That day, something inside me died. It was the beginning of the end. A chronicle of a death foretold. I wanted it to stop, but it didn't. We only had sex to satisfy him. I didn't even have an orgasm. I hadn't had one for months. The most repugnant thing was that I pretended to have it. It mortified me. Just to satisfy him. In my mind, we had already broken up, but it seemed I had to accept this bitter fate. Mortify myself every day. Suffer until the glass overflowed. That feeling of anguish. It was suffocating me. I've felt that sensation so many times. That total collapse. The most absolute despair. I always thought I deserved all the misfortunes that happened to me. That day, something inside me died. When he left, I closed the door. I closed the door forever. For months, I wasted away in silence.