The breaking point came one night when I walked into our home to find my mother standing over my father, a knife clutched in her trembling hand. The sight was something out of a nightmare, and I'll never forget the terror that coursed through me. I knew, in that moment, that I couldn't stay. I couldn't bear the weight of their crumbling marriage, nor could I save them from the wreckage. So, I ran. I left everything behind—my studies, my home, my family—and fled to Baguio, a city where I could disappear and start anew.
In Baguio, I found work, but it was a lonely existence. I had no friends, no family, just the monotonous routine of my job to distract me from the pain. The distance allowed me to avoid the chaos at home, but it did nothing to heal the wounds I carried.
Then, as if life hadn't already thrown enough at me, I received a phone call that would change everything: my father's condition had deteriorated, and he didn't make it. My sister and I rushed home, but it was too late. He was gone, and I was left grappling with a grief I couldn't fully comprehend.
What troubled me most was that I couldn't cry. As I stood at his funeral, surrounded by family and friends who were openly mourning, I felt nothing but a deep, hollow emptiness. I was sad, of course, but the tears wouldn't come. It was as if all my emotions had been drained from me, leaving me numb and disconnected. I had always been a daddy's girl, but now, standing at his graveside, I felt nothing. I wondered what was wrong with me—why couldn't I cry for my father?
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A Soldier's Silent Struggle: From Hidden Pain to Hopeful Resilience
NouvellesA powerful and deeply personal narrative of a female soldier's struggle with anxiety and depression, shaped by a series of profound and traumatic experiences. From the discovery of her father's affair and the subsequent unraveling of her family, to...
