Abuelita

 I wonder for how long I could write if I just let my mind roam freely through the keys, I miss my piano, even if it was plastic and shitty, it was given to me by my mother and the holder by my grandmother. It was a nice birthday that one, they picked me up from school and as I walked into the house I saw a massive present all wrapped up in a colourful paper, leaning against one of the wooden chairs of the dining room, which was also the living room. It was a warm and bright day, unlike where I am now. I was wearing my sports clothes, white, grey and red, it was still the fancy school I was in. 
I didn't tend to get big presents, not anymore at least, since my dad had moved out, after all the failed businesses, the fried chicken store and my mother's anger because of my dad's "wish to help" or his lust... I will never know; the gym that never existed, but the machines were in our back yard, unbuilt for several years; I am sure there were more, but my memory isn't that great.
These days I remember with a darkness that doesn't match with my home country, unlike where I am now.

I was shocked as I saw this tall, thin wrapped present there, I looked back at them, my eyes shining as if I had discovered that magic was real, they smiled and nodded like saying, go ahead, it's yours. I walked to it carefully and began to meticulously open it, as the HSP I am.
The shape was so strange, I had never felt something like that, it had weird rough corners, attached to metal tubes and a middle knob that one could turn: It was a stand for a piano.

The thing is, I only had a tiny keyboard for children, which its keys were so small I could barely press one without touching two others with my skinny girl's fingers, they jiggled as my mom told me to go upstairs to get the toy, but I didn't realise the meaning of those laughs. I ran up and then down, placed the toy on top of it and said a hesitant thank you, I wanted to be polite. That was the present from my grandma, and no one, on any side of the family had much money.

I had learnt to play "Für Elise" on that tiny thing, it had a button in which a part of the song could be heard and I found which key made what sound. My mother thought I was a prodigy, I was about 8 and it was indeed a toy piano, but still, the idea of being a prodigy because of that makes me laugh nowadays cause in a way, she was so desperate to have a child who would be special that she lowered the bar really low for the typical things in which a child would be deemed as such, instead of seeing our actual talents and helping us go for them.
To be fair, there were no "white sheep" in our family, we are all very strange and quite fucked up.

They asked me to play it for them and it was really hard because the shape of the stand was an "X", so the smaller the piano, the higher it would be, and I might have dropped it even, I can't quite remember. 
This is the part I don't remember so well, they were expecting me to be more "vía" and see that there was another massive box at the other side of the table, which I didn't and since I didn't, they sent me to get the toy, so they could come up with a plan to make me see the real thing.

After I sadly played the damn bit of the song, my mom said they were going to get me an electric piano and asked me to go get some magazines that were on the other side of the table. I was so excited that I went there, took the magazines without looking at what they were on and went back to sit down with them from the couch they had seen my entire performance (of the whole birthday so far). 
I opened the first magazine and noticed that they looked at each other funny, but I still couldn't really tell what was going on, I just felt very anxious and nervous, too many emotions in the room, so much hesitancy. 
Suddenly my mother said: "Oh look, you forgot a magazine!" 

I looked over and replied: "No, there are no other magazines", to which she insisted: "Go and check WELL". I walked over, right under my eyes a big rectangular box, wrapped in wrapping paper, I looked at its right, left, over, under, behind and in front, there we no other magazines... "Mom, there are no more magazines", they laughed now together loudly, and I was just confused, that is until she said:
"Alright Dani, bring me that box in front of you"

