Author Archives: Kayla Louise

Sometimes life feels like it gives you a glimpse of happiness, only to pull it away and leave you in a darker place than before. I’ve been living through that cycle, and it’s exhausting. Yesterday, my heart broke when I was told that my partner and I aren’t allowed to spend Christmas together with our daughter. Only one of us is allowed to be with her. Christmas was the one thing I was holding onto, the one thing I looked forward to. Now, I have nothing left to anticipate, and it feels like the ground beneath me has been pulled away.

It doesn’t help that I’m carrying so much resentment toward his ex. He’s the one who painted this terrible picture of her—sharing every nasty thing about her—and then she started reaching out to me, acting erratically, which only solidified my hatred. If he hadn’t said those things about her, I probably would’ve stayed neutral. But now, I feel trapped in this toxic triangle that I never asked to be part of.

To make things worse, today is his son’s birthday, and he didn’t tell me about the party until this morning. Not only that, but it’s happening at his ex’s house, and I wasn’t invited. That’s not even what angers me the most. It’s the fact that he hid it from me, as if it were some secret. When I confronted him, asking why he didn’t tell me or invite me, his response was, “I just did.” The dismissal hit me like a slap.

It’s not that I don’t want him to spend time with his kids—I do. What I don’t like is the secrecy, because it makes me wonder if there’s more going on. Why would someone hide spending time with their kids unless there’s something deeper?

When I tried to express my feelings, the conversation escalated. He called me names—things no one should hear from someone who claims to love them. I lost my cool and threw my bathrobe at him, which angered him even more. He pushed me down hard enough to scrape my hand, and I know bruises will appear soon. His words stung even more: “Why don’t you get out of bed and do something for once? Clean the house!”

But I did clean. Just yesterday, I spent hours trying to make our home look better. Still, it wasn’t enough. It never is.

The hardest part of all this is asking myself the same questions over and over: Why does he stay? Why do I stay? The truth is, I don’t want to stay. Not even a little. But leaving feels impossible.

I’m grateful my mom has custody of my daughter. At least she’s not seeing this chaos firsthand. The thought of her witnessing this kind of relationship and thinking it’s normal would shatter me. I can’t let her grow up believing this is how women deserve to be treated.

What’s ironic—and painful—is that last night we watched It Ends With Us, a movie about domestic violence. He made a comment about how he couldn’t understand how a man could ever put his hands on a woman. The hypocrisy made me want to scream because he does it to me all the time.

Writing this feels like a small act of defiance, a way of saying, I see the cracks, and I’m not okay with them anymore. Maybe I’m not ready to leave yet, but I know I can’t live like this forever. I owe it to myself—and to my daughter—to find the strength to break this cycle.

If you’re reading this and feel trapped too, know you’re not alone. There’s a way out, even if it feels impossible right now. One small step at a time. For me, writing this is step one.

This weekend was one of the hardest I’ve faced in a long time. Living with mental illness is a challenge that requires strength just to get through the day, and lately, it feels like everyone around me resents me for it. I don’t choose to be this way, and I’m doing everything in my power to be better, but it seems like nothing I do is ever enough.

It’s exhausting.

Some days, simply getting out of bed feels like running a marathon. But even when I manage that, I’m reminded of the million other things I didn’t do. “You’re lazy,” they say. “Other people your age are doing so much more.” But how many of those people are battling borderline personality disorder and postpartum depression at the same time?

Yesterday was especially tough. My mom told me she hates me and called me a lunatic. Those words cut deeper than I can describe. She even said she understands why my partner didn’t want to have a baby with me. Then, this morning, my partner told me he hates me too—over something as small as my not wanting to buy bottled water.

Here’s the thing about the water: it’s not about the money or even the water itself. It’s about the frustration of watching his kids open a bottle, take a sip, and leave the rest to waste before grabbing another one. Yes, they’re just kids, but wouldn’t it make sense to encourage them to finish what they started? To me, it’s a small but important lesson. To him, my stance means I hate his kids—and now he hates me for it.

It’s moments like this that make me feel like I’m spiraling. Like no matter what I say or do, I’m always the villain in someone else’s story.

I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to be at odds with the people I care about most. But the weight of my emotions, combined with the words and actions of those around me, has me at my breaking point.

