She left him

but he didn’t leave her.

He’s in every mirror.

Every quiet room.

Every time she second-guesses herself

before speaking.

Her ex-husband never hit her.

He didn’t have to.

He rewired her

from the inside out.

Used love like leverage.

Praise like bait.

Withheld affection

until she begged for it

like a starving dog.

She lived in gaslight.

Slept beside a stranger

who called her “too sensitive”

while twisting every truth

into a weapon.

By the end,

she couldn’t even cry.

Just floated—numb, brittle,

on autopilot.

And when she finally left,

she didn’t heal.

She escaped.

There’s a difference.

Meanwhile, her body betrayed her.

Anxiety carved her down to bone.

She lost almost 100 pounds

and people called it “amazing.”

But it wasn’t discipline.

It was trauma.

It was shaking hands

and skipped meals.

It was panic attacks instead of breakfast.

It was nights on the bathroom floor,

heart racing,

wondering if she was dying

or just remembering

everything she couldn’t forget.

Six months later,

she met someone new.

Soft eyes.

Safe hands.

Or at least, not dangerous ones.

She didn’t love him—

not yet.

But she needed something real.

Or maybe just someone

who didn’t look like her past.

Another six months,

and she’s pregnant.

No time to come up for air.

No time to rebuild herself

before carrying someone else.

Now she’s 27.

Diagnosed and unraveling.

Borderline Personality Disorder—

as if she didn’t already know

her emotions tried to kill her.

C-PTSD—

as if she didn’t already flinch

when her partner raises his voice

by accident.

She loves him—her daughter’s father—

but it’s a messy love.

A “don’t leave me” love.

A “get the fuck away from me” love.

A love that swings like a blade

and sobs in the aftermath.

Sometimes she screams.

Sometimes she disappears.

Sometimes she holds her baby

and wonders if love

is enough

to keep her from breaking again.

She’s trying.

No one sees how hard.

No one sees the way

she stitches herself back together

every night

just to show up again in the morning.

Her hands still shake.

Her weight still drops.

Her mind still spirals.

But she stays.

Because her daughter

is the first thing

that didn’t hurt her

just for existing.

And she’ll burn

every broken part of herself

before she lets that cycle

touch her child.

Even if it kills her

to hold the match.