I can't see the light.

 What do I write, what do I write, what do I write? 

So many distractions, so many questions, so many emotions, are they even real? what is real at all? Every single thing is our perception of itself, basically, everything is an illusion. I must have learnt this as I was alone in my childhood since it's so intertwined with who I am, which is also a lie, nothing is forever but somehow people can't change? That's what people say, I don't understand people, the people, any people... 

Do you wanna know something? I have thought about giving up lately, not even finishing the course, just marrying you and moving away together. Give you all you want and expect the same or more back. You worshipping me while I take care of us both. I haven't even hit rock bottom yet, have I?

So many noises all around, so many people yet no one at the same time, the story of my life... It's not even rejection anymore. I feel claustrophobic inside my body more often than not, is it anxiety in its thousand and one forms? 
I am much freer than I used to be for I've learnt to make my body do more of what my mind wants. It's not enough... And now, it feels impossible to get up, to go out, to talk, to think even. Like some sort of rusty bike that just isn't worth keeping anymore, gathering dust in the shed, I wish I had a shed of my own.

I miss the sun and I'm angry, hysterical. I want to be in nature but this stupid place is too cold and wet... Yet here I am, still trying when I just can't see the light at all, no reason to do any of the things I am doing, nonsense is everything in this world and I just want to rest from all pressures... 
I knew I wasn't gonna be able to prove to myself that I am worthy of anything, I knew I was gonna crash, I can't even do a 10-month course and I wanted to do university, let's face the facts, I am too old and I will stay in this shitty job, with my shitty German and shitty paycheck. All those dreams of my own lovely place in the forest are fucking lies cause I can't make my fucking body get out of bed any morning and now, that only thing that brought me a bit of joy is dead too. 

I kill everything I touch, even the strongest ones.
All I ever wanted was to create with these hands of mine, but they should be kept in cages for all I've made has turned to dust before even being realised. My head is on backwards, my heart is on the wrong side, my mind is sick and my body incapable. I am not from this galaxy and though there may be a place where I belong, it's not anywhere in sight, I can't reach it, can't even imagine it.

My safe space. Why do I destroy everything? Such a difficult brain I bear, such heavy heart. I also always said I have an ocean inside me, years later, on Netflix they mentioned it for a girl who had superpowers... My ocean isn't amazing, it's just an infinite pit of pain that this vessel of a body can barely keep, its entirety is swollen, ready to burst, but since it doesn't I just convince myself I'm tired when truly, there are whole worlds inside me that can't find a way out and these eyes of mine see artists who do, who can, such incredibly moving pieces they create, such beauty in their inner worlds, while me... I just have diarrhoea every morning.

Passions and friends, the void (full & raw vomit)

There's a whole side to human existence that I have no clue of, either out of utter inadequacy that I don't understand or out of fear stemming from profound abuse in childhood.

I could write books with all that I still am unaware of, the consequences of a narcissistic child-mother, her son-lover and the transparent father. The deep loneliness and abandonment I felt then, have shaped all of my existence, my mother's despair for me to become "something" has frozen all I love. 
Yes, I have two passions, one, quiet and pouring all over these pages you can see. The second contrived in fear of judgement, rejection and ultimately, hate. My voice. I feel the fire burning within, but I'm still choking in dismissal. 

How can I tell you, my love, all I have been through without pitying myself? How can I explain I like who I am, but I know I'm not free, from myself as well? How could I voice my heart's wounds without a fully open mouth?

And you sit there, oblivious to so much, even if you do try to reach out, while my own void swallows me whole leaving not even a single bone behind.

How can I sing when I don't even scream when I am terrified? I've crossed paths with death a few times during my delivery days, in none of them, I said a word. Even as a kid, 10 years old, I went on a rollercoaster, and not even a peep came out of me. How can I sing when my voice is barely a whisper of itself?

How deeply can trauma go? How many more years of "trying my best" until it gets easier? 

I keep retraumatizing myself with each relationship I was in, and even now I do, every single time I don't speak my truth, each time I accept and nod in complacency even before checking in with myself. How many times was I dating my mother, my father, my brother... How many times have I embodied the pains they inflicted on me?

Why do you think I really left? I talk about freedom, which is indeed part of it all. But truly, it was an escape from the pain that comes back each time we interact, his jokes based on deep despise; his love lacking a heart; her absorption of all character I had, her dismissal of all my emotions, her need to be cared for by her child.
I grew up too fast, convenience, one day I was to be fed, the next I had to sleep with her, treating the wounds she had made on herself.

I don't want to touch you, any of you, ever again.

How can I, a single human being, take care of the mess you all made? 
Yes, I will never abandon myself because I am the most beautiful treasure I've ever sensed! Yet I am also the heaviest to carry, at times I feel like a never-healing wound and the loneliness I bear proves exactly just how inadequate I believe myself to be.

A passion? It's not free, from freezing fears. It's not free, money-wise. It's not free, for this wounded child to embrace. A passion, this passion, is a literal tower o the major arcana. So how do I destroy it all and begin the metamorphosis? How do I get over my deepest fear, my deepest wound? 
How do I get myself heard when for 23 years, I was nothing but an accessory to everyone else? And for the last 6, I`ve just begun to kiss my own forehead to sleep, yet re-lived in each relationship before now, that same reality?

Insecurities, for how can I believe anyone could truly love me as you say you do when, ever since I was born, I was used to fill up my mother's void? If since I could walk, my brother abruptly ignored me? If since I could speak I was shut down, if since I could long for I was rejected? If since I could write I was only told my mistakes, never content, just grammar and such... If since I could reflect upon things, I was a therapist, dismissed in all I suggested but guilt-tripped into listening to her.
My teacher hated me, I still don't know why. I was 9.

And well, there is always the pain of the ghost: a father that, even though there is not much to say that's remotely as painful as the other two, he was just a ghost, no voice, no wishes, "let's not fight", barking never biting. Why was I so angry at him? Is there something my own brain has covered up to forget or is it just the reflection of his own frustration due to his lack of courage and discipline, his lack of self-trust, his incapacity to manage his anger without running behind me with his hand up as if he was going to hit me, screaming... yet once I would hide in bed and cover my entirety with the blanket, he would sit and say "why did you do that?".
I was terrified. I am still terrified. 

I envy all of you who aren't, those whose fears are less abstract, whose emotions are cleaner, whose brains make sense. Not indecipherable hieroglyphics like mine. 

My passion, honestly, is to sing and to write, yet in none, dare I go further than this half-assed attempt to free my soul, surprise: it does not work. In both, I am choking on an invisible smoke, disappearing behind it, anonymity... safety - PAIN.

Still, after this bleeding session, the question remains:
Why does no one want to be my friend? 

-

Why do they forget about me? Why don't they write, call, reach out? What am I doing wrong? How do I make it right? How, curse, inadequacy How, How Auslander, How... What's wrong with me?

I always said I was an alien, I thought it was a silly joke. Yet I knew even back then, 5 years old, crying in the car back from grandpa's town, looking into the darkness of the mountains by the highway, letting my imagination fill my little brain with fears of el Chupacabras and other folk stories... For it was easier to believe I was an alien than trying to understand why I didn't have any friends. 
Just as it was easier to believe I had died than coming to terms with the fact that my mother wasn't coming home. Another terrifying night in fear of being the ghost who would forever haunt my own home, crying for my parents when they would see my dead body, exploded on the pavement outside the front door, or the one with all the broken bones at the feet of the staircase. In the backyard sliced through with the spikes over that dividing wall... 
I was alive, she had just lied.
I can tell you this story laughing at my own "silliness", yet as I write it, I can't stop crying, for the pain of it runs through my veins like the blood they will draw tomorrow, to find my grandmother's cancer in my thyroid. They will open me and I will die before they can close me up. It's a mess... I wonder if she loved singing too.

After all my attempts, after all my healing, all the support, the help... after all I've committed and tried and re-tried and changed and transformed and tried and tried and tried again and again... Why am I still asking them to play with me while they reject me or comply with the burdensome feeling of "having to"? 

