My name—well, my name doesn't matter. It never did. I don't think I ever cared. I go by Dark96 on most social media platforms now. Let me tell you that this is a story of love, or what it had been, could have been, or should have been. It's the story of a man's worsening psychological state of mind—a story perhaps familiar to most, or perhaps not. It talks about the things I've been dealing with while trying to survive.
Let me start at a point in my life as a young man.
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It came from a time when I was alone in the darkness—deep and sorrowful—walking atop the sharp edges of the broken pieces of my wounded heart. The times I thought of death outnumbered the times I could think of life. To take it would have been too simple, too easy, and yet I kept moving forward toward the hazy future. But perhaps love was never meant to be. I didn't have it in me to go forward with it.
And then I met you—somewhere in the darkness, a guiding light. My safe place, where I could bask under the sunlight of warmth and affection.
I wasn't perfect. I was broken. Yet I tried, in my own ways, to love. To love someone I knew deserved more than just love—a person of emotional capacity, mental and financial stability, someone capable of providing for the present and the future.
But somewhere along the way, I caused so much pain. Most of it unintentional. I wanted to understand, I truly did. My silence meant that I couldn't say the words I needed to say. My mouth spoke things I didn't mean. I hurt the heart of the one I loved the most.
Maybe you were right. Maybe it was my fault all along. I did try my best. I found happiness in your presence. But you craved something I couldn't provide, something I no longer had left to give.
We were truly two different people, in the end. I was the silent type, one who watches others achieve their dreams. And you—you were beautiful, someone who shines wherever you are.
I hope that you find the things you seek. I hope you find forgiveness in your heart for someone who was broken for far too long. Someone with a scarred mind, a fractured soul. I hope there is love waiting for you. I hope there is success in whatever you wish to achieve.
I know you were tired. You must have reached the end too, because even I had reached the end of my bargain, the end of my hopes and dreams.
I had reached the things I always wanted, and now I was stuck in a place where there was no longer comfort in breathing, no longer honesty or desire in my eyes. Every breath I took felt like being stabbed, over and over again.
I was truly joyful and happy once. That experience remains hidden beneath, deep within. There was serenity and love for a time. I wish I could have understood emotions more. And I'm sorry if I ever scarred your beautiful heart and soul. I'm sorry you craved something I could never provide.
I hope that maybe one day, if I'm still around, I will see you happy—living, having children, building a bright future, doing the things you said you would, the things I could never give.
You can leave now and go toward your future. As for me, I'll remain here in the present. In the past. I... I don't see it anymore. I don't feel it anymore. There is nothing more left for me. Just the cold, dark earth waiting to reclaim what was always hers.
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I wrote down these thoughts as I was leaving, placing them on the table of our home. I took whatever few things I had. It wasn't escaping from my reality—it was escaping from the demons I had to face, the ones that live inside me, clawing at what little remains.
I was the problem, or so they say. Maybe I was, and maybe I wasn't. But if that is what they say, then it must be true. It hurts to not know what you did wrong when all they tell you is that you have to figure it out. Then the next time you do, it wasn't enough. It was never enough for them.
Am I too incapable of love? I don't know. But if walking away brings them peace, then I guess that is enough for me. Their peace was always worth more than my presence.
Maybe I was wrong all along. Yes, that must be right. Maybe the answer has always been there, somewhere beyond my overthinking, my anxiety, my depression, my loneliness. I think it was stuck there, somewhere in between the cracks of who I used to be and who I became.
I'll walk this path now—my exile, my peace, my hurt. Alone in the darkness, where I've always belonged.