From the stitched-heart files.
Not a guide. Not advice. Just… residue.
How to Stay When Everything Says Go
I didn’t learn to stay because I wanted to.
I learned to stay because disappearing got expensive.
Running looks brave in movies.
In real life, it just means starting over with no tools again.
It means another empty toothbrush cup. Another lie about why you left.
I used to romanticize escape.
But eventually, even my exits felt like déjà vu.
You don’t have to stay because it’s healthy.
You can stay because you're tired.
You can stay because packing up your brain again would break it.
Some days, staying is the smaller wound.
If you’ve ever ghosted your own reflection...
or packed an emergency bag for your nervous system...
or measured the distance between meltdown and survival with your own breath—
You're not the only one still here.
If this fragment sparked something broken but familiar —
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