WHEN I WAS AN ITALIAN BLOGGER

There was a time when I had an Italian blog and I wrote poems, personal things, I showed my paintings, I talked about my problems. I didn’t talk about gossip and fashion and therefore few people commented. The thing that amazed me most about people who didn’t write me half a word of encouragement is that these same people filled other blogs with sweet words, looking like sensitive and empathetic people. I was left in absolute silence. I still see these people writing beautiful things commenting on the misfortunes of others. So I wonder, what did he dislike about me? My spontaneity? My knowledge? Why have they never seen my pain? I could have died and no one would have known. I can’t understand why these people write so many words to others and never write half a word to me. Yet I wrote comments in their blogs and I always participated and tried to read everything but this was useless. I remained invisible to them. Yet for others they have many kind words for everyone, they show a lot of affection to other Italian bloggers. Even now I don’t understand what was in me that he didn’t like. It seems so strange to me to see them write affectionate words to everyone and instead they did not deign to me and I never had even a word of comfort. They say that Italians are warm and affectionate, well as an Italian hostess I have to deny this version, because I have never had any comfort from any Italian user. Maybe I was too sincere. Maybe I was too naive. But I still don’t understand. I have found more love among you who live far from me, and even overseas, and not from my countrymen and I cannot understand this. 2,000 followers who read my blog and no charitable soul who would tell me anything. In the end I deleted the blog because their silence was very bad and I was very bad because even as an abused child I was always invisible. And so I thank all of you, I thank you from my heart, for being close to me because in certain bad moments a word is enough to make me understand that I exist.

THE CONDITION OF ARTISTS IN ITALY

I am an Italian artist and also an art therapist. In my country, Italy, so full of art, we artists are seen as useless people. However, we have some nice things. But our economic value is zero. We are a nullity to this company. I had an art blog and I deleted it. I had a poetry blog and I deleted it. Poetry and art are considered useless things in my country. If you produce you exist but if you don’t produce you don’t exist. It is really sad but now this is the situation.

I WAS A TOMBOY

The trouble is this. See how life goes. You see that working does not bring happiness. Not even love gives happiness. Neither are friendships. And neither does the money. So what’s the use of all this play? Adaptation to society. From an early age they tell us that we are here and we must do as they tell us to do. And we all to obey. Whoever escapes is lost. Lost or free? Boh. Freedom always has a price. But in the meantime we are in a cage like lions and have to be content with this stupid survival? I am tired. I have been protesting for many years, since high school, and giving advice through my blog, but I see that very few people are interested. They also don’t even know what zero waste is. Especially young people who use the web are not interested in things related to the climate. Or they say they do but then buy items that produce non-recyclable waste. I grew up in a family where my parents tried to reuse anything.
I’m italian. I used to dress like a boy until I was 22. I had been abused at 4 years old. So I didn’t accept my female body. I wanted to be a boy because I was afraid of being raped again. This fear caused a lot of shame in me. I always covered my breasts. I crushed it. I didn’t want to have a female body because I knew that men only love it as an object to own. Many years have passed and I am very different. I have long hair, I wear makeup and I always dress like a woman. But men have not changed at all.