I spent most of my childhood in silence—mute, misunderstood, and marinating in fear. I wasn’t quiet by choice. I simply couldn’t speak. The words wouldn’t come out, or when they did, they came out wrong. Emotions? Forget it. I didn’t have the language. I didn’t have the safety. I didn’t have a voice.
I didn’t have friends. I didn’t speak to my family. My little brother dragged me into his world of loud boys and rough adventures, and I tagged along like a shadow—unseen and unheard.
Fast forward to adulthood? I finally found my voice—just not the one people expected. I cussed. A lot. “Fuck this,” “fuck that,” “you know, the fucking thing over there.” My vocabulary was survival-mode, meltdown-mode, high-alert, scrambled-thoughts-on-loop mode.
And then—ADHD meds that actually worked. Not to numb me. Not to fix me. But to slow the chaos just enough so I could string together a thought… a sentence… an emotion. I can describe what I feel now. I can regulate instead of erupt. I can connect.
Now I understand myself. I like myself. Scratch that—I fucking love myself.
I’m not broken. I’m not too much.
I am Neurodivergent and Happy As Fuck.
And now?
I’m stepping into the spotlight. Not just to speak—but to speak for those still silent.
For the weird kids. The misfits. The meltdown-havers. The ones who can’t find the fucking thing over there.
I’m not just ready.
I was born for this.