Pull Up Anchor

Look, I’m just fucking done. Done chasing love, done hoping, done holding onto some idea of romance that just doesn’t fit my reality. It’s not some dramatic, soul-crushing loss. It’s just time. Time to cut the cord, pull up anchor, and focus on what I can control—my health, my peace, my own damn life.

Do I still want love? Sure. Do I still crave connection, someone who sees me—messy, broken, imperfect—and stays anyway? Yeah. But wanting something doesn’t mean it makes sense to keep reaching for it. The truth is, my medical struggles aren’t going anywhere, and I can’t keep expecting someone else to sign up for that. It’s not self-pity; it’s just reality. Asking someone to carry that weight with me? That’s not fair to them, and honestly, it’s not fair to me either.

I spent years believing that love would find a way, that the right person would be willing to weather the storms with me. But I get it now—it’s not about whether someone could handle it. It’s that I can’t keep asking them to. The toll—physical, emotional, mental—is too much to expect someone else to bear. And I’m not going to keep putting myself through that cycle of hope and disappointment.

This isn’t me giving up on love entirely. It’s me letting go of the exhausting search. If it happens, fine. If not, fine. But I’m done actively looking for something that, right now, just isn’t meant for me. I’m done pretending I can offer the kind of love I once dreamed of when I know I can’t.

So I’m moving forward, without that dead weight dragging behind me. I’m choosing solitude, healing, and focus. I’ll still want love—but I won’t waste another second chasing it. Right now, taking care of myself is enough. And honestly? That’s fucking freeing.