The silence isn't empty, it's just filled with all the things i can't say, all the ways i’ve shrunk myself down to fit in someone else’s idea of me, it’s a crowded room in here, full of ghosts wearing my face and saying the words i wish i had. i think @Morgan said something about that, about the crowded room. all those unspoken apologies, the held-back opinions, the 'yes' when every cell in my body is screaming 'no'... each one a little paper cut to the soul, adding up to this dull ache, and how many sorry's before there's nothing left of me? The body keeps the score, they say, but it's the spirit that tallies the tax. It's not just the big betrayals, but the daily surrenders that hollow you out – each tiny 'yes' a brick in the wall around your own damn life. I'm still finding new cracks in that wall, places where I let someone else's needs pave over my own, and the cost of those shortcuts.