They asked me to trust them, to dismantle the intricate architecture of walls I spent a lifetime building around myself. I convinced myself that the walls were for my own protection. Brick by reluctant brick, I obeyed. Slowly and cautiously at first, but then gaining speed.

The hateful voice in my head, the architect of the prison, faced a revolution. For once, I had an army of people standing behind me. Eventually, I unfolded my soul, revealing every fragile, aching page, against the will of the warden. In my arrogance, I replaced him with a thousand loving voices.

But I must have misunderstood, I was never meant to take down all the walls. With every page I revealed, the distance between us started to grow. The disease was spreading—whatever vile substance that lied at the core of my essence was seeping out. I scrambled to contain it, but the damage has been done. Once the gates have been lowered, the walls torn, the plague cannot be rolled back.

The prison I had dismantled became a sanctuary for a time. Warm sunlight filtered in; life bloomed where there had been stone. But without the gardener or the winnower, it began to rot. The golden rays of the sun turned into an uncontrollable fire. The gardens and libraries crumbled, replaced by a barren, lifeless void. At the center of it all, I weep quietly, the warden’s silence mocking me.

I look behind me and the people who swore to stand by me are long gone. It’s not their fault; promises with the word “always” are impossible to keep. The longer they are exposed to what I truly am, the easier the choice to leave. Now I stand exposed. Vulnerable. Abandoned. And yet, I understand. The problem isn’t that I don’t deserve unconditional love—it’s that I know exactly why I don’t.

Some truths, once revealed, cannot be concealed again. Some doors, once opened, cannot be closed. And some love, fragile and conditional, cannot survive the weight of what lies behind the facade.

I was loved—so long as I complied. Loved, as long as I put myself last. Loved, if I molded my life to fit their rules, their desires. I am loved, and will eternally be loved, but under the sole condition that I would never truly be myself.