I don't understand some people. I don't understand how they can go about their lives and sleep in peace knowing that they've lied and the havoc they're wreaking on someone's life. It's as if they have no conscience or empathy, oblivious to the pain they cause. The weight of their deceit and the destruction it brings feels unbearable at times. We can only be persecuted for so long. We can only be accused of so many things we haven't done before it breaks something inside us. But see, I'm not a violent person. I don't seek revenge because revenge brings its own karma. Eventually, you have to answer to the man upstairs.
Violence isn't my way. I'm violent to myself. You don't have to beat me up because I do that enough on a daily basis. You don't have to try to kill me because I wish to die almost every day. The internal battles I face are relentless, and the self-loathing is a constant companion. Every accusation, every lie told about me, chips away at my spirit. Yet, I hold on to the hope that one day, the truth will prevail and those who have wronged me will face their own reckoning. Until then, I continue to fight this silent war within myself, struggling to find peace amidst the chaos.
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