By: Olivia Clark
April 27, 2025
I met Jason when I was 18. It was a time in my life where I had no idea who I truly was, no clue what I wanted from the future, and definitely no idea how love could both make you feel on top of the world and utterly broken at the same time. He was everything I thought I wanted—charming, confident, and effortlessly cool. He had this energy that pulled you in, made you feel like you were the center of his universe, even if just for a moment.
At first, it was innocent. We met through a mutual friend and exchanged stories over lunch. He made me laugh, and that’s where it started—just simple, unguarded conversations. But things moved fast. The chemistry was undeniable, and one night, it just happened. I lost my virginity to him. It wasn’t some grand romantic gesture, but it felt like a huge moment for me.
I thought I was falling in love. I thought it was real. But I was wrong.
Jason wasn’t the type to settle down, or so I learned quickly. I tried to convince myself that we had something special, something that was worth waiting for. But as the months went on, he was always too busy, always distracted, and I started to notice the way he looked at other girls when I wasn’t around. I brushed it off—he was just being friendly, right? That’s what I told myself.
But deep down, I knew. And it hurt.
It wasn’t until he got a girlfriend, someone else who was just as pretty, just as easygoing, that I realized I was just another girl in his life. He didn’t see me the way I saw him. Still, I held on to the hope that maybe things could change. That maybe he’d realize what we could be.
A few months later, he came back to me—when his relationship hit a rough patch. He reached out, saying things weren’t great, that he missed me. I fell for it. We ended up getting together again, but I knew deep down it was a mistake. He was only using me as a distraction, a way to cope with his problems. And I let him.
They broke up eventually, just like I had predicted. But that didn’t bring us closer—it just left me heartbroken, watching him move on to someone else without a second thought. I tried to act like I was fine, pretending like I didn’t care. But the truth was, I cared too much. And it was killing me.
Then came the worst part. He ghosted me. One day, he just disappeared—no text, no explanation, nothing. I tried reaching out, but he blocked me on everything. It felt like the ultimate betrayal, and I didn’t understand why he’d do that after everything we shared. I couldn’t even ask him why he did it. It just ended, and I was left with a million questions and an aching heart.
Now, months have passed, and I’ve tried to move on. But I can’t. I think about him all the time, and part of me still wishes he’d come back, that maybe he’d finally realize what we could’ve had. I hate myself for it—how much I still want him, even after everything. But I can’t shake the feelings. It’s like I’m addicted to the idea of him, to what we could’ve been if things had turned out differently.
I hate how much I’ve let him control my emotions. I hate how easily he manipulated me, even if it wasn’t intentional. But no matter how much I try to hate him, I still can’t let go. I know I should, but part of me is still waiting for that message, that moment where he tells me that everything will be okay.
Maybe one day, I’ll be able to move on. But for now, I’m stuck in this loop of longing, disappointment, and unspoken words. It’s exhausting. I just want to be free from it.
