I want to talk to you about trust and about monsters. Those who destroy all the hope you have in mankind. Those you love because they were once humans you cared about. But then, one day, your world crumbles down. Because he messed up. The man you admired messed up. Somehow, you knew about it, because they told you when you were younger. Because you were old enough to understand without judging. Because you were old enough to make the difference between the man you knew and admired and the man who acted desperately decades ago.
Twenty years after it happened, you get a call. It’s her. She’s crying. You never heard her cry. She tells you he is going to jail. 2 years. You don’t have time to say goodbye. They didn’t let him say so. He had to take the bag and go. For a month, no one can visit him. And you’re here, more worried than you’ve ever been. You don’t have time to judge. That’s when your priorities change. You don’t excuse, you don’t accept, you never did, you never will, but at this precise moment, something counts even more : His life. You want him to live. You’re scared that he’d decide to end his life, because beyond the monster, there’s a fragile man. Insecure. With no self confidence. He needs us all. Alone, in jail, in the jungle of mankind, you heard he got beaten up by some of the inmates. And you’re there, on the other side of the concrete walls. You are powerless. The violence from inside hurts you like a slap on the face, so does the reality of what’s happening to you.
No one could understand. Everyone would judge. It’s so easy to judge. I did too. I would have reacted the same, but this man, I know him. I care about him. I saw the articles in the newspapers. This coward author who wrote a net of lies just to find some interesting content to publish. This coward who published his full name in bold letters when he didn’t even find the courage to publish his own. I was so angry, so revolted, and I still am. Even now, about three years later. I still remember. The place and time. The setting. The article. How I wished my grandparents would never read it. These lies would kill them. I was so angry, and so worried. So angry that this freaking journalist spit on him like he did in his article saying he was a cold blooded person who showed a poker face at his trial and didn’t seem to regret what he did. He was a wreck, he was crying all the tears he had. And this man found a mean to transform reality into a sellable piece of shit.
So yes, I know monsters. Many of them. People who went to jail, people who cheated, the pain of knowing that people you love left this world too early, at only 23, I’ve seen way more than an average person would have. Truth is, no one is average. People are fighting battles we don’t know about. I don’t expect you to understand. The opinion. The pain. How it feels like to live with all of this. How quickly the dark memories can stain your heart when positivity leaves your mind for a tiny moment. How easy it would be to go crazy. The amount of inner strength it requires to keep it all inside. Because, as I said before, no one, not even you, could understand. How frustrating it is not to be able to talk to anyone about it. Because they would judge monsters when you see humans.
So yes, I’m a little quiet sometimes, I often need to be on my own to forget about the world. I can’t say life hasn’t been easy on me. It hasn’t, maybe, but the gift of life comes with things you cannot control. So the rest is just a matter of perspective.