08/02/2025
September.
I lost everything I had.
The ground disappeared from under my feet.
You disappeared.
I lost my home, my safety, my so-called “normal” life.
I lost the voice that meant everything to me, day after day.
I packed my bag and left for Poland.
Had a full-blown panic attack at the airport—because suddenly, I was alone.
I had no idea how to move forward, but I knew one thing for sure:
I had to go as far as possible, so there was no way back.
Because home didn’t exist anymore.
September was a month of talking to myself through voice notes.
Of pouring everything out just to hear my own voice again.
September was a month of friends, tears, and the kind of nights that slowly brought me back to life.
September was a month of goodbyes.
To a home, to people, to a life that wasn’t mine anymore.
Packing up my things, closing that door for the last time,
realizing—I didn’t belong there anymore.
I went through so much pain.
I lost everyone. My friends, my whole circle, my space, my things, my person—myself.
But I chose to lose myself so I could finally figure out who I really was.
For the first time in years of constant conversations, I found myself in complete silence,
surrounded by a language that wasn’t mine.
I was terrified.
Terrified I wouldn’t make it.
But I did.
I met incredible people.
I learned the language.
I moved.
I found new friends, trust, a new home—everything I needed at that moment.
I was still hurting, but happiness was slipping in between the cracks.
The wound was fresh, but I smiled.
I let the pain pass through me.
I let it break me, and then I slowly put myself back together.
Unsent messages.
Missed buses.
Flights I never took.
People who turned away.
False hope.
Harsh words.
Lies.
So much of it.
But through all of that, I learned to trust again—new people, new experiences, myself.
And by October, my life was already bursting with color.
