January is the death before rebirth. It is the silent path to rebuilding yourself from scratch. I’ve always hated January. Some months bring joy, others feed your sorrow, and then there is January, which makes you want to die.

The fog has settled over the city for the past few days. I haven’t seen the sun, haven’t felt its light. I wake up, and it’s dark. I fix something to eat, work, go to the gym—it’s dark again. I trap myself in this same silent path just to occupy my mind. To keep my sanity in check—otherwise, it will break through my skull, spit in my face, and laugh at me for going insane.

January is a rough patch you can either endure or let destroy you. I’m somewhere in between. These times are especially fierce for someone going through a breakup. I think this one is the hardest for me so far. I drink my tears, silently scream, and pretend I’m moving forward just fine. I work, cook, train, go out. Yet, I’m fucking terrified of this breakup. It has the potential to ruin me. Perhaps it already has—long before it ended.

I’ve lost trust in people. I realized this the moment I decided to cut the flowers whose roots weren’t yet rotten. We’ve become so mean, so adept at the cruelty of giving others illusions and hypothetical scenarios. How do you end a fairytale that promises happily ever after? Sometimes, it’s necessary to take the path of loneliness and isolation to find yourself again. To truly love someone else, you must first learn to love yourself in the emptiness. I keep reminding myself that making the right decision doesn’t mean you’ll feel happy about it. At least, not at first.

I’m scared because I find comfort in my loneliness. I’m scared of how far this empty feeling can go and what lines it may cross. I despise almost everyone around me. Myself included. Yet, I enjoy my own company. How can a person feel that way? Am I going crazy? I’ve been asking myself this far too often lately. The zone of comfort is a dangerous road. I may be gliding down it or crawling my way through it—I’m not sure which. But I keep moving because stopping would send me into roads dark, which I’m not ready to take yet.

After a session with my shrink, I thought: why am I letting other people decide the road to happiness for me? I’ve let someone else dictate the bumps and holes in my path to feeling whole. I have this self-destructive trait of trying to prove I’m good enough—to be someone’s friend, colleague, lover, partner—without asking for the same in return. Because I’m the one seeking redemption for my Guilt. I’m the one who has to prove I’m worth their time. And if I succeed, I get the pass to participate in the relationship. One thing I still don’t understand: why the fuck do I feel this way? Why do I feel unworthy, unqualified, ordinary, guilty? If nothing else, this might be my end.

At some point, my relationship collapsed under the weight of insecurities, lack of initiative, lack of emotional intelligence, trust, burdens, and traumas. I remember looking into my love’s eyes and seeing that I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t meet some crucial standards. I wasn’t worthy of being loved the way I loved them. The moment I had to ask for love, I knew I needed to step away. Otherwise, I’d keep circling the same cycle of destruction. The moment I needed to ask for reassurance that our love was stronger than our fears, I lost hope.

Since then, I have been wandering into the unknown, feeling hopeless, desperate, and lost. I’ve started enjoying my loneliness more. I feel so empty that I sit in silence, hoping to hear my thoughts, but it’s so quiet. I’ve lost the spirit of love. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t. The walls of the unsettled trapped me. I wanted to speak, but each time I tried, my lips were sealed by invisible desperation. The lump in my throat grew, and the knot in my stomach returned. I felt scared where I once felt safe. And I couldn’t explain that to the person I loved most in this world. To the one, I wanted to give everything—my hand, my heart, my world. But you can’t give to someone who doesn’t want to take. How can you light a fire where warmth isn’t wanted? Or feed a stomach that’s already full? Oh, how can I be so foolish to look for a home where the door was locked?

I chose the painful path to fulfillment over being half-loved. The hardest thing was leaving the arms that gave me comfort under certain conditions. I walked away from conditional love. From love with limits, barriers, and burdens. I stepped out of the I love you, but…

I keep reminding myself: if they wanted to, they would have. There is always a way. There is always a chance to make things right. I gave them a second chance. It wasn’t enough. I move forward. I will learn to love myself better, harder, stronger. I will learn to love myself a little bit more this January—because January, after all, is the death before rebirth.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) by Michel Gondry (yes, this is how much it hurts)