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I spent years earning imaginary trophies for a game I never wanted to play.
"Good girl." "Be nice." "Don't say that." "Tone it down." "Smile." "Forgive." "Be the bigger person."
So I swallowed whole pieces of myself just to keep everyone else comfortable.
I starved my own soul to feed your version of me.
And you all clapped.
Until I stopped performing.
Turns out...
the applause was rented.
Miss one payment, lose the audience.
The money disappeared.
The title disappeared.
The convenience disappeared.
Then every motherfucker who swore, "I'll always be here..."
...vanished like smoke owing me nothing except a lesson.
You didn't love me.
You loved how easy I made your life.
You loved the version of me that never asked questions, never had boundaries, never said, "Go fuck yourself."
See...
I thought I was building a family.
I was building a fan club.
Fans don't stay when the lights go out.
They just look for another stage.
So there I stood...
No applause. No audience. No script. No backup plan.
Just me.
The same me I'd buried alive to keep strangers comfortable.
Funny thing about rock bottom...
It's quiet enough to hear your own voice again.
Mine said,
"Who the fuck have you been apologizing for?"
Not anymore.
You don't get front-row seats to a life you only watched when admission was free.
Your opinion?
It's a receipt for a debt I never owed.
Keep it.
I'm done paying for acceptance with pieces of myself.
From now on...
If my existence offends you—
Die mad.
I'll be too busy becoming the person you were always afraid I'd become.
Unfiltered.
Unapologetic.
Unowned.
— Rebel Rose