I had my grandmothers who always prayed. They were Catholic and practiced the religion seriously. Before having breakfast, after having dressed and washed, they would put their hands together, on their knees in front of a statue of Jesus or of the Madonna, and prayed for a long time, at least an hour. Then even before eating they said prayers. Always pruma of food they said prayers, both in the morning at breakfast and at lunch and dinner. They had many pictures of saints and angels at home. They also kept statues of Jesus or Mary and always placed vases of flowers and often prayed on their knees. They were sweet and affectionate women. My mother also sometimes did these things but in the beginning, when I was a child, she was very good and sweet, but then she became bad, because of my father, and she still continues to pray but she is very different now. Sometimes men destroy women's lives. My grandparents were good. One read newspapers and smoked and was alone in the family shop. The other always went to the countryside and grew wheat and olives and told stories of the war he had fought. They never prayed. I've never seen them on their knees. They didn't even go to mass. They never swore but I believe they didn't believe in God. My grandparents died young. My grandmothers lived to be 95. Who knows how many prayers they said. They told them to protect others and asked nothing for themselves. My grandmothers were selfless women. I don't know if they still pray for us. My mother doesn't know who she prays for. My mother prays and then curses me. I believe his curses are effective but I want to believe that there is a powerful Light, more powerful than his evil words against me. I hope this light can protect me from all the evil you want for me. There are many women who change and become bad because of men. I've never seen a man pray.


The silence of things does not add or subtract, simply.
And a wind and a thirst rises to cut history in two - the thin legs of childhood, the black and white of summer.

Once the possible plots have been dissolved, fate is untied from the hands: rings fall and beauties are born thresholds and dreams, fixed inside the steady eyes.

I tore apart the time to find you, challenging the discipline of things when the fury is evening and passages open inside the name - remains of ovature, a clock that lingers in the silence of breaths.

Inviolable as wishes come true, we have been found by time with the pronouncement of the last born: perfect, meeting the day that is revealed.


... present, past and future, three crystalline and infinite filaments, follow their own destinies unaware of each other and can meet only in a single point of the universe: the only, the absolute, the thin strip of existence in which they come together in a deafening moment that is nothing but life ...

But if past, present and future know how to make themselves independent of each other, perhaps they also have the obligation to clear themselves into forty-six reckless chromosomes which, after having grouped together in that deafening moment, right on the edge of that single thin limb of existence, they have evolved into a self-conscious matter which, once again, is nothing more than human life ...


Since childhood, they feed our fear by telling us that we must not color outside the drawing, we must not go outside the lines, we must behave well otherwise we will be punished. So we are scolded, psychologically attacked, put back in line as if we must necessarily follow that path without the possibility of going further, even if we need more. 
This process occurs in all classes and for each child. Those who do not respect him are made to leave the classroom, are expelled, eliminated from school and from society. When I read posts in which it is said to abandon fear then I think about how much it has been rooted within us and how difficult it is to reprogram our mind that for years and years has only received directives to always live immersed in fear. 
So it is not easy one day to start doing things that have never been done, to start thinking that you can have a completely different life from the current one. Somehow that fear they instilled in us made us sure of ourselves, of our life, of our way of being. But where did it take us? It brought us into a house, unhappy, into a job, unhappy, into a family, unhappy, into a life that perhaps could have been different if we hadn't been brainwashed as children. Then starting to eliminate fear is difficult but not impossible. 
Doing something new is difficult but not impossible. Should we try? Certain. Follow other examples to help us understand how? Of course yes!
Sometimes we turn back to look at our past and ask ourselves: why did we make that choice? Why did we choose that person? Why didn't we do that thing? Sometimes we don't recognize ourselves. Who we were? Why did we act that way? What prompted us to make always wrong or harmful choices for ourselves? Do we now have a clearer picture of our life and of that process that educated us to be afraid of everything?

