Chapter 6
Silence That Does Not Mend — Only Kills
The silent treatment you give every time we misunderstand each other never solves a single thing. Whenever I try to speak, to reach out, or to untangle what went wrong — you simply walk away. You say you want peace for yourself, yet you leave me behind wounded, heavy‑hearted, and crowded with thoughts I have no way to speak aloud. You call it quietness or space; I know it for what it truly is: an unhealthy habit, your chosen way to run from conversation and responsibility. It brings no healing — only slow, steady damage that eats away at whatever remains between us.
Sometimes you withdraw for days at a time. I am left alone to weep until my eyes are sore, to soothe my own broken feelings, to press my hands against a chest grown too heavy and force my racing heart and mind to calm themselves — all with no one beside me. Talking is meant to bridge gaps and fix hurts… so why do you choose silence instead? Your absence leaves me turning in circles: What did I do wrong? Why do I feel so invisible, so unloved, so completely taken for granted?
Instead of stepping closer to give reassurance, safety, or love — you turn your back. When you finally return, you act as if nothing painful ever happened at all. You expect me to instantly be fine, soft, and compliant no matter how deeply you have cut me. You demand a peaceful home, yet you do nothing to build or sustain that peace yourself. You raise high walls around yourself; you claim privacy and quiet as your rights — while you steadily destroy mine.
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