Hello, Moon Child

I didnt have words back then I kept thinking if I could just find the right ones everything would slow down or make sence again

It didnt.

What I know now is that my panic attacks werent random. My shutdowns werent me not caring. Losing my ability to mask wasnt me giving up—it was my brain and body running out of room to keep pretending I was ok.

I was scared constantly. Scared of messing up conversations. Scared of watching things tilt and not being able to fix them. Every conflict felt like too much input all at once—noise emotion pressure old wounds—until I just flooded and couldnt track what I even wanted to say anymore.

From the outside I probably looked cold or inconsistant or distant. Inside I was trying so hard to stay connected while quietly unraveling.

I loved you. That part is simple. It always was.

What wasnt simple was how much of myself I was losing trying to keep us together.

I kept choosing you because connection felt like oxygen. I didnt realize I was starving myself in the proccess.

I see now that we reached a point where we couldnt talk without hurting eachother. Everything triggered everything. We were both exhausted. Two nervous systems already stretched thin just kept colliding instead of calming.

Im not writing this to rewrite history or make myself blameless. This is just the clearest version of how it feels when I look back.

I wish I had known sooner what was happening to me. I wish Id had language for burnout and masking and trauma instead of just shame. I wish Id known how to ask for help instead of trying to endure it quietly.

I did love you. I still hold that gently.

But loving you while losing myself wasnt sustainable.

So Im leaving this here instead of sending it to you.

Not to reopen anything

Not to make a case

Just to stop carrying it alone.

Im choosing myself now. Not because you were wrong. Because I was dissapearing.

I hope you found steadier ground.

Im trying to build mine