This one’s straight from the pages of my diary. No filters. No edits. Just truth.
Today I had a random memory of my ex. I asked myself, “Do I still love him?”
And the honest answer was: Yes.
But I realized… I don’t want him back.
I just want the feelings and the moments we had.
I miss being in love. I miss feeling chosen. I miss feeling safe and secure. I miss feeling supported and heard.
He made me feel all of that. And I’m not going to lie—sometimes I still wish it was him. But I know we could never go back to what we had. Too much damage was done. Too much was said. Too much changed.
But yeah… I still love him. I probably always will.
Sometimes I wonder why love has to be so complicated. Why do we love the ones who hurt us? Why do we hold onto ghosts that don’t love us anymore?
I want to fall in love again.
I want someone who understands me without me having to over-explain.
I want love that’s peaceful. Not one I have to constantly fight for.
I want something healthy. Whole. Gentle.
But maybe before I find that kind of love, I need to love myself first.
Not the “go take a bath and call it self-care” kind of love.
I mean real love. The kind where I stop criticizing myself for being too sensitive, too intense, too emotional.
Where I don’t beat myself up for not healing fast enough.
Where I stop looking for validation in other people’s eyes.
I’ve spent so much time trying to be lovable that I forgot I already am.
And maybe the reason things didn’t work out is because the universe was waiting for me to choose me first. Maybe I was never supposed to go back to him. Maybe I was meant to come back to myself.
So here I am, messy and complicated and healing.
Still hurting sometimes, but also learning.
Still craving connection, but also finding peace in my solitude.
And even though my heart still aches when I think of him, I’m proud of myself.
For choosing distance.
For choosing growth.
For finally realizing that love shouldn’t feel like a battlefield.
This entry was hard to write. Harder to admit. But necessary.
Because healing doesn’t always look like moving on.
Sometimes it looks like writing the truth down and letting it breathe.
– A bipolar, anxious, Cuban-American woman learning how to love herself again 💔➡️💖
Scarlette Febles 
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