Lilog224ever
Some wounds are invisible, some battles are fought in silence, and some scars are carried alone. People say, "You handled it so well," but the truth? I didn't handle it. I went insane. I lost my spark. I bled in silence. I shattered alone. I wore a smile that lied better than any mask could. I survived it-not because I was strong, but because I had no other choice. Every sleepless night, every tear I swallowed, every weight I carried on my shoulders-it all built me. This is raw. This is unfiltered. This is what surviving feels like when the world expects you to crumble.
This story, this poem, this journey-it's for anyone who has ever felt unseen, unheard, or forgotten. To those who are drowning in the noise of the world, feeling the weight of pain no one else acknowledges, know this: you are not alone. Your survival is your power. Your voice matters. Your story matters. And even in the darkest hours, even when you feel broken beyond repair, you are becoming more than your pain. You are becoming unstoppable.
Read, feel, breathe, and remember: it's okay not to be okay. It's okay to struggle. It's okay to break-but it's also okay to rise, again and again.