I'm Fucking Done (And That's the Most Honest Thing I've Ever Said)

     I don't know when "being strong" turned into swallowing my own pain so other people could stay comfortable. Actually, scratch that. I do know. It happened slowly. Quietly. One compromise at a time. One "it's fine" when it absolutely fucking wasn't't. 

So here it is, plain and unfiltered. 

I'm done. 

Done with people's shit.

Done with overexploiting. 

Done with begging for the bare minimum effort dressed up as love. 

Done with shrinking myself so other people don't feel guilty for how little they show up. 

And I hate that it had to come to this, I really do. 

Because I'm not done in a clean, empowering, instagram-caption way. 

I'm done in a tired, hollowed-out, mascara-streaked, dissociated-on-the-bathroom-floor way. 

I'm done because I ran out of pieces to sacrifice. 

That's the part no one talks about. 

You don't walk away because you're healed. 

You walk away because staying would finish destroying you. 

I've spent most of my life afraid of abandonment. 

Afraid that if I set boundaries, people would leave. 

Afraid that if I asked for too much, I'd be alone. 

Afraid that if I stopped being useful, accommodating, forgiving, endlessly understanding, I'd be disposable. 

So I stayed. 

I stayed in friendships that felt one-sided. 

I stayed in conversations where I was talked over, ignored, or only contacted when someone needed emotional labor. 

I stayed when people said "I love you" but never checked in. 

I stayed when silence answered my vulnerability. 

I stayed because loneliness felt more terrifying than being quietly hurt. 

That fear ran my fucking life. 

And here's the brutal truth I'm finally swallowing whole: I was already alone. 

I was just surrounded by people who liked the version of me that didn't need anything. 

I'm so tired of being the person who always understands. 

The one who gives grace. 

The one who makes excuses for everyone else's absence. 

The one who reaches out first. 

The one who checks in. 

The one who notices everything and says nothing about how it hurts. 

I'm tired of loving people who don't know how to love me back in a way that actually shows up. 

Because love isn't just a fucking word. 

It's effort. 

It's consistency. 

It's texting back. 

It's remembering. 

It's asking how I am and actually waiting for the answer. 

And I'm done pretending that neglect wrapped in familiarity is acceptable just because we've known each other a long time. 

So yeah. 

People are getting blocked. 

Unfriended. 

Unfollowed. 

Cut off quietly or loudly or somewhere in between. 

Not because I hate them. 

But because I'm choosing myself for the first goddamn time. 

And that choice hurts more than anyone prepared me for. 

It hurts because I still care. 

It hurts because I still wish they'd notice. 

It hurts because a part of me is screaming, "If you just wait a little longer, maybe they'll finally show up."

But another part of me, the one thats's been screaming for years and getting ignored, finally has the mic. 

And she's saying:

Enough. 

I shouldn't have to do this. 

No one should ever have to do this. 

No one should have to reach the point where self-preservation feels like cruelty. 

No one should have to choose between being loved and being okay. 

No one should have to amputate relationships just to survive. 

But here we are. 

And I'm learning that choosing yourself doesn't feel powerful at first. 

It feels like grief. 

It feels like guilt. 

It feels like you're being "too much" and "too dramatic" and "too sensitive."

It feels like you're the villain in someone else's story because you stopped accepting crumbs. 

I want to be honest about something else too. 

I'm not healed. 

I'm not unbothered. 

I'm not magically confident. 

I'm damaged. 

I'm traumatized. 

I'm still flinching when my phone stays silent. 

I still wonder if I'm the problem. 

I still replay conversations. 

I still miss people who didn't treat me well. 

And somehow, all of that can coexist with being done. 

You don't have to be okay to walk away.

You just have to be tired enough to stop lighting yourself on fire for people who won't even warm their hands. 

If you're reading this and feeling called out, I need you know; this isn't about punishment. 

It's about peace. 

And if you're reading this and feeling seen, like someone finally put words to that tight, aching place in your chest, then just sit here for a second. 

You're not heartless for pulling away. 

You're not dramatic for wanting effort. 

You're not broken for being exhausted. 

You're not weak for needing space. 

You're not selfish for choosing yourself. 

You're human. 

You're hurt. 

You're learning. 

And I'm so fucking proud of you for surviving long enough to say, "I can't do this anymore."

I don't know what my life looks like after this. 

I don't know who stays. 

I don't know who notices. 

I don't know who I am without constantly accommodating everyone else's needs. 

But I do know this:

I deserve relationships that don't feel like abandonment with better branding. 

I deserve to be missed, not just remembered when convenient. 

I deserve to take up space without apologizing. 

I deserve to rest. 

I deserve to stop fighting for people who stopped fighting for me a long time ago. 

So yeah. 

I'm done. 

And if you're done too:

We can be done together. 

We can grieve together. 

We can rebuild something softer, quieter, truer. 

I'm here. 

Even when it hurts. 

Even when it sucks. 

Even when it shouldn't have had to come to this. 

-- Morgan, All of Me

Being done doesn't mean I stopped caring. It means I finally cared about myself enough to walk away.