And as if her words were magic, I finally realised that right in front of me was a big rectangular box, wrapped in wrapping paper! It had been the table of the magazines and I couldn't believe I didn't see it! My eyes shone, my heart lightened, the anxiety and hesitancy of the moment had dissipated, the mystery was solved and their emotions were lighter, no more tension!
My mouth opened in awe as I took the box, which at that point in my life was way more than half of my height, and barely carried it to the middle of the red carpet in front of the couch, where they were still sitting.
My mother and my grandmother, my two beautiful carriers, at different times, with different pains. I wish I had had you for longer abuelita. I wish you could have taught me to knit, which I love so much today still, I wish you had told me what your favourite book was, or if maybe you didn't like to read, it could be since you had to work from a young age, like everyone else. I wish I could have enjoyed you more, we could be so close, we both love tea and sweets, to bake and play "rapidito" and "carioca". Maybe we could have gone for walks at the beach and told me stories of your childhood, maybe baked some cakes. I wish I could have your "arroz con pelotitas" just one more time. It's strange to think that I didn't really know you, though you were with me until I was 12 or so. It's strange to feel that I miss you so much sometimes as if a part of me was missing. Maybe though, it's just that wish to have someone to talk to, that wise old woman I never really had.

I unwrapped the box, opened it and plugged in the most beautiful, amazing and best gift I ever received, I started learning "Menuetba", Menuet by Bach it meant, but all the names were minimized since the screen was tiny, those old screes like calculators. That song makes me think of you, your "After Eight", and anis candies, the sugar cookies and the smell of the knitted vests you gave all your grandchildren every year. I loved the little bows and that you made blue, yellow and pink ones, but I always had all the colours. Your knitting was supreme abuelita.

I still remember later on, when you fell off your bed and it began, the end. It was a big concern, the blue eye you got and stayed for a long time, the constant doctor visits, the tests... It happened so fast when they found the lumps on your throat and couldn't tell what they were. It was supposed to be a quick operation, just to take a sample for the biopsy, just half an hour. And I couldn't say goodbye.
It kept taking longer, hours, the whole night. When my mom went home to take a shower, to rest from the tension, she walked out in a hurry, calling everyone because she could feel the exact moment in which you left. Right after, she got a call and broke into tears.

My dad was there, but I can't remember much after that, some "velorio" at the church, the cremation and taking the urn to the beach house, the one my grandpa and his uncle built, the whole complex for people with less money to travel and have holidays at "El Quisco", I miss the smell of that house, the red cold floor, the scary room at the back, where he made experiments with cables, solder and electricity, the fruits in the backyard, collecting and burning the leaves in autumn and the forest beyond the fence which was just some sticks and we used as a shortcut to get to the beach. I can't remember the end of the forest, only a tree where my mom took pictures of me.

Did we leave your body there, at our little chapel? Did we take my grandpa out when they took the house away from us? Our story is filled with injustice, isn't it? How can I let this go?

Did you meet Matilda? You would have loved her, such a beautiful, charming girl, just like all of us in the family, definitely coming from you.

I miss you abuelita, I wish I could talk to you again, heal the wounds, fill in the gaps, learn your perspectives, get to know you. I wish I could eat your rice again, I couldn't ever make it any like yours. Before the frozen "primavera" bags came into existence, you used to take hours to cut the carrots into tiny perfect millimetric cubes, says my mom, and in that meticulous trait of yours, I find myself. Or do I find you in me? It depends on how we decide to understand time.

Thank you abuelita for plotting that birthday present with my mom, it's one of my favourite memories of that time. Thank you for all the vests, for all the little sweet treats, for your love and your warmth. I wish someday, I can give you my gratitude in a hug, those tight and warm ones that you know I can give. I miss you more than ever today.

Once and again

 Ahí debes andar, enrredado en su pelo, intoxicante como todo lo que te gusta. Quisiera haber sido más fuerte, haber salido de esto antes, cuando vi las primeras señales en vez de, como siempre, pesar que podría solucionar algo, ayudarte.

Quiero vomitar por el dolor que me causas. Todo por ella, pero "me amas", una risa enojada se escapa de mi pecho mientras pienso en como dices que me apoyas, porque quieres verme cuando me siento mal y no puedo hablar de otra cosa que no sean ese caos en el que estoy, pero yo soy la que es débil y se apoya demasiado en ti.

Estoy cansada, cansada, cansada, siento que me muero por dentro, tengo tanto dolor en el fondo de mi pecho, en todo mi maldito cuerpo que tirita de pena. 
Tengo tanta pena, tengo tanto dolor, tengo tantas heridas y necesito un cambio. Necesito ayuda, pero al mismo tiempo tengo que dejar a quienes me ayudan porque duele demasiado. Cómo puedo ser tan tóxica? 

