Some days, I go back to those screenshots. not because I miss anything, but because I need to remember the truth. To remind myself that I wasn't imagining the hurt, the confusion, the constant second-guessing of my own reality. I wasn't "too sensitive." I wasn't "overreacting." I wasn't "the problem." The gaslighting was real. The manipulation was real. And the heavy shame I carried for so long? It was never mine to hold. It belonged to the person who twisted my words, questioned my sanity, and made me apologize for wounds I didn't create. Now, when I look back, I don't see weakness. I see someone who survived a version of love that tried to break them. I see someone who finally learned to choose themselves. And that's the truth I'll never let anyone rewrite again. Because my memory isn't the weapon it's the proof that I made it out.