Okay so you actually clicked that random button. I genuinely didn't think anyone would find this but here we are lol. Like, what are the odds? You must've been really bored or really curious to click around enough to end up here. Honestly? I'm impressed.

Welcome to my accidental therapy session, I guess.

People call me Aikyoong now. Not my real name, obviously.

Back when I was a cringey teenager with questionable taste, I went by "babykyoong." Go ahead, laugh. I can hear you snorting through your screen.

The "kyoong" part came from my unhealthy obsession with Baekhyun from EXO—if you know, you know, if you don't, consider yourself lucky you missed my K-pop phase.

"Ai" was just me messing around with my actual name until it somehow became 愛, which is the Japanese character for love. Pretty weeb of me, right? I've always been that way though.

Look, I'm gonna be real with you from the start. I was never the girl who had everything figured out. Never the prettiest face in the room, never the smartest voice at the table. Definitely not the type who could work a room or make everyone stop mid-conversation just by existing. And no, I'm not fishing for compliments—this isn't that kind of page.

I've always felt like I had to work twice as hard as everyone else just to be noticed, to matter, to exist in a way that felt significant. And you know what? I'm kinda okay with that now.

I used to think I was broken because I had to try harder than everyone else just to be noticed, but maybe that's what makes us interesting. Maybe the girls who have to fight for their space in the world end up with better stories to tell.

Let me paint you a picture of my childhood real quick. My mom used to say I cried too much when the house got quiet. I'd lose my shit if everyone left and it was just me and the silence. She'd always hug me after, wipe my face, and tell me I needed to learn to stand on my own because she wouldn't always be there to fix everything.

Turns out she was preparing me for the inevitable, because she died when I was in fifth grade. Just like that. One day she's there making breakfast and nagging me about homework, and the next day I'm supposed to figure out how to exist in this cold-ass world without her.

Everything changed after that. New city, new house, new school, living with my dad who meant well but had no clue how to handle a kid who'd just lost her entire world.

Something in me broke during that transition and never quite healed right. Like I missed some crucial lesson on how to grow up without falling apart every five minutes.

Then I discovered the internet, and holy shit, it was like finding water in the desert. Finally, a place where I could actually be heard, where people got my weird humor and didn't mind that I stayed up until 3 AM talking about absolutely nothing and everything.

For the first time, I felt like I belonged somewhere. But of course, because I'm me, I had to learn everything the hard way.

Here's the thing about being starved for connection—you start making really dumb choices. You overshare with strangers. You trust people way too quickly. You give pieces of yourself to people who have no idea how to handle them carefully. You mistake attention for affection, interest for love, and convince yourself that whatever crumbs people throw your way are enough to live on.

Here's where my story gets really fucking stupid. I used to make art—digital stuff that I'd post everywhere. People actually knew my work, shared it, talked about it. Sounds cool, right?

Wrong. The moment people started paying real attention, I completely panicked. So what did my brilliant brain decide to do? Delete everything. Every single piece. Changed my username, pretended that version of me never existed.

Smart move, past me. Really fucking smart.

But this became my signature move. I'd build something real, start gaining momentum, people would begin to care—and then I'd vanish. Poof. Gone. Like I never existed in the first place.

It's not that I wanted to hurt people or leave them hanging. Sometimes the world just gets too loud, you know? Sometimes I need to hide somewhere quiet where nobody expects anything from me.

I remember streaming with this fake-ass cheerful voice, cracking jokes and being the entertaining little internet monkey, when in reality I hadn't eaten anything substantial in three days and I was crying behind my camera. The performance became so automatic that sometimes I'd forget where the act ended and the real me began.

But maintaining that "always happy, always on" persona was fucking exhausting. Sometimes I'd look at myself on screen and think, "What kind of sad pathetic creature am I being right now?"

The anxiety of constantly having to be interesting, funny, and worth people's time would build up until I just couldn't do it anymore. So I'd disappear. For weeks, sometimes months. No posts, no streams, no explanation to anyone. Just gone.

Then I'd feel like complete garbage for abandoning everyone, which made me want to hide even more. It's this idiotic cycle that I'm still trying to break out of.

But you know what? Despite all the messy shit I'm about to tell you, I need to say this first: I'm genuinely grateful for the internet. Like, weirdly, stupidly grateful.

