I LEARNED TO SUFFER ALONE

I learned to suffer alone. Not out of pride. Not out of strength. But out of habit. Like an animal that retreats into silence to lick its wounds alone, far from view. Instinctively. Without witnesses.

Since I can remember, I didn’t like crying in front of others. Not because I didn’t feel, but because I realized one thing early on: people leave. And they don’t always leave slowly. Sometimes they leave without explanation. Without goodbye. Without closure. And their leaving hurt me more than my own pain. So I decided – if it must hurt, let it hurt in silence.

I remember the floor. Cold. Quiet. I remember the window on the twelfth floor — my safe place. My eastern view of the world. It wasn’t just a window. It was an escape. There I watched the sun rise every morning. And no matter how heavy the night was, the sun came. Always. Without exception. It didn’t skip days. It didn’t get angry. It didn’t leave forever.

It became my most faithful companion. I knew — if I endure until morning, it will come. If I survive this night, tomorrow I will see the light again at the same meeting place. My pain and the morning sun had a silent agreement. It appears. I endure.

My pain was not gentle. It was raw. Heavy. Immediate. And that is why my words are like that. I don’t write gently because I didn’t learn that way. I don’t wrap the truth in decorative paper with a bow because my life rarely came packaged. My sentences are short because that’s how thoughts sounded in my head. My words are strong because they had to be stronger than the silence.

But there is something I only realized later. Suffering alone can be strength. But it can also become a prison. Because when you get used to carrying everything alone, you forget that it is allowed to lean on someone. You forget that there are people who might not leave. You forget that sharing does not mean weakness.

I thought for a long time that silence was protection. Today I know it was just a way of surviving. And surviving and living are not the same. Yet, I do not regret who I have become. Because that girl on the twelfth floor taught me endurance.

Not to prove how strong I am.

But to tell those who are still sitting on the floor in silence:

Endure until morning.

The sun is coming. Always.

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Originally published on Medium.