways. In delayed responses. In the shift of energy that says, without saying it, you are no longer important. I felt it before i understood it. There is a specific kind of pain in watching someone slowly detach while you are still holding on with both hands.

You start questioning yourself. Maybe i talked too much. Maybe i needed too much reassurance. Maybe i was too emotional. Maybe i was too honest. You dissect your own personality like it is a problem to be solved. And then one day, you stop receiving messages altogether.

The silence is louder than any argument.

The lowest point of my life did not arrive gently. It came all at once. My world felt like it was collapsing from every direction. I could barely hold myself together. There were days when getting out of bed felt impossible. Nights when the darkness felt heavier than usual.

I kept checking my phone.
Not because i wanted attention.
But because i hoped someone would notice.

I hoped someone would ask,

“Are you okay? You seem different.”

No one did. No one stayed long enough to see how quiet i had become. That was the moment something inside me broke in a way that did not make noise. It was not dramatic. It was not visible. It was just a quiet realization. If i disappear, no one will come looking.

So i stopped trying.
I stopped initiating conversations. I stopped offering updates about my life. I stopped sending funniest video. I stopped checking in. I let the silence grow. It was not revenge. It was surrender. I gave myself an empty space where i did not have to perform warmth. A space where i did not have to be the strong one, the understanding one, the emotionally available one.

At first, the loneliness was unbearable. The absence of notifications felt like proof that i had never mattered. But slowly, the silence became familiar. And then something unexpected happened.

Some friends showed up. Messages began appearing again.

Where have you been?
We miss you.
Why did you disappear?

I stared at those words for a long time. Part of me felt relief. I was not invisible after all. But another part of me felt something darker.

Fear.
Because i remembered how it felt to fall and realize no one was there. I remembered sitting alone with my grief, holding myself together with trembling hands while the people i once prioritized continued their lives without noticing my absence. I remembered how it felt to need someone and receive nothing.

So when they reached out again, i didn’t know how to respond. I wanted to run back. I wanted to believe that this time would be different. That maybe they had just been busy. That maybe i had imagined the distance. But ialso knew how much it cost me to survive that loneliness. It cost me my innocence in friendship. It cost me the version of myself who believed that love is always returned in equal measure.

Now, when someone says they miss me, i wonder if they miss me or if they miss what i provided. The listening. The understanding. The emotional labor. The constant availability.

I am no longer sure.
There is something terrifying about letting people back in when you have finally learned how to survive without them. Because surviving alone changes you. It makes you more careful. More guarded. More aware of how easily warmth can turn into absence. I still care. I still feel deeply. That has not changed. But now there is a part of me that hesitates. A part that asks, If i give again, will i have anything left if they leave again?

I am not afraid of being alone anymore.
I am afraid of returning to a place where i abandon myself just to keep someone else.
I am afraid of loving so hard that i forget i deserve to be loved back.

Maybe this is what growth feels like. Not empowerment. Not confidence. But a quiet refusal to collapse for someone who would not do the same for you. If they come back now, they will meet someone different. Someone who still loves, but no longer begs. Someone who still cares, but no longer disappears for the sake of being kept. And maybe that is the saddest part of all.

I did not become colder.
I became careful.
And that carefulness was built from nights when i needed someone and no one came.

I still love them and i know they do.

There’s a line from “Empty Space” by James Arthur that has been echoing in my head for months

“I’m still looking for you in empty space.”

I didn’t understand it at first. I thought empty space meant silence, distance, absence. I was wrong. Empty space is the place someone leaves inside you when they go. I have tried everything to move on from you. I deleted the photos, not just from my gallery but from recently deleted, from hidden folders i pretended i forgot about. I erased the messages, even the long midnight conversations where we talked about nothing and everything. I deleted your number, memorized it accidentally anyway, then forced myself to forget it like it was a bad habit, and it’s really really hurt for me to accept. I unfollowed, i muted, i archived. It’s funny how i tried to remove every digital trace of you, as if love could be erased with a swipe and a tap.

