It was something that I painfully dread going out in the middle of a storm, for I hated storms nearly as much as I loathed headaches, Monday mornings and bad grammar. I turned to have to go through my life changing experience, finishing some do paperwork, the day the storm hit the city, on a […]
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The Post With No Title

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It was something that I painfully dread going out in the middle of a storm, for I hated storms nearly as much as I loathed headaches, Monday mornings and bad grammar. I turned to have to go through my life changing experience, finishing some do paperwork, the day the storm hit the city, on a holiday.

Going from one place to another, with nerve wrecking stress, car traffic, and rain gushing through the slightly open car window, my last stop left everything hanging by a thread, whether I was to go through surgery two days from now, and my tendency to lash out on anyone in front of me included.

Walking down the pavement, struggling to keep still my scarf and umbrella, tripping on uneven cobblestones, splashed by speeding cars, tears threatened to fall down my cheeks. I started to recall all the moments, the days that led me into going through this phase of nonchalance. I no longer cared what happened, surgery or not, success or failure. It all went down the same. People were still going to judge you, try with all their might to ridicule you and break you down, to meticulously disturb your inner peace. When my phone rang, it was my mother, again, checking up on me, worry engulfed her voice, she was wondering why I wasn’t back home yet, and why on earth would I rather choose to roam aimlessly in the streets in this kind of weather.

All my life, mo one seemed to understand my love of this solitary state, my serenity, my lack of openness. Everyone seemed to ask for more of me, wanting to dig in deep, and as I never failed to physically be there for everyone, help them with solving their issues, I needn’t be emotional nor share too much of my self. I liked to face my things alone, to stroll through difficulties all by myself. All I ever asked was some compassion. I wasn’t a miserable person, I didn’t need other people to make me feel better, I didn’t want to be fixed. I didn’t like for my pain to be soothed and I definitely never fathomed being consumed by someone else’s presence. Nothing really matters that much, nothing is that relevant.

“The more powerful and original a mind, the more it will incline toward the religion of solitude.”

– Aldous Huxley

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