From my diary

I'm writing this while I'm in the bathtub.

The water is warm. My wrists are open. There's a strange peace in finally surrendering to what I've always known to be true: I don't deserve to live.

Not because of what happened to me. But because I'm complicit in my own destruction.

I knew Flavio was using me. I knew Mario didn't actually want me. I knew I was stepping back into the exact patterns that broke me in the first place.

And I did it anyway. I chose pain because at least pain felt familiar. At least pain felt like something I could control.

The healing was a lie. My strength was a performance. My recovery was just another mask.

And now I'm taking it off.

I wonder if anyone will understand that this wasn't suicide. This was just acknowledgment. That some people are meant to be broken. Some people can't be fixed.

Some people should never have tried to be fixed in the first place.

I'm sorry, Anneka. You deserved better than someone who chose pain over healing.

But I chose wrong. And now I'm going home.