SALT (Preview)

PREVIEW 05

All I ever wanted was to fit in. That's what all of us have ever wanted the second we stepped foot into an entirely different system—a society between desk lined spaces, and sugarcoated compliments and metal doors.

Right?

We're all stumped by peer pressure to give in, to fit against the mold even though it's going to do nothing but hurt, to change the way we see things, to be oppressed, to stay silent.

We're deaf, and stuck and reformed—because not all of us fit into that mold.

I didn't fit into that mold.

The edges of it cutting into flesh, and words stuffed into mouths with a thread of a fist at the other end of the line.

I never knew how dangerous that was. I was blinded. By a social hierarchy between halls and four walls and desks—attaching strings on limbs, reciting a script made to destruct the ones who refuse to fit into that godforsaken mold that I wanted to squeeze myself into.

I became a puppet.

I didn't just run away from you, from the memory of that day, from myself — I stood and watched from afar, next to the people who talked out of their asses without knowing anything, all while they picked at your edges and pointed their fingers at me after.

"Who should be the culprit?"

Of course, I was the perfect excuse. It's easy to be blamed for things you didn't do because who else would perpetuate such heinous acts against the person they hate most?

I don't have the words to tell you otherwise. What is there to defend when I'm a nobody — a nobody that carries the straining baggage of misplaced anger and blames you for falling victim under my father's hands?

I let them use me, because with that, I also felt relief. To hand over control, to finally recognize some of my demons' faces.

I was so blinded. I wanted to fit in so desperately that I forgot how to digest words and dominant commands—I forgot fists weren't meant for faces, knives weren't meant for skin, I forgot the line between losing and being lost. I didn't even realise how much pain I was inflicting.

Redirecting the hole in my chest against you — the crowd fueled the fire and killed whatever's left inside of me in the process. The eyes wanted me to stop thinking and I did.

Like a fool.

I grew unfeeling, whilst all of them revelled behind my back—cheering me on, egging me to show you that I'm one of them.

What a coward.

I'd take it all back if I could. I'd receive every blow for you if I could. I'd go to hell and back for you if I could—stay if you'd want me to stay there because I honestly deserve to be stuck in hell.

I'm so sorry.

I'm sorry for everything.