Stream of Consciousness
The Day I Hit Rock Bottom
I didn’t know rock bottom had a sound until I heard it echo through my bones. It was a Tuesday. Not a particularly tragic day on the calendar—just dull, grey, and forgettable. The kind of day no one writes poetry about. The rain wasn’t the cinematic kind that brings relief or romance—it was cold, stinging, and indifferent. My coat clung to me like a heavy reminder of everything I was carrying but trying to hide.
By Wasif islam8 months ago in Confessions
Why I Fell in Love With Someone I Never Touched
Why I Fell in Love With Someone I Never Touched By Lila Hart It started with a message. Nothing poetic, nothing profound—just a simple, “Hey, I liked what you wrote.” I didn’t know then that those six words would change the way I understood connection, intimacy, and love itself.
By Lila Hart8 months ago in Confessions
I Found a Letter Meant for Someone Else in My House
It was an ordinary Sunday morning when I decided to clean the attic—a chore I had postponed for years. Dust particles danced in the sunbeams filtering through the cracked window, and the wooden floor creaked under my steps like it hadn't been touched in ages. I expected to find old boxes, maybe forgotten Christmas decorations or worn-out furniture. What I didn’t expect was a letter. And it wasn’t addressed to me.
By Keramatullah Wardak8 months ago in Confessions
I Ignored Every Red Flag — Until It Was Too Late
When I first met him, he seemed perfect. Kind, funny, ambitious — everything I thought I was looking for. We met through a mutual friend at a party, and I remember how his eyes lit up when he talked about his goals. I was drawn in instantly. It felt like the universe had finally sent someone just for me.
By MR RED8 months ago in Confessions
A Letter to My Younger Self
Dear Younger Me, I’m writing to you not from a place of perfection, but from a place of understanding. I’ve lived through the years you’re about to face — the awkward ones, the heartbreaking ones, the deeply uncertain and quietly beautiful ones. And while I won’t spoil the ending, I will offer you the wisdom I wish someone had handed me when I was still in your shoes.
By Muhammad Hashim8 months ago in Confessions
The Night I Walked Away: A True Story of Silence, Struggle, and Strength
It was almost midnight when I finally opened the door, stepped out barefoot onto the cold pavement, and walked away from everything I thought I had to endure. There was no dramatic fight. No screaming. No chaos. Just silence. The kind of silence that wraps around your throat like a tightening scarf. That night, my silence ended. I was living in a small suburb in France. I had moved here for love, for the idea of something new and exciting. It started like a dream. He was charming, intelligent, and made me laugh until my stomach ached. We talked about literature, shared playlists, and cooked together. He introduced me to his family, and I believed I was building something stable, something forever. But love, as I learned, can be a carefully constructed mask. The Subtle Disappearance of Self At first, the changes were so small I hardly noticed. He would gently correct how I spoke. He’d suggest I wear something more “fitting.” He would roll his eyes when I shared ideas he didn’t agree with. It all seemed harmless. I mistook it for intimacy. I told myself, "He’s just helping me grow." Then, I stopped wearing makeup because he said it made me look fake. I stopped calling my family as often because he didn’t like the noise. I declined job interviews because he said I wouldn’t be able to manage stress. Slowly, the girl who arrived in France full of ambition and fire faded into someone quiet, agreeable, and invisible. But I told no one. Not my family back home. Not the friends I once met for coffee. Shame is a powerful silencer. And fear? Even more so. Emotional Bruises Don’t Show He never hit me. He didn’t need to. He mastered the art of making me feel small with his words. “You’re lucky I put up with you.” “No one else would want you.” “This is why your family gave up on you.” He’d say these things with a laugh, like they were jokes. And when I cried, he’d say, "You’re too sensitive." Every insult was wrapped in a smile, every wound followed by a kiss. I convinced myself this was just how relationships worked. That it would get better. That I was the problem. Until the night I realized I couldn’t breathe. The Breaking Point That evening, we were eating dinner. I had cooked his favorite pasta, hoping to ease the tension of the past few days. But he barely looked up from his phone. When I asked about his day, he replied, "Stop being so clingy." Something inside me cracked. I went to the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. My eyes looked hollow. My shoulders drooped. My reflection felt like a stranger. I thought of my mother’s voice on our last call, saying, "You don’t sound like you anymore." And she was right. I had vanished. The Night I Walked Away I didn’t plan it. I just... stood up, grabbed my coat, and walked to the door. He didn’t even ask where I was going. Maybe he thought I’d come back, like always. But this time, I didn’t. I walked through the quiet streets of the neighborhood, my phone buzzing in my pocket. I ignored it. I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I needed to leave. Eventually, I reached a small hotel near the train station. I had enough cash on me for one night. The woman at the front desk didn’t ask questions. She handed me a key, and I cried harder than I had in years. Starting Over Isn’t Clean The next morning, I called my sister. I told her everything. She didn’t ask why I hadn’t told her sooner. She just cried with me. Within days, I was on a train to Germany, where she lived. She welcomed me with open arms, a warm bed, and an endless supply of tea. Leaving wasn’t a clean break. I had panic attacks. I missed him, or at least the version of him I thought was real. I questioned if I had overreacted. But therapy, long walks, and time reminded me: love doesn’t erase you. Lessons I Carry 1. Emotional abuse is real. You don’t need bruises to prove your pain. 2. Silence protects the abuser, not the victim. Speak up, even if your voice shakes. 3. Healing is messy. You’ll doubt, cry, and question—but keep going. 4. You are not alone. There are people waiting to help. Family, strangers, professionals. To the Woman Still Waiting If you are reading this and feeling seen, please know: you deserve love that doesn’t hurt. You are not too sensitive. You are not overreacting. If your heart feels heavy every day, listen to it. Walking away was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But it was also the bravest.
By Shabir Ahmad8 months ago in Confessions
