Is it the last? / Putrid

For once you left me alone, suspiciously enough.

I got off at your station and walked through her house, I was too tired to go the long way, the snow has subsided yet the cold was the same inside. I imagined you chatting there, or walking out or into hers. I imagined you seeing me as I would just walk away in silence for I'm no longer fighting for what doesn't want to be for me. 

The second I replied, she reached to you, she didn't answer to me anymore, nor did you. For the first time in a texted argument, you stopped. I guess this is what your heart desires, idealising someone new who's not new, but it's different kinds of fights you'll have.
At least I won't say and do everything wrong, I won't make everything about me, I won't complain too much, I won't gaslight you, I won't make you depressed and especially I won't have to deal with her anymore.
What a blessing to be free from being a mistake, though we both know I am and always will be just that: A waste of space, a mistake, an unworthy being who will never earn its right on this existences, or any other for that matter. Thank you, Mother, and thank you too.

It was the ambiguities that ended me: The look I saw that first time, the empty complaints, the "acquaintance" yet close enough friends for her to go through all this only to be able to talk to you again without remorse, the "if we bump into each other" while after the "good how she handled it" terminated in no more messages from you, despite the many times you've even shown up at my door unannounced.

It's different this time. It didn't take me long to join the dots and see that I was only a distraction during the main obsession, now I brought spice into your passionate existence and I can get off the pedestal, after all the mistakes, the lessons have been learnt and I don't want to be an unworthy waste of space anymore.

___________________________

How do I feel though? How does it work when I'm not writing for you? 

I remember times of constant words, no stopping to think, just flow out of this brain that is now too putrid to bring anything to life. My memories are as damaged as my heart, and as I try to follow my thoughts, they leave sense behind as they dissipate into a thousand overwhelming birds of prey, ready to sing that same verse on and on. 

Distraction, dissociation, same thing. Like weed, I can't focus anymore, how has my brain deteriorated so much in so little? Is it age that crawled on me silently? I am only 28 - old. Why can't I reach the depths anymore? Well, lovely, it is clearly because you have neglected your mind, going from emergency self-care to giving far too much, and so on, plus you have been scrolling mindlessly no matter the lack of energy, nor the screams of this dried brain of yours.

That lovely is what you have done again, because you are utterly incapable of managing life, over and over a failure, in ways you didn't even think you could ever be. The few things you thought you could handle well, well no! 

I need to go to the sun, I need to stop being in a hurry and in the company of machines, I need to find some peace, and that can only be away from this place, putrid as my own brain, away from being a mistake. 
But you know, idiot. No matter how far you go, you can't run away from these pains, these traumas... You will always be just a waste of space.

Louis.

   

 At 3:27am I looked at the third floor of my building while my chest tightened, is it really over? As I closed your door, the first piece of my heart fell, soon the second and third too, unlocking my bike and walking away. I stopped to look at your warm window, like a lighthouse I can never turn back to again.

    Cycling, dew on my face, cold down my spine, I remembered all the adventures in the sun and when cloudy too. Christmas for a week in my house, food and Ableton, cuddles and sex.
    Such intense, vulnerable, sensual sex. Nobody ever touched me like you did, nobody has such soft skin, nobody either such hands... Those hands of yours made me wet without trying, your arms, as you pulled them behind your head, are better than any, and your belly... what a treat it is just to be near you. I can't separate my heart from my skin, the intimacy we share, the freedom you've given me, the uninhibited ways you've shown me, I will never have again, so the orgasms I never even thought I could live.
    How I wish I could touch you right now, as I'm heartbroken and wet for your memory, I imagine being in your bed, naked as our bodies intertwine, the light is on because we fell asleep again, your arms all around me and our bare legs softly caressing each other. I press my ass toward you and you know exactly why already, so in little movements and indirect touches, your cock grows against me, so I grab it as I turn to find your mouth, your lips, your tongue with mine, all over the room... I wish I was touching you right now. But I'm in my room, alone and lonely.

    I looked out the window once more trying to catch the dream of having you here, texting me that you've arrived, waiting for me to come out and cycle to the lake, loving me as you did in the summer; as I still do right now. I made myself a tea and I left the sweater on because it was the only thing that still smelled like you, I wrapped myself in blankets and the hot water bottle, wishing I was with you: It wasn't, nothing and no one will ever be you, my amazing cuddly monkey, who's no longer mine.

