Isolation is a visual echo of the words and lessons I absorbed growing up. Quiet commands that taught me to shrink, to disappear not only in spirit, but in body. I learned to retreat, to hide myself away, until my room became both sanctuary and prison. There, beneath the silence, a storm brewed�a heavy fog of depression and self-loathing that clung to me for years. Looking into this window, I see the child I was, radiant, creative, full of love. And my heart breaks for her, for the way she turned that light inward and burned herself with it, convinced she was unworthy of being seen, understood, or cherished. That instinct to vanish didn�t disappear. Even now, the habit of isolation lingers. I still find it hard to step outside, to let myself be witnessed, to believe that simply existing in the world is enough.
Isolation is a visual echo of the words and lessons I absorbed growing up. Quiet commands that taught me to shrink, to disappear not only in spirit, but in body. I learned to retreat, to hide myself away, until my room became both sanctuary and prison. There, beneath the silence, a storm brewed�a heavy fog of depression and self-loathing that clung to me for years. Looking into this window, I see the child I was, radiant, creative, full of love. And my heart breaks for her, for the way she turned that light inward and burned herself with it, convinced she was unworthy of being seen, understood, or cherished. That instinct to vanish didn�t disappear. Even now, the habit of isolation lingers. I still find it hard to step outside, to let myself be witnessed, to believe that simply existing in the world is enough.
