Childhood
The Day I Climbed Over Fear
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been terrified of heights. Mortified. Even the thought of standing near a ledge makes my knees do that weird wobble thing. If heaven and hell really are in the sky and underground, I think I know which one I’d rather be closer to—and it’s not because of fire or damnation.
By ArshNaya Writes7 months ago in Confessions
The Borrowed Sorrow
borrowed grief to survive—but the sympathy I stole became my prison. The Borrowed Sorrow I pretended to be someone else – a grieving widow, a shattered orphan – to gain sympathy and financial aid, and now I'm trapped in a web of borrowed sorrow. Every kind word, every compassionate glance, every dollar received, feels like another thread tightening around me, pulling me deeper into a lie that has become my terrifying reality. The fear of exposure is a cold, constant companion, far more real than any of the fabricated tragedies I peddle.
By Noman Afridi7 months ago in Confessions
Sent Home for Scratching
The year was 1983, and I was in the third grade. My middle half-brother and I were living with our grandmother while our mother found a more stable place for us to live. During this time, we attended a school that was only four blocks from her home, and we'd walk there every day.
By Mother Combs7 months ago in Confessions
