It’s a viscous cycle. On normal days I can hide, sweep it under the carpet. Problems with friends, family, men. I choose to tell what I want to tell. The rest is privilege information. When I’ve had one drink too many, the carpet reveals itself. People frown at the mess that is collected. Then they frown at the person who sweeps it under. Exposed, caught red handed. And then day comes, most people pretend nothing happened. And the cycle starts again.
