Nothing Left of Me to Lose

The rain has been falling for hours, tapping against the window like a steady, unrelenting reminder of everything I’ve lost. I sit in the dim glow of a single lamp, staring at a picture on my phone.

It’s the last remnant of the life I had before you took it all away.

At first, the grief was unbearable—a crushing weight that pinned me down every morning when I woke up, forcing me to remember that they weren’t here anymore. That I’m alone. But over time, the pain didn’t fade; it just changed. It settled into something colder, heavier. Not pain, not even sadness—just emptiness. A hollow ache that stretches across every hour of the day, never leaving, never easing.

People tell me to move on. They say time heals, that I should find a purpose, and try to heal. As if healing is a choice. As if I haven’t already tried. But how do you move forward when there’s nothing left to hold onto?

I reach for the screen, my fingertips tracing the edges of their faces. I want to feel something, anger, sorrow, even hatred. Anything would be better than this numbness. But all I feel is exhaustion like I’ve been running in circles, chasing ghosts that will never return.

I stand and step outside. The rain is colder than I expected, soaking through my clothes, and chilling me to the bone. But I barely notice. I just stand there, watching as the world moves on without me. Strangers hurry home to their families, and laughter spills from behind windows.

It feels wrong.

How can life just continue when mine has stopped?

I walk to the edge of my veranda, staring down at the rushing rainwater below. The way it moves, constant and unstoppable, reminds me of time, indifferent, uncaring, refusing to slow down for anyone.

I let out a breath, barely more than a whisper.

"There’s nothing left of me to lose."

And maybe that’s true. Maybe I’ve already lost everything that mattered.

But I don’t step forward. I don’t move at all.

Instead, I turn back inside, the warmth of the room feeling foreign against my damp skin. I sit back down, then lay back, letting the exhaustion take over. Sleep seems like the only place I can escape to—the only place where I can forget, even for a little while.

I close my eyes and let the darkness pull me under.

Thrown Away Like Paper: A Story of Love and Betrayal

Rejection is one of the hardest things to endure, especially when it comes from people we love and trust the most. When you give your heart, your time, and your whole life to someone, only to be discarded like a piece of paper, it leaves wounds deeper than words can explain. This is a story of heartbreak, betrayal, and ultimately, strength.

The First Betrayal

I was with my first love for eleven years. It wasn’t perfect, but I gave him everything—my love, my support, my patience. My parents kept pressuring me to get married, and even though I wasn’t ready, I gave in to their wishes. Looking back, maybe I married him out of defiance, tired of the constant nagging. But just one and a half years into the marriage, he cheated.

At first, I tried to forgive. Maybe it was a mistake, I told myself. Maybe love could fix it. But after the third woman, I couldn’t ignore the truth anymore. He wasn’t sorry. He didn’t respect me. And after all I had sacrificed for him—paying for his training, supporting him financially, defending him from everyone—he had the audacity to betray me. The pain was unbearable. I had spent nearly half of my life with him, only to be thrown away. I felt so alone. I was an introvert with few friends to lean on, and the weight of rejection nearly crushed me. I even thought of ending my life because the hurt was just too much.

But something inside me refused to let him have that power over me. Slowly, I started picking up the pieces. I focused on myself, my career, my growth. I got promoted. I traveled. I began to see that life could move forward, even after heartbreak.

The Second Betrayal

Just when I thought I was ready to love again, he came into my life. He made me believe in love again. I trusted him so much that I left everything behind—my high-paying job, my family, my hometown—just to be with him. I told him my deepest fear, my biggest insecurity: I had PCOS, which made it difficult for me to have children. He reassured me. He said he loved me, that we could always adopt. I believed him.

For eight years, I lived in the warmth of his promises. Eight long years. And then, one day, he told me he wanted his own family. A child of his own. And he couldn’t do that with me. Just like that, everything we had built, everything he had promised, was gone.

There's no divorce in the Philippines, so I can't give him anything. I can't give him children, can't get married to him. Love alone is not enough.

Did those promises mean nothing? Did I mean nothing?

Where do I stand now, bound by marriage yet abandoned? Am I still worthy of love, or has my worth faded with their broken promises? The loneliness is suffocating, and I wonder—what purpose remains for me in a world that has discarded me so easily?

Why Does This Keep Happening?

Both counld't even break up with me in person. I gave my all. Twice. I loved selflessly, sacrificed without hesitation, and believed in promises that turned to dust. Yet, both times, I was left broken, discarded like something that no longer had value. First, a man I spent over a decade with betrayed me without remorse. Then, another made me believe I was enough—until I wasn’t. Until the very thing he once accepted became the reason he walked away.

There’s no divorce in the Philippines. No way to start over. No way to undo the choices I made out of love. I was willing to stand by him, despite everything. But in the end, love wasn’t enough. If love alone isn’t enough, then what is?

I’ve questioned my worth more times than I can count. Am I nothing more than a placeholder in someone’s life until they decide they want something more? Am I destined to give and give until there’s nothing left of me?