Mother, why did you have me when I was just a burden? Another mouth to feed? Did you ever love me for me? Or is it only for you... it has always, everything, been for you. You were the first to reject me, my brother came second, my father the third, and my sister left to find herself, leaving me alone with you, just as I left the continent to get away from your possessive claws of desperate, narcissistic love.
I had one friend someone took her away. I was good at singing, yet never chosen to do anything but blend in. A cool girl wanted to be my friend, she took me to the bathroom and forced me to lick her. I did - she never talked to me again. My grandfather died of cancer. I was good at writing, Carolina also did math. I got a boyfriend, he only wanted sexuality. I failed the year, my mother cried and I... became her personal therapist as she became a bag of meat and fat on her bed after losing her dignity by staying with the worst man. I found a good school, she wouldn't put me in it. I made a friend, she was in love with me so when I got a boyfriend, she hated me and spent years sabotaging my other friendships. I made a friend, she took them away from me by becoming their friend, proving she was better than me... proving my inadequacy. I made a friend, for years, he was in love with me -he was never my friend (this, times 10) I had a boyfriend, his mother hated me. His friends pretended to be my friends. Once it was over, his mother loved me and his friends never talked to me again. I made a group of friends and by this point, I sabotaged it myself with my own fears and cowardice. I got a girlfriend, I fucked it up as well. I fucked it up even worse later on. I dropped out of university, my mother cried, I blocked the memories in my head -what happened then? I moved continents only to repeat the cycles with men who used and abused me calling it love and feminism... I got sexually abused, went through a miscarriage alone on the floor, he was out drinking with his coworkers -he had a passion for videos, an internship with the Colombian lads. Went on dates, got verbally assaulted, but "they were jokes" and I was a bitch if I didn't want to have sex or see them again. Got chased by strange men on the streets 3 times in 2 years. Met the next abusive guy, pretending to be queer, everything was excused by his depression and I was the monster who would go over his boundaries... Little did I know, it was not that way at all. All my requests, my needs, my wishes, were completely normal in a relationship. Opened the relationship. Got ghosted, insulted, called bitch and ugly, received unwanted dick picks, exchanged my intimacy with people who later said they were not the guys on the pictures they sent. Power games. Met a snobby tall science man, got shamed for my spirituality, my music taste, my choices. Soon met the next abuser, I can't even begin to summarize this, I hit him in frustration, he wouldn't let me leave his house, I cried screaming while he kept telling me all that was wrong with me, then said he loved me so much, then hated me again... I tried to kill myself, it was a dumb attempt. We broke up, got back together and broke up over and over. He would pay attention to me like no one's ever done, but only from the obsession of trying to get away from the frustrations of his own life. Lack of commitment to himself. Amidst the clearest cycle of abuse I've ever lived, with help from my therapist, I broke it off and left to go home. Got back. Had made a friend, he was a rich cunt, another narcissist know-it-all, who was "too smart" for this world and didn't want to scapegoat my old abuser, cause him threatening me and kicking me out of the house was somehow on me, asking for help was scapegoating. Moved in with the last abuser for a couple of weeks, it only got worse, the screams, the tensions, the smoke, the alcohol, the drugs, the lack of sleep, the rage, the not letting me leave, the hits, the following me down the street, the dark cold nights outside, the physical push to not go into his house, yet living there...

I found a new place to live, it's a mess, but the best I've ever had. There are no fights here, there are adults who talk, except for one. I met someone, someone I can talk to, someone who listens when it's important and who's human. Someone who hugs me when I cry, who cares without possession. Someone who is imperfect but has the kindest eyes. 

I haven't had a fight in months now. I can feel my feelings, I am connected to myself. So what I am doing now, is healing those deepest wounds, instead of getting distracted in new cycles of abuse.

My biggest passion is singing. The second is writing. I love knitting, sewing, designing furniture and spaces for humans to feel comfortable, welcome. I love giving space for others to be fully themselves, to feel safe. I love the depths of brains and the universe, something between psychology and spirituality. I love the sensitivity of the human body. I love creating a future that embraces community instead of competition. I love being held in your arms.

As for friends... That's a question I can't answer now.

- I didn't write this for pity, many have had it much worse than me, most even. I am very aware of that. I am writing this to see the big picture of my life, understand and be compassionate with myself. with my pain, with my hypersensitivity that was made fun of or dismissed since the beginning of my life. I wrote this to fully put out all that burdens me, heavy in my heart. I wrote this to connect with myself, to feel my feelings, to mourn my pains, to remember, to see clearer, to not commit the same mistakes again. To find answers and to dare.

Rambles pt.1

 Fatalist, fatalist, fatalist. - It does have a different meaning in Spanish yet I am not sure which one I mean right now.

More often than not, love feels like being on the edge, and while each little interaction becomes the orgasm, there's more craving than satisfaction. Exactly like a drug, I can't wait for the next hit and during such detention, my blood boils as my neurons become a wildfire of fatalism and pain.

"Well, that's done, I fucked it up, it's over. Alright, let it go now. Jesus Christ! Calm the fuck down!"

But really I should tell myself: "Baby, remember to breathe." with all the love and care of the universe, for I know it's anxiety, I know it's unhealthy patterns, I know it can be ok, it will be ok: I am, as I said, always going to be there for you, I will never abandon you again, my dearest treasure. I will prove it slowly, over time, until you trust me again.

I'm unsure how much of this has to do with the loneliness and I'm unsure how much of the loneliness has to do with this place. At times it does feel like that is the main theme of my life, which would make sense with the archetype of the writer, the wizard, the hermit, the outcast... All of which I always identified with. I never wanted to be the happy girly pink main character, but the dark, strange and deep one with a mysterious past. -I don't think I chose that, it was just what was closer to my reality. 
Well, being the hermit in this reality is quite difficult, especially for a hermit that is so terrified of daring to do anything. Who knows how much I could have done without that fear, I can imagine all the parallel universes though, so yes, I know how much.

Altruism is supposed to be my life lesson, what does it even mean?

Merriam-Webster says the next:
1: unselfish regard for or devotion to the welfare of others
2: behaviour by an animal that is not beneficial to or may be harmful to itself but that benefits others of its species

But I just read the wiki instead. 

All he's said during these short days has been stupidly helpful, all his company since the first message has made me sit with my shadow and brought upon necessary talks, besides the fun and satisfaction. So I wonder, really, with the right mindset not much can be altruistic since there is always a reward.

And as my mind doesn't follow one train of thought at a time, I also wonder what did I give to him? I feel like I'm back at self-centredness. Can't wait for the next dopamine rush.

Am I just constantly distracting myself from the feelings I have? Is this an escape from loneliness? Do I really just want to be saved by someone else? Someone to give me the stability, love, safety and care I never had, and from then begin to grow, dare and do as I am truly called to? 
What if I timeline jump and become that person who already has all of that? How though, when what I miss is others, since I do have myself?

I don't want to go on dates to forget myself. Self-centredness, self-fulfilment... Is everything actually just egotistic?

Fuck it's hard to stay on track, is it the neurodivergence or the childhood trauma? Is everything I do just a coping mechanism? 
So many questions flood me, no little answers and so many emotions, some scare the fuck out of me.

Am I even good at this at all? - How can I even doubt this now, the one thing I've done my entire life, how far down am I going now? It's just anxiety taking over, one of its many forms in one of the many places, this is its favourite: I am alright, just take me back to the timeline jump part.

How would it look like to be saved? How can I save myself? Who would I be if I was safe? - Someone between the hermit, strength and the queen of wands. So be it, my greatest love.

Inadequate

 

Inadecuada sería la traducción, pero como aprendí inglés después de aprender español, no significa lo mismo en mi interior.

Hace días me siento así, inadecuada, o quizás durante toda mi vida. Sintiéndome incapaz de conectar realmente y hasta el día de hoy no sé como hacer y mantener amigos, sólo parejas por unos cuantos años, hasta que estamos ambos hartos del otro, peleamos por un año y nos despedimos de forma dolorosa e inadecuada. Inadecuada igual que yo.

