Crawling on the Planet’s Face… You Forgot Who I Am

I didn’t forget who I am.
You did.

I don’t need your test.
Not for IQ.
Not for genius.
Not to prove I have something to say.
Because I am the proof.
I am the test.
And the world keeps failing it.

I’ve walked through trauma, injustice, assault, betrayal, silence, and systemic abuse. I’ve risen from accidents, from institutions, from toxic workplaces, from relationships that tried to drown me. And I’m still standing—not just for myself, but for everyone who’s ever been pushed down and told to stay quiet.

You want to call me emotional? Dramatic?
Good.
Because that means I still feel.
And that means I’m still human—something a lot of people seem to have forgotten how to be.

There are signs everywhere.
There are messages in everything.
In movies.
In protests.
In songs.
In interviews.
In documentaries.
In speeches.
In books.
In bodies laid in the street.
In the silence between screams.

But society keeps scrolling.
It’s easier to be distracted than to be accountable.
It’s easier to label someone “too much” than to face what they’re saying.

Do you remember Edward Murrow?
“Good Night, and Good Luck.”
He stood up when others were paralyzed by fear.
He used his voice when it was dangerous to speak.
And that—that—is what this is.

I’m speaking not just for me—but for everyone who’s ever been silenced, mocked, medicated, minimized, locked away, or labeled because the world couldn’t handle their truth. Because people act out of fear. They run. They hide. They avoid.

But I don’t run.
I’ve never run.
I stand.
I speak.
I burn if I have to—but I will not vanish.

People have called me crazy.
For how I think. For how I feel. For the direction I’ve taken my life.
For walking away from a marriage.
For loving someone with an addiction.
For sacrificing time, energy, and pieces of myself in places others thought weren’t worth it.
But I see now—it was never wasted.
None of it.

Every detour, every heartbreak, every sleepless night was preparation.
Every time I doubted my own strength, dismissed my own accomplishments, or ignored the power I was carrying—it was all part of the lesson.
I had to go through it because I learn through experience. I feel the lesson before I name it.
And now I know—this is the season I was made for.

I’m not here to start a movement.
I’m not here to be a spokesperson for your cause.
I’m here to live in my truth so loudly, so relentlessly, that people can’t ignore what it looks like to reclaim yourself.

You don’t have to like me.
You don’t have to understand me.
But you will see me.

Truth is, I’ve always been seen.
Stared at. Watched. Whispered about.
Most of the time, I didn’t even fucking notice—because I was too deep in surviving to care.
But I am wide awake now.
Not in the performative way—in the soul-rattling, eyes-wide, don’t-look-away-from-me-now kind of way.
You see me? Good.
Because I see you too.

Because I’m the living proof that no matter who tries to push you down, no matter how many times they try to silence you or extinguish your fire—
You can still rise.
You can still speak.
You can still burn bright as hell.

I’m not dreaming it anymore.
I’m being it.

This is not just for me.
This is for anyone who’s ever doubted if they could survive.

Look at me.
You can.