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I didn’t fall in love with a cruel person.
I fell in love with someone who once felt like home.
That’s the part people don’t understand when they ask, “Why don’t you just leave?”
They don’t see the past version—the laughter, the safety, the promises that once wrapped around my fears. They only see the present wreckage and assume leaving should be easy.
But loving someone who is actively destroying you is not a simple story of right and wrong.
It’s a paradox. A slow emotional contradiction.
My Love Became a Wound
I wake up every day knowing that the person I love is also the person breaking me—piece by piece.
My confidence eroded through careless words.
My peace stolen by constant anxiety.
My self-worth questioned until I started questioning myself.
And yet, my heart still reaches for them.
Love doesn’t switch off just because pain turns on.
It lingers. It hopes. It remembers who they were instead of who they are.
That’s how destruction hides—behind memories.
The Hope That Traps Me
I stayed longer than I should have because of hope.
Hope that they would change.
Hope that my love would be enough.
Hope that one good day could cancel out ten painful ones.
I kept telling myself, “This phase will pass.”
But the truth was harsher: I was passing—fading—while waiting.
Walking away felt like betrayal.
Staying felt like survival.
And I chose survival the wrong way.
Why Walking Away Feels Harder Than Staying
Leaving meant accepting that love wasn’t enough.
That effort wasn’t equal.
That I couldn’t save someone who didn’t want to stop hurting me.
Staying, on the other hand, felt familiar—even if it was painful.
Pain you know feels safer than an unknown peace.
There’s also guilt.
Guilt for giving up.
Guilt for choosing yourself.
Guilt for hurting someone you still love—even when they’ve been hurting you without remorse.
No one talks about how self-preservation feels like selfishness when you’ve been conditioned to endure.
Loving Them Cost Me Loving Myself
At some point, I realized something terrifying:
I was protecting their feelings while abandoning my own.
I excused behavior I would never tolerate from anyone else.
I minimized my pain to keep the relationship alive.
I learned how to be quiet instead of honest.
That’s when love stopped being love—and became self-destruction.
The Truth I’m Still Learning
You can love someone deeply and still need to leave.
You can miss them and still choose distance.
You can grieve a relationship while admitting it was killing you.
Love that destroys you is not romantic.
It is not loyalty.
It is not patience.
It is a lesson—one that comes at a painful cost.
If You’re Living This Too (I wish “NEVER”)
If you’re reading this and recognizing yourself, know this:
You are not weak for staying.
But you are brave for considering leaving.
Choosing yourself doesn’t mean love failed.
It means you refused to disappear for it.
If this resonated with you, share your story in the comments. Sometimes healing begins with being heard.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: Andrey Zvyagintsev on Unsplash
