For most of my life, I’ve been a wounded bird.
Careful. Hyper-alert. Always scanning for safety.
In some ways, that’s who I will always be.
And I get to choose how it defines me.
There is a particular kind of pain that comes from moving through the world feeling fundamentally flawed—
too much, too intense, too honest.
I’ve sat in rooms labeled safe spaces and wondered quietly,
Why don’t I feel safe here?
What’s wrong with me?
Why don’t I belong?
Is there a place for me?
I tried to belong.
I tried to soften my edges.
I tried to translate my pain into something more palatable.
To float on the surface.
To quiet my depth.
And every time, I left feeling like the anomaly in the room—
misread, misunderstood, and silently judged.
Rejected.
What hurt the most wasn’t that I was struggling.
It was not ever being seen, felt, witnessed in my depth.
At some point I realized I had to stop waiting to be seen by the blind.
Instead of contorting myself to fit into spaces that can’t hold me,
I have decided to build my own.
I can finally BREATHE.
This is a space where I don’t have to shrink.
Where I don’t sanitize my story.
Where my pain doesn’t need to be edited for comfort.
For a long time, it felt like standing at the edge of a vast, dark unknown—
screaming into silence, unsure if anyone was listening.
This is where I know that I belong.
The words that rise in me are not a flaw.
They are information.
They are survival.
This is my truth.
My medicine.
I witness myself.
Watch as I emerge from my own self-imposed cocoon of madness.
Waking up inside a world that only makes sense to the insane.
Witness my story.
Hear my voice.
Watch as I shine a light into the dark recesses of my own soul.
This is my journey of Conquering Insanity.