I didn’t mean to hurt anybody.
That’s the most honest thing I can say. I didn’t wake up planning to f people up. I wasn’t trying to ruin anybody’s life.
But I did. Over and over.
I can’t even call what I did dating. I let women get close enough to hope, and then I left them there. Or worse, I stayed just enough to keep them hanging while never actually being present.
Emotionally, I was gone from day one. I just knew how to pretend.
I don’t have a body count. I have damage. I have women who walk around with my fingerprints on the parts of them that used to trust.
I didn’t cheat. I didn’t scream. I didn’t hit.
I just withheld.
I stayed silent. I shut down. I made them feel like they were too much, like they were asking for something unreasonable when really they were just asking for love. For clarity. For effort.
Avoidant attachment sounds like a soft thing. It’s not.
It’s violent in a quiet way.
It’s watching someone cry and feeling nothing but the need to escape.
It’s being told “I need you” and feeling like they’re choking you.
It’s knowing exactly what someone needs and choosing not to give it, not out of cruelty, but because it feels like losing a piece of yourself to even try.
And I told myself I was a good guy.
That I didn’t cheat. That I was loyal. That I never raised my voice.
I told myself I wasn’t like the ones who hurt them before.
But I was, just in a different flavor.
Then at 30 I get hit with the ADHD diagnosis, and suddenly everything clicks.
The shame. The forgetfulness. The zoning out mid-conversation. The inability to finish anything I start, including people.
But by then it’s too late.
They’re already changed. Worn out. Less open. Less soft.
This isn’t art. I’m not writing for closure. I don’t even think I deserve that.
I just need to get it out. Need to name what I did.
I think about sending them a survey. Like a Google Form.
“How did I f you up? What stuck? What do you wish I knew back then?”
But I already know the answer. I saw it in their eyes when they stopped trying.
I’m not sorry. Not here. I’ve said sorry too many times with no follow-through.
This is just the record.
Next entry: the first one who called me out before I had the language to explain myself. Before I even knew what I was doing.
The damage done without even realizing.
Trying to wipe off blood from other people without realizing we are the ones bleeding on them. And we keep wiping, scratching them in the process until they actually start to bleed too.
This is me