I’m tired of being told I’m not good enough. I’m tired of feeling like my struggles are invalid because they’re not visible or easy to understand. And I’m so, so tired of being surrounded by people who don’t see the effort I put into simply surviving.

To anyone who’s ever felt this way: you’re not alone. I don’t have all the answers, and I’m still trying to find my way through the darkness. But maybe, just maybe, sharing these feelings is the first step toward finding some light.

For now, I’m just taking it one breath, one moment, and one day at a time.

The past few days have been surprisingly good for me. You know how it goes—when things seem calm and peaceful, there’s that nagging fear that a mental breakdown might be lurking around the corner. I really hope that’s not the case this time. It’s been so refreshing to feel at peace and sleep better at night, even if just for a little while.

One thing I’ve been consistent with is the 10K step challenge. If you’ve ever tried it, you know it’s a bit of a rollercoaster. Some days, hitting 10,000 steps feels like a breeze—like I could keep going forever. Other days? It’s like I’m dragging my feet through quicksand, and those steps feel impossible to reach.

I’ve been at it for over a month now, and if I’m being honest, I haven’t noticed much of a difference yet. I’ve seen so many TikToks hyping up this challenge—how people feel amazing and shed tons of weight—but that hasn’t been my experience. Instead, I’m at the heaviest I’ve ever been, and it’s hard not to feel disgusted with myself.

Maybe that’s why I’ve been so down lately. Feeling uncomfortable in my own body seems to spill over into every other aspect of my life. But I’ve realized something important: if I want to improve my mental health, I need to make physical changes too. They go hand in hand.

So, for now, I’m sticking with it. Even on the tough days, I remind myself that change doesn’t happen overnight. Whether it’s 10K steps, better sleep, or simply getting through the day, every little effort counts. Maybe peace isn’t so much about perfection but about showing up for myself, one step at a time.

Here’s to hoping this journey leads me to a better place—inside and out. If you’ve been there, you’re not alone. We’ve got this.

I’ve decided to write when I’m in good moods—not just the bad ones. And today? I’m in a good one. A very tired one, but still a positive one.

This morning, I woke up to my period, and let me tell you, I was relieved. I don’t even want to think about what I would’ve done if I was pregnant again. I would’ve completely lost my mind. Honestly, I’m more tired now than I ever was working two jobs. Maybe it’s my body catching up with me, or maybe it’s the fact that my current job is so mentally exhausting.

I work at a high school. It’s… an experience. First class starts at 7:30, and I’m not remotely awake at that hour, so I can’t imagine how my students are supposed to focus and learn. High school is so different now compared to when I was in it. Kids can take a walk when they’re overwhelmed, keep their headphones in during class, or even skip class entirely without real consequences. It’s a completely different world.

Right now, I’m laying in bed wishing it was a little later than 6:30 p.m. because I’m so tired I just want to sleep. But I know if I go to bed now, I’ll be up way too early. So, I’ll try to stay awake a little longer, even though it feels like my body is begging for rest.

But, despite all this exhaustion, I’m still in a good mood. And that feels like something worth writing about. Sometimes, even when life feels heavy, there’s relief in knowing I’m still standing, still pushing through, still finding something positive in my day.

Here’s to writing more in the good moments. Even the tired ones.

Relationships are supposed to be built on love, trust, and partnership. But sometimes, love alone isn’t enough when other factors come into play—like children from previous relationships. If you’ve ever been in a similar situation, you might understand how complicated and emotionally draining it can become.

When I first entered this relationship, I knew my partner had children from a previous relationship. I told myself I could handle it. But now, I realize I underestimated how much it would hurt—how much I would feel pushed aside, along with my own child.

I never wanted children initially, but when I imagined myself having them, this wasn’t the picture I had in mind. I dreamed of a partner who would prioritize our child and make her feel just as special as anyone else in their life. Instead, I’ve been forced to confront the painful reality that my daughter and I are often put on the back burner, treated like afterthoughts.

One of the hardest moments came recently, as the holidays approached. My partner had promised to be there for our daughter’s first holidays—those moments that only happen once in a lifetime. But when I asked him about it, he told me he was spending it with his other children instead. His reason? His ex doesn’t allow the kids to travel far, and my mom’s house is just over an hour away.