Se acabó, se acabó, se acabó, porque no puedo dar más, no puedo hacer más, no quiero más. Necesito seguir sola, a pesar de seguir queriendo tu abrazo, tu amor. No puedo más con este dolor, con este abuso.

No puedo seguir dejando que la Dani chiquita viva insegura y sola, como ha estado desde que dejé de mantener mis límites conmigo por complacer a otros, por intentar "ser fuerte" y no tomar mucho espacio, cuando lo que necesitaba era que me abrazaran y aceptaran. No quiero más dolor, no quiero más abuso. 

Merecemos, mi Dani y yo, compasión, cariño, abrazos, amor, no escucha que luego se cobra, no abrazos a cambio de sexo.
Estoy tan cansada, nadie me cuidó, ni siquiera yo. Cómo me perdono por seguir volviendo, por seguir haciéndome sufrir? Al final, todes somos adictes. Yo a ti y tú al alcohol, ambos a esta montaña rusa que hemos vivido por casi dos años. 
Para qué nos juntó el universo? Qué teníamos que aprender, además de dolor?

Me siento tan débil y más sola que nunca, porque me mostraste que lo que creía ser compañía, no era lo que me satisfacería. Reventaste mi burbuja de paciencia y aceptación, y volví a la adicción de amor que por años intenté dejar.
Sí, veo mejor que no me satisface, pero era necesario verlo así? Siento tantas emociones, me subo al tren y siento el dolor, el enojo, el peso de cada una de esas personas que miran sus teléfonos ensimismados, y no sé cómo protegerme. 
No, no se llama "empath", no es un don, no es un superpoder, es simplemente empatía, es simplemente ser altamente sensible y duele mucho. 

No sé a dónde ir, donde sea duele, con quien sea duele. Estoy maldita? Mi peor miedo era estar atrapada en el limbo tras haber muerto en mi casa, pues estoy viviendo en mi peor miedo, llevo años viviéndolo. Morir me parece la mejor opción.

No sé a quién llamar, porque me dan consejos que ya intenté, me dicen que están cansados de escucharme sufrir... Siento que los busco sólo para recibir ayuda, soy una perra más. Mala amiga, mala hija, mala tía, mala hermana, mala polola, mala compañera de piso... Cómo dejo de ser mala?
Qué chucha soy? 

Estoy tan perdida.

Y más encima con todos los pesos de no tener suficiente plata, de pensar en mi hermana y aterrarme del futuro, de pensar en mi madre y saber que jamás va a estar verdaderamente ogullosa de mi, de sentirme incapaz, nunca lista para nada, de ver a otres que les llega ayuda de lugares desconocidos y sentir tanta envidia, porque yo no lo tengo. No recuerdo la última vez que tuve suerte, que recibí esa ayuda concreta que necesito.

Debería estar estudiando Alemán, porque a falta de esa ayuda, tengo que esforzarme más que esos que tuvieron suerte. Quisiera poder poner mi cerebro en ese estudio realmente. Estoy atrapada en el dolor, no sé cómo salir.

"figure yourself out", gracias, es justo lo que necesito, es que nunca lo pensé.

El peso de la incertidumbre

 Hoy la pena me vino más tarde, la noté tipo 18:30. Estaba hablando contigo a las 16, no sé si tendrá relación o no, pero al final, el pecho me duele de pena igual.

Ha vuelto ese océano que tengo dentro y que no encuentra escape, me lleno cada vez más de agua salada y duele. Estoy cansada de tener frío, quiero sol, o tengo hambre otra vez?

Quiero agua, pero está muy cerca del teléfono, no lo quiero mirar, pero me muero por hacerlo. No quiero pelear más, soy acaso adicta una vez más?

Los registros, 2 días. 1 semana y 2 días para la prueba y los nervios apretan la piel que contiene el mar infinito que me he vuelto. Cómo descanso?

