imnotavictim

As an overthinker, you often find yourself trapped in an endless loop of “what ifs.” You craft elaborate stories—fictional yet convincing—about the past and the future, spinning tales that stir anxiety and blur reality. These mental short films, often horror or psychological thrillers, play on a loop in your head, creating a prison of possibilities that rarely, if ever, come to pass.

Where does this leave you?

It leaves you steeped in doubt, isolated, paralyzed by fear of the unknown. It chips away at your spirit, slowly, quietly. I know, because I’ve lived it. I’ve been the victim of my own thoughts, the architect of my own destruction. I built the walls, locked the door, and swallowed the key.

When you spend long enough in that mental darkness, you begin to believe it’s your only reality. You attract the worst-case scenarios, almost summoning them, just to prove yourself right: “I knew this would happen.”

A few years ago, things reached a tipping point. I could no longer control the spiral. My mind raced around the clock, like a glitching computer with a thousand error tabs blinking at once. It was relentless. Exhausting. Terrifying.

But one day, I asked myself: Why does my mind control me?

The brain is powerful—yes—but it’s my brain. An organ I had trained for years to see only the danger, the flaw, the failure. And if I had the power to train it that way, perhaps I still had the power to rewire it.

So I stopped fighting my overthinking and began redirecting it. I realized I was already skilled at analyzing, predicting, noticing the smallest details. What if I used those same skills in service of hope rather than fear?

What if, instead of “What if it goes wrong?” I asked, “What if it goes right?”

Instead of “I’m sure I’ll fail,” I told myself, “I’ll give it everything I’ve got.”

Instead of obsessing over worst-case scenarios, I started imagining the best-case ones.

And slowly, everything shifted.

I haven’t silenced the chaos entirely—I still have moments—but I’ve flipped the script. I tricked my brain into working with me, not against me. And day by day, almost magically, I began to dream again.

I started fantasizing about the life I once thought was lost to me. I began to see opportunities instead of obstacles. I took action. I replaced that suffocating feeling of being stuck with a quiet but persistent sense of hope—delusional, maybe, but illuminating.

Now, I live in a different kind of “what if.”

And to you, the one reading this:

Maybe it’s time you start writing your best-case-scenario “what ifs.”

#imnotavictim #overthinking #MentalHealth

This is for the wounds I carry in my heart.

The scars that haven’t healed, the ones that still try to pull me back into the version of myself I no longer want to be —

the version I no longer am.

A victim.

To my schoolmates

You made me feel like an outsider.

You mocked me, dimmed my spark before I even knew how brightly it could burn.

To the boy I had a crush on, who used my feelings against me and turned me into a joke —

you taught me to believe I should stay invisible, that people like me would never belong in a world of wealth, ease, and confidence.

You made me question every kind gesture, built in me a belief that I wasn’t worthy of good things, of success, of belonging.

But I forgive you.

Because in my loneliness, I found my imagination.

I retreated inward and discovered who I truly am.

I dreamed of a world where I could be accepted, where I could thrive — and I made it real.

So thank you.

To the man who broke my heart three days before my birthday

You were the first one I truly opened up to.

I dropped my walls, ignored my instincts, trusted you completely.

You lit a fire in me — I rediscovered my femininity, the joy of touch, of intimacy, of being seen.

You made me feel magical… until you shattered me.

You blindsided me.

You taught me that being “too nice” meant being unlovable, that giving too much meant losing everything.

Since you, I’ve struggled to trust, to believe I’m enough.

I've tried to control everything — every move, every word — just so I’m never hurt like that again.

I’m still healing. I still don’t have all the answers.

Do I need to love myself more? Accept love as I am? Trust that I am already enough?

Maybe.

But through you, I found clarity about who I want to be, what I deserve, and the kind of love I will never settle for again.

So thank you.

To the man who promised me a new life

You asked me to marry you.

I believed in you. I stood by you for three long years, helping you rebuild your life.

But when things got good for you, I was no longer part of your plan.

You kept me waiting, hopeful for a dream that wasn’t yours to give.

But I left.

And for that, I thank you.

You taught me that I can’t rely on anyone else to save me — I must be my own savior.

And I was.

I got out. I built the life I wanted with my own two hands.

I did it.

Thank you for showing me I could.

To my family

On the outside, we looked like a well-put-together family.

But inside, it was different.

I was singled out for being darker-skinned. I was mocked — “jokingly,” they said.

My body was criticized, my voice silenced, my rebellion punished.

I grew up in a world where women were controlled, where money meant power, and appearances were everything.

But you couldn’t control me.

You gave me the fire to break free, to reject the silence, to walk away from generational trauma.

And for that, thank you.

To the man who raped me

You pretended to be a friend.

You knew I was vulnerable, broken.

And still — you violated me.

You stole something sacred from me.

You plunged me into the darkest place I’ve ever known, a place I never wish on anyone.

It took years to crawl out, to trust again, to believe in light after that kind of darkness.

So to you, I say: go to hell.

I hope one day, you face the consequences you deserve.

To my childhood friend

We grew up together.

We shared sleepovers, meals, secrets.

When I called you after that horrific night, sobbing, trembling, still trying to make sense of what had just happened to me —

you said, “Well, you went with him. What did you expect?”

Your words cut deeper than the wound itself.

I internalized the blame. I questioned my own reality.

But I forgive you.

I forgive the culture that shaped you.

You didn’t know better.

I hope life has been kind to you.

We were once friends, after all.

To my current partner

You’ve hurt me, too — but in different ways.

You reflected back the pain I was already carrying.

You triggered my wounds, but you also stayed to help me heal.

You tried. Again and again.

Our love hasn’t been perfect, but you’ve made me look in the mirror.

You’ve shown me how much healing I still need to do — and that I can do it.

Not for you.

For me.

Thank you. I love you, no matter where this journey leads us.

To my mother

I’m sorry.

I blamed you for not being the mother I saw others have.

But now I see — you did the best you could.

You were never taught how to give or receive love the way you deserved.

You grew up under pain and control, and still… you gave me all you could.

You are the kindest, most loving person I know.

I love you.

I forgive you.

Thank you for doing your best.

And lastly, to you, To you me

This one is for you.

You carried so much pain and still, you remained kind.

You didn’t become bitter. You didn’t become the villain.

You kept fighting.

You kept building.

You are still creating the life you know in your soul you deserve.

So I forgive you.

I love you.

Rise and shine, girl. You were made for it, and remember you are not a “VICTIM”

#imnotavictim #MentalHealth #Trauma #Depression