Monologue
Sometimes, I wonder if anyone really sees me.
Not the version they imagine.Not the smile I force when my world is falling apart.Not the silence I keep so I won’t be a burden.
But me.
Do you know how hard it is to speak when every word feels like it might break you? To carry the weight of judgment, of laughter behind your back, of people twisting your pain into weakness They say, “Be strong.” But what does that mean when you’re already breaking just by getting out of bed?
It’s not that I don’t want to be strong. I fight battles in my mind every day. It’s not that I’m giving up. I’m just tired of pretending that everything is okay when it’s not. Tired of being unseen. Tired of being unheard.
Why is it so hard for people to simply… care? To ask, “Are you really okay?” and mean it. To offer a hand without waiting for me to scream for help.
I’m not asking for grand gestures.Just a little kindness. A little effort to understand. Because sometimes, being understood…can save a life.
So if you’re reading this, and you feel like no one gets it. I see you. I hear you. And I’m writing this for you.
You are not alone.You never were.And your story… is worth telling.
They tell you to speak your truth—but only if it fits their script.
The moment your truth gets uncomfortable, they turn away.
The moment your pain becomes inconvenient, they call you dramatic.
And when you finally fall apart—they say,“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
Society is a performance stage.
We’re all assigned roles: the strong one, the achiever, the funny friend, the quiet type.
They don’t care who you really are, only how well you play your part.
But what if I stopped acting?
What if I took the mask off and said,“I’m not okay”?
Would they applaud my courage, or condemn my vulnerability?
Truth is:
Society doesn’t want honesty.
It wants compliance.
Niccolò Machiavelli once wrote inThe Prince,
“It is much safer to be feared than loved, if one must choose.”
And in a way, society follows this code—even in silence.
The world doesn’t reward softness. It rewards survival.
Power is admired. Control is respected. Vulnerability? Often seen as weakness.
So we adapt.
We learn to be feared in silence, not because we want to—but because the world gives us no choice.
We sharpen our edges. We build walls.
We play the game, even if it costs us pieces of ourselves.
But here’s the lie no one tells you:
The more you pretend, the more invisible you become.
Machiavelli believed that humans were inherently self-interested—that leaders must learn to manipulate appearances to maintain power.
Isn’t that what society does to us?
It teaches us to fake happiness, to chase validation, to betray ourselves just to be accepted.
But what if we reclaimed that power—not to manipulate, but to survive with truth?
Not to become feared… but to become whole.
Because maybe the strength Machiavelli spoke of isn’t cruelty or coldness—
Maybe it’s resilience.
The kind that looks like softness, but bleeds with dignity.
The kind that dares to say,“I will no longer wear your mask.”
So today, I choose to be real—even if it means being misunderstood.
I choose truth, even if it makes them uncomfortable.
I choose to be the author of my story—not the character they wrote for me.
This is the beginning.
The beginning of being seen.
The beginning of healing.
The beginning of fighting a system that profits from our silence—
With the one weapon it fears the most:
Truth.
