I cried alone in the office washroom today. I hid it like a crime. I stuffed a handkerchief in my mouth and screamed so loud my throat started hurting. Somehow no one heard. I washed my face, cursed myself, combed my wet hair with my hands, and walked out with red eyes that were only noticeable if someone really looked.
Less than thirty seconds later I went back in. My tears wouldn't stop. I tried to choke myself just to make them stop. I didn't. I controlled it and went back to work.
For a moment I thought about giving my work to someone else and stepping out. Going for a walk. Screaming properly on the highway. Smoking. Anything. But I clenched my teeth and forced myself to work like nothing happened.
I tell myself there was one reason I cried, but I know that's a lie. There were many.
It started when HR got angry with me for a second. I was asking about my salary and tried to joke a little. She thought I was blaming her, like I didn't understand how the system works. I get it — she's overwhelmed, busy, dealing with too much, and I'm just a new hire asking questions. Logically, I understand her reaction.
But logic didn't save me.
The salary is less than I expected. Around 70% of it will go to rent. The company's free stay already ended, and I overstayed by more than 15 days. I'm being pressured to find a house quickly, but I'm not getting anything decent. Every option feels wrong. Every door feels half-closed.
And that thought came back — I want to die.
I hadn't felt it for a month. I thought it was gone. It's not.
The real world is hard. There are no kind people here. Everyone talks sweetly, but no one is actually on your side. No one comes to save you. And even knowing that, I still hope. I still look for kindness. I still believe maybe one day I'll meet someone genuinely good.
It's evening now, around 7. I'm going to see a house or PG. I don't know what will happen. I'll probably be disappointed. Or maybe I'll accept it quietly. Either way, one thing is clear — I have to take something. I don't have a choice.
