The Post I Was Afraid to Write

You didn't get a post update last week because I was scared to be honest. The truth is hard to say sometimes. I didn't want to admit how I felt— because saying it meant accepting it.

Lately, I've been skimming the edge of my lowest. I've been confused, sad, frustrated, annoyed, and deeply unsure. I thought I was doing better…. but last week came as a grand reveal. The hope and certainty I thought I had slipped away like a mirage. My heart sank– and with it, my courage.

I couldn't let my fingers type a truth I couldn't fully see. I couldn't say how I felt because I didn't want it to be real. So I let the days pass. Each one a tug-of-war with my vow to be authentic.

But here’s the truth: This blog —My Dairy— is more than entertainment or enlightenment. It's a voice for the things you feel but can't say. It’s a place to remind you that you are not alone. It's a testimony, and you, dear reader, are a witness.

I don't write to impress. I write so that you might find faith in my words, even if it comes from a place of pain.

If you got a post update last week, here's what it would say:

“P or T”

(A Spoken Word Piece)

I don't know what day it is anymore.

I just know I'm tired.

Not the kind of tired sleep fixes,

But the kind that makes dreams feel too heavy to carry.

Too distant to chase.

Too sacred to touch.

They say you either have a P or a T—

You're either repeating the Past

Or building the Tomorrow.

But what if I’m stuck in between?

What if I’m walking in circles on a road I can't see?

Because today feels like a cover of yesterday’s song—

Same lyrics.

Different melody.

Different mask.

Same ache.

I ask myself—

Is my present just my past in disguise?

Or

Is this mess the foundation of my becoming?

Truth is...

I don’t know.

I’m too drained to speak.

Too lost to see.

I’m beyond broken—

Beyond sad.

And no, I can’t blame it on my hormones.

I saw my period.

But this pain bleeds deeper.

It spills from a soul that’s tired of pretending.

Tired of hoping.

Tired of hearing “God is here”

When all I feel is... nothing.

I scream into the silence:

God, are You here?

You say You care—why haven’t You given?

You say You see—then why am I confused?

You say You love me—then why do I feel…

Unloved?

Unseen?

Unanswered?

I’m tired of hope that vanishes with the sun.

Tired of praying like I’m tossing words into the wind.

Tired of believing only to be broken.

But somewhere in the quiet...

A whisper.

Not mine.

Maybe Yours.

Maybe I’m not lost.

Maybe I’m just… in-between.

Between the ruin and the rising.

Between the grief and the glory.

Between the P and the T.

And if that’s true—

Then maybe I don’t need to speak right now.

Maybe I just need to breathe.

To be.

To let the ache be what it is

And trust that even now,

You’re still writing me forward.

So here I am.

No eloquence.

No answers.

Just this—

God, if You’re here, hold me.

Because I have nothing left to hold onto.