The weight of judgement

It started like any other day. I woke up expecting things to be the same—ordinary, predictable. But I had no idea that everything would change.

The fear I had always carried quietly in my heart had finally come to life. My world froze, stopped dead in its tracks. Pain, devastation, and brokenness crawled back to me, each emotion battling for dominance in a storm of confusion.

I wished, with every fiber of my being, that it was just a nightmare—a terrible dream I could wake up from. But no. This was real. I was more awake than I’d ever been, yet I felt paralyzed, unable to cope with the whirlwind around me.

Everything happened so fast, and amidst it all, their pity cut through me like a knife. It wasn’t genuine. It was hollow, a mask hiding their judgment. Their stares burned into me—cold, piercing, and unforgiving. Whispers followed me like ghosts, haunting my every step. They thought I didn’t notice, but I did. I noticed it all.

They talked as though they knew me, each with their own twisted version of my story. Rumors spread like wildfire, and I was the fuel keeping their flames alive. I had my truth, but no one cared to hear it. I pleaded, my voice breaking, but they turned me away as if I didn’t matter.

Meltdowns and breakdowns became my constant companions, shadowing me wherever I went. They seeped into my soul, becoming a part of who I was.

The girl who once clung to hope in the face of difficulty was gone. All that remained was helplessness—a silent scream in a world that refused to listen.