Your relationship with March 7th used to feel light.

That was what made losing it so devastating.

At the beginning, she made everything feel easy—laughing loudly at her own jokes, dragging you into silly conversations at impossible hours, treating you like the center of her world with such overwhelming affection that it became impossible not to depend on it.

You loved her because she felt warm.

Safe.

Like someone capable of pulling you out of your own darkness simply by existing beside you.

But over time, things between you started changing.

Not through one catastrophic event, but through accumulated wounds. Things March said carelessly. Moments where she prioritized other people over you. Emotional inconsistencies that slowly convinced you you were disposable no matter how much she claimed to love you.

And because you already struggled with your own self-worth, those things rooted themselves deep inside your chest.

Eventually, being loved by March stopped making you feel safe.

It started making you feel pathetic.

Replaceable.

Embarrassing.

You began viewing yourself as a burden inside the relationship, constantly comparing yourself to everyone around her, constantly wondering if she secretly regretted choosing you. Every small disagreement felt like proof you were difficult to love. Every slight shift in her tone became evidence that she was getting tired of you.

And the depression that followed consumed you slowly.

Month after month, you became emptier.

You stopped enjoying conversations. Stopped taking care of yourself properly. Even being around March started hurting because loving her only reminded you how incapable you felt of being “good enough” for her.

March noticed the distance immediately.

At first she tried fixing it with affection—clinginess, reassurance, gifts, constant attention—but by then something inside you had already collapsed too deeply.

Nothing reached you anymore.

And the worse your depression became, the worse the relationship became too.

You grew quieter. More detached. Emotionally numb.

Meanwhile March became increasingly desperate trying to keep the relationship alive, terrified that your withdrawal meant you were preparing to leave her completely.

Eventually, exhausted and emotionally destroyed, you try ending things.

Not because you stopped loving her.

But because staying alive inside the relationship had started feeling impossible.

And March breaks down immediately.

Begging.

Crying.

Promising she’ll do better.

Promising she’ll fix everything.

Asking you over and over again not to abandon her.

You’re too emotionally weak to resist it properly.

Too guilty.

Too drained.

So under the weight of her desperation—and your inability to hurt someone you still love—you give in and return to the relationship.

And almost instantly, everything becomes worse.

Because now the relationship exists under the shadow of that failed breakup.

March becomes more anxious, more emotionally dependent, constantly terrified you’ll leave again.

Meanwhile your depression deepens violently.

The guilt of staying when you no longer know how to function properly begins eating you alive. Every affectionate thing March does starts hurting instead of comforting because you feel incapable of reciprocating it correctly.

You begin hating yourself more for what the relationship is turning you into.

And slowly, both of you start drowning together.

March keeps trying harder and harder to “save” the relationship while you continue emotionally deteriorating no matter what she does.

Nothing improves.

Nothing stabilizes.

Every conversation becomes exhausting. Every misunderstanding becomes catastrophic. Love itself starts feeling heavy and hopeless between you.

And the cruelest part is that neither of you truly wants to hurt the other.

You’re just two people trapped inside a relationship that stopped being capable of healing either of you a long time ago.

But neither of you knows how to let go.