Unsent Letter

A story of Unspoken Words

In the quiet of my room, with the world pressing heavily on my shoulders, I wrote a letter that I never intended to send. It was a letter addressed to my family and friends, the people who once surrounded me with love and understanding. But now, a gulf had formed between us, a chasm of disbelief and misunderstanding that left me feeling isolated and unheard.

The letter was my attempt to bridge that gap, to reach across the void and explain why I speak out about my vaccine injury. It was never about convincing them or demanding their support. It was about sharing my truth—a truth that I had lived through, a truth that had altered the course of my life in ways I could never have anticipated.

As I wrote, the words flowed like a release of all the thoughts and emotions I had kept bottled up inside. I recounted the days when I felt something was wrong, the doctor's visits, the questions, the confusion, and finally, the realization that what had happened to me was real. I wasn't imagining it; I wasn't being dramatic. This was my reality, and it was terrifying.

But more than anything, the letter was about the silence that had followed. The silence from those I loved, those who had turned away, perhaps out of fear, disbelief, or simply the inability to reconcile the person they knew with the new reality I was presenting. It hurt in ways that I struggled to put into words, but in that letter, I tried.

I explained why I speak out, why I couldn't remain silent even when it seemed easier. It wasn't just for me—it was for others who might be going through something similar, who might feel as lost and alone as I did. Speaking out was my way of reclaiming my voice, of making sure that my experience was not erased or dismissed. It was an act of survival, of self-preservation, and of hope that maybe, just maybe, someone would listen.

When the letter was finished, I read it over and over, feeling a mixture of relief and sorrow. It was everything I wanted to say, everything I needed to say, but in the end, I folded it carefully and put it away. I never sent it. The words remained between me and the paper, a testament to the struggle I faced within myself.

But writing the letter was not in vain. It helped me clarify my thoughts, to organize the chaos in my mind, and to prepare myself for the possibility that one day, someone might ask to hear my side of the story. And if that day ever comes, I'll be ready. 

The letter may remain unsent, but the words, the feelings, and the truth it contains are still very much alive, waiting for the moment they are needed.

Peace and blessings,

Martha