   I love you, for no one has shown me such companionship, no one has satisfied such depths in my soul. We met by chance, but it wasn't at all. You are almost perfect, as you've said to me before, yet yours is about your health while mine is who I am. 
There's no one else I'd like to live in the countryside with, not even just myself. I told her today about our dream as I shared my fears and doubts, when I mentioned missing home. The image of us living in Chile came to my head, as my guts tightened, but in an excited, happy and nervous way. I think it was my intuition, the same that led me earlier to turn my goal of passing the C1 exam, into you coming to celebrate with me, but both of us feeling happy, having grown and matured more, it was all the goods without any of the bads.

    It's been two hours since I left and I miss you like never before. Imagining you waking up and finding out I'm gone, breaks my heart, but I couldn't stay. Another night up, yet uncomfortable and cold, because instead of your godlike warmth, I had my jacket on the couch as my mind filled up with images of your not-prude ex, while you had makeup sex, with flashes of your birthday when I wished I hadn't existed again. It hurts, it hurts so much, because you were the only one that never made me feel less important than others, I never dreamt about you not caring, you are the only one that cares in the way that fulfils my deepest needs: the will to do, the energy and enthusiasm, the banter, the constant companionship, vulnerability, freedom and intimacy, the uninhibited love we share is something I always longed for, sadly now that I have it, I can't keep it because it hurts you too much, and that is the opposite of what I wish for you.

   I want you to be happy, that's my main wish. If that means it's not with me, then I will deal with the pain until I heal, as long as I get to know that your soul is joyous and full. 

      I will continue to dream of our home, the music, the food, the banter, the company. I can see us dancing to disco any night as we grow old, excited still to whatever there is to come because there ain't no stopping us now, we are hella strong and wise as well. I see us cooking, banters and wine, ciders, cycles and sex. Jesus, the sex. I wish you were grabbing me right now, with your skinny fingers, pulling me closer to your body as I move my hips the way you like it, take off my shirt and look at me with unbelievable desire, use my body and talk to me as I do you. Kiss my neck, my chest, my breast but let me touch you too, let me kiss you, lick you, suck you, until you have to pound me as hard as you can, while I drip down your legs and mine. A feast, ending in the most satisfying orgasm each time, an unusual dessert for me, though common for you, put yourself all over my tits as I wrap them around your cock, only to laugh after, and kiss, and hug. Clean ourselves and cuddle for hours on end.

     Because it isn't just the sex. How I wish you were here, with your monkey arms wrapped around me, your warmth, your love. Louis, it is your love, it has always been your love, that which makes me stay no matter what, that makes me keep my hopes up and push you to grow, it's the inexplicable things that matter so much, all that you are and no one else is. It's the closeness, the liberation, the spontaneity, the wish to be together, the attention, the appreciation, the surprises, the dedication, the physical, the laughter, the energy, the journeys, the ideas, the adventures, the wishes, the joint dreams and goals, the back-to-backs, the Ableton mixes, the infinite birthday presents, the company, such real company. It's being a hundred percent in a world of 60's. It's you and your love what I love the most.

     But no matter what, I just want you to know that no one will ever have the place you have in my soul and my skin, I wish your musical goals come true and find happiness and a love that is as enough for you as yours is for me right now. I wish you had seen it as clearly as me, monito precioso de mi corazón, te quiero feliz y te quiero, te quiero tanto que hasta diría que te amo, pero te amo tanto que me quedo sin palabras. Como deseo que esos sueños juntos fueran realidad.
Quién más me tomaría una foto como esta? Solamente tú me amas así y no quiero dejarte ir, pero tengo que soltarte, porque mereces más que lo que yo te puedo dar. 

Te amo Louis, como nunca he amado antes, gracias por todo lo que me has entregado, espero que encuentres felicidad y amor como lo mereces, mucho más que lo que yo soy; perdóname por no ser suficiente, lo siento mi amor.

Psicoanalisis 1

 

Necesito volver a ti, amor. Necesito dejar de pensar tanto y lanzarme sin edición, sin dudas, sin expectativas, sin intenciones. Lo dijo el tarot y dejé de buscarte por completo, palabras que salen de mi cuerpo como vapor, como calor.

Estoy perdida una vez más, dudando todo lo que soy, fui y seré. Ya no sé que necesito, que quiero, que me gusta, que detesto, quién soy. 
Llamé sin respuesta, preguntándome si será el número o la pandemia, pero entre las opiniones narigonas y los traumas del pasado, me perdí, encuentro amor, pero no un faro, no unas manos, sólo abrazos de amor y opiniones de sabiondos.

