A year‑in‑review popped up on my phone — a tangle of pictures, most fine, some I wish I could bleach out of my brain.
All moments from my WTF year.
Good, bad, confusing, inconveniently honest. My year, packaged like a gift no one asked for. The memories it dragged up made me stop. Little snapshots of where I was, what I was pretending to feel. Pictures of me — some smiling, some with my signature resting bitch face. All of them unsettling. All of them digging up things I should probably bury deeper.
Memories of things I enjoyed. Enjoyed — what a bizarre concept.
On the outside, the mask looked steady. Normal enough. Inside was fear, uncertainty, chaos, and a relentless “why me.” Thoughts spinning like a tornado, ready to rip through everything, but tucked neatly behind my performance of normalcy. Did I even belong in those moments? Or was everyone else faking it too, just better at it?
The edges of those photos were wrapped in a very dark place — good vs. evil in a loop.
And then there’s the dog I got in October so I wouldn’t feel so alone. Pets were safer than people. No judgment, no anger, just unconditional loyalty. I named her Karma — a word I clung to that year, one that carried a deeper, more ominous meaning than anyone realized. The outside world heard “cute dog name.” I heard the punchline to my own twisted joke.
Maybe the review wasn’t a summary at all — maybe it was a warning.
A reminder that I’ve walked through worse and kept going.
And if the universe wants round two, fine.
I’ve got Karma with me now.
Still here. Still trying.
K. Unsupervised
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I'm Still Here. Somehow... 