If I was Chad, people would actually care about my childhood trauma and suffering. But because I’m not, all they do is ignore it and brush it off like it doesn’t matter. I’ve gone through so much in my life, but no one notices. I’m tired of seeing the same people who’ve had everything handed to them live their lives without a care, while I’m stuck in this endless cycle of pain, loneliness, and rejection. But because I don’t look like the guys everyone worships, I’m just supposed to deal with it. It feels like no one sees the real me—the one who’s been hurt, the one who’s been abandoned, the one who’s struggled in silence. If I were different, I’d be treated differently. People wouldn’t have told me, “Let’s unpack this, Inkwell! Children get abandoned as babies because they have bad personalities!
” If I were someone else, someone people actually care about, they wouldn’t have dismissed my pain like that. They wouldn’t have just reduced my entire existence to a joke or an insult. It’s easier for people to throw around ridiculous excuses, to make light of my suffering, than to even try to understand it. And the worst part is, they really think they’re right. They think that if I’m struggling, it must be my fault. They think the trauma I’ve experienced isn’t real. They don’t see the damage they do with their careless words.
” If I were someone else, someone people actually care about, they wouldn’t have dismissed my pain like that. They wouldn’t have just reduced my entire existence to a joke or an insult. It’s easier for people to throw around ridiculous excuses, to make light of my suffering, than to even try to understand it. And the worst part is, they really think they’re right. They think that if I’m struggling, it must be my fault. They think the trauma I’ve experienced isn’t real. They don’t see the damage they do with their careless words.
