I wake up to the same hollow of darkness that has haunted me for what feels like an eternity. Oh! I am Lizzy, and I’m trapped in a world that suffocates me and has turned my mind into a battlefield of negative thoughts—thoughts that wage war against my shrinking hope. I’m exhausted from fighting, pretending to be okay, and living a life that isn’t mine.

As I lie in bed every second of my life, my emotions’ weight crushes my entire life. I have a feeling of drowning in an ocean of despair, without any hope of relief. My thoughts are a mess full of fear, anxiety, and self-doubt. I am a lost bird in a nutshell of my own mind, hunting the way out. Out of the blue, something inside me awakened and provoked me. I mean, there is a spark of dareful ignites, and I decided to face my own demons head-on. I will never allow this darkness to define me. I will rise and shine, even if it’s just for a minute. I will find the peace I’ve been yearning for, and my voice and strength will come back.

For the first time in a while, I whispered a positive promise to myself: ‘Lizzy, you’re not alone, and you will never be. You’re not defeated, and you never will be. You are still here, and that’s a start to accomplishing your mission set.” I decided to go to the kitchen, and as I walked into the kitchen, I found my mom and sister Jane preparing dinner. The tension is tangible, like a thick fog that constantly chokes me. My mom’s narrow eyes are piercing through me like a sharp, tremendously ugly spear. “Are you still here, Lizzy?” she says, with her voice laced with disdain. “I thought you’d be out by now looking for a job, like your lovely, darling sister.” My sister, who’s been silently watching the exchange, speaks up. “Yeah, Lizzy, you’re not going to benefit anything if you’re still roaming around without getting your life together.”

I felt a pile of anger and hurt, but decided to bite my tongue, as I’ve learned to keep my emotions hidden in order to avoid their criticism. “Mom, can I talk to you about something?” I ask with my voice barely above a whisper. She sighs, her expression unyielding. “What is it now, Lizzy?” “I want to further my studies. I want to make something of myself.” My mom slapped me with ugly laughter on the face. “You? Study? You’re not smart enough, Lizzy. You’ll never amount to anything.” The words sting, but I refuse to back down. “Ma, that’s not true. You know I have potential. I just need a chance. Please, Ma. My sister snorts. “Stop wasting your time, Lizzy dull. I mean, you’ll never be like me. DUH!.”

As the conversation ends, I leave my mom in a dismissive wave; while on the other hand, I am left feeling defeated and trapped. But I know giving up is not an option. I must find a way that will badly prove them wrong and show them that I’m deserving and capable of more. I quickly escaped to my room, the only haven where I could be myself without any judgment or criticism. I slam the door shut out of anger, trying to avoid the hurtful words battling in my mind, making me feel like I’m drowning in an ocean of despair without any hope. I grab my diary, my shoulder to lean on, and begin to let the pen bleed. The words poured out like tears, nah! Like a waterfall, a mixture of pain, anger, and frustrations.
“Why, Ma? Why can’t you notice me? Why can’t you believe in me? I’m not stupid. I’m not worthless. I have dreams and hopes like your precious daughter. But you keep on suffocating me and crushing my spirit like I’m nothing. Why, Ma?”

As I write, the tension inside me begins to calm down. My thoughts are a miserable mess, but on a piece of paper. They start making sense better than when they are unsaid. Now, I realize that I’m not all alone in this battle. I have my own strength and resilience. “I will prove them wrong,” I write, my pen scratching out the words full of determination. “I will show them that I’m deserving and capable, that I’m worthy. I will rise above this, like a sun after a heavy rain.”

The words are my battle cry, declaring my independence. I know the road ahead will have rough patches, but I’m ready to fight. I’m ready to revive my spirit and that of my family. As I pour my anger and thoughts into my diary, I hear the sound of the front door opening. My dad’s warm voice echoes through the hallway: “Hello, darlings! Daddy’s home!” My little brother, Max, excitedly yells, “Dad! Dad!” and runs to greet him. I smile, feeling a sense of comfort washing over me. My dad, John, is the one person in my family who truly understands my emotions. He’s my rock, my confidant. I quickly put away my diary and went straight to the living room to join them. My dad smiles while giving me a warm hug and asks, “Hey, doll, how was your day?” I hesitate, not wanting to burden him with my mom’s harsh words. But he notices the sadness in my watery eyes, and he gently asks, “What’s wrong, Doll? Come on, Nana, talk to Daddy. What’s wrong, Nana?” I take a deep breath and tell him everything—the conversation with my mom, my dreams of furthering my studies, and my feelings of frustration and hurt. My dad listens attentively, with a supportive expression. When I finish, he says, “Lizzy, my doll, you are capable and deserving of pursuing your dreams no matter the circumstances. Don’t let anyone, including your mom, dull your shine anyhow. For as long as I breathe and perspire, I will make sure you get all you deserve.” Max, who’s been quietly observing our conversation, jumps in and says, “Yeah, Lizzy! You’re the best, sis!” My heart fills with love and gratitude for my dad and little brother. They may not be able to change my mom’s mind and attitude, but they make me feel seen, heard, and valued.

My dad is determined to support my dreams. We sat down, and he asked, “Nana, what do you want to study? What’s your passion?” My eyes lit up. “I want to study psychology, Dad. I want to help those who struggle with depression and anxiety like me.” My dad smiled. “That’s amazing, doll! He cheered, “let’s make it happen.” He then began doing research at colleges and universities that offered psychology courses. He even reached out to his colleagues and friends, seeking advice and connections in the field. Meanwhile, out of happiness, I started working on my documentation, preparing for applications. My dad encouraged me every step of the way, celebrating my small wins while supporting me when I was faced with setbacks. As the application deadline approached, my dad and I sat down together. We reviewed and discussed my options. By then, my heart was filled with gratitude because of my dad’s unwavering support.

It was Friday night, and I was in my haven when I notice that the acceptance letter has rolled in. My eyes sparkled as I opened the email and saw the words, “Congratulations, you are accepted!”. I was over the moon as I was accepted into my top-choice university. I couldn’t withhold the happiness; my heart raced with excitement for a moment. I quickly ran straight to the kitchen, screaming. I jumped to give my dad a warm hug in my mom and sister’s presence. I stirred at him with tears of joy streaming down my face. “Thank you, Daddy; I wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t for the efforts you made. My dad beamed with pride. “Doll the doll!” he laughed out loud. “You deserve it, Nana. Change the world, Nana, one step at a time, doll.”