April 24, 2025

I’m not sure if I’m here to confess or just to let it out into the void. Maybe both.

Three years ago, I broke up with my first boyfriend—suddenly, painfully, and on a gut decision that I still don’t fully understand. I’d been feeling torn inside for weeks: part of me knew I loved him, the other part had this gnawing discomfort. Eventually, I ended things… and not just ended them, but accused him of something heavy. Something that still haunts me.

At the time, I was convinced he had graped me. It felt real. It felt certain. Everyone I talked to told me that’s what it was. I repeated it. I believed it. But I also remember feeling unsure. There was always a part of me asking, “Was it really that?” I never truly answered that question for myself.

A year later, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Specifically, I had experienced psychosis—something I didn’t even know I was going through at the time. Looking back now, I see how blurry that period was, how my perception was spinning out. I was terrified, confused, and surrounded by people trying to “help” by validating what I was saying… without really knowing what was going on inside me.

Now, three years later, I still think about him. More than I probably should. He’s still in love with me—mutual friends have told me—and the thought of that cracks me open in a way I didn’t expect. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to feel about all of this. Guilt? Longing? Grief? Maybe all of it.

Do I try to reconnect with him? Could we ever untangle the past from who we are now? Would it be fair—to him, to me?

I still don’t know what really happened. I don’t know if I was right or wrong, or both. But I do know that losing him changed me. And I’ve been carrying that loss like a stone in my chest ever since.

I guess I just needed to say it out loud.

— Marissa Fields