loud house.

I grew up in a house where it was loud and I didn’t understand.

There were good days and bad days.

On the bad days, all I would hear were voices.

Screaming.

Yelling.

I was young, I didn’t understand why there was always so much noise.

Why she was always yelling.

I’m not young anymore.

I understand.

Schizophrenia.

I grew up in a house where I heard my mom yell so much it was unbelievable she didn’t strain her voice.

I grew up in a place where I appreciated the quiet more than the loud.

I liked the quiet over the loud, the fact that my mom was in peace, getting some sleep, than fighting with her demons.

I don’t like loud.

I don’t want to be it.

Why do people want to make me loud?

I don’t want to be.

I want to be quiet.

I want to appreciate the stillness and quietness of a moment.

I don’t want to be in a crowd.

I don’t want to hear yelling.

I don’t want to hear loud sounds.

I want to envelope myself in music.

I want to listen to the sounds of the night.

I want to listen to the quiet.

Some people blast loud music into their ears, and I don’t understand how. I love music, but I can’t listen to it when it’s too loud because it hurts my ears.

I grew up in a house where it was loud. That doesn’t mean I grew immune to it.

I grew scared of it.

I don’t like loud.

Whenever I hear yelling, I think of my mom. And her pain.

But in my household, everyone tends to yell. Not because they’re angry or anything, because it’s in their blood. If you’re not loud no one hears you.

People yell, it’s the way they talk. Or how the people around me talk.

My grandma yells whenever she’s talking on the phone or praying. I don’t like it. But she has too, because she can hardly hear in her old age.

I don’t hate loud, I despise it.

Whenever I turn the fan on, I can hear yelling that’s trying to be masked by the sound of air swirling around and around. Sometimes the yelling is reality. Other times, I just hear the yelling in my head. No one’s yelling, it’s only in my memory, haunting me.

I don’t like loud, yet people want me to be that.

I don’t like that the loud people judge me and make me want to be loud.

I don’t want to be.

I don’t like that they make fun of me.

Don’t they understand this is more?

My anxiety, my mom, my sensitivity, my darkness.

But all they do is make fun of my quietness, and push me to be like them.

Just because I grew up in a loud household, doesn’t mean I want to carry it around.

I want to be quiet, why do they act like it’s a phase I have to get out of?

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