𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙉𝙤 𝙊𝙣𝙚 𝙎𝙚𝙚𝙨 ... [𝗨𝗣𝗗𝗔𝗧𝗘]

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟯: 𝗔 𝗥𝗮𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝗛𝗼𝗽𝗲

Sometimes, I wonder how I'm still here, getting up each day and pretending like nothing's wrong. But here I am, facing another day, hiding all the things that hurt me deep inside. The house feels quiet today, almost too quiet. My dad left early for work, and my mom has her own things to do, so for a little while, I'm alone. It feels weird, like I can finally breathe without worrying who's watching or what they'll say.

I know this peaceful moment won't last, but I try to enjoy it while it's here. I head to my room, shutting the door softly, and open my laptop to write. Writing is the one thing that helps me feel a little bit lighter, like I'm not carrying all this pain by myself. I type out everything that's in my head, every thought, every feeling, every question I don't have answers to. Why is my life like this? Why do my parents seem to hate me so much? Do they even love me?

Today, though, something is different. Instead of just pouring out my feelings, I decide to look for advice. I open a web browser and start searching for stories from other people who've been through something similar. At first, I don't find much that feels relatable. But then I find a forum where people are sharing their stories, talking about things I thought only I went through. Some of them write about family troubles, how they also feel alone and misunderstood at home. It's strange and sad, but it makes me feel a bit less alone.

One story catches my attention. It's from a girl around my age who also feels trapped at home. She writes about how she started talking to her school counselor, and that helped her find a little bit of hope. I've never really thought about talking to anyone at school, but the idea starts to plant itself in my mind. I don't know if I can do it, but maybe, just maybe, it could help.The next day at school, I walk past the counselor's office. I slow down for a second, staring at the door. My heart pounds, and a voice in my head tells me to keep walking, that I can't just go in there and spill everything. But then I remember that girl's story, how she said it helped her feel less alone. So, after a deep breath, I knock on the door and step inside.

The counselor, Mrs. Jones, looks up and smiles gently, her face kind and welcoming. "Hi, how can I help you?" she asks, her voice soft. For a moment, I just stand there, not sure what to say. Part of me wants to run out of the room, but another part of me—the part that's desperate for someone to understand—decides to stay.

"I... I just need to talk," I say quietly, barely able to meet her eyes.She nods and gestures for me to sit down. "That's okay. Take your time," she says, her voice calm and understanding.

At first, I just sit there, staring at the floor, trying to find the words. Slowly, I begin talking about the things I've been going through, leaving out the worst parts, but telling her enough that she gets a picture of what my life is like. As I talk, I can feel the weight in my chest getting lighter, like I'm finally letting go of something I've held onto for so long.

Mrs. Jones listens carefully, nodding and offering a few encouraging words. When I finally finish, she tells me something I've never thought about before. "It's important to know that what you're feeling is valid," she says gently. "You're not alone, and there are people who can help you if you need it."

For the first time, I feel like someone really sees me, understands what I'm going through. She doesn't judge me or tell me I'm wrong. She just listens, and that makes all the difference. She suggests that we meet again next week to talk more, and I agree. I leave her office feeling like maybe, just maybe, there's a way out of this darkness, even if it's just a small light for now.The rest of the week feels different. I still have to go home, still have to face my dad's anger and my mom's silence, but now there's a little hope inside me, something that keeps me going. Knowing I'll talk to Mrs. Jones again gives me a reason to hold on, to believe that someday, things might get better.

One evening, after another argument at home, I find myself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. My mind drifts to all the things I want in life—peace, freedom, the chance to be happy without fear. It feels like a dream, something too far away to reach, but now, I don't feel as alone as I did before. There's a tiny spark inside me, something that whispers, "You can get through this. You're stronger than you think."In that moment, I decide that no matter how hard it gets, I'm going to keep fighting. I don't know what the future holds, but I know that I'm not completely powerless. I have my voice, my words, and now, someone who is willing to listen.