Journal Entry… Number Six. Maybe… Maybe I just need a minute. A minute… to feel it. Because every time I finally tell someone what’s been happening inside my head… they make me feel like I’m the problem. My words matter. My words matter. My words matter. You asked me… “How are you doing?” So I answered. I thought that’s what you wanted. But the second I opened my mouth… everything changed. Your face changed. Your tone changed. You flipped the switch. Now suddenly… I’m too emotional. Too sensitive. Too much. Excuse me? Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? Please… Don’t ask me how I’m doing… if you’ve already decided I’m the problem. Maybe… I just need a minute. Maybe… I’m allowed to be angry. Maybe… I’m allowed to hurt… without someone putting a timer on my healing. You flip the switch… Now I’m standing in my darkest hour. These are my words… I’m gonna scream ’em louder. This is my power. This is my power. This is my power… Even in my darkest hour. Who are you… to judge me? Who are you… to tell me it’s time to move on? Who are you… to tell me I’ll get over it? Who are you… to decide how long I’m allowed to hurt? The fuck? You talking to me? Because… I’m pretty sure… you were the one asking me if I was okay. Now… I’m standing here… trying to explain why I’m struggling… and somehow… I’m the bad guy? I hope… you never have to walk the roads I’ve walked. I hope… you never know what it feels like to carry so much inside… that your smile starts feeling like another lie. I hope… someone stays beside you when life falls apart. I hope… they don’t make you feel guilty for hurting. I hope… they never tell you you’re too much. Because nobody deserves to feel invisible while they’re begging to be understood. Wait… You wanted honesty… until it made you uncomfortable. You wanted the truth… until it wasn’t easy to hear. You asked me… what was wrong. Now you’re mad… because I answered? So tell me… What exactly was the right answer? “Yeah… I’m fine.” Would that have made you feel better? Would that have made me easier to look at? I guess… this is my fault… Right? Sure… Everything happens… and somehow I’m still the one expected to apologize. I’ll get over it. Yeah. Just like everything else. When I’m ready. Not when it’s convenient for everybody else. Because I’m allowed to feel angry. I’m allowed to feel hurt. I’m allowed to feel every damn emotion that got left inside me. My words matter. My words matter. My words matter. These are my words… and I’m gonna scream them. You don’t get to rewrite my story. You don’t get to tell me how long I’m allowed to carry it. You flip the switch… then wonder why I’m standing here on fire. This is my power. This is my darkest hour. And I’m done letting somebody else decide how I should heal. So… if you can’t handle the honest answer… don’t ask me how I’m doing. Because if all you’ve got is judgment… if you can’t offer one ounce of kindness… then respectfully… Go fuck yourself. … Love, Kay. 🦋
