тнιѕ ιѕ αℓℓ fσя υ (open request)

A letter that I never sent

Dear one,

Hesitation is a powerful emotion, don't you think? For so long, I wrestled with it, debating whether to write you this letter. But in the end, I thought, "screw it." Who are you to take away the one thing that keeps me sane?

I've bottled up my feelings for what feels like an eternity, trying desperately to let them go, but they cling to me like shadows, always lurking, always waiting to strike the moment I let my guard down.

They say people with ADHD struggle with attachment, and being an ENFP only makes it worse. It’s a wretched combination, really. I’m 23, and I can't keep my emotions in check. Every feeling is misplaced, like puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit. Forcing them together never solves the problem.

I oscillate between hyperactive energy and paralyzing inertia, my mind racing with possibilities while my body remains immobile. Relationships? A complete mess. I yearn for deep connections, yet I flit from person to person, unable to stay anchored. I’m like a kite in a storm, tugging at strings, longing to soar but always crashing back down.

My sensitivity is both a gift and a curse. I feel everything intensely—from the euphoria of a new idea to the crushing weight of disappointment. It’s exhausting. The world is too bright, too loud, too everything. I’m too much, yet never enough.

Depression seeps in, a relentless fog dulling the vibrant colors I desperately seek. I idealize, I dream, and I fall apart when reality doesn’t meet my expectations. Impulsivity drives me to chase new experiences, leaving a trail of half-finished projects and broken promises in my wake.

I've tried routines, but they feel like prisons. I crave freedom, variety, yet without structure, I’m lost. It’s a constant battle between the chaos in my mind and the desire for stability.

You knew I wasn't doing well, yet you chose to be cruel. I’m writing this letter because, at one point, you were a good friend. I’ll cherish the moments we had. I know I won’t send this, but writing it feels like I’ve already shared it with you, as if you’re reading it now.

Hand shaking, eyes full of tears, heart drenched in guilt. But I know you won’t feel the same remorse. If you did, you wouldn't have left so easily.

Dear B—yes, 'bitch' suits you better, since you pushed me back into a mindset I never wanted to return to.

The numbness I’ve been running from has found me again, hugging me from behind. A shiver runs down my spine, leaving me lifeless. My skin itches, craving something to make me feel alive, needing to pierce it again to feel pain, because at least then, I wouldn't be numb.

Below zero—that's my mental state.

I remember my worst crisis. The world felt like it was collapsing around me. Everything was too much—every sound, every light, every touch. My heart pounded like a drum, each beat echoing in my ears, drowning out rational thought. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. My mind felt like it had shattered into a thousand pieces, each one pulling me in a different direction. My body was feverish, burning, yet shaking as if cold.

I felt like I was drowning in my thoughts, the waves of anxiety crashing over me, pulling me under. My body was a battlefield, every muscle tense, every nerve on edge. I wanted to scream, to cry, to escape myself, but there was no way out. The storm inside me raged on, relentless and unforgiving.

In those moments, I was nothing but raw emotion—fear, despair, anger—all tangled in a suffocating web. I felt disconnected from reality, watching myself from the outside, helpless and horrified. The weight of my mind was crushing me, and all I could do was ride out the storm, hoping it would pass.

Writing this is my way of purging those feelings, giving them form so they don’t consume me. It’s my lifeline, my way of clawing back some control over the chaos that constantly threatens to overwhelm me. Knowing you were the main trigger makes me hate you and despise myself. All because you.

You know, I always had this anxious anticipation, waiting for the moment I'd be left behind. It's happened so many times before, with people I thought were friends. I guess, in a twisted way, I was prepared for it. I knew it was coming, just waiting for the inevitable disappointment.

So yes, I was shocked when you left. But I accepted it. I was blind, not noticing all those red flags you showed me. I guess I was kind of colorblind. But it’s okay; it’s never too late to move on. I was waiting for it, but I was too scared to accept it. Now that I’ve faced it, I ask myself: Was it worth it? I didn't die, so why did I dread it so much?

But you leaving taught me something invaluable. It taught me to be a bit selfish, to prioritize myself. I’m grateful for that. For too long, I put others before me, neglected my own needs. Your departure forced me to confront that, to realize I deserve better.

We’re not enemies. In fact, calling us enemies would imply a level of ongoing engagement, a battle of sorts, but the truth is much simpler and sadder. We’re just two people who once crossed paths, shared moments of laughter and pain, and then drifted apart. We took different paths, paths that diverged long before I realized it. For a while, I clung to the idea of our friendship, blind to the red flags that you waved so clearly. I guess I was kind of colorblind.

Now, I see that our paths were never meant to run parallel. And that’s okay. I don’t hate you, but I don’t love you anymore either. The energy I once invested in our relationship, I now redirect to myself. It’s a painful but necessary redirection.

You leaving forced me to confront my own needs, to understand that I deserve better. I’ve started prioritizing myself, something I should have done a long time ago. It’s ironic, really. Your departure, something I feared and dreaded, turned out to be a catalyst for my growth.

I don’t want to be part of your future or your happiness, but I genuinely wish you well. I hope you find what you’re looking for with the people you choose to surround yourself with. We’re not enemies, just two people who took different paths. For me, it wasn’t a choice; you left me with no option but to withdraw from our toxic friendship. I’m glad it ended sooner than I wished, but it’s for the best. Allah made sure to remove people who aren’t good for me, and I’m grateful.

For now, I write. I breathe. I survive.

Dear no one,

may Allah bless you with a good life.