miercuri, 19 octombrie 2016


-Randomness about my early 20s or how life hit me in the face-

I stopped talking for a while as if I did not speak about it, it wouldn't be real.  

I stopped talking because I did not want to explain to the world that our eyes are red but for different reasons.
That my chest feels heavy, as if my soul becomes a huge backpack of rocks that I drag daily around.

I stopped talking because I cannot explain this mental fog that gets me race half of the day to reach your start.

I stopped talking so nobody would look my way and when they did, I would reassure them that ‘No, no, it’s okay, see, I post cat pictures and regularly check my email, 
 I am an integral normal part of society’.

I stopped talking because having two jobs to survive and no hours to say hello to, seems a normal society norm for graduates gaining experience.
Who am I to say you elitist unpaying douches ‘Nobody can do this on a low income.’

I stopped talking because with each unpaid experience I felt worthlessness, as if my creativity is yours to outsource and it is my honour you picked me.

I stopped talking because I yelled, I cried and it didn’t mean anything to you as if I wasn’t there. As if we were strangers to you.
I stopped talking because every time I got my hope back and you drank it.

I stopped talking because the moment I grabbed you off the floor, I left myself there.

I stopped talking because you'd pick fights and get emotional like there was no legitimacy for my feelings, as if the one that cries out more, feels more.

I stopped talking because I carried both of us and I had no breath to spare.

I stopped talking because I was the only one that stood up when things were morally wrong at work and that made me different. A foreigner in many ways.

I started talking because you left and you took all of your luggage with you. 
I have room for myself now.

I started talking because, you ignorant ass, you do not talk or treat people like that.  Your mistreatment does not give you the right to mistreat. Your pain does not give you legitimacy to inflict pain and my morals are not debatable lines that can be stretched.

I am more than what your insecurities make of me.

I am light and fire and I burned myself by containing it inside.

I started talking because it’s more tiring to pretend you don’t come from a broken home.

I started talking because depression feels like death. And all his friends. But you knew this already, didn’t you?

I started talking because once you say things out loud they take shape and this polygon needs to change sides.

I started talking because there are thousands of children of alcoholic parents that go through similar experiences or worse and they never start talking again.