You didn’t break them; you exposed them. When you did, the mask slid, the light hit, and the mirror cracked. So hear this: with every heartbeat in your chest, you were never the weak one. You were the truth-bringer, the soul-toucher, the mirror that didn’t lie. They tried to shatter you because you showed them what they could never become: whole.
You don’t owe the world your pain, packaged in palatable quotes. You don’t owe your past an explanation, dressed in polite silence. What you owe is this: your freedom, your breath, your dance in the daylight without shame. That stillness in you? Now that’s the roar of a life no longer waiting to be validated. That’s sacred; that’s holy ground.
Because listen: this ain’t just about the narcissist; this is about you—all of you. Maybe you’ve been the mask-wearer too, smiling while bleeding, laughing while empty, posting while dying inside, pretending like healing is a checklist instead of a battleground. But healing, real healing? It ain’t pretty; it ain’t filtered. It’s brutal, it’s lonely, and it’s honest.
Maybe you’ve tried to outrun your pain with busy schedules, stacked distractions like sandbags to keep the flood back. But pain has a way of seeping through. And peace, real peace? It doesn’t come when everything’s fixed; it comes when you stop pretending. It comes when you finally whisper to yourself, “I’m done.” Not angry, not bitter—just done. Done feeding illusions, done answering old calls, done being a prop in someone else’s performance.
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