And then she thought: maybe it was time for me to stop participating in a world that was never built for someone like me.
Maybe I need to close the door for a while and let myself disappear into quiet; to protect the parts of me that are bruised from trying so hard to belong.
Maybe hiding isn’t weakness.
Maybe it’s how I breathe again, in the only place that has ever felt like home; my own imagination, my creative inner world.
Maybe the characters I create in my art are the friends I never truly had; companions for a neurodivergent mind navigating a harsh world.