But grief does not live in phones, right?
It lives in the body. It hides in muscle memory, in the way my hand still wants to reach for yours when i sit beside you, when we walk through the mall, when i lean against your shoulder and quietly hope you will stroke my hair the way you always did. It lives in my morning routine, when i wake up and find myself waiting for your call after you finish work, even though i know it is no longer coming.

I told myself i was healing. I told myself that distance was working. Until my friend casually said

you know he is in this city.

Just like that, it felt like the ground shifted beneath me. All the effort, the deleting, the blocking, the pretending, collapsed in a single second. Suddenly the air felt heavier and the streets felt smaller. Every place became a possibility. Every passing stranger felt like a shadow of you, carrying your scent, your walk, your silhouette.

I avoid the streets near your house and take longer routes just to feel safe. I catch myself scanning the license plates of every black car that matches your car model, my eyes moving from one number to another without thinking, because ypur plat number is etched into my memory, and i am terrified that one day i will recognize it and know that you are somewhere nearby, breathing the same air, existing in the same city, and that all the distance i tried to build between us was never real at all.

I thought i had removed you from my life, but i forgot that the brain does not have a delete button. Memory is permanent architecture for me. I’m scared, emotional memories carve deeper pathways and attach themselves to scent, sound, and geography, which is why you feel everywhere. This city is no longer neutral territory. It is layered with invisible versions of us.

The strangest part is that i do not even want to see you, yet i am terrified that i might. There is a quiet cruelty in knowing someone is near but unreachable. It feels like standing outside a house that used to be yours, knowing the lights are on but you no longer have the key.

Another line from that song keeps repeating in my head

Cause I don’t wanna let you go.

That is the part i rarely admit out loud. I say i am trying to move on. I say i deserve peace. I say i have accepted it. Yet somewhere inside me there is still a small stubborn corner that refuses to let you become just a story i once told.

Maybe one day when someone says you are in this city my heart will not race. Maybe the streets will feel ordinary again and your memory will soften into something gentle instead of sharp. Maybe you have already forgotten me. Maybe my name no longer lingers in your thoughts the way yours still lingers in mine. Maybe you wake up without the heaviness i carry, without the sudden ache that comes from remembering something that no longer exists. Maybe you are happy now, laughing freely, building new routines with someone who does not have to fight your ghosts. Maybe you have found someone new, someone who sits beside you without comparing themselves to a past that refuses to fade, someone who gets to hold your hand without fear of becoming a memory one day.

I wonder if you speak about me at all, or if i have already been folded into a quiet chapter of your life, closed neatly and placed on a shelf you no longer reach for. It hurts to think that while i am still learning how to breathe without you, you might already be breathing easily with someone else. And yet, a part of me hopes that you are truly happy, because loving you once meant wanting your happiness even if it was never going to include me.

For now i am learning this, deleting is easy, forgetting is not. Sometimes the hardest part of moving on is accepting that some people stay, not in your life, but in your mind.

Writing is so hard, especially when my mind doesn’t always stay in one place. Much of that i carry comesfrom loss, something that almost broke my entire life. People leaving, family, friends, autoimmune disease, my study abroad plan, and my job. Everything feel apart at once.

As a result of it, my psychiatrist told me that i have Major Depressive Disorder current episode severe. I dont know what that really means, only that it explains why my brain feel so messy and out of order. I struggle to concentrate, my emotions often feel distant or completely numb, and my body always feel heavy on days when i do almost nothing. I can’t remember the way i used to anymore.

Sometimes, i can’t tell what actually happened or just a dream. Everything blurs together, and there are days i can’t remember at all. This is how i learned to survive.

I don’t really have anyone to hold me emotionally. They might care, i know they do. But caring from distance still feels like being alone. They aren’t here with me, and admitting that hurts more than i want to accept again and again.

