The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

She can’t quite remember when she started putting herself last.
 Maybe it was the first time she said “it’s okay” when it wasn’t.
 Maybe it was when she smiled to keep the peace, 
or when she kept showing up for everyone else,
 hoping someone would notice how heavy her heart felt.
Sometimes she wonders if anyone really sees her—
the silent battles she fights without applause,
 the love she pours out so freely
 to people who forget to ask how she’s doing. 
And still, she shows up, even when she’s the one
who needs someone to show up for her.
One day, she’ll tell her story.
 Not the polished version, not the one practiced in her head,
 but the real one—the ugly, restless, messy one.
The one with nights she cried into her pillow until it was damp and cold.
Mornings she stared into the mirror and didn’t recognize the person looking back.
Days she wore her smile like armor while her body trembled underneath,
her faith in love, in life, in herself hanging by a thread.
She’ll tell of the wounds that didn’t just bruise her skin—
but her spirit.
 Of the emotional cuts that left her doubting her own worth.
 Of the financial shackles that kept her small.
 Of the hands that took without asking.
 Of the blows that silenced her body,
 and the kind of betrayal that left her soul shaking.
 She’ll tell of the illness that stole her breath,
 the diagnosis that tried to write her ending too soon,
how cancer carved into her life like a thief in the dark.
She’ll tell of the times she thought she was finished.
 The moments she begged for a way out,
when the weight of it all made her wonder if survival was worth it.
She’ll admit the truth—
that sometimes she didn’t want to be strong.
 That sometimes she hated the word resilient
because it felt like code for “you don’t get to fall apart.”
But she’ll also tell of the fire.
 How she dragged herself forward even when her legs wanted to give.
 How pain became a teacher,
 how loss hollowed her out and still, somehow, 
she found a way to fill herself back up again.
And when she tells it, someone will need it—
someone who thinks they’re too broken to go on,
 someone who believes no one could possibly understand
 what it feels like to drown in silence.
 They’ll hear her story and realize
 they’re not alone in the dark.
Her survival won’t just be hers.
 It will be proof—
proof that broken things can keep beating,
 proof that scars don’t just mark endings,
 they map the way forward.
One day, her story will be the mirror someone else needs.
 Not because it’s neat.
 Not because it’s pretty.
 But because it’s real.
Because she didn’t just survive.
 She became.