#anonymous diary

[alovingbreeze]

hi.

this is my anonymous diary.

i don’t know if anyone will read this,

but maybe that’s the point.

some things are easier written than said.

– 🌊 (brb)

[alovingbreeze]

The cut that always bleed

Some pain doesn’t arrive as one clear emotion.

Sometimes it comes as everything at once.

Anger, sadness, confusion, loneliness—so many feelings escaping all at the same time that you can’t even name them anymore. It feels like a bottle that has been shaken for too long, and the moment the cap loosens, everything spills out uncontrollably.

That was how it felt for me.

Not one feeling, but all of them.

I never really told people what I was going through. From the outside, nothing looked different. But some people noticed small things. Instead of questions, though, I heard words like “Don’t mind her, she’s just looking for attention.”

What they didn’t understand is that even if someone is looking for attention, it still means something is wrong. No one ends up hurting themselves just because everything is fine. Attention isn’t always about wanting to be seen—it can also be about wanting to be understood.

At first, it started with anger. A moment where emotions were too loud and I didn’t know where to place them. But slowly, something changed. What started as anger became something familiar, something I returned to again and again.

And then another thought started growing in my mind:

Why hasn’t anyone asked?

Not questions filled with judgment. Just simple ones.

“Are you okay?”

“What happened?”

“Do you want to talk?”

I didn’t want people to panic. I didn’t want lectures. I just wanted comfort.

There was even a time when I quietly let some people know, thinking they might understand. For a moment, I hoped that maybe someone would see past everything and realize that I wasn’t trying to cause trouble—I was trying to survive feelings I didn’t know how to hold.

Now the marks are still there.

When I see them, the emotions are mixed. Sometimes I feel nothing. Sometimes memories come rushing back all at once. I remember how much it hurt. I remember trying to stay quiet while crying so hard that my chest felt tight. I remember forcing myself not to make a sound.

Scars are strange things.

They don’t disappear easily, and neither do the memories attached to them.

Even small things can bring those memories back. Seeing similar scars in movies. Being reminded of objects that were once part of that time in my life. The mind remembers things even when you wish it wouldn’t.

Sometimes it feels like the person I was back then is still somewhere inside me. Not completely gone. Just quieter now. And in a strange way, I know that version of me shaped who I am today.

She carried all the feelings I didn’t know how to carry.

And even now, when I look at the scars, the first thing I remember isn’t strength or survival.

It’s the pain.

[alovingbreeze]

"you'll fail anyway, so why bother joining?"

Some words stay with you longer than they should.

Sometimes they stay so long that you start hearing them even when no one is saying them anymore. They repeat in your mind quietly, like something that has already been decided for you.

“You’ll fail anyway. So why bother joining?”

I heard that enough times that it slowly became something I carried with me. At first it was just their words. But over time it became something I started telling myself.

The strange thing is that I don’t actually think I’m incapable. When I see an opportunity, my first thought is usually that I could do it. I feel interested. I feel motivated. Sometimes I even feel confident that if I tried hard enough, I could make something good out of it.

But right after that thought comes another one.

What if they’re right?

It’s like my mind splits into two parts. One part wants to try, wants to see what could happen, wants to experience things and learn from them. The other part already expects the outcome to be failure before anything even begins.

And the worst part about hearing something like that growing up is that it changes how you see yourself. Even when you know you’re capable, there’s still a quiet doubt that follows you around. It makes every decision feel heavier than it should be.

Opportunities stop feeling exciting. Instead they feel like something you have to justify, something you have to defend, something you have to prove you deserve to try.

Sometimes I think about how different things might feel if the words had been different. If instead of hearing that I would fail, I had heard that trying was enough. That effort mattered. That losing didn’t mean something was wrong with me.

But those weren’t the words I grew up hearing.

So now every opportunity comes with hesitation. Not because I don’t want it, and not because I don’t believe I can do it. It’s because a part of me has been trained to expect disappointment before anything even starts.

It’s tiring to carry that feeling.

Not because trying is hard, but because convincing yourself that you’re allowed to try in the first place is harder.

Recently, I saw a post online that said something like this: missed opportunities will haunt you more than failure.

I kept thinking about that for a while.

Failure is something people fear a lot, but at least it means you tried. At least it means you allowed yourself to step forward and see what could happen. But missed opportunities are different. They stay in your mind as questions that never get answers.

