Category: Diary

As the days grow shorter and the air gains a crisp edge, I find myself counting down to what would have been our seventh anniversary. There’s an excitement in the nostalgia, a bittersweet yearning to retrace the steps of our early days together. I’ve decided that this year, I’m going to revisit some of the places that became markers of our story—those seemingly ordinary spots that became extraordinary in the glow of our shared moments.

I know I won’t be able to cover every memory, every corner of the past, but I’m determined to visit the ones that matter most. The store where we found that perfect jewelry box, for instance, a simple trinket that still holds echoes of laughter and love. I’d love to locate the pharmacy where we shared an impulsive, carefree moment, stealing kisses in the back of my car, wrapped up in the heat of new love. And of course, there’s the place where we first kissed—a spot that seemed to make time stop—and the bed and breakfast where we first became vulnerable and real with each other, leaving no barriers between us.

This journey isn’t just a one-time pilgrimage. It’s something I want to make part of my life, a way to honor you and the profound role you played in shaping me. I want to capture the spirit of who we were, and who you were to me—someone who brought light, laughter, and adventure into my life. Visiting these places will be a way of preserving that, even if it’s just for myself.

And while I’m at it, I plan to take it further. This holiday season, I’m finally going to the Biltmore Estate, a place of grandeur and beauty we always dreamed of visiting together but never did. And next year, I’ll be heading back to Charleston, a city I wish I could have shared with you. I know in my heart that you would have fallen in love with its historic streets, ocean breezes, and hidden gems waiting to be discovered. It’s a trip we never took but always deserved.

These visits won’t fill the emptiness, but they will allow me to embrace it, to acknowledge the love that once was and the person you were—the person who transformed the mundane into magic. Maybe in doing so, I’ll find a sense of peace or, at the very least, moments of joy in reconnecting with pieces of our story.

For now, though, the day’s responsibilities call. There’s work to be done, and life, as always, moves forward. But even as I push through my daily routine, I hold onto that part of me that misses you, loves you, and honors your memory in the only way I know how—by living, remembering, and revisiting the story that was ours.

Today was an ordinary day, but in a way that felt like a small victory. The echoes of your absence didn’t resound as loudly, and I’m beginning to accept the truth that you’re never coming back. The realization is a hard pill to swallow, this deep void that you left, one that once brimmed with late-night conversations, laughter, and shared dreams. It’s strange to navigate this world without my best friend by my side. The loneliness still creeps in, seeping into the quiet corners of my day. But here’s the truth: I don’t want to fill the space that you once occupied. I’d rather let it stay empty, a silent testament to something I once had and lost.

This emptiness holds more than just grief; it holds the memory of a connection that was real, raw, and profound. I know I could never replace that with fleeting moments or shallow interactions. I don’t want to. I can’t pretend that a series of faces or the thrill of momentary distractions could ever hold the weight that you once did. I’ve grown to resent the idea of living a life filled with hollow exchanges and temporary highs. I want something more—a bond that goes beyond skin-deep, something rooted in honesty, growth, and shared purpose. I want to build something that stands the test of time, a connection that doesn’t crumble when life gets hard. I thought that person would be you. It wasn’t. That’s just the way life is, unfair and unrelenting.

But here’s what I’ve come to understand in the rawness of this loneliness: if I’m to build and grow, it has to start with me. Maybe that’s what I needed all along, even though I never would have chosen it. You once lifted me up, showed me glimmers of my own potential, a version of me that felt unstoppable when seen through your eyes. But then you let go. You dropped me, abandoned me, and left me with nothing but silence and unanswered questions. It shattered me in ways I never thought possible, broke me down to the very foundation of who I am.

I’m still piecing myself together. I’m not whole, not yet. Maybe I never will be completely, but every single day I push forward, striving to become the man you once believed I could be. But now, I’m learning to do it for myself. I no longer chase the ghost of your expectations; I do it because I deserve it. I’m finding out that strength isn’t just about holding on, but also about learning to let go. Letting go of the hope that you’ll turn around one day and come back, letting go of the ‘what ifs’ and ‘could have beens.’ Deep down, I know that you won’t. And that’s okay.