He estado dándole vueltas a esto de la soledad, la verdad es que podría abrazarla por completo si me voy, no de vuelta, no a vivir sola. Si me voy a un lugar en la naturaleza, si al abrir mi ventana escucho el viento en un abedul, veo como brillan sus hojas al sol o como la lluvia le hidrata, en vez de otro edificio lleno de gente, en vez de bocinas de autos y motores, gritos y rabias, botellas rotas... 
Al final me siento sola aquí, allá y en cualquier otro lugar, viva sola o con 8 personas más, en mi ciudad de nacimiento o en Berlín, la soledad viene conmigo y quizás abrazar mis sueños sin el miedo de la soledad tiene más sentido que sucumbir ante ellos.

Cerca de la ciudad, cien mil euros y un tanto más para un terreno y los pagos al estado (repulsivo, pero hay que hacerlo). Imagino escribiendo mi novela en ese invernadero, con una salamandra y rodeada de naturaleza, silencio y calma. Imagino cantando y bailando sin miedo a que los vecinos me escuchen, veo mis días llenos de paz - soledad, pero paz. 

Si al final estoy sola igual. Me siento más terrícola que humana, animal, planta; no les entiendo y mis emociones son muy profundas, todo duele y me siento insegura porque todo es una guerra de poder, no quiero ser parte de eso: He ahí mi soledad. No quiero luchar, irme es más fácil.

Imagino un futuro con mi familia, no el que viene y voy a matar, las que ya están. Veo un sauna, un invernadero, una salamandra, hierbas, cristales, té y libros, veo velas, pasteles, comida llena de vitalidad, veo creatividad liberada, veo mi cuerpo moverse por todos lados, invisible a otros y liviano como nunca antes, veo mi voz alta, fuerte y orgullosa, cada segundo mejor. Veo materiales y herramientas, creaciones y sobre todo, esa novela que vive en mi interior y aún no nace del todo. Gestación. 

Tengo miedo de estar embarazada. En Julio empieza una nueva etapa, no quiero perder más tiempo en el miedo, ni estando enferma, ni teniendo un pequeño humano: No quiero que se sienta inadecuado como yo, y sólo por vivir en mi interior por 9 meses, ser criado por mi, va a sentirse así, no quiero entregarle mi maldición: Trae gran sabiduría, gran amor y gran fortaleza, pero viene con una pena profunda que en casi 30 años de esta perra vida, no he podido apagar.

HSP, pues no creo que sea eso; TDAH, tampoco eso; Autismo, podría ser pero aún así encuentran amores y les aman tanto. Quisiera alguna vez haber sido amada así de niña, por otro ser, pues yo me amo, y jamás me voy a abandonar, veo y entiendo profundamente mi corazón y mi mente, y son el tesoro más grande que conozco. 
Pero no sé relacionarme con otros tesoros sin dejar de lado el mío, sin dañarme, sin dejarme pasar a llevar, sin olvidarme de mi. No entiendo cómo otros funcionan, cómo hacen amigos, cómo ser relacionan... Sí, me caen bien, sí nos reímos, sí hacemos cosas divertidas juntos... Es eso todo lo que hay? De eso se trata? 

Es que en mi adolescencia las mentes de otros eran interesantes y conversábamos de cosas que valían la pena, no sólo lo superficial, no sólo el dolor del mundo. Hoy pierdo la esperanza con cada palabra, hoy me siento desconectada de todos, inadecuada en todo lo que es social:

Hoy desearía tener un diagnóstico de autismo para tener más compasión, recibir interés, cariño. amor... No respuestas autómatas, no historias repetidas sobre tu juventud... Quisiera tu entusiasmo, tu motivación, tu iniciación de aventuras, pero tú sólo quieres sentarte en el sofá. Quisiera que me preguntaras más: me entiendes sin palabras o inventas quien soy en tu mente? 

Cada día lloro menos aunque la pena, cada día, crece más.

-

Todavía estoy emocionada por el futuro, con dolor, con soledad, con ineptitud, con sueños borrosos, con miedo, con demasiado miedo: Todavía tengo esperanza, todavía sueño, todavía quiero y todavía siento mi corazón en llamas por ese futuro que no sé cómo se verá, además de traerme naturaleza y calma.

Siempre quise ser ermitaña, pero fue primero el huevo o la gallina?

Nasty survival

 Oh you came in to check what's up. Cause asking isn't a possibility when you're having fun.

I can't keep up with this whatever you'd call it. I prefer to be alone than go through all this pain. I want to let you go and for you to let me go. 

Stop saying you love me, cause that's not love.

I am alone whether with or without you. At least without you I can feel my own heart again.

No more rage, no more rage.

Let go of my hand and be free, for your heart may find a new love right around the corner.

While I, well I have some storms to try to survive, even if I don't want to. Survive. Anymore.

El taxi.

 A taxi almost ran over me and I just wanted him to. I wanted to get into a fight, I wanted to smash his windows and hit him until he couldn't do anything anymore. I wished his children dead and cycled further.

I had already been holding back the tears, I kept doing so. 

Your stress your stress your stress. I want to kill someone with my bare hands, I hate myself.

I want to die. 

As I sit in front of the Volksbühne (they/them) I imagine how I'd murder him, matándolo con mis propios puños y dientes.

Veo sus lentes rotos, su cara de dolor, de desconcierto. Veo su sangre en mis manos, sus dientes rotos contra el pavimento. Lo sigo golpeando hasta que veo su terror, sólo entonces despierto a ver qué hice y me doy cuenta de lo que estoy haciendo. Y ahí viene la culpa, pero todavía quiero que muera, porque gente así no merece vivir en este planeta tan lindo, esta existencia que podría ser un paraíso sin escoria como tantos.

Loneliness is hard and it feels unimportant against the stress, just because I'm quiet when I'm there it doesn't make it non-existent. His words had the same meaning.

I'm alone again. 

Eres fuerte y lo que sientes es válido, mereces que te respeten y te amen como tú quieras y lo necesites. Mi hermanita preciosa, no sabes cuánto te extraño. Llevo días llorando y ni siquiera lo sabes.

No quiero estar más aquí, no hay espacio para mi aquí. Todo es sobre ellos. Su estrés, su estrés, su estrés y no supe decir que no había espacio para mi. Quiero estar afuera, pero sola. Mañana a la una tengo que ir y ayudar, reír y usar la máscara social, pero la verdad quería que me atropellara ese taxista. No quiero estar más aquí.

Just leave.

 I guess I always knew it, she did too. It was never gonna work, it never will, with anyone at all. Screaming for help, in complete silence, how could they know?

I wanted to write but it's all too much, it's all been too much for too long. The little moments of joy aren't enough, the love I pour into myself isn't enough for this infinite void of mine. 
So, from now on, I will just dream of living elsewhere, a new place, Ireland most likely, since London isn't really a possibility, nor Brighton, Bristol or the north. A shared flat with her, unless I'm just too awkward and weird to even do that and we end up not talking anymore. The story of my life.

The story of my life. 

Just leave, like everyone else.

Ending

I should just go hide under whatever rock I came out of.

I will get wasted on cider after work, hopefully, I'll die drunk tonight.

I still wish we had never met, I still wish I was never born. 

I still wish I was never born.

I still wish I was never born.

It's sad to be so close to the edge.

No title, no picture, giving up. (31/7/22)

 Sometimes I sit by your shores and walk around your forests, but I never go in. I go to your supermarket, buy a drink and sit at your park, you're never there, but it's for the best.

Right now you must be still asleep or partying with your cool people and your cool drugs. It's good you're back to yourself, in a way I just wish you were different so that I truly knew you were going to be alright, not the temporary kind, or maybe we could actually have had a good relationship.

I dreamt last night, while awake, that you were lying behind me and grabbed me in your sleepiness, the way you did so many times, with full hands while kissing my neck in a desire and passion that couldn't be held back, mumbling words of adoration between breathless sighs.
I miss your hands on me, the soft yet tough touch of your fingers on every corner of my skin. It was indeed a masterpiece of sensitivity for all the bodies, we were really good at one thing at least (I know there was more than just that).

Here I am, once again, writing sexually about someone who's happy with someone else. What a fool I can be.

Which stage of grieving am I in? Cause I hate you but I love you, I want you and to hit you too. I wish you happiness but also not even a drop because of how much pain I am in. I want to let you go and I want you back... I want revenge but I just want to lie in peace and for you to find what you are looking for in love and life.

