I used to get angry, sad, upset, when I was told I’m not good. I was told I am mean, egoistic, selfish, lazy, stupid, angry, destructive, that I am a bad person – and it hurt so much, because all I wanted was to be a good person to those same people who said I am not.
I tried to breathe the right way. Be the right way. I was walking on shells, I had them in mind all the time. Could they not see it?
So I tried harder. It became my way, my purpose.
They still told me I’m bad. Bad person. Bad human.
I denied it, argued, told them again and again how much I care, I learned from mistakes I made, worked to make things right. It wasn’t enough. It isn’t enough.
Now… Today… I think they are right. No, I hope they are. There must be a reason for wounds, for pain I feel, for life I live. There must be. If they are right… Then maybe world is not cruel. I almost hope it is fair. I wish it is payment, price, sentence, punishment.
That way it would make sense. It would be worth it. My heart may deny it, my head wants to believe it’s not true. But if it is, it would at least make sense.
Alenka H., 2021