It’s time for me to find peace in my solitude, to embrace the man I am becoming without you. To live my life fully, to feel joy in the quiet moments, and to learn to love myself—not as a stand-in for someone else’s affection, but because I am worthy of it. I have to be strong enough to walk this path alone, to build a life where being just me is enough. And one day, maybe that will be more than okay. It will be everything.

Life has a way of challenging us to rise above, especially when we’re standing at the crossroads of who we are and who we aspire to be. Right now, I find myself at that juncture, determined to take control, shed the last few pounds, strengthen my finances, and elevate my life to a place of pride, health, and success. This year is going to be my year—a period where I buckle down, harness my energy, and truly see what I’m capable of becoming.

Over the past few years, I’ve made significant strides in my personal journey. I’ve shed over 100 pounds, gained discipline, and learned resilience through experiences that tested my limits. The progress is real, and it’s something I’m proud of. But pride doesn’t mean complacency, and I’m aware that there’s more to be done. This last phase requires precision, focus, and the kind of effort that pushes beyond comfort into true growth.

The physical transformation is a huge part of this. I’m hitting the gym daily, committed to pushing my body past its perceived limits, building strength and shedding that last bit of weight. It’s more than vanity; it’s a tangible reminder of what dedication can achieve. And while the workouts are intense, they’re balanced with purpose—each rep and every drop of sweat serving as a promise to myself to never settle.

But this isn’t just about fitness; it’s a comprehensive overhaul. I’m looking at life through a sharper lens, examining my financial habits and taking steps to build security and independence. Success doesn’t happen in a vacuum—it requires structure, smart planning, and the ability to pivot when necessary. That’s the rhythm I’m striving to master: a routine that fuels my ambition without burning me out.

One major leap I’m considering is LASIK surgery to bid farewell to my glasses, a small but significant step in how I present myself to the world. It’s part of an overarching goal to boost my confidence and embrace change. Every shift, big or small, symbolizes my commitment to becoming the person I want to be.

I’ve come to terms with something that once felt insurmountable: no matter what I do, Katarina won’t be coming back. Accepting this reality has been a process, filled with its own hurdles and moments of doubt. But I’m determined not to let it define me or derail the progress I’ve made. This chapter is about me and for me—finding peace, building strength, and redefining happiness on my terms.

I can already see glimpses of the person I’m becoming, and it fills me with a quiet pride. But the work isn’t done. The final push, that last stretch of effort, is what stands between me and a version of myself that I’ll look back on and say, You did it. It’s a daunting thought, but also an invigorating one. I’m ready to give it everything I’ve got, embrace the grind, and bring my vision to life.

To anyone reading this who might be on their own path of transformation, know that it’s the moments when progress feels slow that define your journey. Keep going, keep believing, and remember that every step forward is one more brick in the foundation of your future. This year, I’m not just hoping for change—I’m making it happen. And I can’t wait to share what this next chapter brings.

Today marked the closing of a chapter in my life that had been lingering for far too long. I finally said my last goodbye to Katarina. It wasn’t an easy decision, nor was it sudden, but it was necessary. I felt the need to pen this final farewell, not out of anger or lingering hope, but out of acceptance and closure.

A few days ago, we exchanged words for what I know will be the last time. Her message was clear: she was over me, indifferent to what we once had. Surprisingly, I found myself at peace with this revelation. The girl I once adored is no longer there. Time, choices, and circumstances have changed her into someone unrecognizable. The Katarina I loved has been replaced by someone embracing a lifestyle I neither understand nor want any part of. Harsh as it sounds, the path she has chosen feels distant, and to me, it is deeply off-putting.

