by Trixia Marie C. Policarpio

Image by Karola G on Pexels (All photos and videos on Pexels can be downloaded and used for free).
One. Two. Three months…They say the post-breakup slump is supposed to last three months, enough time to hide out, cry it out, and then come back glowing—especially if you were the one left behind.
But here I am, nine months in, still feeling like I’m barely holding it together. Every small thing just drains me. Every time I catch myself in the bathroom mirror, I can’t help but notice how awful I look. My hair’s limp, falling flat around my face like it’s given up. My forehead’s too wide, and my skin—god, my skin—looks dull, like it’s lost any glow it ever had. Pimples dot my chin and cheeks, not to mention the deep, purple bags under my eyes. I try not to look, but I can’t help it—the worst part is the way my body feels like it’s sagging. It’s like I’m torturing myself by not moving on, yet I can’t seem to stop. My head knows what I should do, what I shouldn’t feel, but my head and heart just aren’t in sync.
Meeting up and hanging out with people feels like a nightmare now. Just the thought drains me, and I dread those “Are you okay?” looks or the well-meaning bashing of my ex that feels hollow, as if scripted for the person who was obviously dumped. My only refuge, aside from my bedroom, is the library. The strict librarian with her zero-tolerance for noise—even a whisper gets a shush—creates the perfect silence. It’s the one place where I know I won’t have to fend off forced conversations.
Continue reading


