Before the Sun, Comes the Spiral
It's the part no one wants to admit, when you’re on the path to the land of the delusional. The start of a shame spiral that drags you into the darkest corners of your own mind. When you're stuck with the confusion, wondering how you ended up here… again. It’s the shame of another failed almost. The desperate need to control the narrative before it slips out of your hands. The terrifying thought that maybe you’re the problem. Self-doubt disguised as reflection. This is the part you try to fix before anyone notices you’ve come undone.
The Broken Poet
6/2/20252 min read
I feel like a fucking idiot.
How do I keep ending up here?
Like clockwork, another crash. Another almost.
I know better. I do.
I thought I was making progress.
But apparently, the universe had other plans.
Ha. So cute.
This time was supposed to be different.
We wanted the same things, marriage, family, the whole “Let’s build something real" vibe.
He was all in.
He gushed over me when we were together.
Hit me up daily with the infamous “good morning” texts.
He was consistent. Attentive.
All the things I never got from Mr. Almost.
And it felt right.
Until it didn’t.
Now he’s saying things like, "I feel like we’re just friends,"
but still wants to support my ventures.
For what? A loyalty badge? A guilt cleanse?
I don’t get this guy.
He acts like he cares but detaches like it’s nothing.
Like I didn’t just make room for him, in my plans, in my life, in my fucking heart.
How could I be so stupid?
How did I not see this was too good to be true?
He’s gonna feel it.
I know it.
It’s just a matter of time.
He’s gonna feel the void. He’s gonna remember the way I showed up.
And when he does?
I’ll be thriving. Glowing. Unreachable.
I’m gonna show him.
But wait…
Do I really care?
Do I want to show him?
Should it matter?
No.
It shouldn’t matter.
But also—yes.
Yes, it matters.
He needs to know.
But I don’t want him to think that I care.
So I need to be… nonchalant.
Cool. Calm. So indifferent it’s almost suspicious.
Okay, what am I gonna do?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Let’s be real...
This part? Sounds familiar, right? So much so that it’s almost scripted.
The shame. The over-analyzing.
The frantic need to understand what went wrong and how to fix it.
Because after all, you were the problem, right?
You weren’t giving him enough “girlfriend energy,” so he felt like you were just friends, right?
You didn’t give him enough affection, right?
It had to be something you did or didn’t do.
There’s gotta be something you can do to fix it. To rewrite the ending.
But it’s more than that.
It’s not just heartbreak, it’s confusion. It’s self-doubt.
It’s steeped in the fear that maybe… it’s just you.
Maybe you’re not good enough. Maybe you need to be better.
Maybe you scared him off by being too open, or maybe you just didn’t measure up.
Somewhere in this story, you became the reason the love story didn’t get a happy ending.
And the worst part?
You know you’re doing it.
You know this isn’t healthy. You know you should be walking away with your head high.
But instead, you’re stuck in the loop.
Reaching for closure.
Replaying old messages.
Turning his silence into a story you wrote about yourself.
This isn’t about him. Not really.
This is about what his withdrawal triggered in you.
The hunger for reassurance.
The need to be chosen.
The fear of being discarded.
Again.
You’re not weak for spiraling.
You’re human.
And if this hit you harder than it “should,”
maybe it’s not because you’re broken.
Maybe it’s because his distance touched an old wound, one that was already bleeding long before he showed up.
He just made it impossible to ignore.
And the truth?
The answers won’t come from him.
They come from the kind of honesty you’ve probably been avoiding, too.
The kind you owe yourself.