Estoy enojada porque al final no me conoces, el balde no me importa, pero la nariz me duele. Tu juicio nos aleja porque no sabes lo que hay en mi corazón mientras lanzas tu palabras en supuesta sabiduría. Igual como cuando te dije que nos sentáramos bien y me dijiste que no querías, agresiva tu forma de hacerlo, agresiva tu forma de tomar demasiado espacio en mi vida, sin importar cuanto te pido tiempo a solas, me lo quitas mucho más que el rojo, él al menos me pregunta antes de hacerlo.

Estuve cavando en mi pecho y encontré una verdad, una que hace el resto del rompecabezas encajar, porque no es sólo lo que dice la sociedad, no es sólo el sistema, también soy yo. Ya no me levanto por mi, ya no me mantengo firme, ya no digo qué quiero, ya no me voy, ya no me quedo. Hace mucho tiempo que sólo sigo, sigo, sigo, sigo. Estancada, pudriéndome en el refrigerador de mis anhelos.

Me pregunto qué quiero y veo ese futuro con ansias, la meta no tan lejana me trae razones, me trae aguante, pero no estoy segura si eso quiero. No estoy segura de nada, o quizás de muy poco, y con lo poco que tengo, no respondo mucho: a dónde voy? me hará feliz?
Y con tus juicios intelecto-pseudo-psicológicos me dudo más.

Sé que una parece saludable, pero no me satisface del todo. Sólo dejé de sentirme sola cuando él llegó, pero las peleas son fuertes. Mi aberración por herir al amor me mantiene apretada, sumisa, sonriendo a quién me daña, eso lo sé. No necesito tu altitud para saberlo, se te están yendo los humos a la cabeza y yo necesito espacio lejos de ti.

Tres semanas y jugamos a la casita, 20 semanas y quizás me tengas una respuesta, pero tú quieres vivr en el medio de la fiesta mientras te sientas es tu balcón, y yo quiero vivir lejos en mi propia fiesta. Me sorprendí al saber que quieres pequeñes, lo he pensado también. 
Tengo miedo a los cambios, la incertidumbre me tiene con miedo... Tenemos más que hablar, pero siento tu amor más y me atrevo más también. Es bueno que me vieras realmente triste, abrió una puerta y ahora estamos un poco más cerca.

Ay, me pregunto como sería si él no estuviera, pero también me pregunto entonces si podría sin ti, y entre tanta hipótesis recuerdo que lo que necesito es pensar en mi, sólo yo, para mi, por mi, porque el amor es, en parte, una distracción, a pesar de su importancia, a pesar de su necesidad.
Es que sigo dejándome llevar por las materias del corazón. No sé cómo parar:

Recuerdas ese libro que querías escribir?
Recuerdas la poesía?
Recuerdas las meditaciones?
Recuerdas los papeles de regalo?
Recuerdas la música?
Recuerdas las compilaciones?
Recuerdas los hábitos?
Recuerdas las rutinas?

Recuerdas las promesas que nos hicimos? Porque las recuerdo bien, cada vez que terminamos haciendo lo contrario porque el amor es una distracción. Por qué me paralizo ante la idea de no llamar, de no ir, de tomar tiempo para quien debería ser lo más importante en este corazón. 
Por qué dañamos a quien más amamos? Por qué me hiero tanto a mi?

Al final ir a ver a algún aprendiz de Freud podría ayudarme con todo este dolor.

Evening sun

 

The sun shines through my window,
but the veils between us keep its warmth away.
Like a distant star, I wish upon you,
but my faith isn't strong enough,
you can't make anyone else's dreams come true,
only your own. 

So many words within your asteroid showers,
yet the empty spaces between them is what strikes the hardest.
You shine so beautifully in your infinite depth,
a darkness I can't grasp.

Loneliness isn't a sign, despite Cancer and Aquarius, the hermit might object. 

I miss your shine as I know I can't stare into your light without burning my eyes, your welcoming warmth should have never been for me, the arctic breeze I am, the chills on your neck, exciting yet ephemeral.

Can you see past me, my lovely?
Can you see further?

You see me in colour yet I have none,
I'm transparent as the fresh touch of a lost summer wind on your skin. 

You, my sun, you deserve the moon and more, I, unlike, deserve water and ground. Who are we to mix the gods with the cycles?
With all my pain, with all my love, I wish you well in other hands, some that can bring you what only gods can yet I'm unable to.

Maybe she's right and I'm a toxic child. I'm deeply sorry to have made you believe I'm anything more than a feeble, passing breeze. I can't sustain a god, I can barely be me.

Dissatisfaction pt.2

     We are lying silently next to each other again, I'm dazed at how disconnected I can be sometimes. I felt jealous when you told me about her because last time we were so high, yet we didn't go through, so I got surprised as you held me tightly since in this chaos of my heart I fear you will stop liking my body and will only go for others, while I crave you deeply, in silence and defeat.