Life, though, continues forward. Today was mostly filled with chores—mundane yet grounding. Soon, I’ll dive back into my creative projects, specifically making new content for my YouTube channel, which has become a passion and an outlet for my energy. Alongside that, I’m thinking of recommitting to a strict Huel diet to fine-tune my health. My body and mind have been adjusting to my new job, which, despite its demands, has opened up opportunities I never thought possible.

In two weeks, I’ll make a return journey to a place that holds memories both sweet and bittersweet—a bed and breakfast where Katarina and I first shared a moment of true closeness. I plan to capture photos of the sites we visited, a symbolic step in reclaiming those memories for myself. It’s strange how life works; back then, finances were tight, and her excuses to avoid revisiting were endless—her dog, other obligations. Now, with the newfound stability this job offers, I have the means to go on these trips that I once only dreamt of.

The next few months look promising. I’m planning a trip to Charleston in the early spring, when my vacation kicks in. This time, it won’t be shadowed by past longing or regret. It will be a new experience, a new chapter, and a chance to explore life on my own terms.

Here’s to new beginnings, new journeys, and finding peace where there was once only pain.

I don’t think I’ll ever make peace with it.
Not with what she became.
A hollow ache curdles in the pit of my stomach,
an echo of disbelief, a sickening reminder.
The person I loved so fiercely,
the woman I knew with every corner of my heart,
transformed into something foreign,
something that turns my insides cold.

I trace back the memories,
the smiles, the quiet moments,
her eyes—once a world I felt safe in.
And now, the same eyes haunt me in dreams,
turned sharp, distant, haunted by choices
that pull her further and further away
from who she was,
from who I thought we could be.

Night after night, sleep brings no peace.
Nightmares cradle me instead,
painted in shades of her shadow.
She’s there,
but changed, twisted by decisions
that spit in the face of what we once dreamed.
She chose that life over me,
over the family I begged for,
hands raw from pleading,
knees bruised by hope’s cruel betrayal.

I loved her with a desperation
that swallowed me whole,
and in the end,
she turned away,
chose something so unimaginable
it leaves a metallic tang of disgust
on my tongue,
lingering like a ghost that whispers
that I’ll never forget,
that I’ll never heal.

To know that I wasn’t enough,
that our future was a mirage—
a trick of light in a desert of denial.
This is my sadness,
a forever wound that festers,
the haunting that lives with me,
breathing where hope once dared to.

Today felt different—like the calm before a storm of change. It was a day that carried a sense of quiet triumph mixed with an acknowledgment of the challenges that lie ahead. At work, I received news that a series of major projects are coming my way. It’s not just the usual tasks; these are substantial, demanding projects that will push me to step up in ways I haven’t before. It’s going to require grit, focus, and a level of dedication that matches my determination to grow. It feels like life’s test, a call to prove not just my competence, but my resilience and ability to adapt. And I’m ready.

Beyond work, I’m setting my sights on personal projects that carry a deep sense of fulfillment. I’m taking steps toward building my own tiny home—a space that will be a reflection of my independence and newfound focus. Alongside that, I’m preparing to put effort into restoring my mom’s old house. These projects are more than just physical tasks; they are symbols of anchoring myself to stability and building a foundation that is entirely my own.

But the weight of personal transformation doesn’t come without pain. Lately, I’ve come to terms with a truth that has been hard to swallow: in the end, I can only rely on myself. No one, not even those who once promised to walk through life beside me, will always be there. This realization hit hardest when I thought of Katarina. The path she’s chosen has carved a rift between us, one that can’t be bridged. It’s a choice that broke my heart, not just for what it meant for us, but because it revealed a side of her I never wanted to see. I can’t pretend that it doesn’t hurt or that I don’t wish it had been different. It feels like betrayal; it feels like being shattered by the very person who once gave me the most hope.

Despite the pain, gratitude still finds a way to surface. Katarina, for all the ways she lifted me up and later let me fall, was integral in shaping who I am today. In her presence, I learned to believe in the power of us, and more importantly, in myself. The highs of that belief were intoxicating, and the lows—when she pulled away and left me with nothing but echoes of what we had—were devastating. She broke the illusions I clung to and left me on the ground to rebuild with pieces that, although scattered, were mine to gather and reshape.

