“You’re still so young, it’s too early for everything.”
Sounds gentle, doesn’t it?

But that sentence only makes sense under one condition:
The kind of life the person saying it has lived.

Because most of the time, these words come from people who grew up with loving families, financial security, and emotional support.
Me? My mother and father were alive when I was a child — physically, yes.
But emotionally, they were never really there.
No warmth. No protection. No arms that made me feel like I belonged.

That absence carved itself deep into me.
And I still carry the weight of it today.

Yes, I’m 22… but we’re not the same age.
Women my age are moving into their own homes, building lives, creating futures.
I’m still trying to survive.

I’m still fighting for the basics:
I don’t have a job. I don’t have an income. I don’t have the freedom to build my own life. And most of all, I don’t trust anyone.
I’ve explained this so many times — why I’m angry, why I break down, why I snap. But people just keep coming back with the same tired words. The same empty “It gets better with time.”

But it doesn’t. If anything, time just makes it hurt more.

I compare myself constantly. Because not comparing? That’s a luxury I can’t afford.
What’s still a dream for me is already a memory for them.
While they’re “finding themselves,” I’m still searching for a place just to exist.

That’s why I’m bitter.
That’s why I’m furious.
And that’s why this difference between me and my peers chips away at me a little more each day.

We may be the same age, but we are not living the same life.