boundaries
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I do not care to be liked. That sentence alone terrifies people more than rage ever could. Because people can handle anger. They can handle drama. They can handle someone screaming, crying, throwing chairs, posting paragraphs online like a wounded raccoon fighting for emotional custody of its own bad decisions. But a person who genuinely…
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There is something cold about realizing some people already had their last conversation with you and never even knew it. No dramatic goodbye. No slammed doors. No movie scene. Just you standing there in the middle of a regular Tuesday already emotionally packed and halfway gone while they keep talking like tomorrow is guaranteed. That…
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Everybody worries about enemies. The loud ones. The jealous ones. The fake pages watching your stories at two in the morning like it is a full-time position with no benefits. People spend years looking over their shoulder for attacks coming from the outside. Meanwhile the real danger is sitting across from them asking if they…
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There is a very specific type of confidence it takes to burn a bridge…While still standing on it…With no backup plan…And a gas can labeled “my ego said it was fine.” These are the same people who dramatically exit your life like they’re starring in a season finale…Door slam.Speech prepared.Voice shaking like they just discovered…
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There’s a very specific kind of exhaustion that comes from being an overachiever with high emotional intelligence in a world that is… how do I say this kindly… aggressively committed to chaos. Not cute chaos. Not “oops I forgot my keys” chaos. I’m talking full-blown, juggling flaming swords while blindfolded and calling it a personality…
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There are two people in this story. One is living their life. The other is watching it like it’s a full-time job they don’t get paid for. They don’t talk.They don’t interact.There’s no connection, no conversation, no invitation. Just observation. One minding their business…and the other minding that business like it belongs to them. Now…
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There’s a strange thing about people who can’t move on. They don’t leave.Not physically. Not energetically. Not mentally. They just… reposition themselves. They stand outside windows that don’t belong to them anymore, convincing themselves they still recognize the furniture inside. They narrate lives they are no longer part of.They build entire stories off fragments they…
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There’s a seat that not everyone earns.Front row. Close enough to see the sweat, the cracks, the tremble in someone’s voice when the act starts slipping. You’re sitting there. Not participating. Not reacting. Not jumping on stage to “save” anything that was never yours to fix. Just watching. And on that stage… chaos dressed up…
