Choke, choke, choke the hyperventilation

It's like the blog slowly turns into a place for memoars, but what is a blog for if not that? When I finally have a place with no facade, let me have it.

I remember when I was sixteen and in the first grade of upper secondary school. I was still naively happy, and I believed I had found the right path. I was all alone in a hallway, waiting for my friends who've had another lesson than I, and this other girl comes up to me and asks if everything is okay.

I laugh and say: yes, everything is okay!

We never spoke again. I was turned into air. We're not friends on any social media. I don't even remember her last name.

I truly wonder what would've happened if I said: no, I'm lonely. Help me.

But that doesn't happen. Not in Finland. We suffocate in silence, suffer in the dark without others knowing. I have the hardest time ever to tell people when I'm down, except my fiancé. But then there's the other thing. If I, everytime I feel like shit, tell him, he'd probably be bored. Again? Why don't you do anything to it?

Because I'm a fucking weak person, that's why! I suffer better alone. Without people prying and knowing. Without pity. But deep down, I want pity. I want people to ask, are you okay. Deep, deep down.

It's a constante debate. Hide it in the dark? Or admit? Both are bad. Admitting is hard, hiding is easier, but trying to choke a hyperventilation is not always easy either.

it's a lose-lose situation.

Her name was Alexandra. The girl who asked me if I was okay when I was sixteen.

And I can't remember if anyone, ever again, has asked me out of the blue if everything is okay. No one knows. Or then they don't care. Or they have put a taboo on the subject.