Latest
I grew up as the only girl among two boys. I never had a sister, so in my heart, my mother was meant to be everything to me—my best friend, my sister, my companion, the one person who would hold my hand and never let go. For a while, I believed she would always be that person.
But everything changed.
After she got involved in a new relationship, it felt like I lost her completely. It was as though someone had taken her away and replaced her with a stranger. The love, the warmth, the connection I longed for all of it disappeared. Instead, there was distance, coldness, and words that cut deeper than silence ever could. We lived under the same roof, yet we were worlds apart.
I tried, over and over again, to reach her. I would start conversations, hoping—just hoping—that maybe this time she would respond with kindness. But most times, I was met with rudeness or indifference. Eventually, I stopped expecting anything at all.
What hurt the most was not just losing her—it was having no one else to turn to. I carried my pain alone. There was no one to confide in, no one to listen, no one to understand. In those quiet moments, I missed my father more than ever. He died when I was only six years old, but in my heart, I felt that if he were still alive, maybe things would have been different. Maybe I wouldn’t have felt so alone.
My phone and my bed became my closest companions. They didn’t judge me, didn’t reject me, didn’t turn me away. They were there when no one else was.
There were times when the pain became too heavy to carry. Times when I questioned whether life was even worth living. I thought about ending my life because it felt like the suffering would never end. I felt invisible, unwanted, and forgotten.
Even after finishing school, life didn’t get easier. I didn’t have a job. I didn’t have independence. To my family, I felt like a failure. Their disappointment only added to the weight I was already carrying. But despite everything, I kept going. I endured, not because it was easy, but because I had no other choice. I had nowhere else to go, no shelter beyond the place that felt so unwelcoming.
I held on to hope in God, believing that one day my tears would be wiped away. But there were days when even that hope faded. Days when I felt abandoned—not just by people, but by God Himself. I began to wonder if I was one of the forgotten ones, not worthy of His attention or love. I prayed, but it often felt like my prayers went unheard.
Rejection became a pattern in my life. I felt rejected by my paternal relatives, rejected within my own family, and rejected by the world around me. It was a painful identity to carry—the feeling of being unwanted everywhere you turn.
But even in all this pain, there is a story still being written.
Because despite everything I have faced—the loneliness, the rejection, the heartbreak—I am still here. I have endured what many would not understand. My story is not just one of pain, but of survival. And maybe, just maybe, it is also a story of strength that I am only beginning to discover. #MentalHealth
3 reactions 