Yeah, I made some catastrophic mistakes online, but I also met some of the most incredible people who changed my life in ways I never expected. I met people who genuinely cared about me, who celebrated my wins and held my hand through my breakdowns.

I connected with creators I'd admired from afar, and some of them became real friends. People started commissioning my art, actually paying me real money for something I created with my own hands. When I streamed, viewers would donate just because they wanted to support me, and suddenly I could afford groceries without counting every penny, could treat myself to a nice meal without guilt.

I found friends who pulled me out of my darkest moments, who reminded me that I was worth fighting for when I couldn't see it myself, artists who collaborated with me on projects that made me feel like I actually mattered.

Sure, most of those connections are just fingers-crossed memories now, but they were real when they happened.

I even found love—real, messy, complicated love that didn't work out in the end, but taught me what it felt like to share my heart with someone who actually treasured it. These connections, even the ones that ended, shaped me in ways I'm still discovering.

Alright, here's the part that's really hard to write, so bear with me. I tried to kill myself once. Not like, "oh I thought about it" but actually fucking tried. Obviously didn't work since I'm here typing this dramatic-ass story, but yeah, that happened.

I'm not going into details because this isn't a cry for help or some attention-seeking post. I was just in this incredibly dark place where I'd convinced myself that nothing would ever get better and I was tired of pretending otherwise.

But then—and this is going to sound completely insane—I heard someone or something whisper, "You think leaving is easier? Life's hard for everyone. Cry if you want, but then wash your face and keep going."

When I opened my eyes, nobody was there. Maybe it was Mom somehow finding a way to kick my ass from beyond the grave. Maybe it was just some louder, angrier, more stubborn version of myself finally speaking up. I don't know.

What matters is that I did exactly what the voice said. I got up, washed my face, and kept going. What else was I supposed to do? Make a post about it?

"Hey guys, tried to die last night but I'm back, anyone want to queue up for Valorant?" Yeah, that would've gone over well.

I'm not perfect.

God, I'm so far from perfect it's almost funny. I've hurt people who didn't deserve it. I've been hurt by people I trusted completely. I've ghosted friends when my social battery died, then showed up weeks later expecting them to understand. I've made mistakes that still keep me awake at three in the morning sometimes, replaying conversations and wondering how I could've been so fucking stupid.

But I'm learning. Slowly, messily, but genuinely. I'm learning to be gentler with myself when I fuck up. Learning that needing space doesn't make me a bad person. Learning not to look for love in places that feel like war zones. Learning to sit with loneliness without letting it consume me completely.

Most importantly, I'm learning that healing isn't this neat little progression where you get better and stay better. Some days I feel invincible, like I've got everything figured out. Other days I can barely drag myself out of bed and everything feels impossible. Both things can be true without meaning I'm broken or going backward.

There are still so many pages left to write in this ridiculous story. Maybe some of them will be things I share publicly. Maybe I'll get brave enough to really put myself out there someday. Or maybe these thoughts will stay here in this hidden corner, just between us.

If you're still reading this absolute novel, I'm genuinely amazed. Maybe this was way too long and I should've kept it shorter, but fuck it, you made it this far. Thank you for giving me some of your time, for reading to my messy story, for clicking that stupid random button in the first place.

If you've been following my journey since the babykyoong days, thank you for sticking around through all my disappearing acts and random comebacks. You're either incredibly patient or slightly masochistic, but either way, I appreciate you. If you found me during my Valorant phase, thank you for making those streams feel like home when I really needed it.

If you ever need someone to talk to, someone who understands what it's like to feel like this, my secret Discord is "Aitheora." Add me. Say hi. Let's talk about whatever you want, or play games, or share music, or just exist in the same space for a while.

I can't promise I'll always be online, because that's just not how my brain works. But if I see your message, I'll reply. That's a promise I can actually keep.

Before you go, please take care of yourself, okay? Be gentle with yourself. This world is tough enough without us being our own worst enemies. Drink some water. Try to sleep when you can. Go outside sometimes, even if it's just for five minutes.

You're doing better than you think you are. Trust me on that one.

P.S. Yes, I still absolutely suck at Valorant. No, I'm not going to stop playing it because I'm apparently a masochist. And yes, this feels way less like a secret now that you've read some my life story, but thanks for being here anyway, you beautiful weirdo.