Philyptian.

Suddenly.

Unexpectedly.

On a Wednesday afternoon.

Between clients.

It’s not a long story, but it’s a slightly tedious one. For the past few months, I’d been seeing someone exclusively. We talked all day every day. Shared playlists. Planned weekends. Told our families. Dreamed about Europe. He was obsessed with my cat. I was obsessed with his. (She had one eye what kind of green flag is that!!) There were things I was unsure about—his intimacy hesitations, his aversion to verbal affection, his tendency to spiral mid-sentence—but I was falling. Hard.

We had so much in common it almost felt curated: Egyptian, raised religious but spiritually agnostic now, bipolar but medicated and self-aware, obsessed with cats and dark TV dramas. Oh and he was 6’6. I’m not shallow, but I’m not blind.

I made sure he knew how much I liked him.

Handsome. Smart. Sweet.

I called him those things daily. I sent him soup when he was sick. Got him books that reminded me of how he thinks. I was all in. Maybe a little too in.

So, why did he break up with me?

I genuinely don’t know.

We had a great date the night before. We were intimate. We made plans for the next week.

Then, the next day, my world tilted. My medication (the only thing keeping my bipolar disorder stable) was denied by insurance. I was about to run out. I panicked. Canceled a cabin trip and asked if I could stay with him instead. I wanted comfort. I wanted someone.

His response?

“Sorry, can’t. Busy this weekend.”

So I did what anxiously attached people do: I sent a long, vulnerable message explaining how that hurt, how I was feeling unseen, and how I’d been noticing a pattern in his emotional availability. I asked for more effort.

Big mistake.

Long messages never land right. Should’ve picked up the phone. Lesson learned.

His next message was a breakup text.

Said he couldn’t give me what I need.

Said there were long-term incompatibilities.

Said he’d been thinking about it for a while.

Refused to speak on the phone.

Something I don’t talk a lot about is my abandonment issues. What most people don’t understand is that this kind of thing isn’t just a breakup for me. It’s a trauma response. An earthquake. A full body experience. My abandonment issues don’t whisper- they scream.

My dad left when I was a baby, off to another country for work. My mom left me with people constantly so she could work. In school, I was bullied for being shy, awkward, overweight. Boys ignored me. The ones who didn’t? Left. Abruptly. Coldly. My best friend ghosted me after a decade of friendship. All of it layered into my DNA like trauma bricks.

When people leave me, they don’t walk out the door.

They vanish.

With no care for how I feel. It’s a discard.

As a teen, I coped the way teens sometimes do. Cutting, overdosing, spiraling into depression. Later came bipolar disorder, which was like trauma’s evil twin. A fun combo. So I thought- how can I stop being left? I eventually lost 60 pounds through starving myself, got plastic surgery, tried to become someone different. It didn’t help. More men came. But that meant more men left.

So I stopped dating. For years.

Until I didn’t.

Until this tall, sweet, slightly awkward Egyptian boy appeared. And I thought maybe, just maybe, things would be different. I chose someone with green flags. Someone kind. Someone who didn’t chase me, but showed up steady. And still- he left.

That’s the part that hurts most.

That even my “healthiest” choice walked away.

People don’t understand abandonment trauma. When most people get dumped, it hurts. You cry, eat ice cream, text your friends. But when I get dumped, my body goes into full collapse. I stop breathing right. I spiral into shame. I try not to cut myself. I try not to take all my pills. I consider checking myself into the hospital. My Oura ring literally sent me a notification that said “something is seriously straining your body.” Thanks Oura.

And the questions always follow:

Was I too much? Not enough?

Too loud? Too needy? Too ugly?

Too confident? Not confident enough? Too emotional?

Why do I keep getting left?

But here’s the ironic part:

I am also deeply loved.

Not romantically- but platonically, yes.

By 6:00 PM the day of the breakup, my friends were on my couch holding me. By 8:00 PM, Ammar was making us dinner. Kareema and Roufia were hyping me up and holding me while I cried. Long-distance friends called, texted, showed up. My life overflows with love- just not the kind I keep trying (and failing) to find.

What makes me lovable to my friends but too much for men?

I don’t know why I’m writing this.

Maybe for catharsis.

Maybe to not feel so alone.

Will I be okay? Yeah. Eventually.

But right now, it hurts like hell. But then I’ll feel better. Until the next abandonment comes up. Which I seriously don’t know if I’ll survive it. So maybe it’s time to give up on dating. It’s not meant for everyone, and it certainly doesn’t seem like it’s meant for me. And maybe that’s okay.

And the fear that I’ll never find someone who stays?

That fear is real.

For now, I’ll pour love into the people who stay. My friends. My cat.

My digital therapist (ChatGPT). My real therapist (Jennifer Pereira, MVP).

And I’ll try to remember.

The love I gave wasn’t wasted.

It just wasn’t received by the right person.