When Leaving Is the Only Option

 

“I didn’t stop trying” doesn’t mean I gave up.

It means I tried as hard as I could for as long as I could

to stay in a situation that was already dead.

I kept showing up long after the life was gone.

Long after the connection was gone.

Long after my body knew before my mind would admit it

that this was killing me inside.

It was a death by a thousand cuts—

being dismissed without being left,

given explanations that never made sense,

kept close enough to hope

but far enough to disappear inside myself.

I didn’t want to give up.

I wanted it to work.

But one day I understood something clearly:

if I stayed, I would keep slowly dying inside.

Leaving didn’t mean relief.

It meant fear.

It meant rebuilding from nothing.

It meant accepting a life I hadn’t planned for

and learning to live without the one I thought I was saving.

But whatever came next—

uncertain, unfinished, terrifying—

it would still be more alive than where I was.

I didn’t stop trying.

I stopped slowly dying.