Current Crisis – The walls were thin. Her dignity thinner.
It started with a knock.
Then a warning.
Then a notice taped to her door like a scarlet letter:
“Disturbing the peace.”
She wasn’t violent.
She wasn’t loud on purpose.
She wasn’t anything they could fit neatly into a lease violation.
She was just breaking.
Out loud.
The walls were drywall and echoes.
She screamed once—
not at anyone,
just at memory.
But trauma has a decibel level.
Apparently, hers was above code.
The neighbor called the landlord.
Said it sounded “unsafe.”
He meant for him.
She tried to explain:
“I have PTSD. Sometimes I get scared in my sleep.
Sometimes I need to scream so I don’t self-destruct.”
They called it an excuse.
Said they had a building to protect.
She offered to soundproof.
They offered her 30 days.
She packed her life
into boxes that still smelled like fear.
The shelter didn’t have room.
The sidewalk didn’t care.
But here’s what they didn’t see:
She once saved a dog from traffic.
She makes art out of trash.
She writes letters she’ll never send
to people who never came back.
She screamed once.
And the world proved
why silence was safer.
