The Part of Me That Survived
June 08, 2025
I’m expressing more than ever, and I notice the anxiety creeping in. But these truths have been waiting inside me for years — and the part of me that’s always protected me is finally being heard.
I notice a quiet anxiety bubbling up.
Something about the pace —
The speed at which I’ve been sharing so much of myself online.
I look at the post dates,
I see the flood of thoughts and feelings
finally landing in public view.
And I wonder:
Is it too much? Am I exposing too much, too fast?
But the truth is — this isn’t new.
These aren’t fleeting whims or unfiltered confessions.
These are the same parts of me
I’ve circled back to for years.
And I’ve finally given them a home.
A place to land, to breathe, to be known — even if just by me.
This Is Not the Same As Before
Yes, I’ve felt this before.
The last time I felt this flood of insight and grief
was when everything shattered and I spiraled into psychosis.
But this is different.
This time, I’m not alone.
I’m not suffocating it with weed.
I’m not living in fear or shame of what I’m discovering.
I’m being held — by friends, by a community, even by myself.
And I feel safe enough to explore the depth of these truths
without needing to abandon myself to survive them.
What Happened at 23
I was twenty-three when the weight of it hit.
The realization that neither of my parents
— nor anyone in my family —
ever truly loved or held me in the way I needed.
And that realization…
It broke me.
It fractured everything I thought I knew.
The loneliness was too much to bear.
I didn’t know it then, but what came after — the psychosis —
probably saved my life.
It was the mind’s way of shielding me from the full blast
of a truth I wasn’t ready to fully absorb.
And I hold nothing but empathy for that version of me —
that younger self who did what he could to stay afloat.
The Survivor In Me
There’s a part of me that’s always shown up in the darkest moments.
The one that says,
“Enough. I’m standing firm. You can all fk off.”**
That voice, that fire —
it’s what saved me.
It got punished.
Silenced.
Beaten emotionally, physically, spiritually.
My mum hated it.
My dad resented it.
But it survived.
And more than that:
It protected me.
Time and time again.
I’m Not Just Trying to Be Myself Anymore
I’m not performing authenticity.
I’m living it.
Letting the blocks fall. Letting the truth rise.
It’s not that I’ve become something better.
It’s that I’ve let myself be seen —
by me.
And the part that protected me?
I see him now.
And I thank him.
Because without him, I wouldn’t be here.