Share it or silence it?

Or should I tell in a way you might not guess it?

Have you ever found yourself torn between telling the world what you've been through and staying buried in the silence, because what if some of them take advantage of you? 

It feels like standing in a room where everything is there, including your choices, decisions, and consequences. They tell tales of your love and betrayal, your courage and sadness, your resilience and fears, your risks and luck, and everything that haunts and praises you at the same time. Nonetheless, to the outside world, you are standing in your home, safe, secure, and loved. 

I realized this earlier in life, even when you screamed of the wound, and as a shred of evidence, show your hand to the world. They would question you about the blood you got on your hands and not the wound you are suffering from. Some of them would believe that you deserve it. Some of them would pretend empathy to gather more information. Some of them would apply ointment on your hand if they want you to work for or with them in the future. Some of them would show you their scarred hands and tell you to heal yourself. The wound might be infectious if it stays exposed for longer. They would tell you to cover your wound in silence and heal without expectations.

In that moment, I found myself silently walking toward a vault. It's hidden beautifully beneath my pillow, amidst the blank pages of diaries, old journals, unfinished manuscripts, in the ink bottles, in the smoke of molten candles, and in the transparency of every tear escaped from the desperate shores of my eyes. In this vault, I keep everything that I couldn't tell anyone. This is not the escape door for me, but a place where I could show up without having to carry the weight of storms quietly on my shoulders. 

Wandering between the art and the hurt, I realized something. There's a way to confess your wounds, your scars, and the bluest skies of your life without being exposed for infection. Create art out of your hurt. Twist the narratives, develop the characters, keep the plot, paint the betrayals, sing the longing, and pen everything you've been through. You don't have to carry it alone. 

You need to understand and live with the pain in a way that won't overwhelm you. Sharing it with people may drain you. Because one might have survived the pain, but can't stand the judgment of it.