CHAPTER 10: The pattern
535 Words
The realization didn’t come all at once.
It crept in quietly, like a thought I tried to outrun but couldn’t.
It happened on a Tuesday night, alone in my apartment, after Alex canceled plans for the third time that week. His text was short. Casual.
Long day. Rain check?
I stared at the screen longer than necessary.
Sure. No worries, I typed back.
My hands were steady. My chest was not.
I set my phone down and stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by silence. No textbooks open. No music playing. Nothing to distract me.
That’s when it hit.
Matt.
Daniel.
Alex.
Different faces. Different ages. Different contexts.
Same ending.
A tightness formed behind my ribs, sharp and sudden, like something had snapped into place.
It’s me.
The thought landed hard.
I sank onto the couch, pressing my palms against my thighs like I could hold myself together by force.
I replayed every moment. Every conversation. Every time I’d adjusted, softened, stayed quiet. Every time I’d told myself not to ask for more.
My breathing quickened.
What if I was too much?
Too intense.
Too serious.
Too emotional.
What if everyone saw something in me that I couldn’t fix?
My vision blurred. I dragged in a breath, then another, but my lungs refused to cooperate. My heart pounded violently, like it was trying to escape my chest.
I curled forward, elbows on my knees, hair falling into my face.
You’re the common denominator.
The thought echoed, louder now.
I stood up abruptly, pacing the room. My hands trembled. My thoughts spiraled faster than I could slow them.
Normal women don’t scare men away.
Normal women don’t get left.
Normal women don’t feel this much.
My chest burned.
I pressed my hand over my heart, willing it to calm down. It didn’t.
Tears came suddenly, violently, like my body had been holding them hostage for years. I slid down the wall, knees drawn to my chest, sobbing into the quiet.
“I try so hard,” I whispered to no one. “I try to be enough.”
My phone buzzed.
Sara.
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t explain the feeling of standing inside your own life and realizing you might be the problem you can’t escape.
My breath came in short, broken gasps. My face felt hot, tight. I hugged myself, rocking slightly, as if my body knew what my mind refused to accept:
I was exhausted.
Not from studying.
Not from working.
From holding myself together.
After what felt like hours—but was probably minutes—the storm inside me began to slow. My breathing steadied. The sobs faded into quiet hiccups.
I wiped my face with the sleeve of my sweater and stared at the floor.
For the first time, the question shifted.
Not what’s wrong with me?
But—
Why am I so afraid to need someone?
The thought scared me more than the panic had.
My phone buzzed again.
Sara’s name glowed on the screen.
This time, I answered.
“I think something’s wrong,” I said softly, my voice raw.
She didn’t hesitate. “I know.”
Silence.
Then, gently, “And it’s not what you think.”
- Writer