In these horrors, I took a while to reconnect but after, I found peace in the stillness of another song.

  I was brave though, telling you later about us, yet the fears didn't take long to take over. Soon enough infinite doubts and questions were running through my mind, pulling my hair, grabbing my limbs, tapping my shoulders. I couldn't focus anymore, absorbed in the anxiety of misunderstanding dissatisfaction, because, I do believe all I said, I meant it all as well, but my expectations got in the way again, wishing for your agreeing reply in any form, but our bodies were already intertwined and my brain was all over the place, so what did I expect when I mentioned golden nibs between fields of dirt and blood?

     I understand this my problem, I should open up and let go, but I'm scared, not only of losing you but of the journey to an end. One that begins with my fear of being too much and not enough at once. If I present my complete naked self to you, I become even more vulnerable than I already am, and if you don't respond as I hope, this home we are building might begin to end.

I felt your impatience and annoyance for the first time, it was strangely tough, I'm not used to that, to you in that way. But it's ok to be as much of you as you need, I want to be a meadow for your freedom to bloom, shed leaves, die and be reborn, in the cycles of seasons through the oceans of life.
I just fear, lovely creature, something would be gone and we don't have enough to replace it. So we would slowly drift away and dissolve into oblivion like so many others, while you aren't like so many others in this strange heart I bear inside this ever-moving cage of fibres and bones.

     Maybe though, I'm seeing this all wrong. Maybe it would begin to change, not end, and as we agree that all structure that is too rigid is meant to crumble, we might simply transmute into an even deeper river, flowing furiously through our insignificant existence, cleansing that which is important in our infinite unimportance.
My fear stays though, reluctance. What if the metamorphosis we'd undergo isn't what I wish, and my heart ends up broken once again while my old wounds tear open to Roxanna's words, the curse I'm under?

I'm full of fears that I'm only beginning to understand as I hold back from showing my raw guts because, as the book says, I'm being heroic in the confusion of trying to embrace my finitude, what a mess.
I guess the fairytale is over, though the moon is always with us, so still if I feel this strongly about you, you might also feel this way for me. I'm just not used to your unusual ways, lovely oddball, you've explained some for me, yet I have no reference to be reminded when I need it, instead, we talk about others and I wonder if I'm holding back because again, I'm full of fears, which I challenge but I might just not be confident enough to do it on my own.

So I have to be braver and ask. You initiated this, you initiate it each time, and I'm sorry I haven't taken more with my bare hands, I'm sorry I've given so much responsibility for you to handle even if you haven't felt it as such. I'm trying to find my courage, fight the baggage from past rejections and dare. I just also need your help to stop fearing that whenever I'm too inconvenient, you'll close your heart, give up and leave. But how could you know that I need your help if I don't ask?

And so we loop into the fear again, why can't I just speak, yell, ask? There's so much I want to try with you, so much I want to do. I want to dance with you, I want to trip with you, I want to shower and travel, meet and see, I want to fight you and go to places we can't go. We met before the disease, yet not enough to have done more. I want to live what the future holds with you, and it begins with me opening my raw bits and daring to hold your hand.

La pudredumbre.

 Ay, por dónde empezar? Que tengo 27, pero pienso que tengo 28 desde los 26, no. Que me siento mal, otra vez, estando lejos de mis raíces, estando estancada en un país de robots que todo el mundo idolatra, por ahí va.

Tengo una sed que nada me la quita, ni el agua, ni el café, ni la lluvia, ni el humidificador. Siento la lengua siempre seca, como si fuera una lima, como la que mi mamá usa para sus uñas. Hoy vi mi cuerpo al intentar aprender las técnicas que quiero usar en mi día a día y me poseyó algo entre asco y vergüenza, esas palabras que dijeron mi madre y hermano en el auto cuando tenía 15 años aún me atormentan en cada movimiento de este cuerpo deshecho.

Soy un cuerpo deshecho, una abominación. Hace tiempo que no me sentía tan mal, tan asquerosa, una sensación demasiado familiar como para que se vaya, siento que esta se queda, no sé cómo botarla.
Me mueva o esté quieta, se hace más fuerte, se funde con los cimientos de mi mente, toxificando mi jardín que llevo años cuidando.
Debe ser que soy tan mala para cuidarme como soy con mis plantas, todas están vivas, pero no felices. Quizás nunca voy a ser feliz, o quizás es qe la felicidad es sólo momentos que confluyen durante una vida y nada más. Al menos tengo mis textos. Aunque ni para eso me siento buena.

