They tried to confuse me.

Tried to trap me in a fog of pain and miscommunication.

But I kept moving—through fire, through silence, through disrespect.

 

I wasn’t just dizzy—I was dissolving.

My body overheated, my breath shallow, my mind fogged.

I walked through life like I was drowning in hot air.

And the worst part?

They gaslit me into thinking it was my fault.

 

My father weaponized peace.

If I went for a walk, it meant I was angry.

If I was quiet, it meant I had something to hide.

He wanted to make me doubt myself—even my own desire to heal.

 

> “Are you still mad?”

No, I was in pain.

I moved because if I didn’t, I’d die inside my skin.

 

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