They put us in a cage of duties towards the family, of obligations towards society, a series of stakes and limits that must never be crossed, with the fear always on us of doing the wrong thing, of not being able, of not being able to do it. nothing if certain things happened. Often blaming ourselves, our heart, our mind, our way of being. Why have our teachers, professors, our schools done all this? Why did they want to make us so fearful and dissatisfied?
They locked us in a cage of fixed ideas and who gave them permission to do this? Our parents. But did our parents know what would happen to us? Maybe not. They too are not aware of what happens in schools where the fear of living is created. They too have not been able to live freely because they too have been diverted since childhood. They had to accept everything without being able to oppose it and it is now too late for them. but for us? Is it late for us too? I hope not.

You went to school, you were good, obedient, you studied a lot, you accepted everything and now? What do you feel now? Are you satisfied with what you have done? Do you feel free? Are you happy with what you have achieved? Is true well-being a home, a family, a life within the borders, within the limits drawn by other people, by educational institutions, by the government? 


I don’t know if any of you have a chest or trunk where you keep your memories. Sometimes the door of the past opens and many things related to our childhood come out. I opened the trunk of my memory and what I found is beautiful. My grandmother had this trunk, which was actually a chest, which served as a coat rack and bag storage, on which we children sat and imagined driving a carriage, complete with a simulation of the noise of the horses’ hooves, beating the timed heels on dark wooden board. This trunk, however, escaped its textbook location because it was in the corridor and did nothing but feed our curiosity as city children looking for new pastimes with which to pleasantly fill the long afternoons spent at grandmother’s house, slippers with heels and television on those TV programs that she called “useless things”. Although curious, we were not used to approaching the trunk in the corridor too frequently because we felt a sort of awe, most likely infused us by our parents, since inside there were “grandmother’s things that if you touch them she realizes and gets angry “. But one day I took courage and asked my grandmother to show me what was hidden in the trunk. She opened it and in the midst of letters, my grandfather’s military clothes, old newspapers and strange objects, photos of her past came out. I looked at that world in black and white and I wondered what colors the clothes and eyes of those people who unconsciously stared at me immortal from the photo cards had had. I asked my grandmother for the names of multitudes of objects unknown to me, information on their function, on what they had done, if the iron was really as comfortable as it seemed from the relaxed expression of a relative portrayed in the moment of starching a shirt. squares with an indecipherable color. And my grandmother promptly answered all my questions, standing, elbows resting on a round table now full of photographs; she seemed younger to me and it was easy for me to see in her the signs of that girl who survived the war.


I was an abused child, from 4 years of age a man molested and sexually abused me. I have been in therapy for 3 years, My psychologist was also a hypnotist but he could not hypnotize me because I risked an inner collapse, because I have no memory of who that man was, my mind has repressed the memory, and certainly he was a family person. And that revelation could have destroyed me. I’m not well, I also had breathing problems due to deformation of my diaphragm, because he was on top of me and crushed me. Nonetheless, I tried to have a normal life, even if no one had understood, from my drawings at school, that there was a monster in my life. I also had terrible nightmares and panic attacks, which are now rarer. Also after the abuse I no longer ate and they thought it was a disease and they gave me vitamins. No one ever understood why I could no longer put anything in my mouth. However, the years have passed and I have problems with anxiety, asthma, heart, physical pain, and many other problems that are the consequence of that abuse. Unfortunately I will never be able to have justice because many relatives have died and I don’t know which of them could have been. Therefore I continue my life in this world which is getting worse and worse.


