I Can’t Get Out Because of YOU!

How long must I stay here? It’s suffocating. My face is flushed, my body too warm, and yet the air feels heavy with a strange, cold emptiness. I’ve been locked in this room for what feels like days—maybe months—with no clear way out. How did I even get here? Oh yes, I remember now. It was early May, just after you upset me.

You didn’t listen. You didn’t care. Instead, you lashed out, tossing aside my feelings as though they were meaningless. The sting of your words cut🔪deeper than I’d like to admit, and in my anger,

''I swore to never let you near the fragile depths of my heart 🧡'' without a safe release, I buried my emotions, pressing them deep under my skin.

I tried to leave. I reached for the door,🚪 it wouldn’t budge. It was as if the very weight of my unspoken pain had sealed it shut. Since then, I’ve been stuck here—living, working, smiling falsely—while secretly locked inside this anger. All because of what you said. All because you never looked back.

The cold in this room is unbearable. It’s as if the walls are coated in frost, their icy presence mirroring the chill that’s settled in my soul. ''Every time I try to touch the doorknob, it bites at my hand with a venomous sting, pushing me back into isolation'' No one visits me anymore, and I can’t blame them. The air around me is sharp with dismissal, a silent “leave me alone” that drives people away before they can come too close.

But it’s not my fault, is it? If you hadn’t hurt me, this coldness wouldn’t have taken root. Or at least that’s what I tell myself as I sit here, aching for the warmth of an embrace that could thaw this frozen prison.

This room is not always cold. At times, it’s unbearably hot. The temperature shifts wildly—an internal tug-of-war between anger and longing, despair and hope. It’s been over a year now, and I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been pacing these walls. I’ve had ideas about how to escape, but each time I muster the courage, doubt whispers it's poison, and my resolve crumbles.

The door is always there, always within reach. I know it leads to everything I long for—joy, peace, confidence, freedom. But every time I move toward it, you stop me. Not the you who hurt me, but the you who lives within me. Doubt, fear, insecurity—they hold the key, and yet they refuse to let me use it.

In life, "YOU "takes on many forms. Sometimes it’s the person who wronged you—a friend, a parent, a spouse.

But often, it’s ''The person staring back at you in the mirror.''We blame "you" for the locked doors in our lives, for the suffocating rooms we can’t seem to escape, not realizing that the power to leave has been in our hands all along.

You can get out. You have the strength, the wisdom, and the courage to turn the key🔑 The life you desire is waiting on the other side of the door.

Unlock it.🔐