Today, everything came together.
Not planned, not expected — but everything I had tried to endure these past months suddenly stood right in front of me.
I was tired. Still recovering.
But I wanted to get out for a bit, so I went along to the market.
And there she was.
My ex-wife.
Surrounded by her friends.
Smiling. Working.
It looked as if everything that once was my life just went on — without me.
I stood there. Silent.
Among people who once knew me, but who now just walked past.
No “how are you?”, no glance of recognition.
Only silence.
And in that silence, I felt how deep the loss still goes.
Not for what was, but for what will never be again.
I thought of my daughter.
How she knows nothing of this moment.
How her mother keeps her away from so much that once felt safe.
And that hurt.
Because this is not about me, but about her —
about everything a child should be able to keep,
even after parents fall apart.
I walked.
For a long time.
With tears I refused to let fall,
because I didn’t want anyone to see how much it hurt.
But deep down I knew: I still care about her.
Not for what she does, but because she’s a part of me that never disappears.
That awareness is heavy — but it’s also real. Honest.
Later, I ran into two old friends.
From the stables.
They asked how I was — sincerely, with warmth.
But it hit too hard.
I couldn’t do it.
The words got stuck in my throat, and I just walked away.
Not out of anger, but because it was too much in that moment.
Later, I sent them a message to apologize.
Because it wasn’t about them — it was about the fight still going on inside me.
When I came home, my daughter noticed.
No words needed.
She gave me a hug.
And that was enough.
For a moment, I remembered why I keep standing.
Not for the past,
but for what still stands upright in my heart.
Reflection
Some will read this and call me “unstable.”
And honestly? Sometimes I wonder that myself.
Until I hear again what my doctors and therapists tell me —
that they can’t understand how I’m still standing.
That they rarely see such mental endurance in someone who’s been pushed so deep, for so long.
Burnout, overwork, years in overdrive…
And now, a situation that reopens old wounds and creates new ones every day.
It broke me.
And yet, here I am.
And yes — it hurts.
To see that everything I once fought for,
everything that seemed impossible for me,
now continues so effortlessly.
Without me.
For years I fought — exhausted, crushed —
to make those same things work.
That hurts.
Not out of jealousy,
but because it shows how quickly people forget you
when you no longer function the way they expect.
Some days push your face back into the past.
Not to punish you, but to remind you how far you’ve come.
There is strength in staying upright,
even when no one sees what it costs.
Part 2 – What I’ve Learned Along the Way
Sometimes I ask myself:
why does this still eat away at me?
Why do I so often feel blamed, exhausted — like it’s all my fault?
Why does the outside world seem to believe her so easily?
Why am I standing here with tears in my eyes, while she’s laughing on the street?
It took me months to recognize the patterns.
To realize I’m not crazy.
That what I’m living through isn’t coincidence,
but the result of a toxic dynamic that drained me from the inside out.
🔹 The Power of the Image
What we see on social media or in public is often just one side of the story.
Smiling faces, activity, liveliness — it paints a convincing picture.
But image is not always reality.
Sometimes it exists to hide something.
To silence doubt.
To avoid questions.
I learned that it’s important not to rely only on what’s visible,
but on what can be felt.
On what people truly live through — behind the scenes.
I’ve seen what lies behind that image.
What my daughter has endured.
What I’ve tolerated for years.
And still, sometimes I start doubting myself.
That may be the most poisonous part of all.
🔹 Piece by Piece, Everything Was Taken Away
First I lost friends.
Then my business.
My house.
My family.
And finally, almost myself.
Not through one event,
but through a slow accumulation of silences, blockades,
deliberate exclusions, and distortions.
It happens gradually, almost invisibly.
Until you realize that everything that once belonged to you
is now held by someone you once trusted.
🔹 My Own Emotions Turned Against Me
Sometimes I think:
am I too sensitive?
Too fragile?
But then I hear again from doctors and therapists
who say they can’t understand how I keep going.
How few people could still stand after everything I’ve been through —
and still face today.
And then I realize:
I’m not unstable.
I just feel deeply.
And I’m not built to fake it.
What I feel is real.
What I carry is heavy.
And that deserves to be named.
🔹 What Hurts the Most
The worst part isn’t the lies or the silence.
The worst part is seeing everything I once fought for
continue effortlessly — without me.
Not because I failed,
but because I had to break.
Because I had to step away to survive.
That hurts.
Not from envy,
but because I know the price I paid.
🔹 And Still, I Stand
Again and again.
I feel everything.
I swallow tears in places where no one can see.
I walk among faces that once knew me.
And still, I stand.
Not because it’s easy,
but because I have no choice.
Because my daughter needs me.
Because I can’t afford to lose myself.
Never let anyone convince you that you’re weak because you cry.
You are strong because after everything,
you still feel,
still give,
still live.