La mediocridad duele cuando al crecer te hicieron pensar que eras especial, duele que tantxs me hayan alabado durante mi vida cuando la verdad es que soy otra más del montón, incapaz solidificar lo que existe en mi interior. Ni mi cuerpo, ni mi voz, ni mis palabras son suficientemente buenas, estoy atrapada en mi mente, en el aire.

Estoy cansada del aire, quiero vivir en mi barco, en la realidad, sobre el agua, tranquila. Sé cuáles son los pasos, pero tantas cosas me mantienen paralizada al borde del abismo, entre miedos y falta de recursos pienso en esas personas que se han hecho famosas y millonarias compartiendo sus talentos con el mundo, no como yo, que lo hago también, pero no soy suficiente. Me pregunto si es el miedo que me tiene acorralada o si es algo más, será que no lo merezco, o será que es suerte no más?

Cada día intento hacer lo correcto, tantas decisiones de las que soy consciente, tantos sentimientos que me derrotan porque otros hacen lo incorrecto. Porque no me vengan con que la dualidad del bien y el mal, tú sabes en el fondo, siempre que haces algo malo, tu cuerpo te lo dice, y sí, algunas acciones están en el area gris, pero la mayoría son claras como una poza de agua en total quietud.

Me siento deseperanzada y desesperada. No entiendo lo que hacen los gobiernos y no sé qué hacer con mi vida, porque tal vez lo que me paraliza es el aborrecimiento que siento contra este sistema que nos fuerza a tomar todas las decisiones incorrectas.
O quizás esa es la nueva excusa que creó mi sombra para hacerme sentir un poco menos mal por estar estancada desde que nací. Intentando protegerme de ese odio que mi madre inculcó en mi, ese que sale a flote cuando mi cuerpo de mueve pesado y cansado cuando lo que quiero es ser liviana y activa.

Filo, filo, filo. Nunca voy a encontrar una solución en todo caso, no sé ni para qué escribo cuando nada sale, nada avanza, nada crece, ni mis plantas, ni mis objetivos, ni yo. Todo está estancado y huele a putrefacción ya, igual que yo, un ser podrido por estancamiento.

To the Self, with capital S.

       It might be a good time to write, I thought, but never really imagined I'd get to do it so quickly. The keyboard was right in front of me and suddenly the screen was full of strangely familiar characters that welcomed me home as if I had never left.

       It's been a while, my dearest love, yet here you are in all your tenderness and fury, ready to tuck me in as the child I become sometimes. Thank you amor, for such selfless love, you're a waterfall of compassion and patience, understanding and more. Where would I be without you, I wonder often, but not often enough to remember that, even in the darkest of times, after years of drought, you are still blooming somewhere in the sand storm, and I just need to plant myself on the ground to find you again, and you'll be there, as always, with all your love, ready to take me in and nurture the neglected garden I can be.

      Today I decided to go against my mind once more, this time for a good reason. You reminded me of how great you can be, no matter the quality of what's to come, you let me put it all out, right on your lap as you knit me a blanket of words and warmth. My darkest fears, my deepest wounds, no matter how cold the caves, you can always draw the honey from within, and feed me light. Such powers were only allowed for gods, I thought, but I guess we all have the universe inside us, and that is those so-called gods.

      Thank you for staying with me, believing in me but never pushing. Your teachings have always mattered the most, so has your love. Buried under concrete for so long until the roots of my soul found you, calmly taking your time, trusting you'll get out, believing in my strength, knowing that, no matter the pain, I was tougher in my infinite tenderness.

       And I am, still. So I thank you, for never leaving my side with your acts, your mind and your words.

El gato y el pez.

 Estuve pensando en las similitudes entre el pez, el gato, tú y él. Desde que me mostraste el interior de tu ser, veo cómo nos habríamos relacionado en ese tiempo, en lo diferente que todo habría sido y lo bien que lo habríamos pasado, parecido a ahora, pero no habría funcionado.

Me alegra conocerte ahora, cuando yo estoy en un lugar más tranquilo y tú también. Me gusta que me cuentes tus sueños y poder contarte los míos cada mañana, me gusta tu quietud, esa que no tendrías en ese tiempo, me gusta esa incomodidad que evocabas, igual que todos en tal época. Me gustas, y te pareces a un pez.

Ya lo había pensado antes, pero ahora lo veo claro. Eres perfecto tal y como eres, quisiera tener menos miedo de hablarte porque al final siempre todo sale bien, me escuchas, te escucho y nos entendemos, y queremos estar juntos, sin ese peso que hay en otros lugares, que la mayoría tiene.

