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Introduction
There are things we never say.
Not always because we are afraid, but because saying them might hurt someone else. Because some truths, even when they are true, can still break people. Some words carry so much weight that we would rather swallow them than throw them at someone's chest.
And that is where silence begins.
Not because it does not hurt.
It does.
But sometimes silence feels less violent than a truth delivered without anesthesia.
That is why we all carry stories.
Stories we never tell completely because we are ashamed, because we are afraid of being judged, or simply because we believe no one would care.
I carried mine too.
For years, I swallowed them with anger, guilt, sarcasm, and that smile a woman learns to wear when she does not feel like explaining the disaster she is carrying inside.
Until one day, I got tired of staying quiet.
And when a woman is truly tired, no throat is strong enough and no silence is big enough to contain everything anymore.
I wrote because I understood that if I did not let out everything I had buried inside, my soul was going to explode. Because some pain does not heal by talking. Some wounds only begin to close when you finally dare to write them down.
But I did not write this book so anyone would feel sorry for me.
I did not write it so anyone would admire me.
And I definitely did not write it to give lessons about life, love, or personal growth.
No.
This book was born because I needed to say the things I had swallowed for years. Because I was tired of pretending everything was fine while carrying a complete fucking disaster inside me that even I did not understand.
Maybe that is why this book does not come clean.
It comes with anger. With wounds. With sarcasm. With questions. With memory. With that part of me people tried to silence, judge, or make more respectable.
And now, let us get to it.
Why F*cked-Up Stories, Brutally Honest Words?
Because I have sarcasm to spare.
Because people have called me crazy for as long as I can remember.
Because I have been called a slut more times than I could ever count.
And instead of denying it, I decided to turn it into a flag.
Because you have to be extremely sane to survive this fucked-up world, and just crazy enough not to let it break you completely.
Then one day, I understood something:
Words only hurt while you are still afraid of them.
The day you claim them, they stop being insults and become freedom.
That is why I put them on the cover.
Not to provoke.
Not to shock anyone.
But because that is also who I am.
I am sarcastic because life taught me that if a woman does not learn to laugh at her own disasters, she ends up crying over them forever.
I am a slut... just like life itself. Because life seduces you, makes promises, fills your head with dreams, makes you fall in love... and when you least expect it, turns its back on you and leaves you there, learning how to stand up on your own.
And I am crazy because I still believe in people.
Because I still help, even when people let me down.
Because I still get back up after I fall.
Because I still dream.
Because I still write.
Because I still believe life is worth living, even when life is a complete bitch.
But this book is not only about me.
It is about all of us.
Because we have all loved someone we should not have loved.
We have all lost someone.
We have all felt guilty.
We have all forgiven too much.
We have all been broken at some point.
And all of us, at least once, have had to gather our own pieces without anyone helping us.
So if you are looking for a neat, orderly autobiography, this may not be your book.
But if life has ever slapped you hard enough that it still stings...
Sit down.
Because while you are reading my story...
you may end up finding your own.
