Liv had always been the embodiment of energy, a force too restless for the world to contain. She laughed loudly, spoke with confidence, and carried herself like a storm that never settled. To the outside world, she was radiant—bold, untamed, and endlessly driven. But beneath that lively exterior, something darker brewed, something even she couldn't name.
A year before she joined university, Liv found herself in a psychiatric clinic, not because she was depressed—she was anything but. Not because she was anxious—fear had never been her weakness. It was the voices. They came and went like whispers on the wind, speaking in tones she no longer questioned. She had long stopped finding them strange, but her mother had not. With a heavy heart, her mother took her to see a psychiatrist, fearing the shadows of their family's past creeping up on her daughter.
Mental illness ran deep in their bloodline. Her father, a man she had both loved and resented, had been a victim of it before he passed in 2018. Liv had inherited more than just his sharp mind and unbreakable spirit—she had also inherited his demons.
The psychiatrist noticed it instantly. Her disorganized speech, the way her thoughts danced chaotically in conversation, the exhaustion in her eyes. Though Liv looked stunning, had a loving family, a devoted boyfriend of nearly five years, and an intelligence sharper than most, something within her was breaking. The doctor never told her outright, but he spoke to her mother, his words heavy with concern. Mild schizophrenia, he had said. A diagnosis Liv was never made aware of.
She had always been the girl who dominated every room she entered—the little rebel in middle school, feared yet admired. The high school enigma, the one everyone envied. But now? Now she was just a girl trapped in her own mind, drowning in silence, yet too proud to call for help. She took the medications, though her frail body protested against them. She needed them to function, to maintain the illusion of normalcy. But the side effects turned her into something unrecognizable, a shadow of the girl she once was.
The world around her moved on, indifferent to her suffering. Yet, there was one person who refused to leave—Marvin. He didn't try to fix her. He didn't offer false hope. He simply stayed. Even when she screamed at him, pushed him away, and blocked him from her life over and over again, he remained. His love had never been about her beauty or her brilliance. He loved her for who she was, even when she didn't know who that was anymore.
During this time, Liv buried herself in her writing. She was working tirelessly on her first poetry book, a collection of pain and betrayal, of resilience and survival. She wrote through sleepless nights, through the haze of medication, through exhaustion that never truly left her bones. And in September 2021, the book was quietly published by an online publisher. It was available for anyone to read, but it was never meant for just anyone. It was a dedication—a tribute to those who had left her, and to the one who had stayed.
But her health did not improve. Instead, it worsened. Weeks passed where sleep never came. She forgot what it felt like to rest, to close her eyes and drift into oblivion. Yet, if anyone asked, she was fine. Liv was always fine.
Then came university—an elite institution nestled in nature, a place where she was supposed to heal. And in some ways, she did. Her classmates, sensing her fragility, cared for her in ways she would never ask for. The crisp air, the endless tasks, the responsibilities—it kept her going. And Liv thrived under pressure. She had no time to be sick, no time to be tired. When people relied on her, she didn't dare let them down.
By the end of October 2023, the weight of it all pressed harder. Her relationship with Marvin was crumbling, her department depended on her every move, and she had become the backbone of every event, every meeting, every moment of significance. They knew she was exhausted, but they needed her. And Liv, as always, delivered.
She never complained. She never said, I'm tired. Instead, she smiled, she led, she conquered. Because Liv had never been someone who admitted defeat—not to herself, and certainly not to the world.