Después del 19 tengo algunas tareas, pero empiezo a bajar de niveles al fin.

Cómo reconecto con mi poder?
Ay que me pesan las relaciones, no sé si será suficiente para mi en soledad, no sé si conoce quien soy. Pero tú, mi vida, tú tienes tanto que crecer, tanto que conocer, tanto que avanzar y yo ya no puedo dar más, tengo que dejar algo para mi. No soy tu maestra y tengo mi propio camino que andar, mis propios aprendizajes y crecimiento, tu sabes bien cuánto me falta y cuánto quiero.

La mente lo sabe mejor que esta consciencia tan dispersa que tengo - meditar, pero de verdad. Hay tantas distracciones, tantos miedos y pesos que necesito soltar, soltar soltar.
Cómo descanso?

Y ahí viene el dolor, el peso insufrible del miedo al futuro. Qué hago para establecerme, para mantenerme, para cumplir esos sueños que iluminan mi corazón?

Siempre quise tener a alguien, pero esa es la maldición de mi madre que no sabe de estar sola, sólo de soledad, incluso en compañía. 
La vida me ha traido a un momento y un lugar, en el que deseo el apoyo de otros seres que me ayuden en el plano terrenal. Seres con sueños como los míos, pero propios, que trabajen para lograr esos sueños y podamos compartir esta vida, nuestros miedos y dolores, nuestros logros y alegrías. El apoyo de avanzar juntos, de cuidarse a sí mismos y los unos a los otros. 
Pero siempre partiendo por ese cuidado de une misme, el ponerse a une primero, después le otre.

Yo no tengo eso de ningún lado y me cuesta ponerme a mi primero, más ahora tras estos años de dolor y peso. Tanto peso.

Cómo re-aprendo a ponerme primero, a mantener mis límites y a no ceder ante esas tentaciones de las heridas antiguas? 
Tengo tantas heridas, tantos dolores, he olvidado tanto de lo que aprendí durante la reprogramación de mi mente consciente, de mi cuerpo, de lo que es físico y tangible...

Cómo vuelvo a mi después de estar en nosotros y en ti?

Un desaliento, un dolor, un peso.

 No estoy segura si es la hora, la falta de luz o la soledad, pero cada día de invierno cuando empieza a oscurecer, se me viene encima una pena profunda. Me desespero en el deseo de ver a quien me hace sentir en casa, el problema es que mi casa nunca fue saludable, y así daño más a mi niña interior, esa que debería amar y proteger. Doy a mis placeres, a mis debilidades, en vez de mantenerme fuerte con ella, ser ese hogar que merecemos, esa calma, ese amor que nunca nos dieron.

Hoy cuando vino a golpear mi puerta, esa misma pena de todos los días, miré mi teléfono y no me habías escrito, recordé que estamos en conversaciones y pensé en que quizás sería mejor escribir que buscarte, conectar conmigo que distraerme con esa increíble capacidad que tienes que hacerme sentir acompañada desde lo más profundo.
Triste es que esa compañía se sienta como tal, por la falta de acompañarme a mi, por la falta de amor que tiene esa niña herida que está dentro mío y que dejo que hieran cada día más.

Quiero encontrar ese equilibrio y me pregunto si existirá. Quiero esa compañía que me das, pero sin la presión de existir constantemente a tu lado. Es posible tener algo así?

Existe siquiera lo saludable, o es al final todo una fantasía que el capitalismo nos está vendiendo?

Todo se vende, todo se vende, pero por qué entonces me falta plata? Por qué me sobran dolores, me sobran problemas, me sobran pesos en el corazón y en la cabeza? Quiero venderlos también, deben ser caros, porque llevo 28 años cultivándolos. 
Si pudiera vender todos los pesos que caen sobre mis hombros, lo tuyos, de ella y de él, podríamos vivir sin preocupaciones de esas que tanto me pesan, que nos pesan.

Ay mamá, mamita, cómo soltamos tus miedos?