The pain isn’t loud. Most of the time it’s quiet and heavy. Sometimes, i don’t know how to survive because they don’t see how much effort it takes just to stay present, to hold on the version of me before everything changed.

Someone has told me, that

Dont expect too much from people. Just trust yourself.

Every day, i’m still trying to understand the depth of my sadness and grieve what i’ve lost. They don’t see that i wasn’t asking for too much. I wasn’t asking anyone to save me. I wasn’t asking for my life to be fixed. I was only hoping someone would stay, someone who could hear me that i’m still living and surviving, someone who didn’t dissappear when everything feel heavy. I’m not trying to make anyone responsible for my healing. I just didn’t want to be left again. But in reality, being told to stand my own felt like confirmation that i was truly alone and it’s really really hurt.

People say hoping others will be there only leads to disappointment.
Maybe, they’re right. But healing while carrying disappointment that wasn’t my fault feels unfair in a way i don’t know how to expalin. I’m hurt because when i really needed someone to stay, no one showed up. But in the end, i realized that every beautiful journey I went through with them was a joy that brought me to this moment.

And now, even as i’m writing this. I don’t know whether i will forget it again or if it only exists inside on my head. I don’t know if these feelings will stay as memories or disappear like so many other days i can’t clearly remember. There’s a quiet fear behind every word. The fear that my existence, my pain, and my effort to survivie will blur once more, as if none of this ever really happened.

Everything feel apart in 2025. After all of that, hal yang paling aku ingat dengan baik apa kata psikiaterku adalah

“Hubungan yg sehat itu bukan soal siapa yang paling ringan kondisinya saat itu. Itu soal siapa yg mau hadir sesuai kapasitas masing-masing. Ketika mereka pergi atau bahkan ga peduli bukan bukti kamu terlalu berat, itu bukti mereka ga sanggup ada di fase itu. Dan itu pilihan. Jadi jaga diri kamu sendiri, usahain diri kamu sendiri, hidup akan trus berjalan gapeduli kamu sesakit apa, kita mungkin ga hidup sampai 200 tahun kemudian, jadi cukup jalanin hidup kamu setidaknya untuk 10 menit kedepan lebih dulu”

Pelan-pelan akhirnya aku bisa ngerti apa maksudnya, so i choose to write this.

Teman, keluarga, atau mungkin orang-orang terdekat, semuanya adalah bagian dari perjalanan hidupku. Kehilangan mereka rasanya seperti kehilangan sebagian dari diriku sendiri. Tapi kadang, yang pergi bukan karena aku kurang kuat, bukan karena aku belum cukup, melainkan karena mereka tidak sanggup berdiri di badai yang sama. Dan itu tidak apa-apa, karena itu adalah bentuk dari pilihan mereka.

That really hurts. Karena selain diri sendiri, aku selalu berharap mereka bisa jadi tempat pulang, bukan tambahan luka. Tapi kenyataan paling menyakitkannya adalah not everyone can stay when things get heavy.

Aku belajar banyak dengan cara yang kurasa sangat menyakitkan

“Aku bisa sangat mencintai seseorang, aku akan selalu bisa belajar dan berbenah dari setiap kegagalan yang kulakukan, aku bisa berusaha mengerti dan memahami kondisi mereka lalu memilih untuk selalu ada. But still, they can choose to leave”

Dan tentang mereka yang memilih pergi kurasa aku belajar untuk tidak lagi menaruh rasa amarah ataupun kecewa di sana. Bukan karena lukanya kecil, tapi karena akhirnya aku perlahan sedikit demi sedikit mencoba memahami bahwa setiap orang punya kapasitas bertahannya sendiri. Ada yang bisa berdiri di badai yang sama dan siap menemani jatuh bangunnya, ada yang harus menyelamatkan diri mereka lebih dulu.

And that doesn’t make them bad people.

