What I truly dislike is when people tell me not to cry.
I’m quite aware that not every problem can be fixed, and everyone makes mistakes. But whether that problem can be fixed, or I end up crying over spilled milk, I should be allowed to shed tears. I learned a long time ago that I can’t just bottle up my sorrow and anger, and I need to express myself (not in a destructive way, of course) to feel catharsis, to feel better. To certain people, why am I not allowed to cry?
If I’m not allowed to cry in a place that I thought to be safe, fuck that shit. Maybe I should look for a safer space elsewhere. And if I can’t find another safe space, it’s a good thing I have The Diary.
One more day before my birthday.
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A part of 14 Days of The Deranged Writer (2025).
Header image: Hans of Pixabay. Edited in Adobe Photoshop 2025.
The Diary of The Deranged Writer 