This led to a huge fight. The argument turned nasty, and he said things that cut me deeply: that he hates me, wishes he never had a baby with me, and even threatened to take my daughter away because he thinks I’m “crazy.” Those words broke me. They weren’t just words—they were weapons, meant to hurt me in the worst way possible. And they did.

Now, I find myself in a place of despair. I cry for hours, feeling like I’ve lost the life I thought I was building. I feel stuck—trapped between wanting to fix this relationship for the sake of my child and knowing that staying with someone who treats me like this may not be the answer.

The thought of starting over terrifies me. But so does staying in a relationship where I feel hated, unimportant, and invisible.

If you’re reading this and find yourself in a similar situation, please know you’re not alone. These situations are incredibly complex and painful, but you deserve to feel valued and respected—not like someone’s afterthought. If nothing else, sharing this helps me process my emotions and think through what my next steps might be.

For now, I’m trying to take it one day at a time. If you’ve been through something like this, I’d love to hear how you navigated it. Your story could be the encouragement someone like me needs right now.

Let’s keep supporting each other.

Growing up, I always envisioned adulthood as the time when I’d share my life—and my bed—with someone I deeply loved. To me, it represented comfort, connection, and the absence of loneliness. But here I am, living that reality, and feeling lonelier than I ever imagined.

The past few days have been especially isolating. A sense of betrayal has compounded the loneliness I’ve carried for so long. I opened up to my mom, sharing deeply personal details about my struggles. I trusted her, but that trust was misplaced. She took screenshots of our texts and sent them to my partner. The fallout has left our home environment tense and awkward.

Right now, both of us are walking on eggshells. I don’t think he understands my intentions—I’m not trying to ruin his life. I do, however, find myself wishing he could feel some of the hurt he’s caused me. Does that make me a bad person? Maybe it does, but it’s hard to deny how much pain can change your perspective.

Today, for the first time in two weeks, I didn’t cry. That feels like progress, even though I’m still grappling with a lot of unease. I’m six days late on my period, and while I know the odds are slim—given his vasectomy—I can’t help but panic. A baby was the catalyst for the situation I’m in now, and I don’t think I’m ready to face that possibility again. All I can do is hope that tomorrow brings clarity, even if it’s in the form of a messy relief.

We did have a family photo shoot today. Our daughter wasn’t in the mood to cooperate, so the photographer shifted focus to my partner and me. I won’t lie—standing there with him, pretending everything was fine, felt uncomfortable. Yet, somehow, we laughed. That laugh was the only genuine connection we’ve shared in days. It was a bittersweet reminder of why I feel so torn. I love him, but I also feel like leaving might be the only way to heal.

Is it crazy to feel this conflicted? To long for love from someone who has caused so much pain? To want to feel normal again?

I don’t know the answers, but I do know this: these feelings are messy, raw, and real. If nothing else, I’m holding onto the hope that things will eventually make sense. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday. For now, I’m just taking it one moment at a time.

And if you’re reading this and feeling a similar kind of loneliness—whether in a crowded bed or an empty one—know you’re not alone. We’re all just trying to find our way back to ourselves.

Sitting here in the Target pharmacy, trying to hold back tears, I can’t help but wonder: what did I do to deserve this life? It feels like I can’t catch a break, like every small thing just piles on until it’s too much to bear. I used to be so different, you know? I used to feel strong. I used to be confident, with a whole circle of friends and a life I actually enjoyed. But now? Now I feel like a stranger to the person I used to be.

It’s not just the feeling of being mentally exhausted. It’s the feeling that everyone hates me for struggling with it. When my mental health took a turn, it felt like everything else just went with it. The panic attacks, the tears over the smallest things—these weren’t always part of my life. It’s hard to explain how lonely it feels when you remember a happier version of yourself but don’t know how to get back there.

Today, I tried calling my boyfriend 38 times. I needed a ride home. I don’t have a car, and it’s freezing out, pitch dark thanks to daylight savings. But when I called, he just turned off his phone and left me stranded. And now here I am, stuck trying to figure out if I deserve this kind of pain. Did I somehow bring this on myself?

I’ll be honest: in moments like this, it’s hard to hold on. When things go wrong and nobody seems to care, it makes me question everything, even if I want to keep going. Life feels unbearably hard sometimes, and it’s exhausting to keep facing it alone.

