I force myself to go on unbothered. What other choice do I have? Seeing pictures of myself making rounds; does that mean this is the end? I don’t understand, especially when most of them were posted online by me, about a year ago, and the rest were sent to the man I loved. Those pictures were no big deal, and when I am as open as I’ve been I don’t savvy why I am being targeted. And these are piling up in sequel to the rumors in motion. Waves of betrayal and treachery weighing me down now, I don’t know how to feel. I mean would hating him make things easier? Maybe. I wouldn’t know though, I have never been able to hate him. I don’t hate him and I hate that I don’t hate him.
Where I work, things like these are the end. Making it impossible for me to live among people or look them in the eye. Most of them aren’t as open minded as I, or as expressive. And even though they don’t say anything to my face, I know what they keep saying when I’m not around. I know what they are thinking from the judgmental looks I get from their lust hungry eyes when I walk by. Finally an explanation for why I stare at my feet and try my best to avoid another living soul while I walk. Can no longer walk with my head up high. Too ashamed for that.
People talk, rumors spread faster than anything else. Especially when you’re the mysterious thing who barely says anything and is almost always seen alone staring into space. People are curious about you. So when they hear something about you, that’s all they can talk about.
Recently I was reached out by an old schoolmate, we were pretty close back in school. And she said somethings that surprised me.
“You have no idea how much respect I have for you. Amilla life varah fucked up hisaabakah elhyma ingunee. You were, still are very brave. Stood strong and tall against all that damaged you back then.”
“Mashah maa fahun realize vee aslu eyru Ana ulhun haalu. All those things people talked about you, did to you. You were brave. So brave.”
What is she talking about? I don’t know. I don’t know anymore. When were things not so fucked up. I don’t remember a time people didn’t talk about me. Don’t tell me it’s because of my life choices, because there were times life chose me instead. And these words, they don’t make me happy, I mean why must anyone go through the amount of fucked up to understand another troubled soul? Just why. Can’t we all just be human?.
The last thing she said was “I am sorry we had to go through all that.” Me too honey, me too.
Why do we deserve these things? Even when we think we deserve better we are all struggling under a pile of crap we never owened up to.
She Was Sea 