“You’re crazy.”

Yeah. If that’s how you choose to define me based on the stigmas the world decides to continue to carry, then do that. That’s your choice, but mine is to continue fighting.

Fighting battles you probably haven’t seen, internally. However, sometimes it’s hard to hide underneath the sleeves we have to wrap ourselves in to betray to others that we’re doing great. When we can’t hide anymore, we can do a few things.

We can speak out. We can advocate and spread the tones of our bones that were created from the ricocheting of the stones that were thrown at us unsparingly. We can let our struggles be known and work to tear down the image of who we are all supposed to be because we can’t all be the same. You and I came from different places, and that is okay.

Or We can be angry and berate others for the same feelings we’re all feelings because it’s not exactly the same. We can tear down others to raise ourselves higher when in all reality, we’re only putting ourselves lower because in no way does that feel good at the end of the day. We can scream the stigmas and scrape them into the backs of those who choose to ignore them to create a reality that never wasn’t crumbling. We can float in the relentless feelings of self-doubt and sky-high standards, looking for a sun that will never shine because that is a dark place to be.

So sure, I’m crazy. I’m crazy because I choose to fight my fight with others and let it be known that I know I’m not the only one.

Sure, I’m crazy. After all, sometimes I have moments of crippling self-doubt or moments where I’m spilling every thought that comes to my mind because I desire to be heard, and sometimes that’s just the only way I know how to fight.

I was never too much; I just wasn’t the amount that you were used to handling.