I Didn’t Say Goodbye—And I Didn’t Know Why?

In this chapter, I quietly walk away from the life I knew—my job, my passions, my sense of self—without fully understanding why. It captures the silent heartbreak of losing who you were before you even have a diagnosis. I wasn’t ready to admit I was scared, so I disappeared instead. This chapter is about the fear that creeps in when the unknown takes hold—and the grief that begins long before the label.

Chapter 2

FEAR OF THE UNKNOWN

2025 Reflection :

This one still wrecks me. I read it now and see a young man walking away from everything he loved—not because he wanted to, but because he was too proud to ask for help, too scared to say “I’m not okay.”

When I left the firehouse without saying goodbye, I felt like I was letting everyone down. What I didn’t realize was that I was the one who needed lifting. I didn’t know I could ask for that.

This chapter is where I began grieving my old self… before I even had a name for what was happening to me. I wish I could hug that guy, cry with him, and tell him: you haven’t failed—you’re just beginning a different kind of courage story.

And maybe, just maybe, that story was always meant to be shared.

Letter #2:

 "Falling Away: The Silent Heartbreak of Losing Yourself"

Dear Reader,

There’s a kind of heartbreak that doesn’t come from a breakup, or a death, or a diagnosis. It comes from watching yourself slowly disappear—and not having the words yet to explain what you’re losing.

That’s what this chapter was.

I wasn’t just falling physically. I was falling out of my life—out of the firehouse, the dojo, the FBI dream, the strength I’d worked so hard to build. And I kept telling myself it was temporary. That I could push through. That it would pass.

But it didn’t. And I didn’t know how to say, “I’m scared.”

So instead, I walked away. Quietly. Alone.

If you’re in that place right now—watching pieces of your life slip through your fingers while you pretend it’s fine—I want you to know something:

You’re not weak for grieving what you used to be. You’re human for feeling it.

You’re allowed to mourn the life you thought you’d live. You’re allowed to be angry, confused, heartbroken. And you’re allowed to not have answers yet.

But please don’t walk away without telling someone how heavy it’s getting.

You don’t have to be the strong one all the time. You just have to stay. And let the people who love you help you hold what you can’t carry alone.

With you in this,
Richie