I can clearly see you seducing other girls, getting their numbers at Ohm, which I cycled past today and I could've worked in temporarily without knowing... How could I not be in pain if so much reminds me of you, but not just you: the pain of your lies, you. The trigger and dishonesty you.

Why did it have to end like this? Why did you have to stay until you found a way to deeply hurt me? There were so many times to end us, but it had to be in the most painful way. Is that Karma for all the pain you went through? But why would that energy be on me, when you decided to stay over and over?
Nonsensing.

I need to leave you entirely now, give up all hope of ever having you in my life, give the love of your family up, they probably never really cared, like most people don't, they smile and word come out of their mouths but they mean nothing. Have I ever been lonelier? How much longer do I have to endure this for?

And I guess you don't care and I'm just a fool again. Caring too much while you already forgot about me. So much for the love you praised, it's better like this.

Their bodies may be better suited for you, their vices and traits. 

In the end I believe all good you said about me and about us was a lie, just a feeling of the moment, the obsession of the year. I was just that, a trend, for all you said was so special, I was shown over and over it wasn't, you had it with others as well and now that you're open to more, thanks to my wisdom and the freedom you finally have, I'm completely erased from your mind, for this bitch, was just a trend in your heart.

Remember when you complained that I never wrote about you in my blog? I guess you manifested it too. Sadly it's not what you expected, you wanted love and got only pain. What I bitch I am. What a useless, trivial trend I was.

---

Some days I just want to go away and never turn back. Today that is on the wounds you reopened and it's on me for not letting go. Why can't I just let go? Why can't I forget you? Why do I still miss you? 

I've been doing all the right things, following all the teachings, especially the harder ones, yet I feel as if it was day one again, all over again. 
All the pains and laughter, all the memories come flooding me, drowning me. All the thoughts about all the people come and poison me with their gooey darkness and I just want to give up. I want to give up, I want to give up, I want to give it all up. 

Why am I still so lonely? What am I doing wrong? Why can't I let you go? Why is life like this? Why am I still going through this? What's the point of living like this? Why was I born at all? 

There's no point in living when the day to day is just a constant loneliness, for even with company I feel lonely at times and I never belonged and I never fit it. 

Is there anywhere where there is any hope? 

Will I ever find where I belong?

Tacos.

 Walking around the city so much reminds me of you, even in places we never were. Today I saw the tacos place I hate the most with the red neon letters spelling her name on a corner facing the canal.

Tacos means high heels in Spanish (or heavy traffic in Chile) and I wonder if she was shorter than me and if you two are having more fun now, moving on, maybe you three, moving on.

What's that even supposed to mean?

Moving.

On.

Do I really want to know? Why though? Just to hurt myself more? Can I live with the doubt and let it go? 

There's definitely at least someone new, for the numbers on my blog have gone down to the usual 1-4, instead of 30 per day. Some days you don't see them at all. Good for you.

Now you get to hurt me the way you always dreamt of deep down each time I wasn't with you. But I'm alone and you never were, despite how much you wanted to believe it.

Will the pain ever leave this body of mine, or is it just part of existing?

London, London, London. Will you take them now? Of course you will, moving on. 

That wasn't love. It's not about them, once again, but about us, feelings and mud. There's too much dirt to do better, my back hurts again.

Will your mum also make scones for them? Definitely, but they won't cry in happiness like me, for I'm burdened and blessed by this sensitivity "a flor de piel". What an ugly saying.

I slept so badly and good news is around, I'm happy and suffering too. It's time to take a step further finally, to get some good news also for myself.

Where is my sister?

I want to leave and never return, I miss her. That's the main good news I want to hear: all went well, the struggle is solved, she's alive and well".

There's still a lot going on and as she said, I'm not talking to anyone again, at the moment, as it happens, as I feel defeated and weak, heavy. Maybe I just need a proper bed. What about taking the step further? 24th of September.

It's time to say goodbye to you forever, for this pain is too much. The hope of being closer again is only hurting. Another post will come for that, not that you'd see it. 

Overwhelming emotions constantly, how do I truly let this go? It's been over a month and I'm still stuck here in the space you left in my heart. In the loneliness I am.

On reopening wounds.

 I guess it's part of the healing, to be curious about what's under the bandage, at times, like this one, there's tissue stuck to the cloth and as you pull to take a look it breaks a bit of the effort your body made to heal it and the work begins again.

Only I knew it wasn't healed yet, because when I think of him with either of them three that broke us, I feel flustered and go straight back into the hole I've been trying to climb out of.

It wasn't them who broke us, I know. Still, the images of them together dig with claws into some really sick place within my soul. Betrayals and traumas I wish I didn't have, despite I'd love to have breakfast with him, but it won't turn out well. I don't really want to know what he's been up to because it's probably exactly what I imagine and it hurts that they get to have that while I got so much shit.

Some drinks, some parties, some drugs, some sex, maybe a pile of condoms under the bed this time, maybe an entirely new relationship... There's a reason the statistics on this page have to go down, probably there's a new obsession on the way.

How mean I can be. 

The thing is, I'm just confused. I truly want him to be happy, but I also just want all of that to be erased from my brain and for him to stop all contact with them three and since I miss him, I can't find peace. I never had something like that before, I just wish the good parts had been healthy instead of this awful war it became. I wish there had been true love and not just trauma bonding... But so I wonder about my own sick and twisted heart.

They didn't break us, it was the mistrust, the broken promises, the lies. The anger, the frustration, the control. 

It was trauma bonding all along.

I just wonder if I'd ever be as fulfilled as then, or if that balance between extreme companionship, fun, passion, intimacy and healthy space, individuality and support is actually not possible without the toxicity of enmeshment.

I know this is on me, this is me, I fight my toxicity as much as I can, but that means, I stay contrived as well.

Is he still seeing them? Was she a dj? Is he fucking them? Are they back to being friends? 

They may be having a great time, much better without me as I always believed. Like in my dream of being transparent "La Olvidada", I truly believe you all are better off without me. 

... At least life has shown me that in one case, it's not like that, even when it seems to be. In his case though, I'm sure it is. He has his freedom and his vices and his girls and his parties, no mother-anchor to hold him responsible, no therapists-consciousness to advise him on better decisions. 

I'm freer as well and focusing on my dreams has been a big push. My knitting projects are back and I'm actually good at it. My wishes of living alone might even become true by the next year or so, I'm just opening doors lately, cleaning up dusty, forgotten places in my soul.

I'm sadder, I'm less confident, but I'm stronger and braver, I'm lonelier, I'm less energized, but I'm reminding myself I'm worthy and enough, I can make my dreams come true and I deserve good things, big things too.

I'm more jealous, but I can see it's the apps and the socials. I'm still worthy of love and compassion like we all are.

I wish I knew what I want with this, I wish I knew what is best for me about him. But only time will tell, so patience and focusing on myself are the best options I have, they do me good.

Today is yours.

 Today has been your day, my mind, despite all my efforts, keeps circling back to you. 

Kaufland, enchiladas, quesadillas, spaceship surprise, London, Humboldthain, little surprises and the constant care.

I have my period and in my depressive procrastination, I think of your perfect lentil soup and the cuddles. I'm just sad today.

I'm trying to stay away because I want you to be happy and I know that in order to get there I need to give you enough time and space to heal from me and me from you. 

I wish I could just be happy seeing you with them and I wish we could be close anyway. I wish we could chat and hang out, hug without the pains. I wish so much and though I try to focus on myself, my brain keeps bringing you back. I'm crocheting so time goes by without much space for thinking, I'm cleaning and decorating so my space becomes a home, I'm dreaming and moving toward them so I can be satisfied and forget the loneliness, or maybe not forget, but accept and enjoy even.

Still you keep coming back, on every breakfast I haven't had, on tidal, in the mouth of every English speaker at the store, each evening alone, each walk after sunset, each wish for a cider, at the supermarket and in bed. Today I asked myself: "I wonder what you're having for breakie these days"

I'm just sad today.

What's wrong with me?

          All is filled with unshed tears today, they rush through my throat but my eyes catch them, dry. Your memory haunts me, together with the warmth of home. Today, I miss all I haven't embraced since 2017, but also a life I haven't had yet.

