My Conscience, My Chaos, and My Completely Fucked-Up Love Life

 

So here I am,

sitting in bed like a half-dead Victorian orphan,

wheezing with pneumonia

and honestly wondering if my lungs are planning a dramatic exit.

 

I can barely walk without feeling like I’ve run a marathon,

my chest feels like someone’s parked a Ford Fiesta on it,

and every step sounds like I’ve swallowed a packet of Rice Krispies.

 

Snap. Crackle. Pop.

My whole damn chest.

 

So yeah… I quit my job at Evri.

Two days I work there a week 

And now I can’t breathe, can’t sleep, and can’t even put socks on without nearly collapsing.

I decided:

it’s time to focus on me.

My health.

My treatment.

My sanity (the tiny bit that’s still hanging on).

 

But of course, the moment I try to focus on myself,

my emotional life pipes up like,

“Hey girl, remember your LIST of problems?

We’re still here!”

 

The Stefan Situation

 

Oh, the joy.

 

I’ve been on the phone to Kelly,

explaining the same thing I’ve been telling myself for months:

 

I am not in love with Stefan.

 

Not the way he wants.

Not the way he deserves.

Not the way he THINKS I feel.

 

I love him —

but as a friend.

As someone who was there once.

As someone I shared chemistry and history with.

 

But romance?

No.

Not anymore.

 

He keeps telling me he’ll wait for me.

That he wants to be with me.

That he loves me.

That he’ll be patient.

 

And I’m sat here like:

 

“Mate… I can’t even breathe.

I can’t be someone’s future when I can’t even make it through the night without wheezing like a haunted harmonica.”

 

And then the irony hits me in the face

 

Because the way he feels about me?

 

Is EXACTLY how I felt about Ryan.

 

That same hope.

That same heartbreak.

That same “maybe one day” feeling

that just leaves you bleeding at the end.

 

Ryan never felt it like I did.

He'll never  love me the way I loved him.

And that’s why I stopped chasing.

Stopped texting as much, Stopped the torture 

 

And now here I am —

on the OTHER SIDE of the story.

 

Life’s a comedian.

A  Fucking dark one.

 

So what do I do now?

 

I think I’m going to have to do the thing I hate most:

 

Break someone’s heart

to protect my own.

 

Stefan deserves someone who loves him properly.

Not someone who’s half here, half broken, half dying, half surviving.

 

He deserves someone who lights up when he walks in.

Not someone who’s trying to force a feeling back that died years ago.

 

And the only way I can think to end it —

because he won’t let go —

is to make him hate me.

 

Tell him I’m seeing someone else.

Tell him I’ve moved on.

Tell him something that will snap the attachment completely.

 

Rip the plaster off.

Fast and brutal.

 

Because if I try to be gentle,

he’ll wait forever.

And I can’t carry that.

Not now.

Not with this illness.

Not with the chemo.

Not with the pneumonia.

Not with the heartbreak that’s already ripped me apart once.

I’m at my lowest. But I’m trying.

L

I’m tired.

I’m hurting.

I’m breathless.

I’m emotionally raw.

 

But I’m trying to make decisions

that protect my peace

instead of destroying it.

 

Even if it means people hating me.

Even if it means being the villain.

Even if it means ending things brutally.

Sometimes survival looks selfish.

But it’s still survival.

 

And right now?

That’s all I’ve got the strength for.

Why be the villain? 

Why Being the Villain Will Be Easier

There comes a point in your life — especially when you’re sick, exhausted, emotionally bruised and held together with morphine, blankets, and pure spite — where you realise something harsh:

 

It’s easier to be the villain than to be the one who slowly breaks someone’s heart with the truth.

 

And that’s where I’m at.

 

I don’t have the energy to explain my feelings gently.

I don’t have the strength to hold someone else together while I’m falling apart.

I don’t have the capacity to manage another person’s emotions

when I can barely manage my own.

 

So for once, I’m choosing the path that makes ME survive,

even if it makes me look like the bad guy.

 

Because the truth is exhausting

 

To sit someone down and say:

 

“I don’t love you anymore.

Not like that.

Not in the way you want.

Not in the way you deserve.”

 

…that takes emotional stamina I simply don’t have.

 

I’m fighting cancer.

I’m fighting pneumonia.

I’m fighting my own body, mind, and heart.

 

I can’t also fight someone else’s hope.

 

And Stefan’s hope?

It’s big.

It’s clingy.

It hangs on every nice thing I say and every soft thing I do.

 

If I try to be gentle, he’ll twist it into a sign.

If I try to be honest but kind, he’ll tell himself it’s temporary.

If I try to explain the mess inside my head, he’ll promise to “wait” or “fix it.”

 

I can’t handle that.

Not now.

Not with everything else weighing me down.

 

Being the villain is clear. Final. Sharp.

 

If I make him hate me 

if I cut the chord in one brutal slice —

he won’t cling.

 

He won’t hope.

He won’t wait for something that’s never coming.

 

He’ll walk away, because he’ll think I betrayed him,

or chose someone else,

or did something unforgivable.

 

And you know what?

 

That might break him for a week.

A month.

Maybe even a year.

 

But it will free him.

And it will free me.

 

Sometimes the cruelty is the mercy.

 

I’ve been on the other side

 

I know how it feels to love someone more than they love you.

 

I know how it feels to cling to every message, every promise, every crumb.

I know how it feels to believe:

 

“Maybe if I wait…

maybe if I’m patient…

maybe if I try harder…”

 

But that road leads nowhere but heartbreak.

 

Ryan told me how he felt and I hoped he'd feel.the same way, but i was stupid, and dumb 

And I had to tear myself off him like a plaster ripping skin.

 

I had to be cruel to myself

to break the fantasy I was living in.

 

So now I understand:

sometimes being the villain is the only way to save someone from a slow death.

 

And honestly? I don’t have the time or health to drag it out

 

I’m sick.

I’m tired.

I’m hurting.

My body is falling apart faster than my emotions can keep up.

 

I don’t have five months to gently let Stefan down.

I barely have five hours some days where I don’t feel like dying.

 

Being the villain is simple.

Quick.

Absolute.

 

Like ripping out a rotten tooth.

 

Yes, it hurts 

but the relief after is worth it.

 

The real truth?

 

I’d rather he hate me and move on,

than love me and stay stuck.

 

I’d rather be the villain in his story

than the ghost of a love that never comes back.

 

I’d rather he walk away angry

than stay and drown with me.

 

And for the first time in my life,

I’m choosing the option that protects ME 

even if it paints me black.