ThirtyThree

  I was born with an unforgivable certainty: as something clean, absolute, and rare. I saw it early, and once you see it, the world becomes unbearable. Because the world does not love greatness, it fears it. It feeds on it, dulls it, tears it apart, and calls the destruction “virtue.” That is why I learned to hate the good. People think I destroy myself because I am weak, or because I am cruel, or because I am confused. They are wrong. I destroy myself because I see too clearly. To love something pure in a world that exists to corrupt it is a form of torture. I could not bear to watch the beautiful be dragged down to the level of the ugly, the exceptional to be smothered by the mediocre. So, I chose a different cruelty: I would strike first. I would ruin what I loved before the world could touch it. If I broke it myself, at least it would remain mine. That is why I leave men I admired. That is why I praised what I despised. That is why I aligned myself with weakness and vul...

There is a pattern in my life that I have learned to recognize, even though I still don’t know how to stop it. It feels like an emotional roller coaster that never truly ends, only pauses long enough to remind me what peace tastes like before taking it away again. I get small moments of calm. Fleeting ones. Moments where my mind feels quiet, my chest feels lighter, and life almost seems possible. I experience peace the way you smell food cooking in another room close enough to know it exists, but never close enough to sit down and eat. Before I can hold onto it for even a minute longer, it disappears. And when it does, what follows is never equal. The pain comes back heavier, louder, and ten times more exhausting than before. What hurts the most is the awareness. I know when I’m lying to myself. I know when I’m chasing an imaginary version of success or social status, hoping it will finally make me feel whole. Sometimes I can’t accept that I was the one cheating myself, building dreams...