The Ride Home—And the Love I Never Understood

Day Eight

In the quiet of the empty room

No visitors, no one to lift the gloom

Alone and stranded, no one to take me home

A cry for help, in the silence, I roam

I called my son’s father, seeking aid

But his words, like a sharp blade

“Where’s your fiancé?” he asked coldly

No care, no concern, a heart so boldly

My love at work, too busy to see

The pain, the anguish inside of me

No questions asked, no empathy shown

Feeling lost, in a world of my own

Fresh out of the nightmare, the darkness so deep

A longing to escape, to find my sleep

Alone in my sorrow, wanting release

From the earth’s grasp, to find my peace

In the depths of despair, a flicker of light

A hope that shines in the darkest night

May the clouds part, the sun to shine

In the moments of darkness, a love divine

If you or anyone you know is struggling with self-harm, please reach out to the crisis text line. You can text #988, or you can follow this link. 

Crisis Text Line

After my suicide attempt, I found myself alone in the hospital room, knowing that I had no one to call. My mother had never visited me, so I couldn’t turn to her for a ride home. My ex-fiancé, who was working at the time, was too consumed with his own life to care about mine. And my friends? They were nonexistent in my world, a result of years of isolation and manipulation. So, the only person I could think of to call was my son’s father.

The hospital wouldn't let me leave unless I had someone to take me, and so I called him.His response was far from warm. He asked where my ex was, his voice tinged with irritation, as if he’d been inconvenienced by my need.But he came. He came to get me. He took me home.

Looking back, I feel a deep sense of regret. Because I know only someone who once loved you would do something like that. Despite everything we’d been through, despite the pain and the distance that had grown between us, he still came. And me? I never loved him. Not the way he deserved. In fact, I still haven’t been able to process the love I felt for my ex before him, a love that haunted me long after it ended.

I do feel bad.I wish I had processed the pain from my past before moving on to another relationship.Maybe, just maybe, if I had, things could have been different with him. We could’ve had something beautiful.But I didn’t, and now I’m left trying to piece together what love even means anymore—at least in a romantic sense.I’m still trying to figure it out. Still working through the years of confusion and heartache.

I think many of us are left wondering what love truly is after years of hurt.And sometimes, it takes moments like these—like the one where I was taken home by a man who deserved better—to realize that love isn’t always what we expect it to be. Sometimes, love is simply someone showing up when we least deserve it.