         I'm bleeding and that might be the cause, though all the doubts and intrusive thoughts are taking part too. I feel so weak and frustrated, no matter how much I try, I'm dissatisfied with every goodbye, except one.  Seeing her yesterday was nice, but again, saying goodbye means that I don't know when I would ever see them again unless I keep putting in all the effort. Sure, I understand each has its own struggles and preoccupations, but I keep being forgotten, how come I make the time and I remember?

There's a balance I look for, there are goals I'm figuring out and pursuing, and there is solitude I need but I also need to feel appreciated, cherished, valued... I need love, not only romantic.
I'm more or less fine with myself, I think highly enough of myself and have my projects to express this heart I hold, but my self-worth keeps sinking as I continue not understanding the reason for being forgotten, nor my discomfort with so many other hearts. 

I'm tired of searching and reaching out, of meaningless, self-centred, invulnerable interactions, finite "friendships" and social media's perfect beauty and success.

I want out.

Or better, I want in, properly in. 

Hearty talks, deep laughter and authentic expression, shared projects, mutual support, acceptance and compassion, honest conversations. Warmth, pure and raw humanity, outside the norms of this restrictive society. I want freedom, but together. Respect and appreciation, is that such a hard thing to achieve?

Am I insane for wanting relationships that truly make me happy? Is that even possible, does it exist at all? Am I just wrong, are these wishes just some sick, perverted urge? Are there no other hearts around who may want the same?

Or is it me? What am I doing wrong? What am I not seeing that keeps me from having... a true friend?

I may think and say it's the bleeding of this month, but I know, deep down, it's the lack of love. No matter how much my inner world is blamed, I truly believe and know, that it's not that I'm not giving myself enough love, enough attention, acceptance; enough freedom or space to be; enough compassion and warmth. 
What I believe, is that there is something about my behaviour or beliefs, that keeps me from having the relationships I truly dream of, but I can't see it. And how could I, when I barely see anyone?

I'm tired of reaching out. I'm tired of feeling lonely, I'm tired of this difficult life, always on the verge of crumbling. I'm tired of doubting the one love I have left instead of enjoying it as it should be.

I'm tired of missing.

I will continue to create, maybe then I will at least be stable and this loneliness won't be so deadly anymore.

Store days.

 Friday:

The Streets is playing in the store. I was hesitant to write, so I didn't. 

"Has it come to this?"

The piano carves deeply into my loneliness on this one, it's always done so, but now it also makes me nostalgic about you. 

I was about to write to you last time about letting go, moving forward and all that which I've said many times, but before I even compose it, you were gone. I'm glad you did, probably being healthier was a big reason, together with my last writing. I have the urge to explain about it, but I need to stop myself every time. It's hard when I know that your mind tends to believe the worst possible thing.

I write to process, not to hurt or call upon you. I write for me, I write for my mind and my heart.
I miss you, but that doesn't mean I want you back.

Saturday:

Today one of your disco songs was on the radio, it hit me by surprise, filled me with some odd sad feeling that I can't quite explain right now.

It was "I want your love" by Chic, and now some English gals are here, the kind you'd like.

I was already totally out of it, my brain was elsewhere, the shop was quiet and I just wanted everything to end. Eli was so happy to go to a party, while I just wanted to go home and sleep.
I don't know what's going on with my mind lately, I can barely sleep while of course, my brain keeps leaving reality. I am in a constant state of dissociation, I can't even look at anything, only through it, and the capacity to focus: none.

I still miss you and I still think we can't be in contact at all, I still want to protect you and take care of you, which shows that I need to stay away.
I hope you are doing well, moving forward, learning and healing, I hope therapy starts soon and that this time it does help you deeply, to heal the little Lou that is within, so he learns to trust you while you give him what he needs and deserves. I also hope you can move forward with all your projects and reach your goals.
I just want you to be happy, even if I'm not there at all to see it.

I regularly think of your family, of London, of your mother... And if I let myself dive into them, I dwell on unknown emotions that I can't comprehend, neither why they come, nor what they are at all. Maybe just related to feeling at home, maybe it was just the scones Alice made, maybe the lack of family myself. 
I'm glad they call you regularly, I know they can be annoying at times, but it's lovely to have that support. I'm glad you have your brother and your dad as well. I'm glad you're not actually alone in this and it's important for me to remember that: you are not alone and you will be alright.
You don't need me, and that is a good thing.

La olvidada

 Hay una pena profunda escondida en el océano, entre oscuridad, algas y peces no la notamos, pero está ahí, como una tumba, recordándonos esos miedos que impulsan dolores y crean realidades a su vez.

Soñé con ustedes, estábamos sentadas en una mesa redonda, tomando once, conversando en calma y felicidad, nos reíamos con una ligereza que sólo nosotras concocemos. De pronto, mi cuerpo se volvía translúcido, lentamente avanzando hacia la total transparencia, en mi desesperación les pedía ayuda, pero ustedes seguían riendo, como si nada estuviera pasando, me miraban y veían a través de mi, tal cual un cansancio pesado en los ojos -lloraba. Me habían olvidado, como si nunca hubiera existido y reían como siempre lo hicimos.

Ese terror de ser olvidada se ha hecho real desde que me fui, perdí tantas amistades que simplemente se alejaron, a pesar de mis intentos de mantenerlas, entregué mi cariño una y otra vez, en mensajes, fotos, voces, pero no recibí nada a cambio, un fade-out cualquiera, como si los años de amistad no significaran nada. Un ghosting como en tinder, pero que realmente duele, no sólo frustra. Y ahora hasta mi familia me está dejando, qué he hecho mal?
Cómo puede ser que la más pequeña tuviera un teléfono al que podría haberla llamado por meses antes de que, por casualidad, me contaran? Cómo no estuve dentro de las personas con quien pensaron en compartir este dato? Dicen que todos los almuerzos me recuerdan y les creo, pero cómo es que ese recuerdo no se convierte en un mensaje, una foto, una llamada, años van y sólo por casualidad o en fechas importantes hablamos, y a veces ni eso.

Soy invisible, el anonimato llegó, nunca existí y es que lo deseé tantas veces, el desaparecer. Lo que quería era desaparecer los problemas, las reglas, las jaulas, para poder encontrarme, pero teniendo 7 años, cómo iba a saber que esa frustración, ese odio, esa impotencia, era toda por algo externo y no porque todo estuviera erróneo en mi misma? 
Esa Dani que creía que si no existiera todos estarían mejor, todos serían más felices, esa que sabía que tenía que ganarse su lugar en éste planeta para ser vista y respetada por quien era... Esa Dani, hoy llora porque quienes más ama le están, sin querer, recordando esas emociones, esa soledad que siempre viví, ese deseo de no existir porque al final, no hay diferencia si estoy o no, solamente hay más espacio en un mundo que está demasiado lleno y en las mentes que, como reflejo, están igual. 

Si la Dani no existe, hay más espacio para otras cosas, cosas en las que ustedes quieran enfocarse, no hay más dolor en mi y hay más libertad para otros. Eso cree la Dani de 7 años que esperaba a sus padres en terror, junto al teléfono por horas, después de promesas frescas y ya rotas.
Esa Dani que quiere desaparecer está aquí y yo, la verdadera protectora de mi pequeña, estoy enredándome en estos dolores en un intento casi futil de darle la seguridad, el amor, el valor, la importancia y el respeto que se merece.
Porque esta Dani chiquitita es un ser maravilloso, con una mente increíble y un corazón infinito, si esta Dani hubiera recibido lo que merecía y lo que necesitaba, probablemente mi vida sería mucho más fácil, estaría tan alto como mis padres desearon, en vez de en esta pieza a medio armar, con ansiedad de salir, sobrepasada por todo lo que la sociedad representa y llorando.

Cómo le enseño a ésta Dani que merece mucho más, si quienes dicen amarla, no la ven, no le hablan, no la recuerdan? Cómo la hago sentirse apreciada y vista, cuando tantos se han rendido en mantener una relación, la han dejado? Cómo le recuerdo su valor, cuando sentimos que estamos haciendo algo terríblemente mal y no logramos entender qué es, ni por qué al final terminamos estando solas, una y otra vez?

