Fear didn't leave me.
It stayed.
Quiet.
Constant.
Even after everything that happened… I went back to him.
Not because I wanted to.
But because I was afraid.
Afraid of what he might have.
Afraid of what he could do.
Afraid that something from that night might still exist somewhere.
So I did what I always did.
I gave in.
I kept seeing him.
Doing everything he wanted.
And every time I was with him…
I hated him.
But even more than that—
I hated myself.
I would look at him and feel disgust.
At his words.
At his touch.
At everything he represented.
A man with a family.
A man with a life somewhere else.
A man who had no problem betraying everything.
And yet…
I was still there.
Letting it happen.
Again and again.
But the worst part wasn't him.
It was me.
Because I knew I could walk away.
I knew I should stop.
But I didn't.
I couldn't.
For a short time, everything went quiet.
Two weeks.
Two weeks where I tried to convince myself that it was over.
That I was done with that life.
That maybe I could be normal again.
But silence doesn't mean peace.
And it didn't last.
Soon enough… I was back.
Back to the same patterns.
The same mistakes.
Different people.
Same emptiness.
I started meeting strangers again.
Not for connection.
Not for anything real.
Just for a moment.
Just to feel something… anything… even if it was fake.
They would come over.
We wouldn't talk much.
We didn't need to.
It was always the same.
And when it was over…
I would block them.
Immediately.
Like they never existed.
Like none of it ever happened.
Sometimes I would even promise we would meet again.
And the moment they stepped out of my place—
block.
Gone.
I didn't care who they were.
I didn't care what they felt.
Because I didn't even care about myself.
I had no control anymore.
It felt like I was watching my life from the outside.
Like I wasn't even the one making decisions.
Just moving.
From one mistake to another.
From one night to the next.
Trying to escape myself.
But no matter how far I went…
I was always there.
Waiting.
The feeling inside me only got worse.
Empty.
Lost.
Used.
Like something cheap.
Something people take, use, and throw away without thinking twice.
And maybe that's what I was.
Because that's exactly how I treated myself.
While everything else in my life was falling apart.
College?
A disaster.
I wasn't studying.
I wasn't going forward.
I was failing.
Repeating the same year again… and again.
But at home?
I lied.
Every single day.
"I'm doing great."
"I'm studying."
"Everything is fine."
I said it so many times…
I almost started to believe it myself.
But the truth was completely different.
Nothing was fine.
I was losing everything.
My future.
My self-respect.
My identity.
And the worst part?
No one knew.
Not my family.
Not my friends.
No one.
Because I was living two lives.
The one everyone saw…
and the one that was slowly destroying me.
And I was stuck between them.
With no way out.
And the more I tried to escape…
the deeper I fell.
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