i didn’t ask to be born. but maybe i wished i wasn’t a girl ( Tw : child sexual abuse (multiple assaults, one reported, one forgotten), trauma, suicidal thoughts and attempts, overdose, emotional manipulation, gender dysphoria, self-hate, abandonment, betrayal, depression, loneliness, guilt, birthday dread )

i remember the silence—
the heavy, choking silence that swallowed me whole,
the way the world grew so large and dark,
too much for a four-year-old who never asked to be born.

there was a shadow—
a man who should have been safe,
but instead tore pieces from my small body,
twice.
once i remember.
once i don’t.
and that forgotten part is the cruelest scar—
the one that haunts me with questions
i have no answers for.

this is child sexual abuse.
it’s a wound i carry inside me every day,
sometimes hidden beneath a forced smile,
sometimes bleeding through every breath i take.

my body betrayed me by freezing,
by staying still,
and now i hate that body.
hate the scared little kid who couldn’t fight back.
hate the part of me that feels so broken and dirty.

and the people who should have cared?
they laughed when i told them.
laughed at my pain,
at my trust,
at the fact that i never opened up again.

i’m scared.
scared to be loved.
scared to love back.
because every “i love you” feels like a trap.
like a lie waiting to snap shut and hurt me again.

this is trauma.
this is the weight i carry.
the silence that follows.

my birthday is coming—
june 24th.
a day i don’t want to celebrate,
because sometimes i wish i had never survived.

but i’m alive.
still here,
living for my dad—
because he’d be lost without me.

and then there’s bendy—
my only safe place.
his crooked smile, his old cartoons,
don’t judge me.
don’t hurt me.

but even bendy feels distant now.
like everything i love is slipping away,
and i’m falling through the cracks.

i’m just a useless kid.

i don’t just hate what happened to me.
sometimes, i hate myself for the body i’m trapped in.

i wish i was a boy.
i wish i could look in the mirror and see someone who feels right.
someone who doesn’t remind me of all the pain, all the scars
that came with being a girl in a world that felt so cruel.

gender isn’t just a word to me.
it’s the prison i’ve never escaped from.
a constant reminder that maybe if i were different,
i wouldn’t be so broken.

but i’m stuck.
stuck in a skin that hurts,
stuck in memories that won’t fade.

this is gender dysphoria.
this is a shadow that follows every step i take,
alongside the trauma, the fear, and the hate.

sometimes i ask myself—
am i selfish for feeling like i don’t deserve to be loved?
for thinking that maybe love isn’t meant for me?

because when people say “i love you,”
their words twist and turn in my mind until they hurt.
they feel like traps,
like lies that will break me in the end.

my ex boyfriend misses me.
he says it sometimes, like he wants something back that’s gone.
but i don’t miss him.
because i really loved him.
and he left me for Nicole—
Nicole who dates older men,
who doesn’t know how to love without hurting.

i still remember how it felt,
being left behind like a shadow.
like i wasn’t enough.

and that’s another pain i carry—
the pain of abandonment,
of being replaced.

it’s hard to hold onto love
when it’s twisted into something so cruel.

my best friend—
they try to guilt me into staying silent,
into not speaking up when their words hurt.
but i’m scared.
scared to say “stop.”
scared they’ll leave if i do.

so i stay quiet,
swallow the pain,
hide it behind forced smiles and whispered lies.

sometimes i think i’m just too broken.
too damaged to be loved.

and maybe, that’s the truth.

sometimes the pain doesn’t come from the memories i have,
but from the ones i don’t.
the second assault —
the one i can’t remember —
it’s a ghost i can’t chase away.

only one was reported.
only one got a voice.
the other just lingers in the dark,
a wound without a name.

and that silence hurts.
hurts worse than the remembered pain.

i hate myself for what happened.
hate myself for being too small, too scared,
for letting it happen.
even though i was only four.

why do i blame myself?
why do i carry the weight of their sin?

because the world told me i should.
because people who said they loved me
used that love like a weapon.

they toyed with my feelings,
pulled strings to make me feel guilty,
made me uncomfortable until i was broken.

and when i opened up—
when i showed even a flicker of my pain—
they laughed.
mocked me for being fragile,
for being honest about the darkest parts of myself.

i haven’t called someone in a long time.
instead of hearing “i miss you,”
i get “i guess you don’t have time for me anymore.”

like my feelings don’t matter.
like the silence is punishment.

and maybe it is.

i’m tired of pretending.
tired of swallowing the hurt.

