Back then, the darkness inside me weighed far heavier than my age could carry. Every morning, when I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling, realizing I had to live through yet another day — that was the moment it hurt the most. Breathing, eating, seeing people... they had all turned into obligations. None of them gave me the feeling of being alive. Days simply passed, nights came, things shattered, words were thrown, silences stretched, and the same cycle repeated itself.
Even for a child, that place was too heavy. In the dim light of a cold workshop, while other kids my age ran outside, I sat by a machine, trying to count how slowly the hours passed. I was ashamed of the cracked skin on my hands, of the stinging pain in my fingertips. Every day I was forced to go back there, something inside me was being torn away.
One morning...
While my mother was preparing breakfast, I gathered every ounce of courage I had. My hands were clenched tightly under the table, my heart felt like it was lodged in my throat. My lips were trembling. I didn't even know what to say, because in our home, there was no right to say 'I don't want to.' But something inside me was screaming that if I stayed silent that day, I would never find my voice again.
"Mom... I... I don't want to go to work."
The sentence was so heavy, it felt like each word shattered between my teeth as it left my mouth. My mother looked up at me. In her eyes... it wasn't anger, nor understanding. It was exhaustion. As if she, too, had long since given up but was still trying to hold on somewhere I couldn't see.
She didn't say a word. She just kept stirring the sugar in her glass of tea. That sound blended with the lump stuck in my throat. I didn't know what to do. Maybe if she had said something... if she had gotten angry, yelled at me, or held me... but she did nothing.
And right then, I learned — some silences weigh heavier than words. And some answers are never given.
I went to work again that day.
But I was no longer the same.
Something inside me had broken completely. Whenever someone spoke to me, I couldn't hear them. My eyes no longer saw what was in front of me, only the darkness they had memorized. Even when I spoke, my voice felt like it belonged to someone else.
And from that day on, I could never ask for anything for myself again.
Because a person learns to bury themselves after the first time they're denied.
YOU ARE READING
GOLDEN SPIRAL: THE CODE OF WOUNDS
Spiritual"HAVE YOU EVER READ A BOOK DESIGNED BY THE GOLDEN RATIO AND ENCRYPTED WITH CRYPTOGRAPHIC METHODS?" "Some people are lonely in crowds, while others scream in silence." This book tells the story of a child whose life began under the shadow of psycholo...
