Dear Diary, Right now, the bass is humming through my car,

vibrating through my chest.

I am fighting tears right now. I’m just hoping I can make it to my destination without breaking down. I needed to get in my car, breathe, and clear my head for a moment. Everything is technically under control… yet sometimes it feels like I’m not. It’s so easy to forget how much support I truly have around me, and how not everyone will understand me. Being misunderstood is such a heavy feeling—that’s why I try my best not to judge others. I know how deeply it stings when someone assumes the worst about you.

Tonight is one of those dark nights where it feels like time is folding backwards. The sky is heavy, and so is my heart. My gas light has been on for a while now. I keep checking it but I still haven’t stopped to fill up. For some reason, I just don’t want to. It reminds me of how I force myself to eat just enough to get by but never enough to actually feel full—only doing the bare minimum to survive.

But even in this moment, I know what my limits are. And that’s the message I want to leave behind at the end of this blog:
Learn your limits. Respect them. And when you run low, refill yourself before life forces you to shut down.

Because sometimes that tiny bit of fuel you’re running on is all you have left. And once you hit empty, you have no choice but to get back up, go again, refill your tank, and rebuild yourself. It’s okay to run low. It’s okay to admit it’s hard. It’s okay to say, “This is the best I can do today.”

This is all part of being misunderstood—people don’t see the exhaustion, the overstimulation, the stress, the lack of strength… or even the lack of funds that make it hard to keep up with life. They don’t see the private battles. They just make assumptions.

My heart feels so heavy tonight. Maybe it’s because I finally feel ready to speak on my losses this year. I’ve lost people. I’ve lost habits—some good, some bad. I’ve lost pieces of myself in ways I never expected. But somewhere inside all of this, I know a more beautiful version of me is trying to emerge. I’m hoping this year ends with a lighter heart, more structure, more stability, and the closure I need on the things and people who no longer serve me.

I want to grow. I want to feel free. I want to stop feeling like I can’t fill up my tank or nourish myself fully. Sometimes I eat myself into a food coma just so I can sleep deeply, just so I can escape. Food is comfort, but it could be so much more fulfilling if I wasn’t running from my emotions.

Life can be better. The ride can be smoother. The rims can shine brighter. The sun can hit differently. But I have to actually want it. And sometimes I do… sometimes I don’t. But the moment you truly want something, nothing will get in your way. And I’m trying—really trying—to find that awakening again. To fill myself up. To fill my heart. To restore what’s been drained.

Earlier, I posted a TikTok with a sound that kept repeating, “love me,” like a soft, harmonized acapella. It was soothing and overwhelming all at once. It brought tears to my eyes because it reminded me of when my father passed away. I remember live streaming that night, trying to cope in the only way I knew how. Losing someone who loved you your entire life leaves a wound that never fully closes.

My dad’s love wasn’t perfect, but it was perfect for me. And maybe that’s why I grew up wanting so little from everyone. I accepted the bare minimum because I never wanted to drain people—I wanted them to save some love for themselves. My dad did that. And I learned from it.

But I also realized I cannot control how people view me. They will think what they want. They will conclude what they want. They will decide whether I’m worthy of their time, their space, their energy. And I’ve learned to be okay with that. The ones who truly want to know me will try. The ones who want to misunderstand me will twist the smallest things into entire narratives. And yes, that hurts—but everything that hasn’t killed me has made me stronger.

So here I am, fighting tears, learning the harsh truth that life doesn’t get easier—you just get better at fighting through the pain. Especially when the people closest to you choose to misunderstand you on purpose, creating stories in their minds and stamping you with labels you never deserved.

What keeps me grounded is knowing this:
If they can be that wrong about me, I can be just as wrong about them. And somehow, that’s the strange beauty of life.

Right now, the bass is humming through my car, vibrating through my chest. My heart is jumpy, tight, almost wringing itself out. It’s an epiphany mixed with sadness, mixed with clarity—a rush of pain that somehow hurts in a way that feels cleansing, even though I know it isn’t good for me. Instead of fighting it, I’m letting it wash over me.

I’m wearing a hoodie, driving my Mercedes, grateful for the tint on my windows. It gives me just enough privacy to break down quietly. Tinted windows aren’t just for hiding from enemies or prying eyes—sometimes they’re protection from the world. Protection from the people who don’t deserve to see you at all.

People can search for me online, can watch me from afar—I won’t hide my life. But they don’t get access to me. The tint is symbolic. They might catch a glimpse of me for a split second, but that’s all they get now. No more forced greetings, no more eye contact, no more pretending. Just distance. Just indifference.

Life has taught me that if I love myself enough, there will always be enough love inside me to give—carefully, intentionally, and to the right people.

And for the first time in a long time, I’m learning to let that love circle back to me.