The Bipolar Path

“If you’re going through hell, keep going.”
That’s what my tattoo says. A quote by Winston Churchill. (but it says only ‘keep going’, on both my legs)
I’m writing to you now because I still have a few things weighing on my heart. Because it’s time to tell you the truth, once and for all. It’s the least I owe you—after all, you always made sure to tell me the truth, even when it hurt.

I tested you a lot too. It wasn’t conscious, not by choice—it just happened.
I guess I’m messed up, or at the very least not normal—that’s for sure.
But yes, I tested you endlessly, Or.

I’m writing this because this is going to be the last message I send you.
Not out of bitterness, not out of grief, not anger, not even disappointment in you—only in myself.
I’m writing so that I can move on.
This path requires inner work that can no longer include you.
You’ve suffered enough, you’ve given enough, and now it’s time I start giving to myself.
And that’s incredibly hard for me—hard in ways I can’t even describe.

And still—I’ll be there. Always. I’ll read, I’ll care, I’ll learn, I’ll take it to heart. I’ll go through anything you choose to send—again and again (7482827474 times while my heart breaks seeing you online), and I’ll embrace every word you choose to share—here, or anywhere else. Any form of contact.
It’s not a question. It’s a promise.
But on my side, I need to let go.
So that I can smile again. Eat again. Work out. Learn. Grow.
Because the truth is—I’m not as strong as you think I am. I still have so much to heal.
And so, I can’t allow myself a “window of access” to you.

I hope you understand.
And I hope it makes sense.
Truthfully? It’s hard to know what makes sense when you’re not here.

Before I end, I need to share a few things I never said:

• I knew who Winston Churchill was. I chose to pretend I didn’t.
• I wanted you to stay last night. I chose to tell you to go.
• I wanted us to go to the moshav and cook dinner together. Suddenly I chose not to.
• I wanted to leave you a little uplifting note on your computer every day. I chose not to.
• I wanted to go down on you every morning when I woke up. I didn’t do it.
• I didn’t care where we lived—as long as it was with you. And still, I insisted on the apartment and on leaving the city.
• I wanted to get pregnant with you, like, right now. Instead, I kept announcing something different every couple of months.
• You showed me the logical path again and again. I chose never to acknowledge it.
• I knew I should listen to you. I chose not to.
• I knew I had a secure future with you. I never told you that.
• I felt emotions with you I didn’t even think existed. I never thanked you for that.
• Every time I heard people talk about their relationships, I thanked God I had you. But instead of telling you that, I argued with you about whether God even exists.
• I wanted you to be the father of my children. I wanted you to choose our first son’s name. Instead, I argued with you about it.
• The truth is, deep down—I don’t feel good enough for you.
• That’s why I didn’t want to be in your first photo with your niece. And still, I joined.

I could go on and on.
But the point is—I don’t really know who I am.
It’s like I keep borrowing lines from my parents and my siblings—and trying to make them mine.
It’s hard for me to admit what I truly want and need.
I was born into roles of pleasing. Pleasing Mom instead of Dad, pleasing Dad instead of Mom.
I won’t go deeper into that now.

But I always said the thing I hate most in others is a lack of self-awareness.
So I can’t allow myself to be unaware of myself anymore.
I’m embracing everything you wrote to me.
I’m taking it as truth.
Because from now on, my path will be darker.
I will succeed—I have no doubt about that—but it’s going to be so hard without you.

What I take from our relationship is first and foremost the chance to learn about myself.
You were a mirror for me. And for that, I’ll be forever grateful.

You are perfect. In every way.
And you were right when you said I’m “the closest thing to perfect.”
But I’m not perfect. Not yet.
And you are.
And you deserve someone who is already whole. Who doesn’t fight a thousand internal battles every day.
Someone who simply knows how to love you—as you are.

And finally, I’m asking you for three promises:

1. That you never change—no matter what happens or with whom. Hold on tightly to who you are.
2. That you’ll be there for me on that one day. I’ll be looking only for you.
3. That you never stop learning French. Please. I’m begging you. Take this as the one thing I’m asking of you—something that will give you a huge edge in your path ahead.

I want to find out, in two or three years, that you speak French fluently, or that you closed a deal in France.
That would give me meaning—the feeling that I left something good behind in your journey.
It would be an honor for me if you fulfilled that little dream of mine.

This writing is mine, first and foremost. A kind of goodbye to myself—from you.
Because I finally understand how important you are to me—exactly in the moment I have to let go.
And it’s not because you’re not good for me. On the contrary—you’re probably the best thing for me. You always will be.
I’m letting go because I still don’t know how to hold something that good without destroying it.

I wish I could turn back time.
To fix it.
To choose differently, to say what I felt in the moment.
But we don’t live in a novel.
And I’m not the heroine of a romance story—I’m a real person.
And this, I guess, is the great lesson of my life.

I want you to know—I don’t hate myself.
I don’t pity myself.
I just finally see who I am.
With all the pain, the disappointments, the contradictions.
And I choose to take responsibility for it. Not fall from it—but rise.

You were home for me.
The place where I could be the most exposed, the most vulnerable, the most childlike.
And because of you—I know that one day, when I’m truly ready—this kind of love will return.
But next time, I’ll be able to hold it.
Without destroying it, without running, without constantly testing if it will stay.

And when that day comes—when I’m able to love the way I really want—it will be because of you.
Because of your love, your patience, your giving, your warmth.
You are my new standard.
And not just in love—in how I relate to myself.
Because of you, I’m learning how I deserve to be treated.
And how I’m meant to treat myself.

I was up all night writing this. Debating whether to send it, what to include, what to leave out.
From here—I’m letting go. In the most beautiful way I can.
Because right now, I don’t see the right path clearly.

But what I do know, deep inside, is that I have to learn to find that path on my own.
With my own strength.

God wouldn’t place me in a situation He didn’t believe I could overcome.
Keep going, even when it feels like hell.

I love you. And I always will.
You have the most sacred place in my heart—forever.

Thank you for everything, my Or. My light, in every sense.
I promise—in the next lifetime, you’ll find me more ready for you.
Just please, look for me…