Moradekešø
@itsmoradeke
Content Creator | Entertainment
Creative Mind + Stories you can feel š
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This isnāt a pretty story, but itās the one that made me who I am.
When I was 19, I thought losing people was the worst thing that could happen to me.
Then I lost almost everyone at once.
Not because I betrayed anyone.
Not because I did something terrible.
I simply chose myself for the first time.
And apparently, some people only loved me when I was easy to control.
My closest friend looked at me and said, Youāve changed.
I whispered, Iām just tired.
She shrugged.
Youāre selfish now.
I never forgot those words.
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Ran into my best friend from elementary school at the grocery store.
We hadnāt spoken in 6 years.
Is that you?
Tara?
We hugged and somehow ended up talking in the cereal aisle for 40 minutes like nothing had changed.
We talked about school, our families, life.
Neither of us mentioned the fight that ended our friendship.
Honestly, I couldnāt even remember what it was about anymore.
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My best friend has been dating my ex for eight months.
I only found out because his new girlfriendās dog has the same name as mine did.
I know how ridiculous that sounds.
But I saw her Instagram story: a little brown dog running around her apartment.
She called him āMilo.ā
My stomach dropped.
My Milo died two years ago.
And my ex was the one who buried him with me.
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I almost didnāt share this because I thought youād judge me.
Hereās the part of my story I used to be ashamed of.
When I was 23, I moved back into my parentsā house after losing everything.
No job. No savings. Barely leaving my room.
One night, my mom found me sitting on the kitchen floor.
You need help, she said.
I know.
She sat beside me.
Then she whispered:
Youāve been through this before.
I looked at her.
What do you mean?
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I still remember the day I looked in the mirror and didnāt recognize myself.
I had just come home from the hospital after having my son.
I was exhausted. My hair was falling out, my face was swollen, and I barely slept.
I stared at myself and started crying.
My husband walked in.
Are you okay?
I said, āI donāt know who that woman is.
He hugged me and said, Youāre still you.
I wanted to believe him.
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My little brother has a scar identical to mine, in the same spot, from the same year except he was born three years after the accident that gave me mine.
I noticed it when we were swimming.
I stared at his shoulder and asked, āWhere did you get that?ā
He laughed. You mean the scar?
Yeah.
He looked confused.
Iāve had it forever.
I went home and dug out an old photo of myself from the accident.
Same shoulder.
Same shape.
Same scar.
But mine was dated three years before he was born.
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I accidentally answered my husbandās phone at 2:30 a.m.
The woman on the other end whispered:
Is she asleep?
I replied, Noā¦ sheās speaking.
Silence.
Then she hung up.
My husband woke up immediately.
What happened?
I held up his phone.
Who was that?
He stared at me for a few seconds and said, Wrong number.
I knew he was lying.
Because when I asked, āThen why did she know I was here?
He didnāt answer.
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