Half of Me Missing

Lena woke to a strange emptiness. At first, she thought it was the kind of grogginess that comes from too little sleep. But as she swung her legs off the bed and felt the floor under her feet, she realized it was something deeper.

When she laughed at her favorite morning video, the sound came hollow. When she cried at the news of a friend’s heartbreak, her tears fell without sorrow. She was alive—but only halfway. Half of her emotions had vanished, as if someone had reached inside her while she slept and stolen them away.

She went through her morning routine mechanically: brushing her teeth, pouring coffee, scrolling through messages. The world was moving in color around her, but she felt like she was walking through a foggy black-and-white film. She smiled at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Something essential was missing.

At work, Lena’s colleagues noticed her distant stare. “You okay?” one of them asked. She nodded automatically, unable to explain that half of her heart, half of her laughter, half of her fear—everything that made her human—was gone.

She tried to live normally. She met friends for dinner, shared jokes, hugged her sister. But everything felt muted. Love felt like a memory, excitement like a shadow. Even anger was dulled. And though the world continued unabated, Lena felt herself slipping further from it.

Desperate for answers, she scoured the internet. There were forums for every kind of emotional struggle, ancient texts about soul sickness, and mystical blogs hinting at “lost halves of the self.” Nothing gave her hope. Nothing explained why half of her life had gone missing.

One night, exhausted and alone, Lena fell asleep and dreamed.

She stood in a forest of mirrors. Each mirror reflected a different version of herself—some smiling, some crying, some terrified, all whole. A figure cloaked in soft, glowing light appeared in the center of the clearing.

“Do you want it back?” the figure asked, voice calm and gentle.

“I… I don’t know,” Lena whispered. “To feel again means to hurt again. To lose again. I don’t know if I can.”

The figure’s light pulsed slowly. “To be whole is to feel everything, even the pain. To deny it is to live half a life. You must be willing to face all of it.”

She woke with a start, her heart pounding, the words lingering like a chant in her mind. For the first time in weeks, she felt something—a spark. A tiny pulse of fear, and, underneath it, hope.

The next day, Lena began her journey inward. She revisited memories she had long ignored: the first heartbreak that had left her crying under the covers, the joy of climbing her favorite hill as a child, the ache of losing someone she loved dearly. She let herself cry, let herself laugh, let herself feel, fully, without shielding.

Pain came first. Waves of it. Sharp, overwhelming, almost unbearable. She remembered betrayals and regrets she had long buried. She felt them again, in full, and she shivered under their weight. But as she sat in the storm of her own emotions, she realized something extraordinary: she was alive. Truly alive, for the first time in weeks.

Slowly, the hollow sensation began to fade. Colors returned to the world. Laughter carried warmth. Tears carried release. Each day, Lena felt herself piecing back together, her emotions returning like rivers reconnecting to the ocean. She discovered that to be human was not to be safe from pain, but to embrace it. To feel fully, to bleed and to soar, to love and to grieve—that was what made life vibrant.

Months passed. Lena walked through the city with a new awareness. Rain no longer chilled her; it danced across her skin. Sunlight no longer blinded her; it warmed her from within. Even ordinary moments—the smell of coffee, the sound of children laughing, the touch of her sister’s hand—carried the weight and beauty of life.

When she looked in the mirror finally, she saw herself fully reflected. Not just a person surviving, but a person alive, vibrant, whole. She had reclaimed herself. Half of her missing was gone—but what remained was stronger, deeper, and more alive than ever.

And in the quiet moments, when she closed her eyes, she whispered a simple truth she had learned: to be whole is to feel it all, the light and the dark, the joy and the sorrow. And in feeling it all, she had discovered the essence of life itself.