Society presents itself as a sort of “pressing” (pressure) on a person, stimulating him to always seek conformity and forcing him to always pay attention to what “people might say” and forcing him to be “what others want see ”, preventing her from being“ that who is in truth ”. Man, as a part of society, becomes dependent on the opinion of others from childhood. At first it is caused by the desire to deserve parental approval and the respect of peers and later, in adulthood – by the desire to look like a happy and righteous person in the eyes of others. I often realized that sometimes this desire was so strong that it prevented me from living my life, even if it was a little different from generalized stereotypes. In society there is a clear allocation of “successful” and “losers”, “normal” and “strange” men and so on. Even though I understood that my vocation was different from the image, imposed by society and expected by my relatives, I kept trying to conform to that. One wonders, why? Internally many of us agree that depending on some other opinion is stupid, but in practice the situation is very different. The dependence on the opinions of others manifests itself and can be characterized by the envy of the successes of others, by the resentment caused by one’s own fiasco and also by the fear of disappointing the expectations of loved ones and close relatives, because we must have everything “like the others”. If not, “what will people say?”
Is this public opinion, which affects my life, justified? Do I really want to live my life not as my heart prompts me, but as others want? Come to think of it, my life, my health, and my success don’t change based on someone’s disapproval or condemnation. So what’s the point of paying attention to what others might say or think about me? (Here, of course, I am not talking about situations in which my actions could cause some harm to someone.) Often the cause of my inner wars becomes the opposition between “I want” and “I must”. I think most young people my age have already faced this kind of conflict, but in my case the roots of the problem go back to the Russian mentality. In Russian families, children get used to the fact that duty is above all else. The word “duty” dominates the interests of the child. You have to study perfectly, you have to play sports, you have to become a doctor like your grandfather and this list may never end. Saying “I want” is considered disrespectful. I often choose between my “want” and parental “must”. It is always a difficult choice. Finding the right solution isn’t always easy. Over time, I began to listen to myself more often, but that wasn’t always the case. When I was a child, I always did what my parents told me, even if I wanted to do something else. All this caused discontent, a bad mood and insecurity.


I wish I could hug all those little girls who grow up with the idea of ​​being wrong, who start hating their body.
I wish I could tell them that I know that story well and that they are not alone.
I would like to be able to embrace every single creature who, looking in the mirror,
repeats “I am wrong. I am too fat for this world”.
I wish I could hug the child Queen to tell her that it is not her fault,
that the world is full of things of so many things that she has not been able to see.
He was afraid that only evil existed.
Everything was easier as children, when the words didn’t hurt and the hugs were sincere. When the greatest pain was a skinned knee and the only difficulty was tying the knot in your shoes. Everything was more beautiful as children, when to touch the sky it was enough to go on the swing and a storybook made us dream. When a lollipop was enough to let the sadness pass and a light on to scare the monsters under the bed. When the world seemed perfect and we were in a hurry to grow. Now the world is scarier and sometimes I would like to go back to being a child
“What happened?” “That lollipops have become cigarettes, water vodka, bicycles, mopeds, sex kisses. Do you remember when flying meant swinging fast? When did “protection” mean using a helmet for cycling? When the worst you could get from a person was head lice? When did we only love our parents? Dad’s shoulders were the highest place in the world and Mom was a heroine. Your worst enemy was your brother, speed problems were caused by running too fast. “War” was just a game and the only drug we knew was cough syrup. The strongest pain you could feel was in your skinned knee and “goodbye” just meant “until tomorrow”. All this was the best thing in the world, but we couldn’t wait to grow up… “
A hug to the little girl I was, shy and insecure. To that delicate and sensitive child who cried, suffered, felt alone. A hug to the woman I have become, stubborn and imperfect but always sincere, a warrior with a heart that is always too open. To the woman who is trying to forgive herself and who never stops dreaming. For the woman that I am, for all the love I have inside, for my victories and my defeats, for all the times I’ve stood up, for all the monsters I’ve faced. A hug to the little girl I still am and will always be, with fairy tales in my heart and a thousand dreams in my eyes.


