I say things like, “But that’s life,” all the time. And I mean it.

But maybe I say it so much because I know no one is ever coming to save me. I don’t even expect that anymore. But sometimes I wonder if there will ever be someone who’s willing to.

But like I said… that’s life.

Of course, maybe someone would. Maybe my friends would. But who am I to expect them to come and save me? And even if they would, I don’t know if I’d ever let myself believe it.

Maybe this happened because the people who were supposed to save me never really did.

I kind of grew up alone. Crying alone. Laughing alone. Figuring things out alone.

And in some ways, I like it.

But maybe I should’ve been able to feel safe around my parents. They were supposed to save me from all the bad things that happened.

But that wasn’t my life. And it shaped me.

I love who I am now. And I know my parents, even though they didn’t always do the best things for me. At least they tried, even if it didn’t really change anything.

I’m not such a bad person.

So I guess they didn’t fuck me up completely after all.

But sometimes I just want to rest. I don’t want to fix all of my trauma by myself forever. It would be nice if someone noticed.

Well… maybe that’s also why I notice everything around me. I’m so aware of people because what if nobody notices them?

Maybe everything we do is just a reflection of ourselves.

Sometimes I wonder why I always want to save other people. Maybe it’s because no one ever saved me. So now I feel like I have to save everyone else.

Maybe I’m just so scared when someone is all alone because that could’ve been me. Or maybe… that still is me.

I say this all the time, that I’ll survive. But maybe I don’t want to survive anymore. Maybe I just want to live. I don’t want to be a survivor. I just want to live. 

Maybe that’ll happen one day. But life isn’t very predictable, is it?

I’m actually a very optimistic person. But I’ve had a lot of sad moments in my life. The kind of moments that, if I ever said them out loud, people would probably pity me. And I don’t like that.

I know I’m allowed to be sad. I’m allowed to have bad days. But I’d rather have them alone. And maybe that’s why no one will ever save me.

Because I don’t even tell them.

I get sad. I deal with it. And then I’m okay again. I actually love that about myself. I love that I know I’ll be okay afterward.

But maybe I should be able to be vulnerable with the people I love.

Maybe I should be able to cry in front of someone without the voice in my head telling me they’ll pity me. Maybe they will.

But isn’t that what vulnerability is supposed to feel like?

I think when you grow up believing that even your parents couldn’t save you, it’s hard to believe anyone else ever will.

It’s like my first heartbreak came from my parents.

And when that’s your first experience of love, it’s hard to undo. But I know I can.

I’m still here. I’ve been through so many things, and somehow I’m still functioning. Maybe I’m doing a better job than I think.

Sometimes I forget to give myself credit. I’m always trying to be humble. Maybe too humble.

I always try to make everything I do seem smaller because I don’t want to look better than anyone else.

Or stand out too much. But why?

Isn’t it okay if people clap for me when I do something good?

Almost like celebrating myself would make me arrogant.

Sometimes that’s hard to believe because I don’t want people to stop their lives just to celebrate me.

But maybe… that’s exactly what good friends do.

Maybe I got so used to nobody really cheering for me growing up that I stopped cheering for myself, too.

And that’s unfair. Because I’ve done a lot.

Sometimes it almost feels like they acted as if I asked to be born. Or asked to be here at all. Maybe that’s why I am the way I am.

Maybe that’s why I always say, “But that’s life.” Because if I expect nothing, I can’t really be disappointed.

But maybe… I’m allowed to expect a little more now.

Not someone to save me. 

Just someone who’s willing to sit beside me while I save myself.

And deep down, I know who I am now is pretty cool. And being a survivor means you’re a strong person.

But sometimes I wonder what it would’ve been like if that wasn’t my default setting.

I love who I am now. The strong, loud, confident, and brave version of me. And maybe if I hadn’t gone through everything I did, I wouldn’t be this person.

I’m grateful for that every single day.

But sometimes I wonder who I would’ve been if I didn’t always have to fix things myself. If I didn’t have to pick myself up, piece by piece.

If I didn’t have to become my own best friend because there was no one else to talk to. If I didn’t have to cheer myself up every time something bad happened.

If I didn’t always feel like I had to save other people too.

Those are all parts of myself that I cherish now. They made me who I am. Maybe I wouldn’t have them if I had an easier life. I don’t think I’d trade who I am now for anything.

I just wish becoming this person didn’t have to hurt so much.