Loneliness

"Still Growing"

My childhood was simple.

The earliest memory I have is from when I was three. I remember looking around my room, completely mesmerized by my toys. It was the first time I could really retain memories and understand what my parents were saying. I think they were at their happiest then—because I felt no fear. Everything was peaceful, yet full of wonder.

I remember how big the world seemed. My ceiling felt so high, like I’d never be able to reach it, not even in my dreams. When I was four, I used to lie on the couch pretending to be asleep, just so my mom would take my picture. I liked making her laugh. I remember cutting my own hair once, and surprisingly, she didn’t get mad—because I’d actually done a good job.

When I was six, school became the best part of my day. I loved dressing up in cute shoes and fancy clothes. Every day felt like a fashion show, and I didn’t care—I loved it. Everyone in my class dressed like that. It was just the norm, and I felt like I belonged. Back then, everyone got along. Everyone was your friend. No one felt lonely.

But when did that change? When did people start pulling away?

So many people I once called friends are strangers now. Why is that? Growing up, I was happy. I never felt stressed—only joy. I felt beautiful. I felt pretty. Even the shows I used to watch seemed full of magic. Now when I look back, I feel sad. Is that a sign I’m getting older? I don’t know. I can’t remember everything anymore. Where did those memories go? Why did they leave me?

I don’t want them to. I still want to feel what I felt back then.

Mid Childhood

Then people started drifting away.

My friends left, one by one. I didn’t understand why. They laughed at me sometimes. Did I say something wrong? Was it how I looked? Maybe that’s when my anxiety started. I used to love attention, but suddenly I couldn’t stand it. Was I the problem?

My best friend stopped hanging out with me. I never got an explanation. I kept asking myself: Was it something I said? Something I did?

And then came the biggest loss of all—my abuela. I had never lost a person before. I couldn’t fully grasp it. It didn’t feel real. I didn’t cry, not at first. But I remember crying myself to sleep one night. That was the first time I ever felt truly vulnerable.

I started wishing I didn’t have to grow up. Because if I stayed young, I wouldn’t have to lose anyone else. I thought maybe if I stayed little, my family would stay together. I didn’t want change. I didn’t want to be separated.

Then COVID hit, and everything changed again. I had no friends, no school, no connection. I felt completely alone. But then we got a dog. She was the sweetest, and for a while, she gave me joy. But the fear of death stayed with me.

That was also the time I started hearing more about romantic and sexual relationships. It felt confusing, overwhelming—like I had been thrown into something I wasn’t ready for.

Late Childhood

I was first introduced to the idea of homosexuality around this time. I started questioning myself. Was I gay? Did I like girls? I became close with a girl in my class—my first best friend in that new environment. We did everything together. I could tell she liked me. Did I like her too? I told myself I did… but I wasn’t sure. Was I just trying to fit in with what I saw online? Was I trying to follow a trend?

She also introduced me to the concept of self-harm. She said it was a way to cope. But I couldn’t believe that—hurting yourself as a way to feel better? It didn’t feel right.

Until something else happened.

One day, a man talked about me—about my body—right in front of me. It was suggestive. Gross. I didn’t know how to react. I felt sick. Disgusted. Scared. I don’t even know what emotion it really was. But I felt violated.

And it didn’t just happen once. It happened multiple times. Each time, I wanted to shrink away and disappear. I felt like I couldn’t talk to anyone about it because the topic was too taboo. I felt stuck, ashamed, terrified. I started to hurt myself. I cried myself to sleep. I isolated myself even more—not because I hated people, but because I hated the way they looked at me.

No, not me—my body.

Early Teens

This is when I felt the most depressed.

The more my body developed, the more comments I got. I was afraid. So I cut my hair. And for the first time in years, I felt safe again. People stopped looking at me "that" way. I felt like I could breathe. But people also started treating me like an outsider. They looked at me weird. I didn’t care at first—but then it started to hurt.

I began questioning my identity more seriously. I liked how I looked when I dressed like a boy. But was it a defense mechanism? Or was it who I really was?

For three years, I didn’t know who I was. Was I a girl? A boy? Something else? I hated being seen as a woman. I still do. It feels like a label forced onto me, one that comes with pain and expectation.

Teen Years

Eventually, I went on my first date. I started growing my hair out again, dressing more femininely. I felt like I was reclaiming something—like I was slowly becoming stronger, safer.

But then the world reminded me how fragile that safety was.

The guy I went out with made comments—sexual ones. Right away. I wanted to disappear. Why is it so important to some men to talk about sex? Why is that the first thing they see in a girl?

Why did it have to be me?

I went home and sat in the shower, crying. I cried because I felt powerless again. I cried because I just wanted to go back—to when life was simple, when I didn’t have to think about things like this.

I cried again when I realized I was growing up.

More was expected of me now. More responsibility. More pain. If this is what growing up means—finding a man, getting married, having children—then maybe I don’t want it. Maybe I just want to be happy.

Does that make me lazy? Or… am I just still growing?

Hey Mighty Pals!

I have not disappeared from the world. I've just been pretty busy trying to put all the bits and pieces back together.

The job is still great. I'm working with some challenging kids. I can see in them some of the problems I wrestled with, and still wrestle with, so it's nice to feel like I'm giving them a bit of a hand.

I'm still very lonely and I still miss my partner and my kid every single day. I'm in the midst of making peace with what happened, and I'm trying to recognize that things will never go back to how they were with them, no matter how much I wish that was the case. I'm trying to reconcile that this is a new phase of my life and that's a good thing.

Mostly ;D

I hope everyone's doing okay and figuring things out little by little.

#BorderlinePersonalityDisorder #Loneliness

Yesterday was Mother’s Day. In church we celebrated all the mothers in the room. Children were asked to hug their mothers and tell them “I love you, mom”. I saw teenagers give bear hugs to women who are younger than me. I sat frozen and held back my tears. I have been feeling waves of jealousy and sadness since then. I’ve cried three times since then.

I love my mother. I am afraid how lonely and alone, empty and devastated I will feel when I am her age and don’t have any children to celebrate Mother’s Day with.

I love you, mom.

#Infertility

Hi, my name is Sy0sunshine. I'm here because I need to understand how to proccess feelings and to understand myself at a deeper level. Also I feel that i am lonely.

#MightyTogether

Hi, my name is lunzoney. I'm here because i’m having trouble job searching and feeling lonely

#MightyTogether #Depression

Hi, my name is Jmiller0524. I'm here because I am a Mama who worries for her young adult son who had a suicidal moment this year and another son on the autism spectrum and his challenges span from emotional to physical, It is lonely over here.

#MightyTogether

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