I lost an uncle.
I broke up with my boyfriend.
I cried at home, not in the square, because my pain does not need to be seen.
On Facebook people have been telling me I am an arid carelessness individual.
Now imagine to translate this behavior into reality: a woman loses a husband or a relative and does not leave home for days. A few thousand people go to his house and screams: bitch, infamous, go out and tell us that you are suffering!
Because if she stays at home, shut up, out of the way, it means that she is attached to the bottle of whiskey and has a secret lover waiting in the cellar.
Madness.
A demonstration of pain - selfie
We live in a present increasingly similar to an episode of Black Mirror.
Do you know what?
Fuck people.
Fuck who can not think of himself/herself and has time to think about judging others.
Come with me if you want to live
Once upon a time, silence was seen as a sign of respect and as the maximum manifestation of pain.
Today if you do not make your post on Facebook with the photo of the dead, you're one who does not suffer.
Instagram is the certification of deep and intimate mourning, not what you say at home, what happens inside you, the tears that cry in silence.
No.
We have the duty to demonstrate.
Saturday night movida
This year I did not write anything on the occasion of my dad's birthday neither for my parents's anniversary..
So, I have to assume that I do not give a shit about them?