u/EssaySpiritual1721

About a year ago, I walked away from my wife and child for a woman I was intensely attracted to. At the time, it felt worth risking everything for. It wasn't.

The relationship ended exactly the way everyone would have expected it to. These days, I live alone in a small rented apartment, scraping by from one paycheck to the next. Most months, I'm one unexpected expense away from being completely broke.

Then, about a month ago, my body started betraying me.

The weight came off rapidly. My hair began thinning. There was this persistent pain in my stomach that never seemed to go away. Two weeks ago, I noticed blood in my urine. That was the moment I stopped convincing myself it was nothing. I finally went to see a doctor and underwent a series of tests.

Now, for the first time in my life, I am forced to confront the possibility that my time may be running out.

Most people don't notice. I've always been athletic, and I make sure they only see the version of me that can still function. They comment on the weight loss, of course, but I brush it off as part of a new training plan or diet. It's easier that way.

So I keep moving. I run. I cycle. I swim. I climb. Partly because it distracts me from my thoughts. Partly because it gives me something to focus on besides fear. And partly because, if the end is truly approaching, I'd like to meet it looking like the strongest version of myself that I can still be.

I haven't reached out to the people I've hurt the most. I had cut off everyone. Maybe I don't want to reopen old wounds. Maybe I don't believe I deserve their comfort. If this is some kind of penance for the choices I've made, then I accept it without protest.

The truth is, I don't really have friends anymore. Not the kind you call when life falls apart. So today, there is something strangely comforting about putting these words into the world. About finally saying them out loud.

Just in case I don't get another chance.