What would have happened if I tried?

Would things have been different?

Could I have done better than I expected?

Those questions don’t really disappear. They just stay somewhere in the back of your mind, reminding you of the things you didn’t allow yourself to experience.

Maybe failure hurts for a while. But wondering about the things you never tried at all might last much longer.

And sometimes I think that might be the heavier thing to carry.

-🌊(brb)

[alovingbreeze]

When Someone Tries to Explain Your Own Words to You

Today reminded me that being the one leading something doesn’t always mean you’re the strongest person in the group. Sometimes it just means you’re the one carrying the responsibility of keeping everything together.

We’re working on a documentary film for school, and I ended up being the one leading the group. I wrote the script, calculated the timing, and tried to make sure everything would fit the deadline. Not because I wanted to control everything… but because someone had to make sure it would actually work.

One of our members — let’s call her “orange” — is usually absent. She only comes when there’s an exam, a performance, or something important to submit. And when she does come, she’s often late, missing the first or second subject.

Today she suggested an idea for the documentary. I’ll be honest… it was a good idea. I even told her that. But the script was already finished, and the time was already calculated. If we added more parts, it wouldn’t fit the time we were allowed. And the deadline was already close.

So I told her, “I love your idea, but we’re short on time.”

What I meant was simple. We were close to the deadline. There wasn’t enough time to add something new.

Later tonight I checked our group chat. Our editor was clearly under pressure because the deadline was only a few hours away. Some parts were still missing. Several members were still trying to send what they could, helping with clips, recordings, and anything that could make the documentary complete in time.

Everyone was trying their best to cooperate despite the pressure of the deadline.

But instead of calmly helping with what was needed, orange still hadn’t sent her voice recording yet. When we filmed her parts before, she often acted strangely instead of speaking the script naturally. She kept reading it word for word, and when the clips were edited, she focused more on how her face looked in the video. If she didn’t like it, she would ask for it to be edited again.

Then suddenly she turned to me in the chat and said,

“You said we were short of time, but now there’s not even enough video.”

And then she added,

“You should’ve listened to my suggestion.”

I explained calmly what I meant earlier — that we were short of time because the deadline was already close.

Her reply?

“Hmm… I’m sure that’s not what you meant.”

I stared at the message for a while.

Because what does that even mean?

Are you saying you understand what I meant better than I do? As if I didn’t know my own words?

There were many responses running through my head, but I didn’t send any of them.

I just left the message on read.

Maybe because arguing in that moment wouldn’t solve anything. Maybe because sometimes silence is the only response that won’t make things worse.

What stayed in my mind wasn’t really the frustration… but the effort I saw from the others.

Some members were clearly tired, but they were still cooperating. Sending what they could. Trying to help the editor. Trying to finish everything before the deadline.

And I think that’s what mattered the most today.

Because even when things feel messy and stressful, you start to notice who’s actually trying… and who’s willing to work with everyone just to make things work.

-🌊(brb)

[alovingbreeze]

I Stand on My Own, Thanks

Sometimes, people think showing sympathy is the same as helping… but that’s not always true. I realized this recently with a friend I’ll call Yellow.

A while ago, I started noticing that I was often left out from some of the plans and moments my circle of friends had. At first, it stung a little… but I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, I didn’t want to force myself into something where I wasn’t wanted. So I slowly started adjusting. I learned how to enjoy myself even if I wasn’t part of every plan… how to be okay with just observing or taking my own path… how to not let it make me feel smaller or less important.

The other day, I overheard my friends talking about going out for fun. I wasn’t included… and it would have been easy to feel hurt or resentful. But I didn’t. I just let it be. I’ve been practicing this for a while now. I’m fine having fun on my own, because I know my happiness doesn’t depend on someone else’s invitation or approval.

Later, Yellow messaged me saying she felt sorry that I wasn’t included. And it’s okay that she said it… but I didn’t need her sympathy. I wasn’t looking for pity or for someone to notice after the fact. I was adjusting… slowly, quietly learning to enjoy myself without needing anyone’s validation.

I’ve realized that being left out doesn’t have to hurt, not if you learn to stand on your own. It’s not about shutting people out, it’s not about proving anything… it’s about protecting your energy and your peace. It’s about knowing that your worth isn’t measured by whether you’re invited or noticed… it’s measured by how you carry yourself, how you take care of your own happiness, and how you adjust without losing yourself.

