I know Halloween is over and everyone’s already decorating for Thanksgiving and the holidays.
But I’m still in character, and I always will be.

Because in this life, the skill I mastered best wasn’t cooking, kindness, or patience.
It was cutting people off.

Am I proud of it?
Maybe.
But not of how I learned it.

It took years of silent suffering, swallowed screams, and tears no one cared enough to see, before I could finally cut without shaking… without guilt… without blinking.

I hope this is the first and last time I speak on this, because I’m sick of people asking me to forgive those who never deserved forgiveness to begin with.

Everyone who truly knows me already knows what happened. And NO, I don’t owe anyone the details of my trauma just so they can “understand” why I left. I don’t need to justify my healing.

But I’m done staying quiet so others can stay comfortable.

I’m not speaking to my dad.
And I need my godfather to stop bothering me about reconciling with him.

Stop trying to guilt me for choosing myself.

My dad left me hanging when I needed him most. He chose his wife over me, again and again and again. I was a daddy’s girl, but he made sure I outgrew that love by force.

I’m not speaking to my mom.
I need my brother to stop begging me to greet her on her birthday.
I need her to stop sending friend requests from fake accounts, to stop sneaking into my inbox like a ghost with unfinished business.

Let me make this clear:

You are the reason I hated myself.
You are the reason I look in the mirror and question my worth.
You are the root of the wound that told me I would never be enough, not for myself, not for anyone.

You raised me to believe love must be earned through pain.

You made me fight for crumbs of affection that should have been freely given.
You chose your mother and your brother over your own children.
You chose cheating, substances, and destruction, over being someone we could feel safe around.

You mentally and physically abused me and my siblings.
You are a love addict, a chaos addict, and you made us pay the price for your emptiness.

And because of you, I grew terrified that this poison lived in my blood too.

I don’t know if any of you feel truly sorry for what you did to me.
I don’t think you do.

All the love I poured into you, all the work I did to hold the family together, all the sleepless nights — meant nothing to you. You threw it away like it was disposable.

You almost ruined my life.

You sure as hell ruined my mental health.
You damaged my ability to receive love.
You trained me to expect abandonment, manipulation, and pain.

You never loved me.
You loved what I did for you.
You loved the parts of me you could use.

But when I needed you?
You vanished.

None of you came to my wedding.
Not one.

We booked everything, special flights, special rooms, arrangements, but my side of the church was empty. People whispered, “Where’s her family?”

But tell me, did I ever really have one?

I’m done.
Do not speak to me again.

My children will read this one day, long after I’m gone, and they will know why I never let you near us. They will know the truth. They will know I broke the cycle with a blade in my hand and God in my spine.

As long as I am breathing, I will not allow any of you near my peace, my home, or my healing.

I don’t care if you’re sorry.
I don’t care if you wake up one day drowning in regret.
That is between you and the God who witnessed everything you did to me.

My boundary is not a door.
It is a wall.
A holy one.

This is not forgiveness.
This is exodus.

I don’t cut to hurt anymore.
I cut to protect what is sacred.

And now,
I am sacred.