Hoy no tengo respuestas, para ninguna de estas cosas, sólo sé que yo sí amo a mi Dani, que yo sí le hablo a diario, que estamos tejiendo juntas, escribiendo juntas, cantando juntas, decorando juntas, que sí le doy la libertad para explorar y ser quien realmente es, y que juntas estamos aprendiendo cada día a confiar en mi misma, a vivir en más libertad sin disculparse y a descubrir las cosas que hacen a nuestro corazón palpitar más fuerte. Estamos intentando avanzar hacia el miedo, caminar a través de él. Todo esto mientras volvemos a nuestras rutinas saludables, a la dieta balanceada, al movimiento, la respiración, la mente, las artes... 

Espero poder demostrarle a mi Dani chiquitita querida, que su valor es inmenso y que sí puede confiar, no sólo en mi, pero también en las otras personas. Espero pronto poder encontrar a esas personas con quienes esta Dani se sienta realmente a gusto, sin presiones, sin ansiedades, sin miedos, que encuentre esos corazones que sí la merecen y la valoren.

Humphrey, A (edited into the present reality)

 Seeing your location that day made me wonder instantly, how can this still be here? Does it flow both ways or is just my broken mind... It's been four years.

It's been four years and we both have lives, we were so young. I really hope you are not as sad as you used to be.

I shouldn't have asked, but I did.
I shouldn't have looked, but I did too.
I knew it was gonna hurt, cause the regret of not having looked right into your eyes for longer still haunts me. You were right, I was trapped in that relationship and it wasn't worth keeping. I just wish I hadn't been so rigid and flowed into what we had, or didn't, cause even if we didn't really know each other or the future, feeling your chest against mine, bare, soft and warm, mixed with the unquestionable desire that poured through our every molecule, would have been enough to be worth it.

You are my biggest regret.

Is this only so, for me?
I'm playing lo-fi in your memory, Nujabes was your favourite back then. We never really knew each other and I'm sure it's not worth it for you to even imagine considering the possibility of closing this circle with one first and last encounter, but I needed to tell you once more, after all, this is all about regrets of mine.

Does your mind ever return to that day in your apartment?
Mine does sometimes and I just want to end it for once, the regret is heavy and since I don't have many, I don't know how to let it go. I should probably delete your socials and move on, but I would like to have sex with you, only once, to quiet my mind.

I was remembering since you came, we got deep into something back then, shared darkest thoughts and fears, fantasies and dreams, secrets I can't write and the feeling of belonging, in a really fucked up way, just because we felt and did the same. How would it have been if we had actually met? I have the feeling it would have been a fucking mess, we were too young.
Still, I circle back to asking myself how it would have been if you had touched my arm that day, or if I had leaned a bit closer as we spoke, find out how your lips felt against mine? Your balcony is just an idyllic dream, I still can see your bed and the huge place you had alone for yourself, I can still remember as I imagined you consumed in your loneliness there, drinking wine, smoking and playing video games. I imagined myself being there with you, time stopped in endless days of giving in to our pleasures... It would have been a mess.

I missed my chance to have you in my arms, a feeling that now has turned into a pure craving for your touch, but in its time was more. I was so young -we were so young, as I read our talk in an attempt to find some closure, I find stains of immaturity in a futile attempt to figure things out, heal and grow. We both wanted that and were somehow stuck in our own deep feelings of failure, depression and loneliness. Meaningless and directionless, but somehow still swimming.
Maybe that's the only reason why our connection was so strong, just a sick deprivation of anything good, belonging in each others' misery.

And despite knowing all that, I still want you, just this one first -and last time.

I wanted to write you out of my life, I was going to delete and block you, though what I truly want is for you to ask her, so we can finish (this) together as we wrote so many times in the fantasies we couldn't realise. Thankfully just being honest made me see how different we are, as you said. I looked at your pictures, read your present messages and realised, this is not worthy enough. For your words are filled with some toxin I can't decipher and your face isn't as I remembered. 

I just liked the way you made me feel, the special attention, the idolising words, the sexual pull. Now though, I remembered why it felt so weird to have any little contact. You're one of those. And none of this was worth anything, meaningless it is and so it can leave my chest, all that you are is now gone.

How easy it is to let go once you have all the facts, especially once I re-realise how awful you can be.

Te cuento algo, mamá?

 Y si parto diciendo que todas hemos deseado morir regularmente durante nuestras vidas? Y si te digo que no es tu culpa? Si te cuento que viene de antes, que sobrepasa lo que entiendes como temporal o generacional? Si te digo que es casi una maldición, pero no como tal?

Cuántas generaciones de mujeres aprisionadas hay detrás nuestro mamá? 

No es tan fácil salir de la prisión, ya sea de metal o mental, pero lo estamos intentando, y ahora que la muerte estuvo cerca y nos sigue rondando, más que nunca necesitamos romper estas cuerdas que nos atan, las unas a las otras y a ese dolor que acarreamos como fantasmas pero pesados.
Mamá, cómo te explico que extraño la soledad que me diste? Vivir con tanta gente sólo de causa problemas estomacales y soledad de la mala. En inglés hay dos palabras para explicarlo, son muy diferentes la verdad: Estar solx o sentirse solx. 
Ya que me siento tan sola, al menos podría estar sola también, pero mamá, no sé cómo lograrlo cuando tengo tan poca plata en una ciudad tan cara. Mamá, cómo lo lograste tú?

Quisiera que mi hermano despertara y me agradeciera por darle un mejor futuro, aunque en realidad el mérito es tuyo, como siempre, luchando por algo mejor para nosotros, apesar de habernos dejado solos. Te hemos perdonado ya, ahora te toca a ti perdonarte. 
Imagínate mamá, cómo sería si avanzáramos todas juntas hacia la sanación?

Antes de ayer tuve una epifanía y en un golpe de energía escribí que ya no iba a lamentarme por mi misma, que iba a ser más auténtica y confiar en mi misma, ir por eso que merezco, pero hoy, me levanté y pareciera que se fue ese sentimiento con el temporal que no hubo. Desperté sufriendo por la falta de horas para dormir, por el exceso de luz y de ruido, soñando aún con ese poqueño hogar donde quiero vivir, la naturaleza, el fuego y el agua, la tierra y el aire, vidrio y madera, papel y grafito, lana y tela, té y arroz, tina y balcón.

Mamá, hoy me levanté y todos mis sueños estaban pesados, mantenían mis parpados cerrados pero despierta, tirada en la cama, hinchada, inmóvil, exhausta, destrozada. Hablé hoy con la Vera, mamá, me hizo feliz, está tan grande.
Luego mi hermana me contó sobre esa sombra que nos viene siguiendo y recordé cómo es que todas hemos deseado estar muertas, hemos deseaso unca haber nacido, hemos deseado y preguntado, por qué! Más en exclamación que pregunta. 

Mamá, qué hago ahora? Cómo vuelvo a mi misma cuando mi espacio huele a perro, lleno de pelo y baba seca? Cómo me alimento si no me atrevo a pasar tiempo ahí y otros se come mi comida? Cómo tengo ejercito si en mi nuevo barrio sólo hay adolescentes cool en vez de un parque para correr? Cómo vivo si ya no aguanto estar con gente y deseo con todo mi corazón vivir sola, mientras no me creo capaz de hacerlo?
Siempre me dije, cuando aprenda Alemán todo va a estar mejor. Hoy, con mi b1-b2, tras un mes de trabajar completamente en Alemán puedo decir con certeza, que no se me ha hecho mucho más fácil. O es que no lo noto mamá?
Es acaso mi pesimismo tan arraigado en las profundidades de mi corazón? Es que acaso no puedo ver lo mucho que he logrado?

Probablemente.

Entonces mamá dime, qué he logrado en estos 5 años de exilio autoimpuesto? Qué he logrado?
En cronología, sí dejé las pastillas y bajé de peso, me inicié en el veganismo y en la sustentabilidad, aprendí sobre mi propia mente y trabaje con mis demonios, aunque ninguno de estos trabajos estén terminados. Aprendí un tanto de Alemán, ahora hablo casi tres idiomas, pronto podría aprender un cuarto. Encontré más independencia y al fin aprendí, hasta cierto punto, qué es lo que yo quiero y necesito, cómo cuidarme, cómo crecer, cómo comunicarme. Aprendí sobre mi neurodivergencia, ya sea diagnosticada o no.
Sí aprendí bastante, pero aún siento que no es lo suficiente. No tengo a nadie con quien compararme, así que en vez de hacerlo comigo, lo hago con otres quienes veo en internet, y mamá, te tengo que decir que duele, porque ellxs son todxs perfectxs, super cuerpos, super mentes, super creatividad, super habilidades, super decoración, super estilo y vestimenta, super amigues, super plata, super trabajo, super voz... Es insoportable ver a tanta gente haciendo tantas cosas perfectas... No quiero más perfección, quiero realidad, para ver si logro encajar.

