I'm playing the victim and pay the price for the wounds I didn’t cause (why I hate living 🥀)

Yes, call me a "victim", I'm used to it.

This text, even if this is written from my perspective, as woman, can speaks for anyone, it doesn't matter what their gender, ethnicity or religion is.

It speaks for the soft ones, the ones that didn't ask to suffer.

I stay hidden, like a little flower folding itself away from the cold.

Not because I'm weak, but because my heart feels too delicate for all that cruelty.

The fear of being misunderstood or dismissed as “playing the victim” is so heavy, especially when your heart is simply trying to say, “This hurt me.” It’s not about wanting pity, it’s about wanting to be seen, honestly and fully.

When someone shares something tender or painful, it forces others to look inward. And that can be scary. Instead of sitting with discomfort, they protect themselves by dismissing it:

- “She’s playing the victim” becomes a wall.

- It helps them avoid saying, “Maybe I’ve done that to someone too.”

Also, in a world that glorifies strength, silence, and stoicism… softness is often seen as weakness. Especially if you’re a woman. Especially if you’re delicate, open, or emotional.

It’s easier for some people to mock pain than to meet it with compassion. Because compassion requires courage.

Victim blaming is a way for people to protect their own illusion of control.

If they can believe "it happened because you did something wrong," then they don’t have to face the terrifying truth that bad things can happen to anyone even them, even for no reason.

It’s easier for them to point fingers than to sit with fear, sadness, or guilt.

It makes them feel safer.

🥀I love being a woman, I hate being a human.

I don’t need to be liked by everyone. I’ve accepted that. But I do care about being perceived for who I truly am. And sometimes, that quiet wish feels like a heavy burden.

It hurts when people don’t see me, not the real me. When they project things onto me that I’ve never lived, never said, never done. I understand the ache of being invisible, or worse… being misjudged.

What cuts the deepest is being labeled something bad simply because I’m a woman. A soft one, a quiet one. And yet, I’ve seen it in their eyes… the assumptions. The ones shaped by hurt, by anger, by corners of the internet that turn pain into blame.

Suddenly, I’m not Serina. I’m a "cheater", a "witch", a "liar", a "hoe", just because someone else made those men bleed before me.

I’ve read those posts, ones that say all women are witches, liars, manipulative. And I wonder if they’d still say that if they saw me as I am: a small girl in her room, surrounded by plushies and books, dreaming of a gentler world.

I’m not loud. I don’t hurt anyone. And yet, I pay the price for the wounds I didn’t cause.

When I meet men, I flinch a little inside. Not always visibly, but I carry that fear.

Will they see me clearly, or will they place me in the same box they’ve stored their bitterness in?

I find myself staying quiet, not sharing too much, not praising my softness or my kindness, afraid they’ll think I’m pretending. That I’m performing innocence.

But I'm not. I’m just... being.

I’ve met good people, too. And I try to remind myself of that. I try to remember that the world is not made only of cruelty. That I am not alone in this.

Others know what it feels like to be reduced to a stereotype because of their race, their religion, their silence, their softness. We all go through that.

When we choose to think differently, act freely, or just be ourselves instead of following what is "expected," society can be so cruel, quick to label, reject, or even hate.

Sometimes, it feels too heavy to step outside.

The world looks at anything different with harsh eyes,

and I, carrying my gentle dreams, my soft voice, my tender ways,

become a target for their fear and rejection.

I don't hurt anyone, I only exist as I am, quietly, delicately,

yet it seems that simply being different is enough for them to hate.

It makes me hesitate, makes me doubt, makes me afraid.

Why should I offer my heart to a world that is so quick to wound it?

There are days when I would rather stay hidden,

wrap myself in silence and softness, where no cruel gaze can reach me.

Not because I am weak,

but because the hatred outside is so loud,

and my soul was woven from whispers and petals.

It hurts to be hated for existing.

It hurts to see kindness and difference punished.

And sometimes, it feels like the world leaves no safe space for souls like mine.

And so, I live with this quiet contradiction: I fear being misunderstood, and yet I keep being myself. I protect who I am, but I refuse to bury her. I bloom softly, even when no one’s looking.

Because maybe one day, someone will.

🥀"On Humanity, Fear, and the Choice to Stay Soft

Sometimes I say I don’t like humanity.

But deep down, I think what I mean is, I’m disappointed.

Disappointed that something so vast, so full of potential,

so capable of kindness and creation,

can also carry so much violence, so much misunderstanding, so much coldness.

I don't think any group holds all the darkness.

I believe humans, all of us are born with certain things inside:

anger, jealousy, fear, hunger for power…

but also: love, wonder, care, and softness.

I’ve met people who hurt just because they were hurting. I ’ve met men who feared women, just like I’ve feared men. We are all reflections sometimes, each carrying shadows we didn’t choose.

When I meet someone, I don’t assume the worst.

But I stay quiet. Observant.

Not because I think they’re guilty,

but because I’ve learned how quickly some people decide who I am without even knowing me.

Misanthropie, It’s a feeling, not an action against anyone.

It’s tiring to pay the price for others’ actions.

To be called names, judged, disliked, misunderstood,

when all I want is to live gently.

To be myself.

To be seen as myself.

But still,

I stay soft. Even if it’s behind walls sometimes.

I choose to believe that even with all its flaws,

humanity still has rooms filled with light.

And I can live in the corner of one of them.

That paradox, being misanthropic because of how people themselves dehumanize each other.

It’s not that I hate people because they're people.

It’s that people hate too easily.

They hate in categories.

They don’t even need to know you,

they just need to see your gender, your skin, your clothes, your softness.

And suddenly you’re a concept.

A stereotype to mock.

Not yourself. Never yourself.

I became distant not because I wanted to.

But because the world doesn’t listen.

It points. Assumes. Labels.

And suddenly you’re no longer a person.

You’re an idea in someone else’s story.

A villain in a stranger’s mind.

How am I supposed to connect like that?

People talk about empathy, but practice essentialism.

They say “we’re all human,” "we all matter" and they're all pro-life but judge by boxes.

Even the ones who’ve been hurt… turn around and hurt others just the same.

It’s ironic, isn’t it?

I became a misanthrope because I believed in individuality.

Because at first, I didn't believe we’re all the same.

Because I wanted to be seen for who I am, not what others fear I might be.

I still believe in souls. In light. In tenderness.

But I live in a world where individuality gets erased in seconds.

And that… is why I stay distant.

🥀I’ll keep writing.

Not because I always feel confident, but because it helps me breathe.

Because sometimes, it’s the only way I can say things that matter to me.

I’ll protect my softness.

Not everyone deserves to see the most delicate parts of me.

Being gentle isn’t a weakness. It’s a choice, and I stand by it.

I’ll stop trying to make sense to everyone.

I don’t fit in neat boxes. I’m not always consistent.

I have contradictions, and that’s okay.

I don’t have to explain why I care deeply one day and want silence the next.

I’ll stay cautious, but I won’t let fear turn me bitter.

Yes, I’ve been hurt.

Yes, I’ve seen people judge, reduce, and label.

But I won’t become like that.

I still believe people are more than what they show at first glance.

I’ll keep my distance when I need to.

I don’t owe constant presence to anyone.

I’m allowed to disappear for a while, to take care of my mental space.

I’ll be honest with myself.

Even when it hurts.

Even when I feel alone in how I think or feel.

That honesty is part of my strength.

And even if I sometimes doubt it,

I’ll remind myself that who I am is not wrong.

Not too much.

Not too sensitive.

Not too guarded.

Just me. And that’s enough