Violence of Noise
Why do I reside in silence when my mind is an overflowing archive of words? Perhaps it is a learned economy - a pragmatic response to a lifetime of being interrupted, existing in spaces where my sentences were treated merely as pauses for others to reload their egos. Or perhaps it is the lingering, visceral echo of a stepfather's chronic yelling - an auditory tyranny that weaponized my PTSD and hardwired me to treat spoken vulnerability as a liability. The unglamorous truth is simply this: I am a silent observer. I have forfeited the crude, combative theater of speech because I have very little to say to the room, yet universes to commit to the page.