Mamita, creo que tengo problemas. Creo que algo está mal conectado en mi mente y mi cuerpo, algo del sistema nervioso, es que cómo pueden ellos hacer tanto sin aparentes problemas, mientras yo me tengo que ir a llorar al baño?
No quiero más ir a esconderme al baño.

No more pity.

I keep seeing things and thinking things and it's time to stop this.

Every single word you send is another deep black tile for me to fall into, theoretically, you wouldn't be able to go to any parties ever again if we got back together, or anywhere without me. Here is the thing: there is no going back anymore. 
I see no point in my life in which I can overcome this, I don't ever see myself making peace with the long line of men who have hurt me and every single mother in my family.
See I can't believe anything you say anymore, all your reasons and excuses mean absolutely nothing because what I've known so far from you has been pain and frustration. 

Despite being completely taken over by the triggered part of myself, the wounded one, I meant what I said. Yes, I've been awful to you in words since Monday, but I was honest about how I feel. You showed me anger, violence, aggression, and impatience when I needed care and support the most, while you made a playlist for her when she felt pain. It doesn't matter who "she" is, it matters that this is who you were at the beginning, this is who you are to others, and this is not who you are to me or have been for a long time.
You chose me, over and over, but what for and at what cost?
How can you call that love?

I've been pitying myself and being awful to you for long enough now, it's time to end it once and for all. I am strong and I want change, I have self-discipline and I can get out of this, survive this, expand my horizons, my options and my freedom; live without the heaviness of us.
I am alone and lonely, but that doesn't have to be bad, as long as you don't come up with your parties and your cool kid stuff. I am a pathetic little shit and that is fine.
I am sick, I am slow, I am broken and broke, I don't understand, I don't fit in, I don't belong, but none of that has to be bad, it's fine to be who I am because I am also strong and wise and I take my time. I am aware, I am conscious. I am me and she is quite nice, cosy, comfy, lovely company.

In spite of all the lies you all fed me, there's still a little fire within that reminds me of how worthy I am, how much I deserve, and now I know how to take care of myself, how to protect that fire and to hug and love the wounded girl I also am, underneath all the layers, there is a child that needs me, she is funny, caring, witty, creative, loving, curious, enthusiastic, wise, loveable... and her heart is bigger than this world which sadly means that she can get hurt more than this world too. 
I am here now, to protect her immense heart, to let her run free and be by her side whenever she falls. I am here to be the mother I never had, the father I never had, the friend I never had, the partner I never had, the sibling I never had, the me that I never had.

In order to be that, I need to step away from the toxic, I need to rely on the decisions I've made sober, whenever I was alone and thinking clearly, not in the middle of a fight, nor in the middle of a lovely time, but after, alone and wondering what I'd do with my life if I continue like this. 

St. Jude - Florence and the Machine, hear it, read it, swallow and digest it. That's what I am doing right now:

"But I'm learning so I'm leaving
and even though I'm grieving
I'm trying to find the meaning
Letting loss reveal it."

It's time to focus on myself, through the loneliness, through the lack of space, through the passing of time, through the pains and through the fears, it's time and I am here to honour my wounds and my worth. Honour the freedom I never allowed myself. 

It's time to become the powerful creature that was caged inside, let her unleash herself and trust. Trust myself despite what you all said, all I chewed on, swallowed and absorbed believing was nutritious, it's time to detoxify myself and trust the revolution of water we are in until August.

Hereby, I free her -who I once believed was a monster- from the prison of fear, invalidation and diminishing that in its moment seemed to be the only way to protect my immense heart, yet made evident by the present life, it was only hurting us more. My sacred demon, come out and let us have the life we truly deserve.

___________________

"Please don't go back to the place you once prayed to be out of"
"Don't lower your standards to open your possibilities, it will just leave you drained"
"You may be not seeing the bigger picture since you're too focused on this duality"

It's for the best.

 As I see the push and pull so clearly in numbers here and am poisoned by violent wishes, sitting in the same park I walked away from you a couple weeks ago, when nothing was as bad as today. I remember everything and state again and again, it's for the best.

How come you're not here, with all these people just like you and her and her as well, and the friend you said you're helping too? I have so little faith in you that I don't even believe you were just with her, but it wasn't a lie, cause it was on Friday, not the Saturday twin.

I'm in so much pain, I'm so alone. I'm so alone, I'm so alone. 

Fucking bitch, just being sorry for myself, what an idiot, insoportable.

I wish I had a drink, sitting here alone, in pain, cold, I wish I had two drinks, three and four, just lie here until I merge with the soil, forget everything and anything. Bitch.

I will sit here for 20 minutes, you won't see this in that long today since you haven't checked it obsessively like other times. It's for the best. I need to let go.

Caught - Florence & the Machine.

It's all back, it's gone.

 It's back, it's all back but I'm alone this time. 

I never thought I'd be the forgotten one, yet here I am, no messages on my phone, no calls, no one knocking at my door. I've completely disappeared, I am in the void I so feared. How long have I, without noticing, been here?

I wish at least I had the good parts of being alone, but the system forced me to living with others. Is it that farfetched and insane to imagine having a place for myself? 

A cosy little kitchen, a calming bathtub, a nook to cuddle with a tea and a book and a balcony to grow some plants. A big carpet and a coffee table to sit and work at. I can see it perfectly, with a view of some trees, or maybe at the beach. My cabin in the woods to follow the loneliness I've always been.

Talking to my beautiful family made me feel so full, but the second it was over it all came back. 

I'm deeper in depression than I've been in the last 4 years. I'm in a pain and discomfort that's half unknown, I'm not home.

I try, but all my mind goes to is the downsides. I haven't lived any upsides. I'm not meant to be so social, but at least I could have the good parts of either being social or not.

How can I keep my routines when I can't leave my space ready for it, when I'm too anxious to leave the house for my own reasons. Ugh whatever.

Why am I so difficult? Why don't I have any friends? Why can't I finish anything? Why am I not really good at anything? 

I'm just a failed version of a human. My body is working strangely due to my discomfort in this place, but I don't want to accept it because here is much better than there, I don't want to say it because I'm scared of how you'd feel.

I want to leave this planet. They all talk about manifesting and they have perfect lives, perfect jobs, perfect friends, perfect partners, perfect houses, perfect bodies, perfect skin, Jesus even the perfect weather! 

How can I feel any better when I feel like I'm missing the secret ingredient they have? What am I not seeing? Why can't I find it? Why am I stuck and contrived?

It's all back, all of it, entirely and fully. Not only mistrusting and not being worthy, but the failure, the impossible dreams, the wish to escape. 

My will to live is gone again, when can I leave, I give up on this game, I lost and that's ok.

I just don't want to roam around seeing others achieve what I couldn't anymore. Please, take me away.

No wonder I keep coming back to you. I'm so lonely, I've always been so lonely. Hell I don't even know how to make and keep friends, I try so hard, I get so tired and they never ask me how I am. What am I doing wrong?

No wonder I keep coming back to you, no ritual can break it, no therapy. I'm cursed. And I'm slowly passing that curse to you, unless you were cursed already too, but you made it through, you have friends, a few but worthy, you have a loving family who writes and calls. We're both lost, unstable, weak, so being together helps us forget all the pain our hearts have gone through, substance abuse. Only we made more pain for us in the meantime, we can't have the good without the bad. 

I don't want to share more of this curse with you. You could get out once, you will do it again, but not if I'm there to spread my loneliness, my discomfort, my incapacity to fit in, to belong, to feel at home. 

