Raw Confide

It’s embarrassing, honestly. Feeling jealous over someone who hasn’t promised me anything. Someone who owes me nothing. Someone who might not even like me back the way I like them. But here I am — getting irritated when I see their name pop up with someone else, getting quiet when they don’t text back on time, overthinking when they post something that doesn’t include me. I act unbothered. I pretend I’m cool. I respond with “lol” and emojis like my heart isn’t acting stupid. But inside? I’m burning. Not because they’re mine but because I wish they were. I know it’s foolish. I know I have no right. But feelings don’t wait for permission. They attach themselves quietly, softly, and then violently — especially when you try to ignore them. Jealousy without entitlement is the worst kind. Because you suffer silently, pretending you don’t care, while hoping one day they’ll choose you so you can finally stop lying to yourself.

They were everything I wanted — and that was the problem. They looked at me with a softness I wasn’t used to. They listened with attention that felt too pure. They liked me without pressure, without games, without trying to impress me. And for the first time in a long time… I felt seen. It terrified me. Because people like that have power. Not the toxic kind. The vulnerable kind. The kind that can break you without trying. The kind you fall for without permission. So I ran. I told them I wasn’t ready. I told them I wanted to focus on myself. I told them half-truths wrapped in excuses. They nodded, smiled sadly, and said they understood. But they didn’t understand that pushing them away hurt me too. It’s crazy how we reject the things we crave the most. It’s crazy how fear disguises itself as logic. And now, every time I meet someone new, I compare them to the person I walked away from. The one who could’ve ruined me with love. The one I’m still thinking about.

It’s pathetic, I know. Months have passed, life has moved on, yet I still find myself typing their name into search bars like a habit I can’t break. I don’t want them back — at least, that’s what I tell myself. But I want to know. I want to see. Are they smiling more? Laughing louder? Dressing better? Loving someone else? Every time I see them posting something fun, it stings — but I still scroll. Every time I notice a new person consistently liking their posts, my stomach drops — but I still watch. There’s a pain that comes from not being missed, a quiet ache that settles in the chest and pretends it’s just curiosity. But it’s not curiosity. It’s longing. It’s ego. It’s heartbreak that hasn’t finished its job. Sometimes I imagine them checking my page too. Sometimes I pretend we’re both watching each other silently, trying to move on but failing. But deep down, I know the truth: I’m the only one stuck.

I’ve mastered the art of acting unbothered. I laugh loud, post things that look like I’m glowing, talk like nothing gets to me. My friends even think I’m the strongest one in the group. But all it takes is them. Their name lighting up my phone can flip my entire chest upside down — either with excitement or pure, sick anxiety. If they reply too dry, my mood drops. If they don’t reply at all, my mind turns into chaos. If they say the wrong thing, I lose appetite. If they say the right thing, I feel stupid for how good it makes me feel. I hate it. I hate giving someone that power without their permission. I hate how I try to act detached while my heart is busy studying every punctuation mark in their messages. It’s embarrassing, honestly. Some days I mute them because I want peace. Other days I stare at my phone because I want anything from them — even a “hmm.” It’s toxic. It’s childish. But the truth is simple: I care too much. And pretending I don’t is exhausting. ---

I didn’t plan to fall for them. It wasn’t supposed to be emotional — just moments, touches, breathless nights that felt harmless until I started waiting for their messages like oxygen. They always came at night. Always when the world had gone quiet and my guard was soft. Their knock was the kind that made my heart sprint and my mind forget every warning I ever gave myself. They held me like they meant something. They kissed me like they were learning me. They stayed long enough for my heart to get confused… but left quickly enough to remind me they never promised anything. The day I realized I felt more, it scared me. It was the morning I watched them get dressed in silence, scrolling through their phone, smiling at someone who wasn’t me. I felt it in my chest — the sting, the stupidity, the truth. I wasn’t their person. I was their convenience. Now when they touch me, my body remembers the chemistry… but my heart remembers the disrespect. I don’t know how to look at them without wanti...

I’m tired of acting like I don’t care about love. The truth is I want it — deeply. I want someone to choose me, to understand me, to see me. But I’m terrified. Because I’ve loved before, and it ended painfully. I’ve trusted before, and it backfired. I’ve opened up before, and it was used against me. Now every time someone gets too close, my instinct is to pull away. Not because they’re bad — but because I’m scared the story will end the same way. I’m trying to heal. Trying to believe that love can be soft and safe. Trying to convince myself that I deserve something real. Maybe one day I’ll be brave enough to try again. But for now, my heart is still learning how to trust.

It’s weird. I don’t like them — not romantically. But the way they give me attention… it’s messing with my mind. They compliment me constantly. They check on me more than the person I actually want. They are consistent, sweet, and available. And it’s getting harder to ignore. Sometimes I catch myself enjoying the attention, even though I know it’s not coming from the person I truly want. It feels good to be seen, wanted, considered. But then I feel guilty — because I don’t want to mislead them. I don’t want to settle just because someone else is treating me nicely. It’s confusing. And a part of me wonders if maybe I’m starting to like them… or if I just like the way they make me feel.

I told them I didn’t care. I told them I wasn’t interested. I told them it was all just vibes. But every word was a lie I’m now choking on. I was scared — scared of being vulnerable, scared of being rejected, scared of wanting more than they wanted to give. So instead of telling the truth, I pretended I was okay with casual conversations and half-hearted attention. But the truth? I wanted them deeply. And I pushed them away with my own lies. Now they’ve moved on. They talk to someone else the way they used to talk to me. And I’m here, wishing I had been brave enough to just say: “I like you.” I sabotaged my own happiness. And that’s a confession I’ll carry for a long time.

I didn’t expect the age difference to matter this much. People say love is love, but society has a way of making you second-guess everything. They’re younger — full of energy, full of life, seeing the world in a way that makes me feel alive again. Or they’re older — wiser, calmer, more stable in ways I’ve been craving for years. But people talk. Society talks. Even my mind talks. “Will they fit into my world?” “Will they take me seriously?” “Will people judge us?” Still, when we talk, it feels natural. Effortless. Like age is just numbers and connection is the real heartbeat. I like them. Maybe too much. But I’m scared the world won’t understand.

I don’t know when it changed — maybe gradually, maybe all at once. But one day I woke up and realized I was in a relationship where I felt completely alone. He used to be attentive. He used to ask how my day was, send random “I miss you” messages, make me feel wanted. But now? I feel like a background app he only opens when he’s bored. When I talk, he nods without listening. When I call, he’s “busy.” When I send sweet messages, he responds with “okay.” I’m trying not to complain too much because I don’t want to sound clingy, but it hurts. I’m a human being, not a placeholder. What scares me most is how normal the silence is becoming. I used to fight for his attention, but now I’m learning how to live without it. And that’s the part I don’t think he notices — that I’m slowly drifting away, not because I want to, but because I’m tired of begging for the bare minimum.

I never expected this. I’m not the kind of person who juggles multiple people. But somehow, here I am — torn between two connections that feel different but equally real. Person A is safe. Consistent. Kind. They check on me, they remember everything I say, they make me feel grounded. When I talk to them, I feel like I’m home. Person B is excitement. Unpredictable. Someone who challenges me and makes me laugh without trying. When we talk, I feel alive in a different way — like electricity under my skin. I’m not dating either of them, but the guilt is eating me slowly. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to lead anyone on. But my heart is confused, split in two directions with no clear answer. Sometimes I think maybe it’s not about choosing between them but choosing myself and stepping back completely. But then one of them texts me, says something sweet or thoughtful, and suddenly I’m back in the emotional maze again. I don’t know how to navigate this without breaking something… or...