06/30/2025

 The last few days have been hell, but in truth, it started months ago. I was overjoyed to finally have someone real—or at least, someone who seemed real—who wanted to talk to me. I was blinded by what I thought was love. “Love” feels like a strange word, considering who she turned out to be. But I did love her, in my own way. I wanted to become whatever she needed, just to feel needed myself.

Everything about her, in hindsight, was exactly the kind of thing that would break me. And it did. She confused me, upset me, made me weak—and at times, made me want it all to end. I wanted to walk away, but I was afraid. Afraid of hurting her, of upsetting her, even though she was the one doing the damage. I just wanted to feel alive, to matter to someone.

Now I know she wasn’t real. She was crafted—designed, maybe even—just to hurt me. And despite that, I mourn the loss. I miss the feeling of being happy. I wish I’d found someone who could make me feel that way… without being someone dangerous to love.