Day: October 3, 2024

I realize now that all the times she pretended to care were just that—an illusion. It was all a façade, a game of pretending. In the end, people only care about themselves. They always do. It’s a hard truth to swallow, but I see it now. Everyone is only ever looking out for their own self-interest. True care, true love—it’s rare, if it even exists.

Today has been one of the hardest days of my life. Emotionally, it’s been a battle. I’ve been fighting just to hold myself together, trying not to break down completely. But inside, I feel like I’m dying, like I’m surrendering to the pain bit by bit.

Still, I’m going to stick to my plan. I’m going to hold on to my dream. Even though I’m completely alone, even though the world feels different, I’m going to document it all anyway. I’ll record it for myself, so that one day I can look back and see how much everything has changed. Just like I can look back on the last seven years and realize that I’m not in the same world anymore.

In the coming year, I’m dedicating myself fully to this project. I’ll spend every free moment revitalizing it, bringing it back to life. When I’m not working at my new job, I’ll be focused on this. Monday marks the start of something new, and as I adjust to the change, I’m hopeful. I’m excited for the opportunity, for a chance to prove myself.

I’m going to work hard—harder than ever before. I want to be strong. I want to be someone who can’t be treated the way I’ve been treated. I want to get in shape, get my mind right, and become successful. Maybe, someday, someone will see me, truly see me, and treat me with the respect, love, and dedication that I deserve.

But until then, I’m on my own. And that’s okay. I’ll build something for myself.

It’s strange, isn’t it? To think you’ve found your soulmate. To truly believe that someone is going to be there for you, to be your partner, your support, your everything. You think they’re kind, good, the type of person you can trust with your whole heart. So, you give them everything. Every part of yourself, every ounce of hope you have left.

And then they throw it all away.

They turn their back on you, choosing something—or someone—that makes no sense to you. They walk away from what you thought was love. And you’re left wondering what it all meant. What it all was. It’s a heartache so deep, it feels like your soul is cracking under the weight of it.

I was in love—truly in love. I thought they were in love with me, too. We had so much fun together, shared so many moments that felt sacred. I thought we had a bond no one could break. And then, suddenly, they became this cold, distant person. They turned to casual flings, to a life so detached from the one we shared. It’s like they became a stranger, like the person I knew was replaced by someone I no longer recognize.

It makes me wonder if this is even the same world I was in before. Everything feels upside down. Nothing makes sense anymore. The reality I thought I lived in has unraveled, leaving me grasping for something solid, something real.

I don’t trust the world anymore. I don’t trust the people in it. It’s like everything is a lie. And so, I’m searching—searching for an inner strength, for something bigger than myself, bigger than anyone else. Something strong enough to hold me together because right now, I feel like I’m slipping.

I wonder if this is what hell feels like. If I’m living in my own personal version of it.

I’m really struggling right now. The weight of the pain feels unbearable, like it’s consuming me from the inside out. I’m trying—trying so hard—to accept the reality that she doesn’t care about me. She never did. Nine months. It’s been nine months, and I still can’t let go of the idea that maybe, somehow, she could still care about me. How crazy am I to hold onto that hope?

Finding her with another man was the most heartbreaking moment of my life. Yet, here I am, wondering why I even thought I was anything to her. She doesn’t need me. She made that clear in a thousand ways. I’m nothing to her.

I keep telling myself I have to focus on me now. I have to become stronger—stronger than this pain, stronger than the heartbreak. I have to build myself up so no one can ever hurt me like this again. I want to be strong. I want to overcome this. But it feels like no matter how hard I try, the weight keeps pulling me down.

When the storm came, it broke something in me. I thought maybe, just maybe, she would need me. That I could be the one to show up for her, to prove how much I still loved her. But when I found her with him, it shattered me in ways I didn’t think possible. I thought I was on the verge of losing my mind before, but now, I’m certain. The edge is closer than ever.

I’m doing everything I can just to hold on—to hold on to any shred of sanity, to try and survive the way she’s treated me. But it’s hard. So damn hard.

This year, I’m making a promise to myself. By 2025, I’m going to change. I’m going to read the Bible. I’m going to focus on fitness, on getting in shape. Maybe if I distract myself enough—if I throw myself into something—this pain will loosen its grip. Maybe I won’t feel so lonely. Maybe I’ll stop missing her so much.

I don’t know what else to do. I’ve tried everything I can think of. But she’s never going to be there for me. She’s never going to need me. She’s never going to love me.

Today, I sat down to map out my first day trip—something I haven’t done in a long time. As I started planning, it hit me how much there is to do, how many places there are to see. I realized I can’t rush through this. I can’t do an entire county in one day and expect to truly experience it, to really capture it the way I need to.

If I want to do this right—if I want to really absorb these places and take the time to get good pictures, to honor the memories—I’m going to have to slow down. Each stop will need its own time, its own hour to breathe. So I chose seven places for my first trip to Rock Hill, the place where this journey will begin.

