The last day of a year has a way of stripping things back. There’s no momentum left to hide behind, no fresh start yet to lean on. Just a quiet pause before time moves forward again — and in this case, into the second half of an entire decade.
This account exists because there are stories that don’t fit neatly into timelines. Things that don’t resolve just because the calendar changes. I write about characters shaped by what they’ve survived — not as symbols, not as lessons, but as people living with consequences that don’t fade politely.
I don’t believe trauma is something you simply “move on” from. I believe you learn to live beside it. You learn how to carry it differently. Sometimes that looks like strength. Sometimes it looks like collapse. Both are honest.
What I write here will be dark. It will be uncomfortable. It will sit with pain instead of rushing to soften it. Some characters will find reasons to keep going. Some won’t. Some will be saved. Some will be lost. There is no promise of healing arcs or redemption, only truth as I understand it.
I’m not starting this page with resolutions or declarations of who I’ll become in the years ahead. I’m starting it with clarity — about why this space exists and what it’s here to hold.
As we step into the second half of the decade, this is where I’ll write what can’t be rushed, polished, or made palatable.
If you find something here that feels familiar — something that makes you feel a little less alone — then this page has already done what it was meant to do.
— Anne Onymous
