I lost myself.
June to October became the most regretful months in my life. I never felt this way before. Those months were heavy, full of mistakes, confusion, and silence. I was not the person I used to be.

Maybe some people noticed my June and July, even when I tried so hard to hide it. I smiled, laughed, and acted like everything was fine. But deep down, I was falling apart quietly. It was the kind of pain that does not show on the surface, yet it drains everything inside. I did not talk much about it because I did not know how to explain something I did not fully understand myself.

During those months, one by one, challenges came and went. Every time I thought I was strong enough to handle things, something new appeared and tested me again. It felt endless. I tried to stay calm and hold myself together, but slowly, it wore me down.

August came and I thought things would get better. But sometimes pain does not just fade with time. It waits until you are honest enough to face it. That was what happened to me. The more I tried to ignore it, the louder it echoed inside. I kept asking myself what went wrong. Was it me, the situation, or simply life teaching me something the hard way?

Then came September. That was when I finally decided to seek help. I visited some doctors, talked to a psychologist, and took prescribed medicine to keep everything stable. I even called some of my friends who are psychologists to do a screening about myself. I wanted to know what was really going on with me. It was not easy to admit that I needed help, but I did. That step, as small as it seemed, became the beginning of healing. It reminded me that strength is not always about enduring everything alone. Sometimes it is about reaching out and admitting you need support.

October became a month of quiet reconstruction. I started to pick up the broken pieces, one by one. Slowly and patiently. I reflected on everything I had done, every word I had said, and every decision I had made. I realized that I hurt some people without meaning to, and I hurt myself even more by pretending to be okay.

The impact is that I cannot focus on many things. My mind keeps wandering. Even simple tasks sometimes feel too heavy. But through all that, I try to remind myself that healing is not a straight path. Some days I move forward, some days I fall back. And that is still progress.

Now I am trying to find myself again. Not the old version who avoided emotions, but someone who accepts mistakes, learns from them, and chooses to grow. I am still far from fine, but at least I am no longer hiding.

October would be finished soon, but it is still difficult. Some days are lighter, some still heavy. Yet deep inside, I know that healing takes time. Maybe this is how it feels to rebuild, slowly and quietly, one breath at a time.