The Deepest End of Love (The Brightest Light #3)

by Lisina Coney

I’ve always found it interesting, the concept of soulmates. How, by chance or fate, you’ll meet a seemingly insignificant person who will end up becoming your entire universe.

How can you love someone one second and feel nothing for them the next? Just like that? Maybe because I’ve never truly loved him.

He cheated on me, period. Infidelity isn’t something I’m willing to forgive and forget.

Maybe my idea of revenge is too juvenile—I’ve never been a vindictive person, so I’m a little rusty—but it’s still better than letting him get away without consequences.

convincing the world that I’m a mentally stable girl capable of having a conversation becomes a near-impossible task.

I’m so stupid. Flags of all shades of red were waving in front of my face, and I closed my eyes. Because it was easier. Because it hurt less. Because I’m an idealistic coward.

my self-love is pretty nonexistent.

And I also need you to know you’re not to blame for the choices he made. I don’t want to hear you say that what you did or didn’t do drove him to cheat on you because that’s not true. It was his choice.”

I hide my face in my hands, not caring if I smudge my mascara in the process. I might as well become a mess on the outside, too.

Why is Dr. Abner holding the flashlight at the end of the tunnel I’m in?

The most logical part of me knows my wounds run much, much deeper than the ones visible on my skin.

you’re letting people who don’t know you or care about you dictate your life choices.

I feel targeted

“Hey, leggings are always appropriate if you believe it hard enough.”

I will now live by this FOREVER

What if I don’t know who I am anymore?

Today, I’m tired of feeding my inner demons. Today, I choose to let the light win.

No offense, but men aren’t worth it.

Me for sooooo long until i found onewho is worth it

The human brain does this weird thing sometimes, where it knows something is wrong but forces us to make that mistake anyway.

I’m tired of being a victim of my own overthinking.

my obsessive thinking won’t stop overnight. But I’m tired of submitting to it when I have the power to control my brain, not the other way around.

He dog-ears the pages, though, I notice—who’s the criminal now?

It should be illegal

I wish the pain radiating through my fists would dissolve the one coating my soul.

Therapy hasn’t been able to fix this part of me, the one that feels guilty for everything that happened. My brain knows I need to move on, but my heart refuses to catch up.

Great, and now I’m losing my sanity.

Periods should be discussed normally. No wonder young girls freak out about it. And let’s not even tackle boys. Why do they keep making fun of us or calling us gross for something we can’t control? I hate the educational system sometimes. I feel like it’s failing us in that regard.

I sit on my mattress, just for a moment, and allow myself to let that open wound bleed at my feet.

For once in my life, the only voice that matters is mine—and

I don’t… I don’t know who I am anymore, and it scares me. Why am I getting all these great opportunities in life when I’m such a mess?”

Crying bc same girl same

“I have no right to complain because I have a good life. I’m so thankful for my family and my good health and everything else. I just feel like… I don’t know. Like I haven’t done anything to deserve this life.

Maybe I can’t see the real me, the real Lila others want to knock down a few pegs for a good reason.”

I’m tired of living inside the prison that is my head, built with bricks of self-made insecurities. I’ve had enough.

“The most logical part of me knows. The heart is another story.”

I’m playing with fucking fire. But the desire to get burned scorches my last traces of common sense,

There’s no point in regretting my choices now, but at the same time, I can’t help but feel that I’ve never allowed myself to be authentic.

“I don’t know who I am outside of this… this person I’ve created to please everyone else.”

“All my life, I’ve only paid attention to what others wanted and expected of me. I’ve neglected myself.

I can’t bring myself to keep going, to relive a story that will never continue.

“You can’t control what the heart wants,” she offered. “If it’s meant to be, you’ll come back to each other.”

Silence washes over the room when she shuts the door behind her. Despite the brightness in my office, my heart has never felt so dark. I’ve lost her.

“Living an inauthentic life isn’t worth it. Remember that.” And I do.

All my life, I’ve been too preoccupied with everyone’s idea of me to develop my true sense of self—and I’m not blaming anyone but me for it.

I’ve been the prisoner of my own anxiety and overthinking all this time, subject to expectations that weren’t there. I was free to be myself all this time, and I couldn’t see it. But I’ve finally become a woman who refuses to betray her heart ever again.

Because I might have found my self-worth in the past eight months, but my dramatic tendencies will always be part of me.

ME

I’m aware that I’m still a work in progress, and that bad habits can’t be shed overnight. But I no longer feel that anxious pull to hide my discomfort, to please everyone but me, to ignore what I want because I’m scared others will find it out of character for me.

And I realize there’s nothing, absolutely anything, I would’ve done differently. Because every painful lesson got me here, to this life that feels so complete. To the brightest light.