I didn't set out to write a book. I was just trying to survive. These pages started as journal entries, scribbled thoughts, fragments of days that broke me, confused me, changed me. I wrote when I had no one to talk to. I wrote when I was angry. When I felt lost. When nothing made sense anymore.
Some of what's in here is messy. Some of it is painful. Some of it I almost deleted. But I didn't, because maybe you're feeling some of these things too. Maybe you're carrying grief or anger or silence and you don't know what to do with it. Maybe you're trying to hold yourself together while the people around you pretend everything's fine.
This isn't a self-help book. I'm not here to give answers. I'm just telling the truth, the only way I know how. I've written about the moments that hurt the most, and the ones that caught me by surprise with a little light.
If this finds you, I hope it sits with you the way a friend would. Quietly. Without trying to fix anything. Just here. Because sometimes, that's all we need-to know we're not alone in the dark.