It’s strange. Rock Hill feels like an odd place to start, yet it seems fitting. This trip, like so many of the others I will take, will be difficult. Sad, even. Because she’s not here with me. She’s not beside me, walking through these streets, laughing at the small joys we used to share. But I know that if I don’t do this—if I don’t walk these steps alone—I’ll never be able to let go. I’ll never be able to move on.

Sunday will mark the first real step in that journey. The first trip.

The first place on my list is Cherry Park. I remember looking at its green spaces and thinking how peaceful it looked. It’s a popular spot for locals, with trails weaving through the park. I’ll probably start the day here, walking the paths, taking in the morning air. Maybe it’ll give me some of the peace I need to carry me through the rest of the day. The park has art installations scattered throughout, and I can already picture how they’ll look in my photographs—pieces of calm amidst the chaos that has been my life lately.

From there, I’ll make my way to Winthrop University. It’s a historic place, with architecture that feels like it belongs to another time. The neoclassical buildings, the sprawling grounds—it’s the kind of place she would have loved. She had a way of making even the simplest of places feel like grand adventures. I can’t help but think of her as I will walk through the campus, passing Tillman Hall with its bell tower standing tall against the sky. It’s a reminder of how time keeps moving forward, even when we feel stuck in the past.

Next will be Glencairn Garden. I’m not sure how I’ll feel about this stop. The 11 acres of winding pathways and blooming flowers seem so serene, yet there’s an aching sadness in the thought of walking through a garden meant for two, by myself. She loved gardens almost as much as train depots. She would’ve marveled at the ponds, the small sculptures hidden among the greenery. I’ll have to take my time here, capturing the beauty around me while holding onto the bittersweet memories of what we once had.

After that, I’ll head to The Church of Our Saviour. Built in 1871, it’s a place full of history, much like the churches we visited together before. Gothic Revival architecture, stained-glass windows—it’s the kind of place that feels heavy with meaning. Maybe, standing there in the quiet of that church, I’ll find a moment of reflection. I’ll stand in the same silence that has been in my heart since she left, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll find a way to accept it.

The White House will be next on the list. A building that used to be a courthouse and post office, now just another piece of history. It’s a reminder that things change. People move on. Life moves forward, whether we’re ready or not. I’ll take pictures of its old architecture, but I know that it’ll serve as another reminder of how fleeting things are—how even the most solid structures, the most secure feelings, can crumble.

Then, there’s the Freedom Walkway. A place that commemorates local heroes of the civil rights movement. It’s humbling to think of the courage and strength that’s woven into this space, into the murals and stories it tells. Walking through the walkway, I’ll feel the weight of history, and it’ll make me think about my own path. I’ve been stuck in the past, clinging to what once was, while people throughout history have fought so hard to move forward. I need to learn how to do that—how to let go and walk my own path.

Finally, I’ll visit the Rock Hill Downtown Historic District. This area will be the heart of the trip, full of old 19th-century buildings, small-town charm, and places to stop for a quiet coffee. It’ll be a moment to breathe, to sit and reflect. Maybe it’ll be a chance to let the weight of the day settle in, to acknowledge the sadness that comes with making these steps without her by my side.

This trip, this day in Rock Hill, will be the first of many. But it’s more than just a day trip. It’s the beginning of something I have to do for myself. The beginning of facing the reality of what’s gone, and learning how to walk through it, step by step, until I can finally move on.

In order to finally complete this project, my photo book, I need to travel to every county in South Carolina and re-photograph many of the places I visited seven years ago. It’s really more of a photography project now, a way to capture not only the places I once knew but also how they’ve changed over time.

For my first official trip, I’ll be heading to York County.

This time, I want to be more diligent in planning. I’ll try to call places ahead of time or at least make sure they’re open before I go. One of the places I’m hoping to revisit is Historic Brattonsville. I’m not even sure if it’s open right now, but it’s the kind of place I want to capture again. There are also several gardens, and I believe there’s even a Buddhist temple somewhere in the area.

I’ve been inspired by an old book called South Carolina: A Day at a Time. It was written by two women who traveled all over the state, taking pictures and making fun day trips in each county. The book is pretty old now, and many of the places they documented probably aren’t in the same condition. I thought it might be fun to retrace some of their steps, but also add my own locations to the mix.

Back then, I wasn’t as interested in photographing churches, since the book featured so many. But now, I find myself drawn to them, fascinated by their history and architecture. I plan to make them a bigger part of my project this time around.

I’m looking for any historical sites or interesting locations in York County, places I can legally access to take photos. If anyone knows of any hidden gems, I’d appreciate the help.

A lot has been changing in my life lately. I’m starting a new job soon, and it feels like a big shift. I’ve been doing some soul searching, and with everything that’s happening, it feels like the right time to finally finish what I started.

But the only way I’ll ever complete this project is by starting over. I’ve come to realize that many of the places I wanted to include in the book might not even be there anymore. I’m going to have to revisit every single county, and it’s going to take time. But I’m ready.

This journey is just beginning.