I was at the end of my rope. Life felt hopeless—dark, heavy, and not worth the effort. I had no energy, no desire to move forward, and absolutely no patience left for the mess Alex had thrown me into. Broke and homeless was never on my bucket list, yet there I was, furious and exhausted, trying to figure out how to get back at the person who’d detonated my life.
One day, after complaining to my therapist for what felt like the millionth time, she quietly pressed something into my hand. A small pin. Three simple words:
“Survive out of spite.”
That was it. That was the plan. I wouldn’t give Alex the satisfaction of watching me crumble. She expected me to fold, to disappear, to roll into a ball and give up. So I did the opposite.
My stubbornness roared back to life. I decided I would survive—thrive, even—just to prove her wrong. No one was ever going to make me feel less-than again. I guarded every detail of my life like state secrets. She wouldn’t know Rowan was in a group home. She wouldn’t know I was essentially homeless. She wouldn’t know I’d discovered she used my identity to open credit cards, cell phones, even buy tires for her car. My silence became my shield. My anger became fuel.
The pin Kerry gave me is taped to my door. I see it every time I leave. A daily reminder that I will survive purely to spite her. I refuse to give her the win. I refuse to disappear. And yes—there were days when disappearing felt like the only option. Days when “actually dead” sounded easier than living the life I’d been shoved into.
But I didn’t choose that. I chose spite.
I took that phrase and designed it around a black rose—transformation, rebirth, a new beginning carved out of ashes. It’s tattooed on my hip now. A permanent reminder of what I’m fighting for. She may have taken my old life, but I don’t want it back.
I’m building something better.
Still here, powered by stubbornness and a black rose,
K.
I'm Still Here. Somehow... 