By Resilience. Photo by Mariam Armisen

I found out that writing is easier than speaking. Once more, I feel useless, desperate. And yet, I despise myself for feeling this way. So much unhappiness in this world, and I deeply know this suffering is not only mine. Once more, morbid thoughts wash over me, overwhelmingly. I try to bury them deep, I try to forget them but I can’t. Unkind words forcefully push their way inside and there’s nothing I can do. Such tiny whirlwind strips my body apart as if it was nothing.

I’m hurt. I cry for my mom, or the one who will see the truth behind my eyes, the one who will love me. And more and more I think that one doesn’t exist. No one will ever want to have me. And I’m tormented when I think of my lonely prospects. After all, what are success, wealth, family and recognition if they come without you, who don’t exist… I don’t think I will ever get to feel complete without my other half. Those who say that this is not a priority are just lying. I could die tomorrow, in ten minutes, in one second… and money would never make up for such emptiness, such feeling of not having lived fully.

Is it too much to ask not to be this lonely? To not feel this emptiness again? Is it too much? I’m a drug addict in the need for my fixe; yet, I never met my drug. Or, it has strangled me, since I knew what the word love means.

I’m waiting, patiently.

Is it a woman?

Is it a man?

What if this was not important? Go tell it to society! This society that is suffocating me with its rules and expectations. And I keep waiting, in vain. I know why I can’t find you. You are hidden behind those tears I swept over my sexuality, behind an upset mother. Your hand plays on me as in a broken violin. Yes I seek you, and I know you wait for me, behind those walls. Woman! I shout Woman. Yet nothing but your gender is what I have. You are still escaping…