-4-

Thirteen didn’t arrive slowly.

It hit me all at once.

I was in seventh grade, already being pushed toward eighth, and suddenly everyone was talking about the future—grades, choices, who we were supposed to become. Meanwhile, I still felt like a scared kid trying to survive each day without falling apart.

Time started moving too fast.

Days blurred together. Weeks disappeared. I remember looking around one day and realizing how much had already passed—how much of my childhood slipped through my fingers while I was just trying to make it to tomorrow.

That was when I started learning the words for what was wrong with me.

Doctors’ offices. Quiet rooms. Clipboards and questions that felt way too heavy for someone my age. Anxiety wasn’t just “nerves.” Depression wasn’t just “sadness.” There were other things too—really bad ones—things that sounded terrifying when spoken out loud.

I remember thinking, Why do I have all of this when I’m still so young?

It felt unfair. Like my brain had been handed battles meant for someone much older. I wanted to scream that I didn’t ask for this—that I was just a kid who wanted to feel normal, to feel safe inside my own head.

Instead, I nodded. Stayed quiet. Absorbed it all.

Knowing didn’t fix anything.

Sometimes it made it worse.

Because now I didn’t just feel broken—I had names for it.

School didn’t help.

There was a boy there—someone I told myself I hated. And maybe I did. But not for the reasons people thought. He treated me badly. Teased me. Made comments that stuck to my skin long after the day ended. He knew how to make me feel small, and he used that power without hesitation.

What hurt the most was finding out later that he liked me.

Liked me—and still chose to be cruel.

That confused me more than anything. If this was what liking someone looked like, then no wonder I wanted nothing to do with it. It made me feel unsafe, watched, judged. Like affection always came with pain attached.

It reinforced everything I already believed—that people hurt you even when they say they care. That attention isn’t always kindness. That being noticed doesn’t mean being valued.

So I pulled away more.

Thirteen was when I realized how heavy life could be. How fast it moved. How much it demanded from someone who was still learning how to exist. I was carrying diagnoses, fear, memories, expectations—all before I even knew who I was.

But I was still here.

Still listening to Stray Kids late at night.

Still holding onto the lessons they gave me.

Still surviving—even when it didn’t feel like living yet.

And even though everything felt out of control, some small part of me believed this wasn’t the end of my story.

Just another painful chapter I had to live through.

...----------------...

...Not everything stayed heavy forever....

...Somewhere between the chaos of school, the weight of my mind, and the fear of growing up too fast, something unexpected happened—my friends started to notice....

...At first, it was small....

...They’d hear a song playing through my headphones....

...They’d ask, “Who is this?”...

...They’d sit closer when I talked about music instead of changing the subject....

...And then, slowly… they started liking Stray Kids too....

...I don’t think they ever understood how much that meant to me....

...Suddenly, I wasn’t alone in it anymore. I didn’t have to hide that part of myself. We shared songs, laughed over videos, talked about biases, stayed up too late watching content and quoting lyrics at school the next day....

...Some days—those days—felt lighter than anything I’d known before....

...I smiled for real....

...I laughed without forcing it....

...I felt included, not tolerated....

...For the first time, something I loved wasn’t being mocked or taken away from me. It was shared. And that made my world feel a little safer....

...Those moments didn’t erase my depression....

...They didn’t cure my anxiety or make the diagnoses disappear....

...But they reminded me that joy could exist alongside pain....

...That happiness didn’t have to be perfect or permanent to matter....

...On the days when my mind was loud, I held onto those moments. The shared laughter. The excitement over comebacks. The feeling of belonging—even if it was small, even if it didn’t last forever....

...It was proof that not every connection ended in hurt....

...And for someone who had spent so long believing that love always came with pain, that realization meant everything....

...I was still young....

...Still scared....

...Still learning how to live with my mind....

...But now, there were days I actually looked forward to....

...And sometimes, that was enough to keep me going....

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