I’M FINE

Everything seems to be made of polystyrene. Dreams, reality, politics and life, there is no longer anything solid in this damn world. Everything is easily destructible, corruptible and flexible, everything gives way to a minimum of pressure. By now man has become of polystyrene and everything created by himself, something that visually seems stable, but really is not, something that serves to pack the fragile (sensitive) part of man himself, but which really does not ensures “non-destruction”. It is that we live dealing with the external part of things, without taking care of the substance, this goes from politics understood as the “art of governing a state” from the Greek, to the citizen (from the etymology of the word politics); therefore it is from a group of people up to the individual who live regardless of what is really present inside things. We are the myth of the cave, we deal too much with shadows, and too little with reality. Everything around me smells of something tasteless, monochromatic and pseudo-plastic, therefore polystyrene, which is the most insignificant thing in the package, but the one that holds everything together. This “polystyrene” in reality holds only the lies together, and holds the houses without any foundations. We are convinced that we live in something solid, which actually does not exist, we are dreaming, this is what we are doing.
Anger. Here’s what I feel. With all the fucking strength in my body, all I feel is anger. I can’t say why I’m so angry, but I can say that I’m afraid of losing the people I care about, I’m afraid of suffering again, I’m afraid of living well, I’m afraid of being stupid and crazy. Maybe this makes me anxious, maybe this makes me fucking pissed off. To calm myself down on the days when I think I’m freaking out I try to think of a word, I repeat in my mind only that one until I feel I have repeated it enough, because the mind is mine and there is nothing that can hurt me, it is not there. ‘it’s nothing that makes me feel uncomfortable, it’s just me and myself. Anger because I can’t have a solution for every problem. Anger for a child that I always see sad. Anger for all men who do harm. Anger for all mothers who harm their children. I can’t stop them. I cannot act. This makes me panic. I hate not being able to act, not being able to solve the situation, I hate not being able to save a child.

I CRIED

Today I cried again. Alone. In the shower.
I got good at not getting noticed in those moments. Or at least I try.
I don't always succeed.
The truth is that, by now, I have too much load to be able to "hide". Too many words that were not spoken, too many emotions that we tried to hold back. They are all there: stuck in the throat for several months. I'm on vacation and I should smile at everyone. But as usual he ruins everything.
Emotions press hard, like a ping-pong ball into the stomach.
The Miss who can make it at any cost, this time has succumbed to a crash.
Always at the right time when others need a hand and always at the wrong time when it's your turn. Because Miss doesn't know how to ask for help. They taught her (no, not her parents, but Existence itself) to stand on her legs and arms, because the mental stakes one clings to always disappoint.
And he does not know how to ask for help, nor take it, not even when that help comes spontaneously.
Perhaps because not all of them are inclined to Listening and even less lead to Listening to You.
Few are those who take words out of your mouth and pain out of your heart.
There are even fewer who understand you or those who care to understand.
No victimhood: everyone has their own difficulties in life and pain often tends to close rather than open.
Fears, then, govern the unmanageability of certain situations and you don't know what to do, how to help.
Silence. Thus we take refuge in Silence, when Speaking and being Listened to is the only real solution.
This is why, in the end, most people go to psychologists: because "no man is an island" and everyone wants to talk.
Listening is no longer practiced, not even towards oneself.
We hurt ourselves so much with words that don't come out, with emotions that don't vibrate, with gestures that don't happen.
Then you anesthetize yourself and think that finally that is the solution in which you no longer feel anything, to discover with horror that the pain remains and the joy fades too quickly.
It does not come out.
Today I cried in the shower. Alone.
I cried to cradle a little girl whose father died just over two months ago; I cried because that creature knows that her father was not a good father, but that he was hers and no one can take this memory out of her head.
I cried listening to the Woman with the chaos of feelings in the Soul, the indestructible Goddess who never wants to collapse ... pity that she is in a physical body that, sooner or later, had to yield to so many difficulties.
I cried for the youngest daughter, the one who wants to feel fragile because feeling fragile is a sign of humility towards oneself and towards one's own Existence.
I held the child, the lady, the youngest daughter .. I cried with them.
I burned my chest with sobs and ran out of tears. For today.
They will come back. Until I learn to speak.
He always destroys everything. Him and his anger. And now he sleeps and I am the woman who dreams when he sleeps.

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