Lydia martinez
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Stories (19)
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The Borrowed Feelings Store
The line at the Borrowed Feelings Store wrapped around the block, but no one seemed bothered. People waited patiently, holding their empty jars, tapping their feet, checking their watches. A woman behind me hummed softly, the kind of tune someone uses to keep their hands warm.
By Lydia martinez5 days ago in Fiction
A System That Forgets the People Inside It
The first time someone tries to ask for help, they don't do it because they want to. They do it because they can't keep going the way they have been. Because something inside them cracked quietly, like a fracture no one saw forming. And when they finally gather the courage to say, "I think I need to talk to someone," the mental health system answers with its favorite line:
By Lydia martinez5 days ago in Humans
The House Of Quiet Evenings
The light always entered the hallway in the same way, though no one could say exactly when it began. Sometimes it seemed early, sometimes late, but the family received it as if they had been waiting for it all afternoon. It wasn't something they talked about. It simply happened, and they adjusted to it without thinking.
By Lydia martinez8 days ago in Fiction
Too Loud For Me
A quiet confession about the days when patience runs out before the morning even begins. There are days when you wake up already exhausted. Nothing has happened yet, but everything bothers you anyway: someone's voice, a message, a too-cheerful "good morning," as if the world didn't understand that today you're not built for that. It feels like your patience quit overnight, leaving you alone with a mood you can't even explain.
By Lydia martinez11 days ago in Confessions
ANGER
Anger, today I name you without hesitation. I will not soften you or turn you into anything else. You are anger, and I recognize you as you are. You are the tension that appears in my body, the heat that rises without asking permission, the pressure that pushes me to speak louder or to stay silent so I don't destroy what I care about.
By Lydia martinez12 days ago in Poets
ANXIETY
Anxiety doesn't knock. It doesn't wait on the porch or clear its throat politely. It bursts in, uninvited, dragging cold air behind it, settling on my chest as if it owns the place. It breathes with me, but faster. It steals the air before I can use it. It makes me feel like I'm living inside a body that doesn't belong to me.
By Lydia martinez13 days ago in Psyche
Pride and Fire
From the beginning, what we had was never gentle. Never kind. Never easy. What we had was collision, friction, fire without permission. A silent war where neither of us wanted to give in, where every word was a weapon and every look a challenge.
By Lydia martinez15 days ago in Confessions
