I’m here to listen.

My # is 6802911093 please reach out to me for a friend.

I’m 16, and a lesbian, and am accepting to the possibility of finding someone to love on here.

I’m someone who learned early that survival isn’t guaranteed—and that sometimes staying alive is an active choice. I’ve stood close to endings, my own and others’, close enough to feel how thin the line really is.

I’ve witnessed what can’t be unwatched.

I’ve lost someone in a way that splits time into before and after.

There are moments I carry that don’t fade, don’t soften, don’t explain themselves.

There were seasons where being here felt optional. Where continuing meant defying something heavy and convincing. Where I learned how dangerous it is to not be believed—by others or by yourself.

I don’t tell my whole story. Some truths are sharp, and some are still breathing. But I know what it’s like to live in the aftermath of violence, grief, and silence—and to keep going anyway.

That’s why I’m here.

For the ones who’ve stood at edges.

For those carrying memories that don’t translate.

For anyone who needs to be believed.

Anxiety is not weakness—it’s a nervous system that learned danger too well.

PTSD is not the past—it’s the past refusing to stay where it belongs.

Depression is not laziness—it’s grief that got tired of screaming.

Trauma doesn’t make people broken.

It makes them alert, exhausted, careful, and brave in ways no one applauds.

If your body still reacts, if your mind still revisits, if getting through the day feels like work—you are not failing. You are surviving something real.

I’m here. And I’m not leaving people alone in this.