All That I Was, Forgotten

This is not a story.

It’s not a game. Not poetry. Not performance.

This is me.

Every word you’re about to read is carved out of real pain.
Not imagined. Not romanticised.

I wrote this because I had to. Because being silent was killing me.

This is what it feels like to be forgotten while still breathing.
To hope until it breaks you.
To scream quietly into the world and realise no one is listening.

There are no happy endings here.
There is no healing.

Only honesty. Only collapse.

If you’ve ever felt like a ghost in your own life—
If you’ve ever been outside in the cold watching others sit by a fire they didn’t earn—

Read this.
And know you’re not the only one.

This is free. It will always be free.
Because pain this real should never be behind a paywall.