Actually, I'm not fine… blog

Part 1: The Weight of Silence, into the depth.

Trigger warning / Age advisory (18+):
This post contains descriptions of childhood and teenage abuse, self-harm, and suicidal thoughts. It is intended for adult readers (18+). If you or someone you know is in immediate danger, please call your local emergency number now. If you are in the U.S., you can call or text 988 for 24/7 crisis support; if you’re elsewhere, please see local helplines or visit the International Association for Suicide Prevention for resources. 988 Lifeline+1

Trigger Warning: This post discusses childhood abuse, bullying, and suicidal thoughts. Suitable for 18+ readers. Parents, please be aware.

The Weight We Carry Series… allowed me to get what i needed out but the depth of the pain became a deeper cut, but i felt i needed to reopen this wound a little further.

Silence was my first survival skill.

I grew up in a house where words weren’t just words; they were weapons. Yelling, name-calling, and fighting filled the walls until it felt like there was no air left to breathe. At school, I thought maybe I’d find a break. Instead, I became the target there too. Bullied in elementary school, I decided one day I wouldn’t let anyone push me around anymore. But the moment I started standing up for myself, the label switched, suddenly I was the bully, the aggressor.

It didn’t matter if I was defending myself in the bathroom, in the locker room, or even just walking down a hallway. I was always on edge, waiting. And when I got home, there was no relief. The cycle of beatings, yelling, and emotional exhaustion never let up. My mother was the enforcer, my older sister another fire in the storm. The house never felt like home: it felt like a battlefield.

When you’re a kid living like that, the world stops being a place of possibility. It becomes survival. I found ways to cope; dark ones. At just twelve years old, I began carrying suicidal thoughts like a secret backpack I couldn’t put down. I told no one, not even the people I trusted most. To this day, only a handful of people know the truth about how deep that pain went.

The shame of it weighed on me. I would stare at scissors or dig my nails into my palms until they broke skin, anything to release what was trapped inside me. It wasn’t about wanting to die as much as it was about wanting the pain to stop. I wanted to feel in control of something, anything, when everything else in my life was dictated by violence and judgment.

Even then, a small part of me hoped things could be different. That one day I could live a life that was mine, not just a reaction to everyone else’s rage. But as a teenager, I couldn’t see that future clearly. All I saw was the weight of silence pressing me down.
This series is my truth, not to glamorize the darkness, but to show that even in the places where hope feels absent, survival is still possible. And survival is not weakness. It’s proof you’re stronger than you were ever led to believe.

If you’re here reading this, maybe you’ve carried your own silence too. I want you to know: you’re not alone. Even if it feels like no one hears you, I do.