I guess I started writing because I felt silenced. Heh, funny, isn’t it? That in all of this worlds’ madness, I find peace in the solitude of where I type my troubles. Thinking through this life’s trials, I find clarity. I find peace. Then, what do I do? I post my work online, and disrupt your entire day with the thoughts of my blessed and wretched ill mind. 

“What people are ashamed of usually makes a good story.” F. Scott Fitzgerald.

A few days ago I came across some gossip girls’ text messages filled with my name, crowning me the latest victim of their bullying. The initial message was screenshotted and sent to another phone, and then from that phone sent to several more. I write this not for pity, only to set the precedent for which the rest of this piece is inspired by.

What Do You Exhale? 

By J. Abrams

My father is a good man. I mean, actually one of the good ones. It is purely against his nature to hurt anyone else, in fact I refuse to believe he ever has. I know of no one else whom I can say the same. My father, along with others, was sent the horrid message about me. Unlike the others, however, I know the message never left his phone once received. He never confirmed this, I just know. 

I just know, because all of my life I watched as my father absorbed gossip, negativity and hatred. I watched him bite his lip and remain polite in situations that tested him. Rude characters never got a reaction out of my father that was anything less than God-fearing.

My father is not oblivious to the wicked in this world, he recognizes the evil. He receives the messages, yet doesn’t forward them on. The simplest way to put it is this, my father only breathes clarity, love, and truth into this world. 

We all inhale scum and filth. The question is, what do you exhale?