Perception is a funny thing, isn’t it? It’s not truth. It’s not reality. It’s just a construct—a fragile little house of cards we build in our minds to make sense of the chaos around us. And when someone like me walks into your life, you do what any weak person would do: you twist the narrative. You decide that I’m the problem. I’m the fool, the villain, the bitch in your story. You make me small in your mind because it makes you feel big.

You tell yourself I’m the one in the wrong. That my actions, my choices, my very existence are somehow a threat. It’s easier that way, isn’t it? To make me the enemy. To paint me as the one holding you back, as if I’ve done anything more than exist in a way that terrifies you. It’s not about me, though, is it? It’s about you. About how you see yourself. About the power you don’t have. So, you slap a label on me—bitch, fool, villain—and you build your fragile sense of superiority on that foundation.

But here’s the thing. You can twist the story in your head all you want. You can tell yourself whatever lies it takes to get through the day. But the truth? The truth doesn’t care about your narrative. I don’t care about your narrative. Because while you’re busy trying to make me small, I’m not even thinking about you. You’ve made me the center of your world, but in mine? You don’t even register.

And here’s where the real difference between us comes into play. Whether you stay or go, whether you fight me or forgive me, it doesn’t matter. If you walk away, I’m still here. If I walk away, I’m still standing. Nothing about your perception, your presence, or your absence changes that.

The truth is, I don’t need you to stay, and I don’t fear you leaving. That’s the power of knowing who I am. You can’t dismantle me by walking out of my life because you were never holding me up in the first place. You see, if you leave, you’ll still carry the weight of me with you—the bitch, the fool, the villain you convinced yourself I was. I’ll still live rent-free in your mind, a specter haunting your every step. But if I leave? Oh, I leave everything behind. Including you.

It’s almost tragic, really. You’ve built this entire story around me, twisted every corner of your perception to make me the monster, the obstacle, the shadow looming over your life. But the one thing you can’t twist is this: when the dust settles, I’m still standing. If you crumble, it won’t be because of me. It’ll be because you leaned too hard on the narrative you created and found it wasn’t strong enough to hold you up.

And that’s the real kicker. No matter how this ends—whether we fight, whether we forgive, whether we both walk away—you’ll always be left carrying the burden of me. You’ve made me the villain, the bitch, the fool in your story, but I didn’t build that narrative. You did. And now, you’re stuck with it.

I, on the other hand, don’t need you to stay or go. If I’m standing in the room, I cast the shadow. If I walk out, the room is empty. And you? You’re left with the echo of the story you told yourself, trying to make sense of why I never flinched, never fell, never faltered.

So twist the narrative, walk away, stay, fight—do whatever makes you feel powerful. But know this: no matter where you go, I’m still here.