She Was Surviving Under Siege

She Was Surviving Under Siege

October 2025

She wasn’t unstable. She was surviving under siege.

They called her broken, dramatic, and unstable because she refused to be silent.

She wasn’t born wild, she was made that way by hands that should have held her, by silence that should’ve screamed.

She stopped crying young. Not because it stopped hurting, but because they fed on the tears.

She stopped eating enough in sixth grade. It was the only control she had.

She learned to vanish in plain sight. Sit still, look normal, don’t make noise.

She made it to adulthood without breaking, just splintering inside.

No one looked for her—not even when she screamed from the inside.

She wasn't attention-seeking. She was seeking air.

Every diagnosis was a map no one would read.

Every doctor saw symptoms, never the siege.

Every paper trail said “difficult,” never “survived.”

They only cared when she bled too visibly to ignore.

They only believed her when the proof cost her something.

And still, she stands.

She wasn't unstable. She was a survivor with no exit plan.

And she’s still here.

She learned to vanish while standing right there.