Life Story

I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror one morning. Not metaphorically, I mean, I stared and my face felt like a mask someone else wore while pretending to be me. My eyes weren’t mine. They had this quiet violence in them, like a storm that’s forgotten how to rage but still knows how to ruin... I stood there, half-dressed, toothpaste still foaming in my mouth, wondering how a person could exist and still not be here. You know that feeling when you scream into a pillow and the silence that follows is louder than the scream? That was my everyday life. Wake up. Fake the smile. Dress like the world expects. Perform the rituals of “normal.” But inside, I was clawing at walls no one else could see. My soul was a room with no doors, and the lights flickered constantly... and when I begged for help, it came wrapped in clichés, You’ll get through it. Time heals. Be grateful. Grateful? Grateful for the suffocating weight on my chest every night that whispered, You’re not enough. Grateful for th...