Stillhere Stories

This is not a metaphor. This is not a dramatization. This is what a panic attack actually looks like when it doesn't stop. After midnight on a cold Thursday night, my body turned against me. What started as a familiar warning - that quiet something's wrong feeling - turned into hours of pacing, shaking, dissociation, and survival rituals that didn't work the way they were supposed to. I walked until my legs felt hollow. Held ice until my hands stopped feeling real. Cleaned bathrooms because movement was the only thing keeping me upright. Tried food. Tried noise. Tried silence. Tried lying down. Nothing shut it off. This is a record of that night - from the first wave of panic to the moment I finally came back into myself days later. No inspiration. No recovery arc. No clean ending. Just what it's like to stay alive when your nervous system refuses to let you rest.

Sino dito ang nagmamahal pero walang kasiguraduhan? sino dito yung naghihintay parin pero hindi mo alam kung andyan pa sya? itong tula na ito para sa inyong lahat na kapareho ng nararanasan ko ngayon 😂😭

This is not a book about healing. It's a record of what remained after. SCARS...unstitched documents the spaces where love faltered, belonging was uncertain, and survival became an act of restraint. Written without ornament or apology, these fragments trace the slow recognition of what it costs to stay too long, and the quiet resolve of choosing oneself anyway.

~|| A Ffionn/Spectre Story ||~ What happened to Ffionn that day? Why is he experiencing such emotions and feelings? What is Stephan hiding? All these questions and no answer, but one thing's for certain, Ffionn can't control what he feels during a certain time, and his nightmares might be the cause of it all. ((This story will take place in first-person.perspective, so it (may) always be in Ffionn's POV.))

This is not a guide. Not a rescue plan. Not a "how to be okay." This is a love letter to the ones who almost disappeared. A collection of raw, poetic chapters written like whispers in the dark. If you've ever felt too heavy, too soft, too broken to be here... this is for you. STILL HERE - A Soft Survival Series is not about being healed. It's about choosing to stay anyway. From Pappii, with softness.

She wasn't planning to stay. Not for another day, not for another sunrise she couldn't feel. But one message - "You forgot your sketchbook." - changes everything. He's the quiet boy who sketches in corners, the one who sees the world in shades of grey and light. She's the girl who forgot what light even looked like. Neither of them expected to save each other. But sometimes, the smallest moments - a text, a song, a shared silence - can pull you back from the edge. This isn't a story about falling in love. It's a story about learning to live again. And maybe, just maybe, finding love along the way. the story parts are all finished ,they will be uploaded gradually

A sad romance about a lovely girl falling in love with someone she soon forgot about.

"Some days, it feels like the world moves on without you. You carry memories, pain, and grief that no one else can see. You talk to yourself in the quiet, to the walls, to the night, trying to make sense of it all. You've lost people, places, and pieces of yourself along the way, and sometimes it feels like there's no one to notice or understand. But even when your mind is hazy and your heart heavy, there's a spark inside that refuses to die - a flicker of strength that keeps you moving forward. This poem is for anyone who has felt alone in their own head, who has screamed into the void, who has survived another day when it felt impossible. You are not invisible. You are not forgotten. You are still here, still fighting, and that matters more than anyone can tell you. Even in the storm, even in the haze, you are enough. And some days, surviving is the bravest thing you can do."

Carmon McLean ended her life thinking it would be over in an instant. She could forever be locked in a box in the ground with all her suffering ended. But suddenly she is swept into a world of half existence, invisibility, and watching those she loved mourn over her. But the real question is, why is she still here?

I've been drowning in a world that feels like it doesn't see me. Days blur together in pain, anxiety, and depression so heavy I can barely breathe. I've watched life slip through my hands, fought battles inside myself that nobody else even notices, and carried burdens that feel impossible to put down. I've been misdiagnosed, medicated into near nothingness, spiraled into darkness that almost claimed me, and yet here I am - still breathing. I've felt the pull of pills, substances, and moments so raw that every breath felt like a fight. I've been alone in small apartments, on blow-up mattresses, barely eating, barely moving, barely surviving. I've watched the system fail me, friends drift away, family stay distant, and yet still I fight. Every panic, every cry, every sleepless night - I've carried it all, and I write it down because someone has to see it. Someone has to feel it. This is a story of survival in silence, of battling inner demons nobody else sees, of raw, unfiltered truth. No edits. No sugarcoating. Just pain, struggle, hope, and the fight to exist in a world that feels like it wants me gone. If you've ever felt unseen, unheard, or broken, this is for you.

If hatred were taken from me, I would die of emptiness. It is the only thing that has never abandoned me......

It's not for you But you still had the nerve to take more than 1 step

Have you ever found yourself in a situation you couldn't explain? Yeah, that's pretty much what happened to me... One day my brother is standing in my kitchen. Nothing unusual? Right? Wrong... Hi! I'm Jellie and I wanted to try an English story for once, but be warned! I don't know English very well and I don't know if every phrase I write is correct, so...sorry in advance! But otherwise have fun with the story! :)

A journey through the fragments of self, the questions we hide, and the echoes we chase. A raw reflection of identity, love, and the masks we wear.

What it's like 'living'

This memoir tells the story of growing up in a home shaped by neglect, abuse, and survival. From early illness and isolation to being forced into adulthood far too soon, this book traces the experience of a childhood where safety was never guaranteed and love was conditional. Walking home alone, caring for siblings, enduring physical and emotional harm, and learning to stay silent became part of daily life. Even after escaping that environment, the impact remained. Loss followed, grief accumulated, and healing proved to be anything but simple. This is not a story of easy recovery, but of endurance-of learning how trauma lives in the body, how silence can be as damaging as violence, and how survival can become both a strength and a burden. Told with honesty and restraint, this memoir is about what it means to survive when you had no choice, and how learning to live afterward can be just as difficult as staying alive.

Maybe someday, Sera, you'll look back and realize someone was quietly loving you through the seasons you never noticed. But whether you ever knew or not, I was always... Still here. - Aris

So this book is about Jooamznnayno's account which is no more Now it's for updates and little kitttyparty

Rawr

This isn't poetry for comfort. This is what survival sounds like when it's done bleeding quietly. This is for the people who were called strong because no one ever stayed long enough to help. For the ones who prayed, broke, sinned, healed halfway, and kept moving anyway. For the ones who got judged for how they survived instead of why they had to. I didn't come out clean. I came out alive. And if that makes me a hypocrite to people who never had to choose between drowning and breathing ugly, so be it. This is grief that learned how to stand. Faith that argues with God and still shows up. Love that wants connection but refuses to lose itself again. A heart that's tired of pretending healing is quiet or pretty. If you hear anger in this, good. If you hear truth in this, even better. And if this makes you uncomfortable, ask yourself why - because it wasn't written for applause. It was written because I'm still here. Still here. Still breathing. Still standing. Hypocrite.