Mereka pergi bukan karena aku gagal memahami, dan bukan juga karena aku kurang berjuang. Kadang, dua orang sama-sama lelah, sama-sama terluka, tapi hanya satu yang memilih tetap tinggal. The leaving was their way of surviving, just like staying was mine.

Aku tahu rasanya mempertanyakan diri sendiri

“Apa aku kurang ini? Apa aku terlalu itu? Mengapa?”

Pertanyaan itu selalu terputar di kepalaku hampir setiap malam. Tapi pada akhirnya aku sadar, aku sudah cukup untuk memberi luka terlalu banyak untuk diriku sendiri dengan perasaan tidak terima karena orang tidak mampu memilih untuk tetap tinggal dan peduli saat aku sedang jatuh.

Aku berhenti bertanya kenapa mereka tidak bisa bertahan, atau bahkan sekadar mencoba mengerti posisiku. Because i did, again and again – for them. Dan aku mulai menerima bahwa tidak semua orang dipanggil untuk menemani perjalanan yang berat even kita melakukan hal itu untuk mereka.

Some people are meant to walk with us for a while, not for the whole road.

Meski perpisahan itu meninggalkan ruang kosong yang begitu besarnya di hidupku, aku tidak lagi mengisinya dengan rasa kecewa ataupun rasa bersalah. Entah seberapa banyak fase yang sudah dilewati dan bagaimana bentuk ketidakpedulian atau kepergian sekalipun, aku memilih percaya bahwa apa yang pergi memang sudah selesai tugasnya dalam hidupku, and that’s totally fine. Kurasa hidupku yang cuman sekali ini, memang tentang bagaimana aku harus berjuang dan menyelamatkan diriku sendiri.

Tidak ada yang salah.
We just reached a point where our strengths no longer aligned. Bentuk pengikhlasan terakhir terhadap diri sendiri adalah “let them” dan heal myself.

Dan kalau hari ini aku merasa sendirian, bahkan saat dikelilingi banyak orang, itu juga valid. Ada bentuk luka yang memang tidak butuh banyak kata, hanya cuma butuh beberapa waktu untuk menyembuhkan diri sendiri. Aku tidak lagi menjelaskan ke semua orang kenapa aku mulai berubah, kenapa aku lebih banyak diam, atau kenapa hal-hal kecil sekarang terasa berat.

Surviving is already a full-time job. Setidaknya aku memilih untuk tidak memberi ataupun menambah luka pada orang lain. Kadang aku sangat lelah bukan karena hidupnya, tapi karena harus terus kelihatan baik-baik saja. Padahal di dalam, aku sedang berjuang keras untuk sekadar bangun, makan, dan bertahan sampai malam.

That effort matters, even if no one claps for it.

Nyatanya hidup tidak menuntutku untuk langsung kuat. Aku diizinkan untuk menikmati segala prosesnya, sedihnya, hancurnya, bahkan rasa kosong sekalipun.

So if today all i can do is breathe, that’s enough. If all i can do is cry and still stay alive, that counts as strength too. Aku tidak alay karena sedih. Aku tidak lemah karena sakit. Dan aku tidak “terlalu berat” untuk sekedar dicintai dan dilihat. Some people can’t stay, and that hurts. And one day, aku pasti akan sadar bertahan di hari-hari tergelap itu adalah bentuk cinta terbesar yang pernah aku berikan kepada diriku sendiri.

Suffering is optional. I choose to be gentle with myself. Healing is not linear. Kalau hari ini berat, berjalan pelan tidak apa-apa. Kalau besok masih sakit, itu juga bukan kegagalan. Cukup hidup, untuk sekarang. Akan selalu ada hari esok untuk dilewati.

I’m still here.

And that alone already means everything.

Saat dia pergi, aku memilih diam dan menghancurkan seluruh harapanku untuknya. Aku tidak berusaha menahannya, tidak memohon, tidak bertanya

Kenapa harus sekarang?