But I know I’m not actually alone in feeling this way. There are people who have been where I am and found a way to make it through. This pain isn’t who I am, and I know deep down that I don’t deserve to feel this way. I need to believe that there are people out there who can and want to help. Maybe it’s time to reach out to them, whether it’s friends, family, or even a counselor. I don’t want to give up on myself just yet. If you’re reading this and you’ve felt this way too, know that you’re not alone. We can get through this, even if it’s just one step at a time.

Today was… interesting. If I had to sum it up, I’d say most of the day was just “blah.” Work didn’t bring much excitement. But the evening? Now that was different, and in the best way possible.

I made a friend today!

I know for most people, that might not sound like a big deal, but to me, it really is. Making friends has never been easy for me. I struggle with keeping them too—I guess I’ve always assumed it was just me being “the crazy, unstable one.” For whatever reason, friendships tend to come and go in my life, and I don’t usually get to experience what it’s like to have people to hang out with regularly.

But today felt different. We went out for dinner together, and honestly, it was so refreshing. It felt… normal. And I don’t usually feel like that! I don’t typically go out with people, so to actually do something social was like stepping into this world I’ve only watched from the outside.

What’s wild is how much I enjoyed that feeling of just being. We laughed, shared stories, and just talked like regular people do. There was something oddly comforting about it, like I was part of something. It reminded me of what I miss sometimes—not just having a friend, but feeling like I’m in sync with the world around me.

I’m hoping this new friendship lasts because I’d love to feel that kind of connection more often. For now, I’m grateful for today, and for a little slice of “normal” in my life.

I’ve noticed that writing really helps me. Every time I put words down, I feel just a bit lighter, like something heavy has lifted. It’s similar to the feeling I get after a long walk—a small release, a moment of calm. I know my words are often scattered, but that’s how my mind feels lately: all over the place, trying to make sense of everything.

Right now, I’m waiting. I haven’t heard anything from him. Or should I say “my ex” now? I don’t know. Part of me hopes he comes around; he always has in the past. And I know my previous posts may not sound like it, but I do love him. I just tend to write when I’m overwhelmed with emotion, and that only seems to heighten everything I’m feeling. When I’m in that place, everything feels so intense—maybe even more intense than it really is.

I’m not a religious person, but tonight, I find myself praying that we can make things work. We’ve invested so much time, energy, and love into this relationship. It just doesn’t feel right for it to end like this. I hope this isn’t the end, that maybe this is just one of those rough patches that makes us stronger.

For now, I’m holding on to writing and hoping it’ll help me find a little more peace. And maybe, just maybe, it’ll help me hold on to hope, too.

Tonight, something happened that I never thought it would—my boyfriend walked out on me. One moment, I was in the bathroom, and when I came out, he was just… gone. He’d said he wasn’t coming back, and somehow, those words, that decision, felt like a door slamming shut on everything we’d built together.

I didn’t plan for this to end this way. Maybe deep down, I didn’t really want to leave him either. We had our ups and downs like everyone, but I never thought it would come to this—so sudden, so final. But here I am, at midnight, lying alone in bed, feeling as if everything is spinning around me.

My emotions have been intense lately, maybe more than I even realized. I’ve been crying almost daily, feeling waves of sadness that hit out of nowhere. It’s like I can’t help it; this weight just sits on me, and it’s heavy. I feel so completely, crushingly alone.

The loneliness tonight is raw. Even my cats are keeping their distance, as if they can feel the dark energy radiating off me. I can’t blame them; it’s hard to be around myself right now, too. The sadness in me is something I never thought I’d experience, not like this.

And the worst part is feeling like there’s no one to reach out to, no one to call who could understand the depths of what I’m feeling. I never thought I’d feel this isolated, and in this moment, it’s overwhelming.

I don’t want to die. I don’t want to give up on life. But I don’t want this life, this feeling of emptiness that feels like it has no way out. Right now, I don’t know how to move forward or how to change what’s happening inside me. But I’m still here, and maybe that’s something, even if it doesn’t feel like much right now.

For anyone reading this who’s felt something like this, know that I see you. Even in the midst of this sadness, I’m reaching for something better, something different, and I hope you are, too.