I’m thankful for the lessons that came wrapped in heartbreak. I’m grateful that she showed me my limits so that I could push past them. For years, I trusted her with everything I had, believing she would be my constant. Now, in her absence, I’m learning to become my own unwavering support. It’s a painful gratitude, a complicated one, but it’s real.

From now on, I’m shifting my focus inward. I’m going to work harder than I ever have, not out of bitterness, but out of a genuine drive to strengthen myself. I want to build a life defined not by what was lost but by what I chose to create in the aftermath. I want to become strong—not just in the physical sense, but mentally, emotionally, and in my dedication to my own growth. This is for me, for the future I’m crafting, and for the parts of me that are still learning to stand tall after being knocked down.

Every project, every hour spent in sweat and effort, is a testament to this newfound resolve. I will take these challenges head-on, grateful for what they teach me and steadfast in my journey forward. I may not have the partnership I once envisioned, but I do have myself—and that is more powerful than I ever realized.

Yesterday was one of those days that tested my patience and reminded me of just how alone I’ve become. I found myself at work, in the middle of clearing out a bunch of old fencing—a job that was nothing short of exhausting. With each truckload, I felt the fatigue setting in, but the satisfaction of nearing the end pushed me forward. By the sixth and final load, the finish line was in sight. I walked up to my truck, sweat trickling down my brow, only to discover that I had locked myself out.

There I stood, tools scattered around me, the remnants of the old fence leaning like sentinels against the fading sunlight, and my truck—my lifeline—was now an iron fortress with no key to its gates. For a moment, frustration bubbled up. I wanted to shout, to curse my luck, to be angry at anything but myself. But there was no one around to hear it, no sympathetic voice to offer help or reassurance. Just me and the stubborn silence.

I spent the next 40 minutes wrestling with a makeshift tool—a clothes hanger I had scavenged from the debris. The wire felt flimsy in my hand, bending and twisting with each failed attempt. My mind raced, shifting between problem-solving and the deeper thoughts I’ve tried so hard to avoid. Each failed attempt brought the realization home: there’s no safety net anymore, no one to call. Not Mom, not Dad, and certainly not Katarina. Those days are behind me, sealed away in a past that no amount of desperation can unlock.

It’s a sobering thought to recognize that you’re alone in a world that demands so much of you. No helping hand, no comforting words. Just the echo of your own resolve. But that’s when it hit me—this is life now. It’s raw, unyielding, and it’s mine to face. I could’ve given in and called a locksmith, sacrificing a day’s worth of wages and admitting defeat. But I knew that wasn’t the path I wanted to walk. I needed to prove to myself that I could handle it, that I could fight back against the setbacks that life throws my way.

As the minutes stretched on and the sun began to dip lower, I finally felt the satisfying click of the latch. The door swung open, and I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Relief washed over me, but so did the understanding that this was more than just unlocking a door. It was a reminder—a lesson carved out in that moment of struggle—that no one will ever have my back like I do. It’s just me, facing the world with nothing but my wits, my hands, and whatever makeshift tools I can find.

So, yes, it’s just me against the world now. But in those 40 minutes, with a clothes hanger and a stubborn heart, I learned that maybe—just maybe—that’s enough.

Sometimes, in the quiet moments, I find myself drawn back to those few precious videos I have of you. I play them on loop, each frame capturing the warmth and sweetness that once defined our time together. It’s a small comfort, watching you laugh or share a quiet moment, feeling that familiar joy surface, if only briefly, when I see you on the screen.

I often wish you had let me capture more of those moments—those little snippets that held so much life. I never realized then how much I would crave the ability to revisit them, to hear your voice, see your expressions, and remember who you were. It’s like looking through a window into a life that was once so vibrant, now only alive in memory and old footage.

