Member-only story
I may piss you off, and I am okay with that.
Once again, my words have stung.
They have pulled back the sheets to expose the rotting flesh of disease underneath. Illness of thought that runs rampant in our culture of social etiquette.
As children we are taught to mind our words. Our mothers hiding our truth through gently excusing our voice when it bears too much reality. We grow up knowing that we must not speak of that which brings discomfort to others.
We even censor our experience to ourselves, when we disregard the hurtful actions of others through endless rationalization.
This society of pleasantries is creating a world where individuals are drowning in their own mental anguish. We only have each other to reflect off of, and when we paint solely rainbows, those who see the darkest of shadows are left isolated.
The deepest of dysfunction lies when we paint the brightest colours over the darkest shadows cast by others.
“You will be okay” they gently say, despite you screaming at the top of your lungs that you are “NOT OKAY”. You are curled up on the cold concrete floor of life, bleeding profusely from the gaping wound in your guts, and we stand beside you with a smile and a band-aid.
