I feel like I destroyed my own life with my past actions, and I don’t know how to escape this hell I created.

never imagined I would reach a point in my life where I look back and feel like I personally turned everything into a nightmare. But here I am, carrying a weight that gets heavier every night, and I honestly don’t know how much longer I can keep living like this.

A few years ago, after the pandemic, I started a new job. That’s where I met a girl whose life was already full of chaos. Her family was extremely strict, controlling, and emotionally harsh. Her father constantly insulted her in front of everyone at work, took most of her salary, and treated her like she wasn’t even a human being. Before I arrived, she had been involved with a coworker—someone manipulative, unstable, and already married. He borrowed money from her, threatened her emotionally, and caused her a lot of mental damage.

When I started working there, she was quiet, closed off, and deeply wounded. I found her attractive. And I’ll be honest—I wasn’t in love. I was drawn to her physically. I treated her kindly, gave her attention, and slowly she opened up. Over time I started to genuinely care for her, and she developed strong feelings too.

But I crossed lines I should never have crossed. I pushed her emotionally, pressured her for things she wasn’t comfortable with, and manipulated her by acting cold whenever she resisted. When she gave in, I became affectionate again. I didn’t realize how deeply this pattern hurt her mentally.

Eventually I learned about her ex and the damage he caused. She cried, begged me not to leave her alone in that darkness. But what did I do? I walked away. I started a new relationship with another girl right in front of her.

She found out at work. Her mother also found out about our relationship and got extremely upset, which led to a serious health issue. And I watched this girl—the one I had hurt—break apart in front of me. I will never forget the way she looked at me that day. It stays with me like a scar.

People might assume I stayed with her out of compassion or fear of her ex. But no. The truth is darker: I stayed because I wanted the physical intimacy. Even when I had someone else in my life.

The second story is worse.

My closest friend—someone who lost both her parents, someone who supported me in every moment, someone who would have done anything for me—confessed she had feelings for me. She broke down crying when I told her about another girl. She tried to hide it at first, but eventually she admitted everything: that she cared deeply about me, that she couldn’t move on, and that if I gave her a chance maybe she could finally feel some happiness.

And I… I laughed. I made a joke out of her feelings.

She gave me a look that still haunts me. She later went through a long period of emotional struggle. Her health suffered. She needed psychological help. And all of that happened while I stood there doing nothing.

Now I’m 28, dealing with a serious illness, barely sleeping, and living with a constant sense of guilt. Some nights I sleep only if there’s noise in the background. Every time their faces come into my mind, I break down. It genuinely feels like pieces of me are dying slowly.

One day I found the stray cat that used to live near my building… lifeless. Underneath it was a tiny kitten, barely alive. I took it home, and somehow that small, fragile thing became the only reason I’m still here. It gave me something to hold on to.

I’m doing a little better lately. But I still can’t forgive myself. I truly wish I could apologize directly to those two women. They deserved better. They will heal, and they will have good lives. But I’m the one who will carry this for the rest of mine.