Because deep down in my heart, i already knew the answer.
Mengejar sosok yang telah berada di fase growing in love, adalah patah hati yang kubentuk tanpa sengaja. Hidupnya sudah tertata dengan rapi, career on track, usia yang tidak lagi muda untuk masa depan yang diimpikan hampir disetiap orang, emosinya terlihat lebih stabil.

Meanwhile, what about me?

Aku masih berada di titik yang sunyi, masih belajar mencintai diriku sendiri, masih membereskan banyak hal yang kurasa belum utuh, self-love katanya. I am still trying to survive my own battles in everynight.

Apa yang kupunya untuk bersanding disebelahnya?
Apa yang bisa kuberi untuk melengkapi dirinya dimasa depan?
Apakah cinta dan ketulusan saja sudah cukup?

Ia jauh dari kata kurang bahkan untuk sekedar cukup, dan aku tahu itu. Pada akhirnya aku sadar, mencintainya tidak boleh lebih egois dari ini. Tidak menahan dirinya saat ia ternyata lebih memilih dirinya sendiri lebih dulu lalu meninggalkanku adalah bentuk nyata dari membiarkannya pergi ke kehidupan yang sudah siap ia jalani dan aku bukan tujuannya disana.

Even if that life doesn’t include me anymore. Even it hurts. Even i want him in my life, for my future. I choose to let him go.

Kepergiannya bukan tanpa luka, tanpa amarah, tanpa kecewa. It hurts in a quiet way. Bukan lagi tangisan keras yang menyedihkan, tetapi rasa kosong yang menetap. Seperti sebagian diriku tertinggal pada angan-angan yang sempat kubayangkan saat bersamanya namun tidak pernah sempat tumbuh menjadi kenyataan.

There are days when i feel like i lost more than just a person, i lost a part of my self. I always understand, timing is everything. Barangkali, kami hanya datang di hidup satu sama lain pada waktu yang tidak pernah benar-benar sejajar. Aku pernah berusaha menata diriku, menahan lelah dan luka yang berulang kali terjadi dengan kesalahan-kesalahan kecil yang tanpa sengaja ia beri. Aku mencoba menyelaraskan langkahku dengan langkahnya.

Aku pikir, if i work harder on myself, one day i could catch up with him. Setidaknya, tidak tertinggal sejauh itu. Namun, saat aku berjuang untuk sampai dititik itu, aku lupa hidup akan terus berjalan kedepan begitupun dengannya. Dan jarak itu tidak selalu mengecil hanya karena aku berusaha lebih keras. And somehow, there will always be a distance between us that i can’t close.

Dan dititik itu, aku belajar menerima.

Aku menerima bahwa cinta yang tulus tidak akan selalu cukup. Sometimes love has to let go, not because it ends, but because it can’t grow in the same place. Even then, i let him go with a heart that is still hurting, yet somehow at peace with the truth that some love comes to teach, not to stay. I still love him with everything i have. Falling in love with him was the most beautiful feeling in the world, even when i was alone in it. And that’s enough. May happiness always find its way to him.

He completely broke my life apart, but i still can’t hate him. I keep asking myself why.

Why can’t i be angry at someone who walked away so easily while i was falling apart?
Why do i keep looking for reasons to justify what he did, as if his leaving was somehow my fault?

I replay everything in my head, every moment, every conversation, every small detail, trying to find the exact point where everything started to fall apart. And even though he is the one who let go, i am the one who keeps holding on to the memory of him. Sometimes i wish i could hate him. I wish anger came easily, so i could finally protect myself from all the pain he caused.

But instead of feeling angry, all i feel is this heavy ache in my chest, this strange softness that keeps telling me that maybe he had his reasons, maybe he never meant to hurt me. And that is what hurts the most. Not just the fact that he left, but the fact that my heart still tries to understand the person who broke it.

Because i love him, more than my self.

