Unfinished Dying

In an unfinished dying, you feel you must mourn yet you can’t begin, because you haven’t reached an end that you understand.” — Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Zikora

You know how you never quite realize that something is finally over?

Like… deep down, you know. You felt it slipping away a long time ago. But still, some tiny part of you holds on hoping, praying, pretending there’s something left that’ll keep you two connected. Keep you tethered.

And then, boom. They do something so deliberately disappointing, so unnecessarily cruel, it smacks the delusion out of your chest. And you’re like, “Damn. I guess I’ve been having an unfinished dying.”

Not just in romance.

In life. In career. In everything.

I’m having an unfinished dying with my brand.

I want to shut it down but I can’t. It doesn’t make sense to. So I won’t.

But I can’t lie and say the spark is still there.

It’s not. And that makes me sad.

Same thing with my relationships.

I feel like every single one ends in an unfinished dying.

We just… fade.

No fights. No closure. Just vibes.

Or the lack of it.

They’ll swear up and down they value me. But their actions whisper the truth and the truth always sounds like neglect.

And sometimes? I don’t want to communicate.

I’m exhausted from having to teach people how to treat me.

I’m tired of saying “this hurt me,” and having someone reply, “that wasn’t my intention.”

Intention doesn’t matter when the impact keeps cutting me.

I’ve spent the last six months over-explaining. Over-communicating.

Trying to be digestible. Trying to be easy to love.

And I’m not. I’m not easy to love.

I’m not easy to attain.

And that should be okay.

I’ve bent myself too many times for people who never even reached out to meet me halfway.

And every time it doesn’t work, every time it falls apart quietly, it feels like another unfinished dying.

And I’m done romanticizing people’s “potential.”

If you valued me, you would’ve seen me ,not the version of me that’s convenient for you to handle.

You would’ve loved me the way I love big, loud, thoughtful.

I’m the type of girl to book you a massage, show up with flowers, plan a date that speaks to your soul.

But people keep giving me stuff that says “I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Red roses? I hate them.

Pink cake? I hate pink.

Monetary gifts? Okay cool, but where’s the meaning?

The only gift that truly felt intentional was from Barbara ,she got me the cutest kitten heels from Zara. I saw them on her and said I loved them. And she listened. That’s what love looks like to me. She saw me.

I’ve been avoiding saying the word, but fuck it ….

I think I’m depressed.

I’ve been bottling this shit for 21 years, and now I’m crashing.

I’ve never crashed like this before.

And when I finally do get sad, people say, “This isn’t you.”

YES IT IS.

This is me. Sad. Messy. Confused. Still trying.

And I think my brand ruined my mood the most.

I knew deep down the path I took wasn’t it.

But I forced it. Tried to be positive.

Ignored the signs.

And now? I feel like I lost something sacred in the process.

But shoutout to working out my bum is fatter, my abs are slicing through, and I have stretch marks on my ass now.

I used to hate them, but now? They feel like proof that I’m changing. Growing. Lifting. Evolving.

It’s weirdly beautiful.

I think I’m also mad because my nails and hair aren’t done.

And I hate spending money rn

And when my nails and hair aren’t done, I feel like a shadow of myself.

And yet a glimmer of light:

I got a new job. Or more like… a friend put me on.

I pulled up to a mall in Admiralty, mid-depression spiral, and had a meeting.

My energy was low. My mind was in a fog.

But my friend stood in for me spoke life into me, vouched for me.

And I got the job.

So, shoutout to Seyanu. I love you, my baby. Thank you for seeing me when I was invisible to myself.

I haven’t said a word since my birthday. I’ve been stuck in this grey zone of unfinished endings.

But this is me speaking now.

I’m mourning things that never got a funeral.

And that’s okay.

Some deaths don’t come with closure.

Some endings don’t have explanations.

But we still have to live.

Thanks for reading.

See you when the fog clears.