I want to get this out of the way before anyone twists it into something it’s not: I don’t wish anything bad on Emily. I genuinely hope she has a good life, finds peace, whatever. I’m not like them. I don’t sit around hoping someone crashes and burns just because I don’t like them. That’s not who I am, and it never will be.
But let’s not pretend it doesn’t sting because it does. It sucks knowing there’s a very real chance that Sarah will never see the Emily I saw. The Emily who made my life hell. The Emily who hit me, threw things at me, screamed the ugliest words she could find just to watch them land. The Emily who treated me like I was disposable. That Emily existed. That Emily was real. And I lived with the fallout.
Instead, Sarah gets the “sweet,” “nice,” “trying her best” version. The victim. The innocent one. The one who gets to cry and be comforted while I get painted as the monster in the story. And honestly? Fine. If that’s the version she wants to believe in, go ahead. I can’t control what people choose to see. I can’t force anyone to look deeper than the surface when they’re determined to stay blind.
Does it upset me? Yeah. I’m human. I’m allowed to feel that. I’m allowed to be angry that the truth gets buried under everyone else’s convenient narrative. But I’m also done letting it eat at me. I’m moving forward. I’m focusing on the things I can control, not the people who refuse to face reality.
Because here’s the thing: I know the truth. I lived it. I survived it. I have the scars, the memories, and yes the proof. Everything she did to me wasn’t imagined, exaggerated, or made up. It happened. It’s real. And whether they ever see it or not doesn’t change a damn thing.
If they want to live in their little bubble where Emily is perfect and I’m the problem? Great. Enjoy it. Stay there. Build a shrine. I don’t care anymore. At the end of the day, when all the noise dies down, I’m the one who knows what actually happened. I’m the one who had to pick myself back up. I’m the one who grew from it.
And honestly? That’s enough for me.
I’m done carrying the weight of their denial. I’m done shrinking my truth to make other people comfortable. I’m done pretending it didn’t hurt just because they don’t want to hear it.
They can keep their fake peace.
I’ll keep my real one.
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