I don’t know why i am like this. Why i forgive so easily. Why i keep trying to understand someone who never tried to understand me. Maybe it is because when i loved him, i loved him with everything i had. And even after he walked away, my heart still does not know how to stop loving him.

Maybe deep down, i’m still hoping he’ll look back one day and understand what he walked away from. Not because i want him to return, but because a small part of me wants to know that everything i gave, including my love, my patience, and my softness, wasn’t meaningless. I want to believe it mattered, even if he couldn’t stay.

But the truth is, every day, every night i find myself wondering if i was ever enough for him. Maybe i was too much, or not enough, or simply not the kind of person he was ever willing to choose. And somehow, that thought still lingers quietly in the back of my mind.

I keep holding on to questions that no longer belong anywhere. I keep carrying a memory of someone who no longer exists in my life. And sometimes, in the quietest moments, I realize that maybe the problem was never him. Maybe it was the way my heart keeps loving long after someone has stopped loving me.

I wish i knew how to let go the way he did.

Effortlessly.

Without looking back. Without hesitation. But i’m not built like that, and i’m learning to accept it.

I love slowly and deeply. I hurt quietly. I forgive. And maybe that is both the softness that keeps me human and the weakness that keeps breaking me.

What aches the most is knowing that i wasn’t asking for much. I didn’t need perfect words or constant conversations. I only needed respect, not just communication but the kind of respect that keeps someone honest and present. I only wanted to feel like i mattered.

One day, maybe i’ll learn to love myself the way i loved him, completely and without conditions. Maybe one day my heart will stop bleeding for someone who never tried to understand it.

But until that day comes, I’m learning to live with the quiet ache he left behind. I’m learning to breathe through the emptiness. I’m learning to stand gently on whatever pieces of me are still here.

Ada titik dimana aku merasa hilang arah.
Seringnya perasaanku dilukai membuat rasa terbiasa disakiti mulai memeluk diriku. Rasa marah itu mati lebih dulu daripada lukanya. Yang tersisa hanyalah selalu kelelahan yang menetap, seperti beban di dada yang tidak pernah benar-benar pergi. Aku merasa hidup, tapi tidak sepenuhnya.

Kadang kala aku iri pada orang-orang yang punya tempat untuk pulang saat dunia terasa terlalu berat dan cukup melelahkan. Aku iri pada mereka yang bisa menangis tanpa rasa bersalah, yang bisa selalu meminta tolong tanpa takut dianggap merepotkan.

Sementara aku?

Bahkan saat hancur sekalipun, aku masih sibuk memastikan tindakan itu tidak melukai dan mengganggu siapapun. Dan pada akhirnya yang tersisa hanyalah aku yang memeluk lukaku sendiri dalam gelap, merawatnya dengan penuh kasih meski kutahu itu tidak pernah benar-benar cukup untuk menyembuhkan diriku sendiri.

Terkadang aku berharap bisa kembali menjadi diriku yang dulu. Yang selalu percaya akan rasa bahagia, yang hangat, yang tidak pernah takut akan segala hal. Tapi versi itu sudah terlalu banyak dilukai, dikhianati. Kenangan buruk itu akan terus hidup dantidak bisa aku selamatkan.

Aku ingin egois sekali saja, meminta untuk dimengerti sepenuhnya. Meminta untuk sekali saja ada seseorang yang benar-benar tinggal tanpa harus aku yakinkan. Seseorang yang tidak pernah pergi saat melihat sisi rapuhku, saat telah kuberi segalanya. Tapi perlahan kenyataan mengajarkanku hal lain.

Bahwa bertahan sendirian lebih aman daripada berharap akan ada sosok yang menemani lalu ditinggalkan begitu saja. Aku berhenti untuk meminta agar ada yang menyelamatkanku. Aku hanya ingin bertahan, meski harus kehilangan hampir seluruh diriku.

Harapan adalah akar dari segala kekecewaan.