_________

Conozco un gato también, uno que intenta estar tranquilo pero la rabia sale desde lo más profundo de su ser, uno que me idolatraba y lo dejé, con su corazón y su pierna rota en ese hospital. Soy un perra, lo pienso seguido. Pero ahora estoy aquí con la otra versión de ese gato, con la misma energía y la misma rabia, la misma necesidad de apretarme fuerte intentando que no me vaya mientras estoy lejos en realidad, porque ese miedo es lo que me hace partir, y en mi universo interno infinito sigo alejándome mientras mi cuerpo está incómodo, adolorido de tanto amor. 

Y qué hago ahora con este gato? Lo alimento, le doy cariño, lo mantengo seguro, le doy lo más que puedo de seguridad, pero no me deja respirar. Sus pelo inunda toda mi pieza, sus garras las tengo marcadas en todo mi cuerpo, sus maullidos son fuertes, ensordecedores, y no puedo, no puedo con tanto. 

Ayer casi me desmayé del miedo de hablar de la película errónea, y creo que no es sólo cansancio o hambre. Creo que mi cuerpo está tratando de empujarme a salir de esto, pero no puedo. Lo he intentado tantas veces, pero no me deja. Se aferra a mi, me hiere y se va a llorar a una esquina hasta que no puedo de la culpa y voy, lo abrazo, y todo empieza otra vez. 

Soy una perra si me voy, soy una perra si me quedo. Tal y como mi madre lo hacía, no hay salida, sólo dolor, encierro, frustración y culpa. Una vez más, pasé de su jaula a las que me busco por mi misma. 

Cómo me salgo de esta? 

The First Brain Dump of 2021, and in years.

 I've lost practice, to let my mind wander as such has turned more into a task than anything. Being burnout yet continuing to work through it as if nothing was bothering me, sometimes having had therapy isn't a blessing, I still struggle to truly understand when I need a break and when things aren't bad enough, as if I didn't deserve it... I struggle to know what to do in this break once I have it.

I struggle with language, I've been so tired of English when I'm constantly having explosive arguments in such language. I feel like everything is against me at the moment, everything is stalled. 

Is that the right word? As I researched the purple plant light turned off and I felt somehow relieved but less spacey. I want to roll a joint, don't worry mother, a CBD one, I prefer MDMA to weed, in fact, I do not enjoy weed. You will worry either way because you are paralysed by fear, your entire life you've been. Thankfully I left you, fear isn't stopping me, what is stopping me right now is the damn German bureaucracy.

It's been a full year and still can't get properly registered. I'm checking my phone, I wonder if it is because it's hard to have so much in my mind at the moment. I can't type thoroughly because I feel sudden urges to scratch my head, look at my phone, stare out the window, loose focus on the nature sounds playing in the background... I feel very unsteady, jittery, like on caffeine, but I know that it is because I haven't really been by myself in a long time. Lies. It's because I'm overwhelmed by all the chaos that I have inside and haven't taken care of. 

I don't want to talk about that relationship, I want to write about myself. My right wrist hurts and cracks as I make circles with it, I heard someone in the kitchen and felt very very anxious, I need a vacation: 2 days without internet in some warm place yet far away enough to not be talked to. I need a break from my own head, my own emotions, my own distractions. 

I NEED TO GET BACK TO MY ROUTINES, though I'm against going back, so what I will rephrase this like this:

"I need to create new routines that support my current lifestyle and relationships, as they help me stay grounded in my attempts to move forward in life."

I need to shower as well and get rid, once and for all of the thrips on my plants, before they go and eat up all my beautiful babies. Sometimes I feel burdened by my plants, just like by language, just like by all the responsibilities. Sometimes I feel abandoned, I've felt very abandoned no long ago. I'm so angry at myself for making so many mistakes, for not writing as fast as my mind goes, for being so itchy, I am just trying to put all this shit down once and for all!

I am upset at myself for not having written anything at all in the past months, for not being disciplined enough, for making so many mistakes as I write this, for even caring about this as my computer feels weirdly more tilted into one side more than the other making my wrists feel funny! 
I am full of anger! I'm so anxious and upset! I just want to relax but at the same time I feel blown up, like a massive brown balloon, one full of nothing and everything at the same time. I used to feel this way a lot as a child, which reminds me of how I've thought about my mother so often because I'm, over and over, stuck between the sword and the wall, and you get upset, but I do really mean it. 

Maybe it's a subconscious strategy to make you feel sorry for me and leave me.

