MEN WHO NEVER LEARNED HOW TO BREAK
𒁍 “I don’t talk about it because nothing good ever came from me doing that.”
𒁍 “I learned early that pain was just something you carried quietly.”
𒁍 “No one asked if I was okay. They just assumed I could handle it.”
𒁍 “I don’t remember the last time I felt relief, just less pressure for a moment.”
𒁍 “I didn’t grow numb overnight. It happened slowly enough to feel normal.”
𒁍 “I don’t feel angry. I feel hollow.”
𒁍 “I don’t know how to explain how bad it gets without scaring people.”
𒁍 “I learned to lock things away so deep even I can’t reach them.”
𒁍 “I learned that needing anything was dangerous.”
𒁍 “I don’t know how to ask for help without hating myself for it.”
𒁍 “I don’t explode because that would mean someone would notice.”
𒁍 “I keep going because stopping feels worse.”
𒁍 “I don’t know who I am without the weight. I just know I can’t put it down.”
𒁍 “I don’t talk about the thoughts that show up when everything’s quiet.”
𒁍 “I learned to survive by turning myself off.”
𒁍 “I don’t trust happiness. It feels temporary and suspicious.”
𒁍 “I don’t cry because I don’t know where it would end.”
𒁍 “I learned that pain was normal and rest was weakness.”
𒁍 “I don’t know how much of me is left under all this control.”
𒁍 “I keep everything locked down because once it breaks, it breaks for real.”
𒁍 “I’ve been holding my breath so long I forgot what air feels like.”
𒁍 “I survived by becoming someone I don’t recognize.”
𒁍 “I don’t feel broken. I feel used up.”
𒁍 “I don’t know how to be human without armor.”