Chapter 1: The Room as a Universe
At 26, Joey felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, an invisible burden pressing him deeper into his worn-out mattress. The room, with its walls an undefined shade between gray and beige, was his private universe.
There, silence was a shield, shyness wasn't an obstacle, and social phobia didn't tighten his chest like a gag.
Depression, however, was a constant companion, a shadow that crept in even through the sunbeams stubbornly crossing the half-open blinds.
He could hear the household noises. His father's voice, harsh and loud, likely complaining about some news on television or something his younger brother, Léo, had done – or failed to do.
His father, a man of strong opinions and a short fuse, was a constant source of tension and discomfort for Joey, who felt particularly uneasy around loud people.
Joey knew that in his father's eyes, he was a disappointment: a grown man still living with his parents, without a "real job," and with "all his fussiness" – as his father used to label Joey's silent struggle.
Often, doubt gnawed at Joey himself, wondering if his father wasn't right in his harsh assessments.
In contrast, his mother Clara's gentle voice was a balm. She was likely in the kitchen, the aroma of fresh coffee beginning to mingle with the smell of toast.
Clara was the personification of kindness and understanding, the only one who seemed to see beyond Joey's apathetic surface, touching the pain he tried so hard to hide.
And there was Léo. The younger brother was Joey's opposite in almost every way. Sociable, popular, always surrounded by friends, and radiating an energy that seemed inexhaustible.
Sometimes, Joey would watch him from his bedroom window, Léo laughing with friends on the street, and a mixture of envy and sadness would wash over him.
He wished he could be like him, free and uninhibited, but the mere thought of interacting with so many people left him paralyzed.
Joey sighed, turning over in bed and staring at the ceiling.
His true refuge was his dreams. Not the ones he had while sleeping, but those he nurtured while awake: a world where kindness wasn't the exception, where newspapers didn't scream about wars, and evil was just a distant memory of a dark past.
A world where people like him didn't have to fight so hard just to exist, a world where he could feel safe and perhaps even use his penchant for entertaining and storytelling to make people laugh.
He cherished the belief that everything would turn out okay, but he often found his own faith in it sorely lacking.
The sound of his bedroom door opening startled him. It was his mother, a tender smile on her face and a steaming cup in her hands.
"Good morning, my dear," she said, her voice a safe harbor. "I brought your coffee."
Joey forced a smile back, more for her sake than because he felt like it. "Thanks, Mom."
She sat on the edge of the bed, the worried look he knew so well in her eyes. "Your father is... well, you know. But don't let it get to you, okay? Léo already left for college."
Joey nodded, taking the cup. The warmth in his hands was comforting.
"You have an appointment with Dr. Helena this afternoon, don't forget," Clara reminded him, tucking a strand of hair that had fallen over his eyes.
"I won't forget," he murmured.
The therapy sessions were his private battlefield, the place where, with great difficulty, he tried to dismantle the barriers that isolated him, seeking to understand his own feelings and, perhaps one day, those of others. Every small victory, like managing to go to the supermarket alone or answering a phone call without panicking, was silently celebrated by him and his mother.
"How about trying to come down for coffee with us today?" she suggested. "I made cornbread cake, just the way you like it."
Joey's stomach churned. The idea of facing his father first thing in the morning was daunting, a confrontation he always tried to avoid to maintain his peace of mind.
But his mother's hopeful gaze disarmed him. He found it difficult to say no to her requests.
"I... I'll try, Mom," he replied, his voice barely a whisper, hesitating as he organized his thoughts on how to face the situation.
It was a small step, perhaps insignificant to the world, but for Joey, it was the beginning of another day in his silent, private war – a war to, perhaps one day, help build the safe and peaceful world he so dreamed of.
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