Sometimes it’s lonely, and sometimes it’s awkward, and sometimes it’s hard… but it’s also freeing. You don’t have to rely on someone else’s empathy to feel okay. You don’t have to wait for someone to notice or apologize. You just… live, adjust, and take your space confidently.

And that’s enough.

-🌊(brb)

[alovingbreeze]

When Two People Saw Me Differently

My old friend and my new friend met recently, and while I was there, they ended up talking about me. My old friend said I was kind and sweet, and my new friend said I was quiet and serious. They laughed a little, and I smiled too, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it afterward.

The thing is, I haven’t really changed. It’s not like one of them knows the “old me” and the other knows a “new me.” They both know me right now. The difference is how I act around them. With some people, I naturally talk more, joke more, and show more of myself. With others, I stay quieter, observe more, and think before I speak. It’s not something I plan. It’s just how I respond to the people around me.

Hearing their different descriptions made me realize how much the way I act depends on who I’m with. I’m not pretending or trying to be someone else. I just adjust depending on the energy of the people around me. Some friends bring out my playful side. Some friends bring out my serious side. And sometimes I just listen more than I talk.

I think it’s normal, actually. I think everyone does it to some extent, but we just don’t notice. The strange part for me was that both descriptions sounded so different, like they were talking about two different people. But they weren’t. They were both me.

That day reminded me that being me doesn’t mean acting exactly the same with everyone. It means being consistent at my core while naturally showing different sides of myself depending on the situation. That’s okay. That’s just how I am.

-🌊(brb)

[alovingbreeze]

How does it feels to be pretty?

Sometimes I look at pictures with my friends and feel a little off.

They’re beautiful, the kind of beauty that makes people approach them easily, the kind of beauty that seems effortless. I love them for it. I admire them. I don’t hate them, and I don’t wish them any harm.

But there’s this quiet ache I can’t ignore. It’s not about wanting their face or their attention. It’s about wanting the experience — to be seen without fear, to be understood without having to explain, to feel naturally chosen instead of measured or judged.

People sometimes think I’m mean just by looking at me. They misread my quietness or the way I observe before I speak. That makes me feel isolated, like there’s a wall I can’t climb over no matter how hard I try.

It’s not just about looking beautiful. It’s about how it feels to be beautiful — the ease, the warmth, the sense that people notice you softly, without fear, without overthinking. The kind of beauty that makes you feel light instead of heavy, safe instead of watched.

I don’t want anyone to lose their glow. I don’t want to take anything from them. I just wish I could feel that for myself — not in comparison, but in my own way. I wish I could exist in the world without worrying about how I’m perceived, without shrinking or performing to be accepted.

Sometimes I wonder if other people feel this too — the gap between how they look and how they feel inside, the longing to be seen fully, the desire to belong without explanation.

Maybe one day I’ll look at pictures and feel at ease with myself. Maybe one day I’ll realize that depth, thoughtfulness, and quiet presence are also beautiful, in their own way. Maybe one day the ache will soften, and I’ll stop wishing for someone else’s experience and start embracing my own.

Do you ever feel this way too?

-🌊 (brb)

[alovingbreeze]

Being Understood Without Explaining Everything

I’ve been thinking about this for a while.

It’s actually tiring to always explain yourself. Not in a big dramatic way. Just in small, normal situations. Like when people ask why you’re quiet. Or why you didn’t react much. Or why something affected you more than they expected.

Sometimes I don’t even know how to explain it properly. I just feel it. And when I try to explain, it comes out wrong. Then I end up sounding defensive when I wasn’t even trying to be.

I think what makes it exhausting is that it feels like you always have to justify your own reactions. As if you need a “valid reason” for feeling the way you do. And if your reason doesn’t make sense to them, then suddenly it’s not valid anymore.

I don’t expect people to read my mind. I know that’s unrealistic. But I do wish people observed more. If you really pay attention to someone, you notice patterns. You notice when they’re quiet because they’re tired, not angry. You notice when they’re distant because they’re overwhelmed, not because they don’t care.

I guess I just value that kind of awareness. The quiet kind. The one where you don’t immediately question someone, but you try to understand first.

Maybe that’s also why I listen more than I talk. It feels easier to understand others than to make myself understood.

Idk. Maybe I’m overthinking it.

How about you? Do you also get tired of explaining yourself? You can share it in the comments.

-🌊 (brb)