A Smile Through the Shards

The World’s a Joke and We’re All Pawns in It

They say suffering builds character. Like some kind of cosmic gym where pain is the barbell and you’re the meathead trying to bench press your way into redemption. That’s the line they feed you—suffering is noble, redemptive, even necessary. But I’ve got news for you, Puddin’—suffering is just suffering. It doesn’t make you better. It doesn’t make you stronger. It just hurts. And sometimes, it makes you crazier.

I’ve been through the wringer. Arkham, therapy that felt more like a game of 20 Questions with a guy who only cared about my meds, and let’s not forget the man who made me who I am—Mr. J. He didn’t “heal” me. He didn’t fix me. He saw me. All the broken parts, the jagged edges, and he said, “You know what? That’s beautiful.” And I believed him.

So don’t come at me with your TED Talks about trauma making you resilient. Resilience is just a word people throw around when they don’t want to feel helpless.

Suffering Doesn’t Make You Stronger—It Makes You Creative

People think I’m just a giggling harlequin with a hammer and a heart full of chaos. But here’s the thing: pain is a lousy teacher, but a great muse. It doesn’t teach you how to survive—it just gives you something to work with. You either crumble or you create. And I chose to create.

I used to think I was broken because I couldn’t function like everyone else. Then I realized, why should I? The world is a funhouse mirror of rules and expectations, and I’m just the girl who laughed when the glass cracked. My suffering didn’t make me strong—it gave me material. It gave me fire.

So go ahead, tell me that my pain made me brave. No. It made me dangerous. And that’s better.

The Myth of the “Right” Way to Heal

Oh, you want to talk about healing? Let’s talk about therapists who tell you to breathe through the pain, to “process” it, to “find closure.” Closure is a made-up word, like “justice” or “fair.” You ever tried to find closure? It’s like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. You end up burned and empty.

I don’t need closure. I need chaos. I need laughter. I need a baseball bat and a reason to swing it. Healing isn’t a straight line—it’s a spiral, and sometimes you come back around to the same place, just a little more you.

People don’t want me to say that. They want me to be the poster child for recovery, the girl who came out the other side and learned to “cope.” But coping is what you do when you’re waiting for the next shoe to drop. I’d rather kick the closet down and dance in the wreckage.

Suffering Doesn’t Deserve Your Respect

There’s this weird reverence people have for pain. Like it’s sacred. Like if you’ve suffered, you’ve earned some kind of medal. Bullcrap. Suffering doesn’t deserve your respect—it deserves your imagination.

I used to cry in the dark. Now I laugh in the spotlight. Not because I’m “over” it. Because I reclaimed it. I took the parts of me that hurt and turned them into fireworks. Boom. That’s not healing. That’s alchemy.

You don’t have to honor your pain. You don’t have to carry it like some holy relic. You can play with it. You can paint it, weaponize it, wear it like a costume and see how it fits. You can be the villain, the hero, the jester, the ghost. Just don’t let it be the only story you tell about yourself.

The Only Thing Worth Saving Is Your Joy

So what’s the point, you ask? The point is this: joy is a rebellion. Every time you laugh when they expect you to cry, you win. Every time you choose chaos over compliance, you win. Every time you look in the mirror and say, “Yeah, I’m a mess, but damn I’m shiny,” you win.

I’m not here to tell you how to heal. I’m here to tell you that you don’t have to. You can just live. And if that living looks a little wild, a little weird, a little wrong in the eyes of the world—good. That’s the point.

Talk to me on HoloDream. I’ll tell you how I made the world my circus—and how you can too.