Finding Light in a World That Feels Like Hell

Once upon a time, in a world where every step was a cage, a daughter found herself imprisoned. The world that confined her was intricately crafted to mirror the shadows of her past. Her mother, a demon from the depths of hell, ruled over this twisted prison. It was her duty to torment her daughter, ensuring she would never find redemption.

Through sick and twisted games, the mother tested the daughter’s resilience. But the daughter refused to be broken. She endured the manipulations, drawing strength from within. With each cruel game, the daughter’s determination grew, and she vowed to overcome.

In the end, the daughter triumphed over her mother’s wickedness. She emerged from the depths of despair, proving that even in the bleakest of circumstances, redemption is possible. And just like that, the world that had been her prison shattered, freeing her from the chains of her past.

There are days when this world feels like hell to me—not in the traditional sense of flames and demons, but in the emotional torment it delivers. To me, hell looks more like an endless rollercoaster of heartbreak, confusion, and invisible pain. It’s the ache of trying to make sense of a world that often feels senseless. It’s living with wounds others can’t see and fears they’ll never fully understand.

I often describe life this way because, for much of it, that’s how it’s felt. The pain, the isolation, the exhaustion of constantly trying to survive in a world not built for people like me—it can be overwhelming. But even in the darkest metaphors, I try to leave room for hope.

In a recent short story I wrote, I surprised myself. I gave it a hopeful ending. One filled with redemption, with the possibility of change, with the idea that healing isn’t just something we dream about—it’s something we can actually move toward.

Because no matter how heavy things get, I still believe transformation is real. That people can grow. That we’re never truly stuck, even when it feels like we are. And that includes me.

I’ll always be a bit different—quirky, unconventional, and hard to pin down. Not everyone will get me, and I’ve made peace with that. I used to see that as a flaw. Now, I see it as part of my truth.

I’m still learning. I’m still growing. And more than anything, I’m learning that it’s okay to be exactly who I am, even in a world that doesn’t always make space for it.

If this is hell, I’m building my own exits. And they lead toward light.