I want to shave my head again because my hair is so itchy. it's annoying and it goes everywhere... I remember that dream in which it was long and I was happy, but now I feel stupid for letting it grow only for that hope... Premonitory dreams aren't my strong suit, nothing is my strong suit really...

I am so frustrated because I'm not as good at magic as I should be by now because I haven't been disciplined enough. I'm frustrated because I feel how the things I've learned in therapy are running away from me as my brain get filled with childhood triggers, fears and screams.

I'm frustrated because I can't leave. Because I feel disrespected every time and I am not smart enough to explain it as others do. I can't talk properly anymore, I can't write properly anymore, if it wasn'T for this stupid auto-corrector, all these words would be wrongly written. Sometimes I wonder if I actually have dyslexia or something... That would be quite the relive, just like having some sort of autism. 

I want to shave everything because everything is itchy, MY FRUSTRATION IS ITCHY!

I felt sad for a second there, but the anger took over and I'm just aggressively typing on the keyboard hoping to feel a bit better soon enough. My shoulders are hard as rocks, my jaw is clenching as my teeth are grinding themselves and chewing on my cheeks. My neck hurts as the bag under my eyes state my state, estado. 

I can't find peace and the more I write the worst I feel, I feel pressured to everything! 

I feel pressured to relax effectively, I feel pressured to write so that I feel better, I feel pressured to make my time worthy, I feel pressured to write something I can post and will be beautiful because if this isn't post-worthy, it means my time writing this was wasted unless of course, I manage to relax!

To empty this brain... but I wonder if it is ever going to happen, I am so impatient with myself at the moment because I have been at the mercy of others who love me and want to see me at all times, I haven't reinforced my boundaries, I have been giving myself to others like a machine and not giving myself enough! I need myself too, I especially need myself.

My spine feels like it's going to crack, yet no matter how much I move it, it just doesn't crack. I need some free days, I need a different job, one that doesn't require being cold and putting external weight on my back. I still don't know if I would pursuit the yoga or the writing, or both? Could I do both? I know that I can't ever finish anything, that I can't even focus on writing this because my fucking body, which is a burden at the moment, is itchy and wants to crack, every single bone... I can't let go and so I will smoke to relax. I want to sleep but I keep having constant nightmares.

What can my sleeping routine be? What calms me down? I'm doing everything in a hurry because I know my alone time is limited, despite the pandemic, I have been as full of socializing as always! And I'm upset that I couldn't have any privileges from this time. I have and continued to work through it all, my salary is exactly the same, I don't get any sort of help from either the company, the people of the government and I have to accept that the tips are null now because well, no one has money during the pandemic... Or so they say, but those who order this fucking food have enough money, they're privileged assholes.

I am so upset at the people who let this system rape us, sure the ones that let themselves be raped, but especially those who are raping us. Ups, is rape mentioning too much for you? 

I AM SO ANGRY! I keep writing and writing, I can't even fucking write properly, and I am just fucking unable to relax! My body keeps itching and my nose and my head and my hairs and my neck.

I want to scratch until I BLEED OUT AND DIE IN PAIN.

I can't even write relax properly because I keep writing RELAY! RELY RELA LRELREALYL REALY RELAY RELAX!!!!! XXXXXXXXX RELAX!

Maybe this is not working and I should just stop. My time is limited and I have no patience. My body feels even more tense than when I started so this shit brain dump idea just made it worse!

How can I actually put all these issues out? Categories? What are the categories of life?

I need to pee again... what is it with my bladder lately?! I JUST PEED!!

I want to do a facial today, during the bath, with candles and smoking the CBD. 

I want to shave before that. 

I want to clean my ears.

I want to answer to the messages with the attention and care they deserve (tomorrow). 

I want to make a list with all the things that help me feel relaxed and soothed, 

I want to make an organized version of al which I learned during therapy.

And most importantly I want to organize my life:

Keep one day a week for self-care: 

- Meditation

- Exercising

- Stretching

- Fasting (16-20hrs)

- Nurturing shower with facial

- Tarot reading

- Reading

- Watching cartoons or heartwarming movies

- Eat fresh and heartwarming (soups, smoothies, salads)

- Write or draw

Daily self-care:

- Meditation

- Stretching

- Be alone!

Exercise routine:

- Stretching

- Warm-up

- Exercise different areas without resting

- Wind down

- Stretching

Focus: 

- Paperwork (Get the goddamn Anmeldung done! Ask for ALG1, get BWS.)

- Career* (make a list of the steps to take on each closer option: writing, yoga. Do the same for the further options: Design, carpentry, psychology, physiotherapy.)

