How is it that the people who spent their whole lives by my side see me the way they do? How are they so quick to side against me? How is it so easy for them to call me horrible, selfish, thoughtless?
How can they say such things when they know that all I have ever tried to do is show up, to do what I believed was best?
They know how much I tear myself apart over the choices I made, choices I believed were in everyone’s best interest, decisions I was manipulated into making.
When my world came crashing down, when I realised those decisions were shaped by an evil man’s manipulation, I confronted him. He was someone I had believed to be a saviour, and then he turned on me. Suddenly, everything I knew was shattered.
I screamed for my mother over and over after taking those pills, not because I wanted to die, but because I didn’t want to feel what I felt in that moment. I didn’t know how to escape it.
She did not come to console me.
Each day after, I was told again and again how selfish I was, how I only cared about myself.
But when my mum would fall, when she would collapse into her own chaos, sitting naked on the bathroom floor, screaming, banging, growling, I sat with her. I held her. I told her, over and over, that I loved her. I stayed until help arrived, calming her, picking glass from her feet. Even then I was villianised.
But where was my person when I was crumbling? Where was my love?
Every time I fell, I was disowned, cut down with words that threatened to push me right back to that attempt.
All I have ever tried to do is protect, love, and shelter.
I was never shown how to do it. I just tried my best.
No one ever held me.
I just want to be held and allowed to weep, without being told it’s manipulation, without being told I’m making myself the victim, without being told I want attention.
I just want a love that’s unconditional. Someone who can sit with me, even when I am of no use to them. Someone to be with me. Someone to understand me. Someone who doesn’t believe I am as bad as everyone says.
Someone who can understand that I was a child who wasn’t loved as she should have been, but stayed because she believed she needed to, that she had to help, even if, in hindsight, she didn’t make all the right decisions.
How cruel it is to hold everyone else in their darkest moments while they tear you apart in yours.
And in the end, when you finally speak about it, you become the villain.
Apr 10
Apr 10, 2026 at 5:57 PM UTC
How is it that the people who spent their whole lives by my side see me the way they do? How are they so quick to side against me? How is it so easy for them to call me horrible, selfish, thoughtless?
How can they say such things when they know that all I have ever tried to do is show up, to do what I believed was best?
They know how much I tear myself apart over the choices I made, choices I believed were in everyone’s best interest, decisions I was manipulated into making.
When my world came crashing down, when I realised those decisions were shaped by an evil man’s manipulation, I confronted him. He was someone I had believed to be a saviour, and then he turned on me. Suddenly, everything I knew was shattered.
I screamed for my mother over and over after taking those pills, not because I wanted to die, but because I didn’t want to feel what I felt in that moment. I didn’t know how to escape it.
She did not come to console me.
Each day after, I was told again and again how selfish I was, how I only cared about myself.
But when my mum would fall, when she would collapse into her own chaos, sitting naked on the bathroom floor, screaming, banging, growling, I sat with her. I held her. I told her, over and over, that I loved her. I stayed until help arrived, calming her, picking glass from her feet. Even then I was villianised.
But where was my person when I was crumbling? Where was my love?
Every time I fell, I was disowned, cut down with words that threatened to push me right back to that attempt.
All I have ever tried to do is protect, love, and shelter.
I was never shown how to do it. I just tried my best.
No one ever held me.
I just want to be held and allowed to weep, without being told it’s manipulation, without being told I’m making myself the victim, without being told I want attention.
I just want a love that’s unconditional. Someone who can sit with me, even when I am of no use to them. Someone to be with me. Someone to understand me. Someone who doesn’t believe I am as bad as everyone says.
Someone who can understand that I was a child who wasn’t loved as she should have been, but stayed because she believed she needed to, that she had to help, even if, in hindsight, she didn’t make all the right decisions.
How cruel it is to hold everyone else in their darkest moments while they tear you apart in yours.
And in the end, when you finally speak about it, you become the villain.