Quiero a mi hermana, que me cuide como cuando era niña. Quiero a la Alicia, que juegue conmigo con los lápices. Quiero a la Carmen, que me haga pancitos después del colegio, y una leche con chocolate. 

Quiero aprender a tener amigos, a sentirme cómoda con ellos, a cuidarles y que me cuiden.

Por qué siento que hay algo que no logro entender de las relaciones humanas? Las quiero, las busco, lo intento, pero no están, no hay nada.

What's wrong with me?

I've been in bed for days, only out to see the only person who would see me right now. I've barely eaten for days, I've barely spoken for days. No showers for days. I tried to arrange the space and make it better for me, but it's not enough. How would it be if I lived alone?

The dreams come but the reality weights them down: Why can't I be normal? Why am I not normal? What am I doing wrong? What's wrong with me?

What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me?

 What's

Wrong

With

Me.

Can I even be helped, or am I doomed to roam this life with the infinite heaviness of loneliness until I die? 

I am at Ikea (not like you would care)

 On my way to our comfort store, either go through your Treptower Park or the park of one of your girls, ugh. 

It must be easy to let me go when you have two prospects waiting for you, one completely new, the other halfway through. The butterflies must be going crazy inside you, the passion you contain can be spread into someone who will be able to receive it better than I did. 

I'm going to remind myself that Ikea is mine, have a tea and cake, it's my comforting place, not ours. I'm going to reconnect with myself again and let go of the memories we made together, forge new ones alone, because I can't remember you without the knife pushing back inside, without that night at Treptower Park, without Victoria and your new drum&base lass, without your lies. 

I'm in so much pain, I'm just trying to stay present with and for myself. I feel contaminated and I just want to lie down and cry until I heal.

I'm so angry, disappointed. Triggered. I wish I had never met you, that's in how much pain I am. I would rather never have had the good, only to never have felt this way again. The feeling of my life, always there. 

You made me believe you could be "the one" (or become the perfect partner) even after I managed to stop believing in that, you brought that idea back into my life and I fell for it, while the other half of me knew it was impossible and dumb, protecting me from letting go of that which was concrete and helpful. 

I am so hurt, and I imagine you making fun of what you read here, as you did many times of what I said or how I said it when we fought, dramatic bitch I am, or maybe it's that this is not my first language, it hurts no matter what the reason was.

At least I am starting to hate you, that's the next stage of grief, isn't it?

Incomplete text 1. Trying to figure it out.

- "Hey are you coming?"

- "Yes, I'm taking an Uber now."

- "Cool, see you soon (:"

Why does it hurt like a knife through the solar plexus? Why  now?

You lied when I asked earlier and I caught you later on, claimed you did't lie and I'm supposed to believe you were waiting for the right time and celebrate you being considerate enough not to tell me because I feel so bad about myself at the moment. 

The story repeats itself, lying men, coward men, lazy men. Always finding an excuse, waiting to be fixed, forgetting: more like not caring, demanding, the push and pull, lying around to be fed a plan, not taking responsibility or communicating with respect and care, the anger! And of course, the making me believe I'm insane. I believed them.

Good that you know who you are: "two years of loyalty", sorry to have wasted your time. You showed it enough, no need for even more words on that. I shouldn't have come back.

Suddenly you're all the men in my life:

My cheating, lustful, lying and coward father, always saying the right things; my cheating, controling mother, gaslighting everyone (masculine energy); my brother, hating me since I turned 6; my first boyfriend, rejected, talking shit about me to our older school mates; Francisco, sudden hate, lying, lustful, weak, coward, saying the right things and keep opening the deepest wounds of my heart and soul, only to make them bigger after years of make-believe and romance stories; and Ville-Matti who left me alone during a miscarriage to go have a drink with his friends...

And let's not forget the most disgusting liar of them all, the one who disappeared every other week, the one who hid behind feminine gestures, half-assed political language and the "I'm working through my issues" bullshit. The "I want radical honesty and communication", the "my boundaries!", yet no responsibility for the relationship, no sense of community or care. Pure selfishness deep down. After desiring every woman in front of me, pushing me to open up the relationship, telling me about the perfect vagina and easy orgasms of his first prey and using me to pretend to be cool with his new victims, he threatened and kicked me out of my house, without a job, without a family, without a backup plan.

Now we have to add the classic abuse to the list.

You're not bad, I know that, but I can say the same for almost every single one of these men (and mother). I understand why they did most of the things they did. All of them have good qualities and fears, confusions, all of them chose the easy way, probably some didn't even know there was another path, nor their values to find courage to do what's right instead... And now I am paying the consequences, deeply in my solar plexus, as you finally told the truth of your parties and friends, if that is even the full truth, something I'm never falling for again, another liar.

To be honest I believe I deserve it. I've hurt you so badly since the beginning with many of the same bad qualities of these men. You've told me enough times how awful I've been to you, how awful I am in general too, and showed no patience, understanding or compassion for my own struggles, explanations and pains, despite my attempts to communicate better than these men who hurt-shaped me.

It's been intensely clarified how painful this all has been for you at least every week of this relationship, yet somehow it's still not enough for you and the need to leave a bigger scar is as promising as the "lies" I told while I stayed in your house: the dreams and wishes of a future together which burnt "with one talk" as you said. Still my clarifications about the confusion and weakness of my heart, body, mind and soul in that moment disappear every other minute, so my efforts to convey a message that's clear and concise are just more useless garbage in your house. 

And now what? 

I can't even look at you without feeling the weight of all these men; I can't touch you without seeing the inappropriate, cheating lust in their eyes; I can't even imagine kissing you without feeling dismissed, lied to, "crazy", too much, not enough, used, abused, trashed, objectified, harassed, guilt-tripped, diminished, shut up and down, yelled at, glorified, destroyed, unheard, unseen, made responsible, made mother and therapist, rejected, unwanted, desired... Scared.

So how do I trust you now that I know how you lie? How do I overcome the long line of shit men in my life? How do I separate this from you, after all the history of abuse we have? 

Two years of loyalty, but also abuse, anger, impatience, misunderstandings, never-ending fights and no compassion... Sure there was also laughter, banter, dancing, incredible sex, drugs, cuddles, companionship at times even. But does it balance out? And what about now, adding lying to the mix, something so triggering and corrosive that I feel literal physical pain? 

The panic attacks are back, all the walk back to my house since it was too late for trains, all the fear of the infinite men who seem to rule the streets, especially in big groups, especially with macho attitudes... The crying all night, no sleep, the pain, Jesus Fucking Christ the knife I feel through the center of my body! I'm bleeding out looking for answers and solutions in myself, in the cards, in rituals, in wishes to contact those who know how to join the two worlds, screaming-asking the universe "WHY?!"

Why did I have to meet you? Why at that point? Why do I keep coming back? Why did it have to go this way? Why, why, why?!

I have no answers tonight, just heavy eyelids and birds signing to wake up. No sleep, just a headache and the strongest wish to be dead, again.

El condón

Cómo dejo ir el dolor? Ya no siento nada la verdad.

Ahí andas, arriba en una fiesta, haciéndome la vida imposible pero dejando rastros de tu aventura. Cómo podía confiar en que al menos tuvieras cuidado con eso si no eres cuidadoso? 

Y al mismo tiempo me dices una y otra vez que él no me da nada y tú me lo das todo, y te empiezo a creer y cedo ante mis peores decisiones. Qué te dirá tu ex cuando le cuentes? Le mientes a ella también o soy yo esa? 

Es triste saber, que nunca sabré la verdad, quieres tu libertad soltera, o quieres que esté aquí? Eres una confusión viviente, tanto arrepentimiento, tanto dolor. Entiendo tu pasado, pero es hora de cambiar el presente...

Pensar que hasta pensé en dejarlo todo por ti, que todavía imagino esa vida que soñamos. Jamás iba a funcionar, va a seguir sin hacerlo y se viene lo peor cuando llegues más temprano, arriba o bajando y me llores y no me dejes ir. 

Qué hago entonces después de lo que encontré? 

Cómo te digo que es lo contrario de agradecimiento lo que siento y que quisiera no estar aquí cuando llegaras. Supongo que me puedo ir a ese otro lugar por esta noche. Quizás en la mejor opción que tengo incluso, así no tengo que verte en seguida después de éste dolor.