29/06/2025
I was the youngest.
The one who should’ve been protected the most.
But instead, I grew up with bruises no one asked about, pain no one cared to see.
Bullied for being gay, ridiculed for being different—and all I could do was survive it. Alone.
My family thought the only things I needed were food on the table, a roof over my head, and a bit of money in my pocket.
But what about when I stepped outside?
What about when the world tore me down for who I was?
Who was supposed to protect me then?
Not once did anyone stand between me and the cruelty I faced.
Not in school. Not in the streets. Not even at home.
I kept waiting for someone to defend me, to say, “That’s enough.”
But no one did. Not even the ones who should’ve loved me first.
So I learned early: if no one would protect me, I had to become my own shield.
I stopped begging for comfort and started building strength.
I became brave because no one left me any other choice.
They thought they gave me enough.
But survival isn’t just about shelter or money—
It’s about feeling safe in your own skin, in your own life.
And I had to fight for that, all by myself.
I’m still here. Still standing.
And that’s my strength. That’s my story.
