To The Eclipse That Almost Took Me

“Friend” feels like too much. “Stranger” feels like a lie. But this is a real person, a real part of my story, whether I like it or not. So This Letter is for You..

Photo by Venti Views on Unsplash

Hi.
Yes, you.
The one who still follows me in silence — like a ghost walking behind my wins, a shadow peeking through the brightness of my life. I see you. And I haven’t forgotten. Not the laughter, not the bond, not the betrayal. Especially not the betrayal.

You were once my friend.. My “person.” Until you became the reason I almost ended it all.

I call you Eclipse — because that’s what you were to me.
You didn’t kill the sun, but you dimmed my light so badly I thought it had gone forever.

It was 200L, second semester. You know the season I’m talking about. It’s been years, but somehow, those moments still live rent-free in my mind. You might not even remember it clearly, but I do. I remember the pain like it just happened last night.

That was the semester of shame, the labels, the stares, the whispers that turned into rumors, and then turned into my new name. I wish I could say you made a mistake.
But deep down, I knew you knew what you were doing.
You watched it all unfold — the mockery, the disgrace, the way people laughed when they said my name like it was an insult. And you said nothing. You did nothing.

It wasn’t just gossip. It wasn’t just drama. It was a label. Several, actually. You left me to carry names and reputations I didn’t earn, stories that weren’t true, and shame that wasn’t mine to hold. People pointed fingers, whispered, laughed. And the worst part? They still call me those names today, not always out loud, but I hear it in their tone, I see it in their smirks, the way they mention my name like it’s a warning. All because of you.

Did you know I told my siblings and mom about it, You don’t want to know my mom’s reaction. Honestly, She doesn’t like you. Still doesn’t and to be fair… I get it.

Because you left me with pain I didn’t know how to hold. You left me wanting to end my life for something you did. You left me in a hole so deep, I didn't see light for days… weeks… months. I prayed so hard for that semester to end, just so I could run home, just so I could breathe. Terrible!

I was just trying to figure out who I was. I was still forming — soft, uncertain, trying to find my place in the world. And then you threw a grenade into the quiet corners of my life.

Do you know what it feels like to hear your name in conversations you didn’t ask to be part of?
To walk into a room and feel like your presence is a punchline?
To be reduced to a rumor? I do.

Because of you, I stopped trusting people. I hated crowds. I flinched when girls laughed in corners, because I thought they were laughing at me. And honestly, they probably were. I built walls around my heart and called it wisdom. I started thinking everyone had an agenda, and maybe I wasn't worth protecting after all.

And you? You carried on with life, You lived, You laughed. You never apologized. You never looked back.

Do you know how many times I cried? How many times I wanted to end it all? I didn’t even recognize myself anymore. And honestly, there were days I wished bad things for you. Dark, bitter wishes that I’m too ashamed to say out loud.

But here’s the twist. Here’s the plot you didn’t see coming:

I didn’t die.
I didn’t fade.
I didn’t stay broken.

I became.

That pain? It birthed the me you now scroll past on Instagram.
The one who writes.
The one who speaks life into others.
The one who turned betrayal into boldness and shame into sentences.

I’m not writing this for an apology.
I’m not even sure you have it in you.
I’m writing this because today, I woke up free.

And I need to tell you this:
I forgive you.

Not because you said sorry, Not because you deserve it. But because I deserve peace. Because I deserve to heal. Because that pain you caused me? It birthed someone powerful. Someone deeper. Someone creative. Someone brave enough to turn her scars into sentences. To turn heartbreak into art. To turn her tears into truth.

So, to Eclipse — thank you.
For the lies told, for the rejection, for the betrayal, for the pains, for the heartbreak, for the push off the edge.

Because at the bottom, I found God.
I found purpose.
I found voice.
I found me.

I became a writer. A storyteller. A healer. Not in spite of what you did, but somehow, because of it.

So thank you — for breaking me in a way that forced me to meet myself.

Thank you — for pushing me to the edge, where I found God waiting with open arms.

Thank you — for disappearing, so I could finally learn how to show up for myself.

You hurt me Deeply. But you didn’t destroy me.

You just redirected me.

You may have tried to end my light, but honey, I became the flame.

And for that, I no longer hate you.
I don’t even wish you pain.
I wish you healing. I wish you clarity.
I wish you growth, the kind that burns but births something beautiful.

And if you still follow me, What am I saying? You still follow me, still read my posts from time to time. Just let this be your closure, too.

This is me, finally closing the door.
Not with bitterness, but with grace.

_ Fayvourebirth