Who am I to tell my private nightmares to if I can’t tell them to you?

We all carry our nightmares in unspoken places. The details are different, but the outcome is the same. They want to steal our humanity, to ease the weight into their own souls. Don't you let them. Don't give them one piece of you they can't take. Don't you become the empty vessel they want to believe you are.

Tell, rather than write, because I have nothing to write with and writing is in any case forbidden. But if it’s a story, even in my head, I must be telling it to someone. You don’t tell a story only to yourself. There’s always someone else. Even when there is no one.

If you can't tell your sister, If you can't tell a priest, 'Cause it's so deep you don't think that you can speak about it To anyone, Can you tell it to your heart? Can you find it in your heart To let go of these feelings...

Now I'm going to have nightmares about myself.

Every one has wishes which he would not like to tell to others, which he does not want to admit even to himself.

What's the good of knowing if you don't tell anyone?

Don't tell me! Don't tell me!

If it's a story I'm telling, then I have control over the ending...
But if it's a story, even in my head, I must be telling it to someone.
You don't tell a story only to yourself. There's always someone else. Even when there is no one.

We have become victims of our own art. We touch people on the outsides of their bodies, and they us, but we cannot get at their insides and cannot reveal our insides to them. This is one of the great tragedies of our interiority—it is utterly personal and unrevealable. Often we want to say something unusually intimate to a spouse, a parent, a friend, communicate something of how we are really feeling about a sunset, who we really feel we are—only to fall strangely and miserably flat. Once in a great while we succeed, sometimes more with one person, less or never with others. But the occasional breakthrough only proves the rule. You reach out with a disclosure, fail, and fall back bitterly into yourself.

I have found it impossible to talk to anyone about my problems. I couldn't face the embarrassment, and anyway I lack the courage. Any courage I had was knocked out of me when I was young. But now, all of sudden I have a sort of desperate wish to tell everything to somebody.

You don’t let a guy put his hand on your chest, and put his foot on the ball and look into your eyes and tell you a bedtime story. No. sorry.

Stop telling people when to tell their experience. we call it trauma‼️ dont tell anyone, the time frame to complain about rape. if we are going to report rape or harassment. half of the men are guilty.

Don't laugh at my fantasies," she said. "Not if you want to be in them.