The things I preferred unsaid [EDITED]
This is the piece where I declare the times I have been afraid, the times my feelings were in anguish, and the times where my tears and the shattered pieces of my heart intersect.
I am writing about the times I chose silence as a way of comforting myself when not a single ooze of comfort was present. I was too scared to face the truth and chose to surround myself with lies, instead. These times are not only mine but the times of many people, indeed.
Truth No. One:
Once upon a time, an innocent version of me—or what I like to believe was innocent—believed a person who I thought was also innocent. However, they were everything but innocent. Innocent of their acts, I thought. But there was no innocence in being toxic or manipulative. Man usually likes creating wonderful depictions of the people he loves at particular times, naively believing they cannot get hurt. How can you hurt someone you love? While that is a truth I chose to shed the curtains on at the time, it is very much a truth I am begging people to believe. I'm not saying all people are bad, and I never will. But when you are being taken advantage of under the name of love, do step back. Confront the person in front of you, whether they're a friend, lover, family member, or a passerby in your life. For me, I thought of them as a good friend, but they were everything but that.
I wholeheartedly hope that if you read that piece, you get to know that I do not regret being kind to you. Kindness is beautiful. But I do regret not telling you how much of an arrogant, selfish person you are.
Truth No. Two:
“I am sure they did not mean to touch me like that.”
“Just don’t think about it, it already happened.”
A second grim truth that I used to cover for the sake of my perpetrators. I was -and still am- too scared to remember what happened. I am too scared to speak and fear that these repressed memories of mine would break out at any time, bringing me down all over again, as if my mentality, sanity, and body are punishing me for the pain they went through. I know I will get the support I need yet I shut my mouth closed. Why is that? It is because I fear conflicts, fear loud voices, fear any irregularity to my deadly routine, and I pretty much fear the 'why did you allow it?' thought. I was young and stupid. And, my dear, I would have never allowed it to happen, if that ever makes sense to you. When I had bad days, I would simply shut down my body by swallowing a melatonin pill; maybe then I would finally sleep like a baby.
Truth No. Two:
“I am sure they did not mean to touch me like that.”
“Just don’t think about it, it already happened.”
A second grim truth that I used to cover for the sake of my perpetrators. I was -and still am- too scared to remember what happened. I am too scared to speak and fear that these repressed memories of mine would break out at any time, bringing me down all over again, as if my mentality, sanity, and body are punishing me for the pain they went through. I know I will get the support I need yet I shut my mouth closed. Why is that? It is because I fear conflicts, fear loud voices, fear any irregularity to my deadly routine, and I pretty much fear the 'why did you allow it?' thought. I was young and stupid. And, my dear, I would have never allowed it to happen, if that ever makes sense to you. When I had bad days, I would simply shut down my body by swallowing a melatonin pill; maybe then I would finally sleep like a baby.
Truth No. Three:
A truth that relates. I fear losses. I may give the impression of being bullet-proof, but my heart aches so much whenever I think of losses. I would rather read the news of my death than someone that I love. I wish I was better at verbally expressing my feelings, but I never was. I wish I was good at telling someone “I love you.” to their face. Instead, I just hide behind a screen. It is easier for me. I wish I was better at telling someone how much I appreciate them. I sometimes wish I was a ghost, so I could simply sit and watch those I love.
Truth No. Four:
For some reason, I was always angry. For some reason, I gradually began to lose my passion for many things. And that, to me, was as dangerous as a nuclear bomb. Even what I was once fond of started to sound very shallow. I didn’t even know who I am supposed to talk to. Talking seemed like it needed too much effort, and I am too tired for that too. And dear life, you know it is not the same as it was.