I understand you’ve moved on and that our paths have diverged completely. I’ve come to terms with the reality that I’ll never see you again. Still, it’s bittersweet to watch those videos and see glimpses of the person I once knew, the person who was so tender and kind. You changed so much over time, and that transformation is hard to accept, knowing I’ll never have the chance to know who you became or how you got there. I find myself longing for the version of you that was warm, patient, and gentle—the version that seems like a distant dream now.

But that’s the nature of life, isn’t it? Time presses forward, reshaping us, carving out parts that we never thought we’d lose. Though you’re gone from my world, these few cherished memories remain, grounding me in the beauty of what once was. Watching you in those moments is a small reminder of the kindness you showed me and the laughter we shared.

So, I find comfort in that slice of the past. It’s a quiet kind of joy, tinged with the sadness of all that’s changed. I’ll keep playing those videos now and then, holding onto the happiness they bring, and letting them remind me of a time when life felt simpler and connection felt easy.

A Heartfelt Journey Forward

Some days, it’s tough to keep pushing forward, especially when the one person I wanted to share my life with no longer cares, and I’m left with no idea how she’s doing. It feels like I’ve been cut off, abandoned—and I have to remind myself that “it is what it is.” But that doesn’t make it easy; some days, the weight of it is harder to bear.

Despite it all, I’m pouring everything into bettering myself, working hard to grow into the best version of me. I hope that, over time, the ache will fade, and I’ll fully accept the truth—that she’s gone, and I might never see her again. It’s been a slow journey, but there’s also a clarity: the person I miss isn’t even the same anymore.

After my manager’s meeting, I’m tackling a mountain of inventory work, all part of pushing forward, of keeping busy. Still, there’s this lingering wish that she was around, a hope that we could just talk like we used to. I miss the simplicity of those conversations. But it’s not meant to be, and I know that.

I still have this project we started together all those years ago. That’s one part of her I’m not letting go of. I’m determined to see it through, to finish it for both of us, even if I have to do it alone now.

Today was one of those hands-on, nonstop days where time seems to fly by. I tackled a major project in the elevator motor room—repairing a large section of drywall that had molded over time. It was extensive work; I had to run to Lowe’s for materials, cut the drywall to size, clean up the area, apply spackling, and make sure everything was primed for the next steps. Handling a project of that scale in a single day felt like a big win. And to be honest, the work itself wasn’t bad at all—just the sort that keeps you so occupied that hours slip away unnoticed.

Tomorrow, I’ll need to restock supplies, this time using my new company charge card. It’s a bit surreal to think about; here I am, fully responsible for a significant position and trusted to manage projects, materials, and expenses. Sometimes it hits me just how far I’ve come, and I can’t help but feel like I’m finally stepping into a new phase—one where I’m a “real” adult, shaping things and moving forward with real accountability.

Something else struck me today too. I realized that I hadn’t thought much about Katarina or felt that familiar pang of missing her. There’s a sense of finality now, an understanding of who she is and the lifestyle she’s chosen, and it’s helped me let go in a way I didn’t think was possible. For the longest time, I couldn’t fully accept the person she’d become; it just didn’t make sense to me. But today, I felt a strange calm in knowing that her choices don’t need to affect me anymore.

Reflecting on it, I’m glad I no longer have to be around that version of her. The woman she turned into is someone I’d never choose to associate with. It’s hard to believe, but she changed in ways that just don’t align with who I am or what I value. She treated me poorly, consistently making me feel small or unworthy, and as painful as it was, this distance has shown me the truth of who she wants to be. And that person? It’s not someone I want in my life.

I understand that this is her choice, her path, and maybe she’s even happy with it. But for me, I’ve made peace with not being a part of it. There’s sadness, of course, and sometimes I wonder if this was always part of who she was, hidden beneath layers I never saw. Maybe it was there all along; maybe it grew over time. Who knows? But one thing I’m sure of: each day, it’s a little easier to move on, and I’m grateful for that.

And just like that, another day comes to a close.