Member-only story
HOW I STARTED WRITING POEMS – AND BECAME A MEDIUM WRITER
Sometimes, no matter how hard we try, our efforts fade into shadows—dismissed with a glance, a scoff: "What nonsense is this?" or a scolding glare fixed only on flaws: "What’s the use of studying you?" All I ever craved was one kind soul to pause, truly read, and see the spark beneath.Born into a middle-class family of four, I was my mother’s hope for a brighter future. She pushed me into speech contests and dance recitals, dreaming they’d light my path. But the stage was my nightmare—the moment I stepped forward, terror gripped me, whispers of laughter and comparisons echoing like thunder. Parents beam with pride, yet when others dazzle brighter, the sting of "not enough" burrows deep. The spotlight became my enemy; I resented even the shining stars who entered our home, fearing their glow would dim mine.As years unfolded, I dodged the brilliant ones, clinging to a single friend—my quiet confidante. Then she vanished, leaving me adrift, convinced I was unneeded. Mother’s curses pierced deepest: "Why don’t you just die somewhere?" Father’s praise for my cousin twisted the knife—perhaps I was never meant to be theirs. Negativity bloomed like weeds, but that friend had been my sunlight, always whispering, "You have so much good in you." Her absence plunged my world into endless night.Days blurred into a merciless cycle of complaints and death wishes. I never fought back—even…
