“One thing I did this year? I kept going in the midst of depression, chaos, spiritual warfare and everything in between… I KEPT GOING.”
Through everything that happened, I kept going — not because I was brave, not because I was strong, but because I wasn’t given a choice. When she changed the locks and shut me out of the house, I didn’t get a moment to breathe or plan. When my “friends” betrayed me, I didn’t get a warning. My entire WTF year was a series of blows I didn’t see coming. I kept going because the alternative was collapsing, and collapsing would’ve given her exactly what she wanted.
I was unceremoniously evicted the day I left in anger. She changed the locks, barricaded the doors, and made sure I couldn’t return. I was mentally wrecked — my mind overloaded, my life detonated. All I had was Rowan, my car, and a handful of belongings. Everything else? Held hostage by Alex, like trophies she thought she’d earned.
I was deeply depressed. I couldn’t see a way out of the mess created by my foolish trust. No home, no money, no belongings — just Rowan, looking to me to hold it together. I didn’t know how to do that. I felt like I’d been dropped into the ocean with no land in sight. Everything revolved around Alex, the conniving liar who had turned my life into her personal game board.
Spiritually, I was lost. I was raised to pray for strength, to trust that God would guide me through the storm — but every prayer felt like it hit a ceiling. I wanted clarity. I wanted direction. Instead, I got silence and chaos.
So I kept going because I had to. Every morning I woke up in the front seat of my car, stunned that my life had self‑destructed so fast. I prayed for a miracle, a solution, anything that would stop the freefall. But nothing came. I was in a black hole, and I couldn’t see a single way out.
Rowan kept me going at first. He needed care, stability, safety — things I couldn’t give him while living in a motel or my car. I fought like hell to find a solution for him, and when I finally got him into emergency respite, I felt relief for the first time in months. He had a roof, a bed, food, and stability. He was safe.
And then it was just me.
Waking up alone in my car each morning, I’d think, “What fires do I fight today?” Some days I found solutions. Other days I threw gasoline on the flames and watched everything explode into new problems. But I had a mission now — a spite‑fueled one.
I was going to survive out of spite. I was going to thrive out of spite. I was not going to let her win.
I’ll admit it: there were moments I nearly gave up. Each time, I ended up in the hospital — not the outcome I wanted, but each stay hardened something in me. Each time I walked out, I was more determined to build a real life, one she could never touch.
Even when things looked hopeless, even when I had no instant solutions, I kept going. I had to. Every morning, I woke up in that tiny car, pulled out my day planner, and attacked the next problem like it was a personal enemy.
I didn’t keep going because I was strong. I kept going because quitting would’ve handed her the victory. And I refuse to be anyone’s win but my own.
Fueled by rage, rebuilt through spite,
K.
I'm Still Here. Somehow... 