- Projects (make a list of all and a plan for each)

Life categories are:

Relationships (family, friends, romantics)

Mental self (discipline and joy)

Physical self (nutrition and movement)

Career (stability and meaning)

I am very tired now, so I will end this weird output, quite unsuccessful unless later I realise it wasn't. I won't even read it again probably. 

Still frustrated,

Daniela.

You (first draft)

It's 2am and I'm still here, though I said good night four hours ago. I brushed my teeth and turned all off, except for this little, bright screen that carries a universe inside.

It carries you too, and that makes me happy, though even happier when you're outside of it and next to me, or on top, or underneath.

But these words right here aren't about that sublime ritual which we do to fulfil the body's desire, no matter how much I'm drawn to carve it into words. This is about love, a very special kind.

_______

It had been almost an hour, it wasn't too warm at least, yet, but my checkered pants were a bit damp, like my underwear whenever you're near nowadays. I didn't know back then what the outcome of this minuscule encounter would be, maybe 10 minutes of my 26 years on this ground, 27 by now but thankfully, not just 10 minutes anymore.

As I took off my headphones and warned you:

"That food must be yours cause I've been here for an hour..."

I felt a warmth that isn't common for a first time, your face illuminated in a way I can't exactly explain, a pinch of surprise in the bowl of familiarity, comfort, was it even a first glimpse of love?

Maybe that first second held our entire future in itself, our story was written already: the talk and laughter, the fact that you fell into tram lines in the past and I asked you if you're ok in the present, the bike compliments, the unnoticed request for your phone number, unanswered too. I felt easy, like my heart was somehow smiling and my mouth followed, my stomach was a bit tight, it was our first time and I didn't want to fuck it up. I was surprised at how well we understood each other already, and how much we laughed. You let yourself flow with me for those 10 minutes, and I with you, like a dance never performed before, in the fear of judgement, in the comfort of none, in the hope of love and the anxiety of pains ahead, we danced with words, hands and eyes.

And so we part ways as the rest of my day brightened by this encounter, of my week even, telling everyone about it, over and over in such purity, such joy.

See, you felt real, authentic and open from the beginning. You talked to me showing all you are and you let me in, even then, even if you didn't notice, even if by mistake, and I assure you, with all my heart, that it was not a mistake.

_______

Time went by and I never saw you again, my pure stranger, but I held you dearly in my heart. Your beautiful accent, your strangely delicate hands, that laughter and your grey greenish eyes. They found a space within me to rest in patience, knowing we would meet again because this wasn't over.

Often they came out to my view and make me see you in every rider I crossed, though once I actually looked at them, none was you. Of course, none is you, because you, you are indescribable, not like them. I can tell you everything about them in a blink of an eye, but you, you make me ruminate in the beauty and the pain, the anger and the love, the love, the love. Your love my love...

I'm trying to focus on our story, but I lose myself in the warmth of the thought of you: "It's gonna be massive!" and you were right, it is.

_______

One day I walked out of a room and into another, and there you were! I can't remember the words because I saw your eyes and I wanted to hug you. I was ecstatic, a feeling you still give me after all this time. You waited for me, or did I wait for you? We cycled together still. I wanted to be especially cool, I was nervous, you see? So I cycled faster than usual and positioned my body to look prettier, I guess that I still feel like my beauty is my biggest asset, how dumb is that?

Anyway, we talked, pedalled and we laughed. And we haven't stopped doing just that, not a chance.

Reaching the end of my cycle, the corner of that street, we turned just a bit and stopped as I asked you for your number clearly, like Alicia in that restaurant she works, you know? This time you did answer and you were happy as was I. We part ways again but now the feeling was greater and calmer, "I will see him again, I know".

I felt nervous in the chaos and light of my life, I'm still learning to braid the paths and choices I'm making, healing from the wounds of the past, and I still need reminding, every day, to put myself first, hence this choice of having more than one lighthouse to guide me home, where I am always welcomed, within my own heart, just like you.

_______

Soon after I was done with the current job, I sent you a message, saw you cycling on the other side of the road against me, but you didn't see me. You were so fast and light, your destroyed bag was floating with the wind, and so was your red hair in the heat of a warm day, warning us of the warmer days ahead. I stopped and smiled as you passed, I looked at you for what felt an eternity, but it musn't have been because I wasn't late for my next delivery.

The day was easier then, the entire job had a new purpose, to see you again, seen we both lived nearby, and so began a conversation that hasn't finished yet, that I hope won't finish soon either.

You told me this story the other night, after such a difficult day, and it warmed my heart so. Though I don't think this redaction will make up to that beautiful tale, it's a beginning to show you how special you have been ever since.