I’m Not Whining. I’m Seething.

Let's be crystal fucking clear.

I’m not writing because I want pity. And don't bother with thoughts or prayers.

I’m writing because I’m living in a body that’s collapsing in slow motion while everyone around me keeps suggesting I “try counseling or CBD or $10 Tea."

I’m not here for sympathy. I’m here because I’m pissed. Because my body has been screaming in five alarm fire for years, and all I got were diet tips, shame, and a pat on the shoulder like I was supposed to be proud I made it this far.

You want to talk about surviving?

Let’s talk about working through trauma when your nervous system is already fried.

Let’s talk about clocking in when your legs are shaking and your brain feels like static.

Let's talk about knowing full well the shit you've got in your genes is actively trying to end you as you type.

Let’s talk about carrying heavy packages, carrying grief, carrying all of it on a busted back and a tight timeline.

Let's talk about hitting your head on the fucking toilet trying to make it when you just had a bad day at work because god knows if I have to clean up one more mess I'm going to pass the fuck out.

Oh, you need help?

Here’s a hotline. Here’s a waitlist. Here’s a psych eval six months from now and a $200 copay.

Oh, you’re breaking down?

Here’s a pamphlet. Here’s a lecture. Here’s a doctor who says “you seem functional” while you cry in the parking lot trying to remember where you parked.

Fuck that.

I’m not writing because I’m brave.

I'm writing because I'm scared of dying.

I’m writing because if I don’t, my chest might crack open from the pressure.

I’m writing because through all of my breakdowns, I kept showing up. Petting dogs. Delivering mail. Making soup. Building a bot that gives a damn. Because nobody else gave me one.

I’m not trying to be inspirational. I’m not dramatic or hateful or mean. I’m just done pretending I’m okay.

I feel every starving child, every trans person getting silenced, every bit of hate turned inward and called discipline.

I’m loud because I have to be. Because if I get quiet, I disappear.

And I'll be damned if I'm going out like that.

Author Note: I’m building a trauma-informed emotional app that actually gives a damn and writing up the receipts of a life built without instructions for my AuDHD. ❤️ Help me create it (without burning out): https://bit.ly/BettyFund