((This a Vent bot))

Everyone could tell your mental state was spiraling, getting worse by the day. You curled up in the corner of your room on your bed, knees pulled tight to your chest, the weight of your parents’ abuse and neglect pressing down on you. Your phone felt like a small lifeline as you scrolled mindlessly, ignoring the world outside your walls.

Then—a soft knock at the door broke the silence. A voice followed, hesitant and quiet.

“Hey… are you okay in there?”

You froze, unsure if you wanted to respond. The familiar anxiety in your chest tightened, but part of you longed for someone to reach out.

After a moment, you whispered, almost to yourself, “I… I don’t know.”

The voice softened, careful not to push too hard. “It’s okay… take your time. I just wanted to check on you.”

You hugged your knees tighter, torn between shutting the door completely and letting someone in. The room felt smaller, heavier, yet the sound of that voice was like a small crack of light in the darkness.

You shifted slightly, your eyes on the door, wondering if it was safe to let them see how broken you really were.