I quit.

On cutting the strings at the very peak.

I have been struggling intensely for two months now while chilling at home.

I am standing precisely on the edge of unlocking an entirely new chapter in my life, yet I can’t help but question why I am feeling anything other than excited—especially after everything I’ve been through to get here.

You fight so hard for the finish line, assuming that arriving means the ghosts can no longer catch you. But the moment the noise stops, the silence becomes deafening.

Succeeding brilliantly becomes an unimaginably painful milestone when you look around and realize that ill intentions and lost trust have emptied the room of everyone you ever wanted to share it with.

I have been trying to sit with my feelings, a sudden hurricane I was not beautifully ready for.

The truth is, I was already too vulnerable. I was stepping out of the wreckage of being left out by people I loved, or willingly choosing to cut off everyone who betrayed me in my darkest days.

It takes a terrifying amount of energy to keep your head above water when the people who were supposed to hold you down are the ones pulling you under.

And to be honest, it’s been just wild. Messy.

I can easily say that these are my ugliest days ever.

I find myself questioning why I am giving myself such a hard time, why I am enduring this massive amount of pain whilst being at the peak of my professional journey.

We are taught that success heals us, that reaching the top of the mountain cures the valleys we had to crawl through. But it doesn’t.

I surrender to the fact that I cannot control my own feelings. I can only give myself all the time I need to heal, because beneath the achievements, I’m still deeply wounded.

I tend to skip steps. To burn myself alive. To rush to move on as quickly as possible in order to appear strong and healthy to a world that only applauds our resilience, never our pain.

Weakness isn’t my best comfort. Letting my body actually absorb all the ache, despair, and devastation I’ve been trying to avoid is tremendously scary.

It’s literally me trying to dodge a bullet that has already hit me, trying to pretend the wound isn’t there.

Now, I’m letting every ounce of discomfort get into me and not holding myself together anymore. The porcelain armor has cracked.

Still, the isolation remains—I chose to cry alone in my room, to spend more sleepless nights than I ever thought my body could handle, staring at the ceiling and wondering how a heart can feel so heavy and so empty all at the same time.

My mind is perpetually active, analyzing my past and present.

It loops through every moment of extreme pain; of milestones and happiness I should’ve felt but couldn’t because I was too numb; of abuse and mistreatment I couldn’t speak about because I’ve lost trust in everyone.

My past is haunting me. Intellectually, I know I should’ve gotten help and therapy to get in a more peaceful and healthy place with my traumas.

But if I am being completely honest, I think I don’t want to move on beyond my traumas.

I believe that they are the fuel that led me where I am today, the dark current that keeps on pushing me forward.

If I heal, who do I become? I am the most resilient person I’ve known so far, but that resilience was forged in fires I should have never had to walk through.

And honestly, I don’t know if there is hope for me to trust someone again. As sad as it sounds, I simply don’t want to.

The cost of letting someone in is a price I can no longer afford to pay.

Therefore, after months of reflection and deep vigilance, I chose to quit.

I surrender trying to find meanings to anything other than me and my own benefits.

I quit giving people unearned value and endless second chances that they only use to hurt me again. I quit trying to control the uncontrollable variables of human loyalty.

I quit the exhausting social games of fitting and pleasing, of wearing masks just to make insecure people feel comfortable around my light.

I finally decide to let go of all the invisible strings I was convinced to conform to, or unconsciously submitted myself to out of habit.

Though this time, I won’t look back.

I choose silence and peace. I choose to not speak my mind unless necessary, because my thoughts are too sacred to be wasted on people who only listen to misunderstand. I won’t explain myself. I will only bend to my creator.

Now, I’m not only ruthless with access—I am absolute. I won’t think twice before cancelling someone from my life, even if the cost of that autonomy means being solitary forever.

I would rather be entirely alone in the truth than surrounded by people who require me to diminish myself to fit in. Genuine people recognize each other instantly; their souls speak the same language without trying.

So there is no room for error.

The gates are closed, and this time, the key is gone.

To those who recognize the language spoken here: thank you for reading.

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