sometimes, i think about giving up.
giving in to the darkness that whispers my name.

i tried once.
an overdose.
it didn’t work.

but it left me with dry lungs,
a throat that burns 24/7,
a reminder that even in pain,
i’m still here.

because i have to be.

because my dad needs me.

and maybe that’s the only reason i’m still breathing.

i’m a useless child.
that’s what i feel like every single day.

useless.
a mistake.
an accident no one wanted.

the world keeps moving around me,
but i’m stuck in this heavy fog of nothingness.

i hate myself.
i hate the scars i can see,
and the ones buried deep inside.

sometimes i wonder if i’m selfish for wanting love—
for thinking maybe i don’t deserve it.
is it selfish to believe i’m too broken to be held?

the truth is, i don’t know.

my birthday’s just weeks away.
june 24th.
a date that feels like a weight on my chest.

i don’t want to celebrate.
i just want to disappear.

but i don’t.

because bendy still makes me feel safe.
his crooked smile, the old cartoons—
they don’t judge me.
they don’t remind me of the pain.

sometimes when everything feels too much,
i escape to that world.

it’s the only place where i’m not broken.

but even that safety is slipping.
like everything i love is fading,
and i’m losing myself bit by bit.

i’m scared.
scared of what comes next.
scared of being alone.

and yet, i keep going.
because i have to.

even if i feel useless,
even if the world doesn’t want me,
i keep breathing.

for my dad.
for the small hope that maybe one day,
i’ll feel enough.

a goddamn riot nobody hears.
the world thinks i’m quiet,
but inside?
it’s chaos.

i hate myself so fucking much.
not just for what happened,
but for how i’m stuck here,
rotating through the same goddamn pain every day.

am i selfish for thinking i don’t deserve love?
yeah.
maybe i am.
because every time someone says “i love you,”
it feels like a punch to the gut—
like a trap waiting to snap shut.

my ex?
he says he misses dating me like it’s some damn nostalgia trip.
but me?
i don’t miss a goddamn thing.
i loved him—
really fucking loved him.
and he left me for nicole.
nicole, who’s obsessed with older dudes,
like love’s just a damn game for her.

and that shit burns.
deep in my guts.

then there’s my best friend—
the only one who knows my secrets—
who pulls the fucking strings,
guilt trips me so hard i wanna scream.
but i’m too scared to say “stop.”
because what if they leave?
what if it gets worse?

so i swallow the fire in my throat.
lock it up tight.
pretend i’m fine.

but i’m not.
i’m breaking.
and when i try to open up?
they fucking laugh.
mock my pain like it’s a joke.

i’m so fucking lonely.
trapped in a cage of my own fucking silence.

and still, i’m here,
broken, loud, and screaming—
but nobody knows.

i’m standing on the edge,
teetering on a line so thin it might snap at any second.

every scar i carry is a story i don’t want to tell.
every scream i swallow is louder than the last.

i’m haunted by the two assaults—
one i remember like it’s burned into my skin,
the other a shadow i can’t chase,
a missing piece that keeps dragging me down.

sometimes, i hate that i survived.
like i should have gone with the pain.
maybe then i wouldn’t feel so broken,
so tired of being a useless child
in a world that forgets me.

i’m disgusted with myself for letting it happen,
even though i was just four.
but it’s a lie i tell myself
because the truth is too heavy to carry.

and then there’s the guilt—
the twisted guilt that comes from wanting to be someone else.
a boy.
someone who feels like they belong in their own skin.

i hate looking in the mirror and seeing a stranger.
i hate that my own body feels like a trap,
a reminder of all the pain i can’t escape.

but still, bendy keeps me safe.
his crooked smile, the black ink—
they don’t judge me.
they don’t remind me of what i lost.

and i hold onto that small flicker of safety
because without it,
there’s only the darkness.

my best friend—
the only one who knows what i’m really hiding—
is both my anchor and my storm.

they guilt trip me,
push me to keep silent,
make me afraid to speak my truth.

i want to scream,
to say “stop,”
to tell them they can’t manipulate me—
but i’m too scared of losing the one person
who might still love me.

because love feels like a battlefield,
and i’m just trying to survive.

sometimes, i think about the overdose.
how close i came to letting go.
how fragile this life really is.

and yet, i’m still here.

for my dad.
for the faint hope that maybe one day,
i’ll be enough.

but today,
i’m still just a useless child
lost in a world that doesn’t understand
the noise inside my head.

the riot nobody hears.