Skip this depressing post as there’s nothing uplifting or positive about it.
Silence isn’t glamorous. It’s not easy. Not fucking easy at all.
I have to endure constant belittling, mocking and yelling.
I don’t respond when I’m laughed at.
I don’t complain when I’m scared. I’m fucking scared.
I don’t respond when I’m being falsely accused or ridiculed.
I don’t tell anyone how scared I am of the known unknown – pass or fail school.
I don’t talk about how my financial situation is causing me to be physically sick in my stomach.
Sometimes talking to someone is healthy. I’m too scared to talk to anyone.
I don’t want to listen to how I made those financial mistakes, how I impulsively decided to quit medicine, how I am the one that keeps bringing myself to this depressing place.
I don’t want to talk because words can’t pay my rent.
My wife is with her family, looking after her bed-ridden dad, and I don’t want to burden her further. I don’t want to talk to friends because I don’t want to push them away further.
Writing? Fuck writing.
I don’t have answers to your questions.
Here we go again. Fucking circles.
That’s all I have to say.
Categories: The Journal