Having reached this moment in my life, after several disappointments on the part of everyone and after long periods of reflection, I realized that now I need to be treated with unprecedented kindness. No more anxieties, doubts and insecurities. I just want genuine, kind and tender feelings. I am not willing to compromise on what I want and what I deserve. Committing to capturing at least a fragment of innocence in people and feeling tenderness for it is the only way to avoid retiring to private life as fast as a cockroach when you turn on the light.
There are moments in which I would like to go back to when I was little, moments that I miss and that unfortunately will never come back. I miss that innocence and that light-heartedness that I had, I looked at the world with different eyes, a beautiful world. I imagined already after the age of 20 with a job, a guy who cared about me and that only I existed as a woman for him. I imagined many beautiful things, but everything remains the fruit of my imagination alone. I miss it when I played dolls, when I watched cartoons on TV, the beautiful ones that passed Italy one. I miss living in my beautiful imaginary world.
We played hide and seek within the city walls. I was hiding, you were looking for me. I laughed, you laughed. We spent the whole afternoon even just playing one game, because I was hiding really well, and you didn’t even know where to start looking. In the end, you always managed to find me, somehow, and all you could say, finding my umpteenth hiding place, was: “Oh!” I laughed, you laughed. We spent the afternoons like this, together, without ever getting tired, meeting every afternoon at the same point, without even having agreed. We loved each other like that. We were really too young to know what love was, to be able to say we knew it, yet there was something between us: a thread, a red thread that united our hearts, a little girl’s apron ribbon, long, perhaps infinite, he would have been able to keep us tied even if we had been at the two opposite poles of the world. Subsequently, however, all that I managed to glimpse in our afternoons of play was your miserable shadow, nothing to do with you. And finally, what I thought to be your shadow also vanished, but perhaps it was just a figure of my invention, created not to admit that you had abandoned me. I was left alone. Without you, without your shadow. Yet, I continued to spend the afternoons playing, giving the landscape that surrounded me tiny and timid smiles, waiting for your return. Every now and then I stopped, playing, and looked towards the path that led to your house, waiting to see you arrive hopping, with the hat in your hands and the sly and proud look that had always distinguished you. But you never came back. And I, I continued to wait for you: I could not accept the idea that our red thread had somehow been severed.


After about two months of forced distance, today I went back to walk in My Beloved park and it almost did not seem real to me that I could see with My eyes, My beloved trees and bushes that I have missed a lot, just like being in contact with Nature while I immerse myself in its colors and its unique smells that do so much good to My increasingly stressed and restless spirit. While I was walking rigorously accompanied by the pressing and unmistakable rhythm of My Beloved Music, the sun wide open on My face and the imagination at hand, I had almost the perception that everything suddenly stopped, as if these two months had never passed. actually existed, picking up where everything left off. The only difference is that this time I was wearing a mask, which contrary to what I expected, did not bother me particularly, as did the thousands of pollen scattered almost everywhere. They did not prevent me from fully enjoying that moment so long sought and uniquely Mine. Yet this time I began to let my mind pervade the various accumulated doubts and perplexities, to try to group them and let them escape. Now more than ever I feel the need to empty My Soul, like a trash can full of waste paper to throw away to make some space – and as I listened to the noise they made as they were thrown away, I began to feel a lot relieved, because they weighed on My imprisoned heart like a real boulder. The feeling of liberation I feel every time it happens cannot be described. I walk at a fairly high speed, I don’t want to exaggerate, I just want to walk, to enjoy that long-dreamed and desired peace, thus rediscovering the joy of doing something I love and that for a very long time I was not allowed to do, thus rediscovering it and loving it as if it were the first time. At a certain point on a bench I find a little girl sitting with the tool in her hand to be able to make soap bubbles, and immediately my childhood comes to mind when I also liked to do them. I am amazed that they still exist. Exactly like I did, you too love to blow into it to discover the effect it has. And just as it happened to Me, I was ecstatic to see on his face that veil of disappointment to discover that he had no possibility of command over them. The bubbles wander in the air without anyone being able to grasp them, and when they feel they have no air thrust, they go out by themselves. In short, they are without masters, completely free to fly and to choose as they want. So My life comes to mind and I think she is the same too, although she is Mia I feel I have no control over it, free to do and act as she sees fit, without ever deigning to ask me for an opinion at least. I can and must only accept what he proposes to do, thinking that whatever it is, he does it for My Good. For everything there is a why and I have understood that My Life intends to make me discover them little by little, without going around them so much, direct and straightforward as it has been from the beginning. However it is fantastic to be able to regain possession of My Normality, albeit with the right and due prudence. It was hard to leave when it was time to go home, maybe because I’m afraid I may have taken it off again, the very thought makes me tremble. I really hope it won’t happen, even if the imprudence of others does not give me hope! Better not think about it. Better to keep thinking about that soap bubble that wanders in search of its freedom, between memories and a lot of desire for redemption.

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