I wrote the following at the end of October, 2025, a month I now dub the worst month of my life. Perhaps “worst” is too strong a word, maybe “inevitable” is more fitting.
This month really felt like a “month”. No other way to describe it.
My boyfriend and I broke up, I watched him fall for another woman, I quit my job, my brother was diagnosed with cancer (he is okay), my dad nearly died (also okay), my boyfriend and I got back together, and then I broke up with him again on a whim. I turned 27, moved out of my first ever apartment, and wrote a ritual eulogy for my old self. I sat with the realization that I was now bereft of my job, my home, my relationship, my social circle (a milieu that I yearned to belong to but never really felt like I belonged to) and very likely would need to move countries, or cities at the very least, and start life anew, yet again, once again. My heart shattered into a million pieces; every old wound resurfaced, only to be felt again. I feel like I died, physically, spiritually, metaphorically. I sat in the hospital with my poor beat up dad, crying, while he looked at me and said he had hardware problems and I had software problems. I’ve been waiting to die for so long, and it feels so good. I emptied myself of everything I had; went insane for a few hours; realized that shit is not for me. Only in small doses. I enjoy having a grip on reality, I enjoy the solidity of this thing we call “society”. Now all I see is beauty. Life feels painful but at least it feels real. When you are dishonest with yourself for too long, a rupture is inevitable. It is important that you let it happen, otherwise you will wither away. The voice telling you something is off will lose its spirit, dying temporarily only to emerge later in far uglier, more destructive forms. When you think the rupture is over, it is probably not. It will let you know when it is over – you will feel at rest, finally. From this place of rest, the heart will let you know what it needs. Simply trust the surrender.
It’s funny, when I first wrote this piece, I had a sense that I really was done rupturing. Two, three, four ruptures was enough, surely. Yet, like much else in my life, this turned out to be false. More ruptures have continued to emerge. It seems that once a rupture experiences the act of rupturing, it will notify all the other seedling-ruptures awaiting to burst that the host organism is ready to feel what it needs to. You are given only the pain that you can handle, they say. Is that really so?
Sofia's Blog 