Emociones difíciles.

 Mi cara se siente extraña, hace dos días que la destruí en la desesperación de mantenerme limpia, fue una mala idea usar alcohol etílico, 100%. La luz del baño de mi madre no ayuda, ni como me siento infinitamente culpable al notar que le respondo mal cuando me ha hecho enojar. Realmente no entiendo la razón por la que comparte sus palabras, hay tantas mentiras, tanta inconsciencia y tanta maldita historia de lo terrible que ha sido y es su vida. A cada posible momento cuenta que su padre, que su madre, que sus hermanos, luego que su ex marido y que su pobreza y al final que yo, yo que soy arriba y abajo, dependiendo de si se siente sola o no. ¿Qué hago?

Estamos bien, tengo pena de no quererla, tengo pena de no aguantarla, tengo pena de que no escuche, tengo pena de sus excusas, tengo pena pena pena pena. Mi guatita apretada duele mientras me sube un nudo a la garganta, estoy tratando, pero sus palabras de "sabiduría" junto a sus actos totalmente contrarios me afectan como si fuera una bomba atómica. A veces pienso que el dolor de las penas que causó y jamás ni reconoció (obvio que perdón tampoco se mencionó), me llega más profundo de lo que creo, y cada gotita es un terremoto en mi frágil intento de mantenerme tranquila en el terremoto que es este lugar que ella llama "nuestra casa", cuando su estado anímico le dice eso y no lo contrario. 

Ese mismo ánimo que cambia en segundos por un espectro tan inmenso que lo desconocía y se apoya sólo en otras personas para ser regulado, a menos que esté realmente en soledad, entonces viene la tele y otras formas de distracción.

Temo tanto ser igual.

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Hoy vi la nueva foto, otra más, es precioso allá, espero que estés bien. En redes sociales nadie me respondió, quizás tú les pediste y está bien, pero se me hace difícil no saber. Intento mantenerme lejos igual, no quiero hacerlo peor para ti, ni para mi.

Volví a viejos patrones, vi que aún se siguen y me pregunté en qué va eso, mientras mi corazón ardía, lo cerré. Orgullo. Pero no paro de pensar, de sentir, ya van un par de semanas, esperaba que estuviera mejor, pero en cada segundo a solas, crece esto que me guardo, esto de lo que me distraigo.

No quiero mentir, la vida es más simple así, todavía creo que fue una buena decisión, pero en este momento exacto, queda el odio de ella y el dolor de tu indecisión. Enredos en sus pelos asquerosos, ahora en Francés para peor.

Me apena que quede sólo lo peor y lo mejor, mi corazón llueve dicotomía, apretado en dudas que aclarar. Un constante recuerdo de por qué fue lo mejor. Pero como cada día, te extraño y quisiera saber de ti... No es tiempo aún, no sé cuándo será, pero por ahora tengo cosas importantes que hacer, amores pequeñitas que disfrutar y unos padres que sobrevivir y mejorar.

Pero lo que más me sigo preguntando es, qué va a pasar al llegar?

Fuck.

 I wonder if you see what I see, in the distance, in the pain. I wonder and question and turn, in circles, in fantasies.

Korea calls for depression and my mother doesn't help, a silence that's tense, in a way.

But this was about you, only it's not, just the questions of that picture as I thought: "I'm glad you're ok". I really do.

Only online to see you, in silence, before sleeping. Dance dance dance, stop getting caught up in hope, it's done Daniela, and for the best. Just as I need to stop falling for the post-lunch sweets, oily and bloated. Bloated of pain, Chan, Jesus!

Stop this nonsense. Who? Who did? Who didn't? Is it back already? Fucking French, the bitch. Today I want a smoke and a series with my friends. Weird lot that my niece loved, the right lot.

I'm sad deep down. Only three weeks, still weak. Become my own home, my own Chan. 

There is no end to this, the race of a beating heart, only death. 

Become the love, become the attraction, become the silly and the arms. Do I want you or want to be you? I can't have you, I became a teenager in pain. Dissatisfaction is the constant state.

Fuck I need to fix the money, but fuck I need to find a way: yearly is better than now, we'll see but uncertainty has always been hard.

I miss you, I miss you, I miss them, I wish I wish I wish, I want.

Fuck, there's no way. 

Fuck.

Confusion.

 And so, in a second of peace, I dreamt about him again. It might have been a warning cause there wasn't even a pinch of happiness, it went straight into anger and pain, while here he hasn't left my head and jungle has played on speakers and virtual reality gave me a trip... I miss the dreams of dancing till morning, jumping to your breakbeats and London's momentary perfection.

I've been fantasizing as well, or considering actually, my options to be closer to these hearts that make me full and I'm in a state of complete uncertainty again. 

The world of k-pop brings out the classic hysteria while I'm actually retentive, and honestly nothing seems possible anymore, neither Germany, nor psychology, and I'm even trusting my own skills somehow. So much clashing of minds and hearts, so much yes and no and no and yes...

I am sad but ok, yet I miss and crave and long for. The dissatisfaction always came from within so I wonder, what would be enough?

A magical place, close but far, with but alone, intense but calm, loud but quiet, high but sober, breakbeats but folk, singing but in silence, dancing but movelessness. Is it impossible or is it just balance? Would you do this with me? Would that be enough? Do I need to have a with? 

The mountains in Sweden, my mother still is. Guilt for disdain and repulsion. How can I be?

Another em night I crave, only with him, but I know how it would end. I can't forget the fantasy of Bristol's countryside and the house we made.

Florence and breakbeats, looking for peace, but to illuminate this chest, I crave opposites. The perfect organism, but I want him to be free, to believe and shine like the sun. You good, good, trust too.

Trust.

I am doing it, staying strong. Not just trying, but man it's hard, the words he sends like knives to my heart and weights to my shoulders. I keep reminding myself it's not my responsibility, but each message buries my strength more and more. The assumptions of my reasoning, the explanations of the last talk, the subconscious (and explicit at times) heaviness of each letter... How do I trust? 

I guess that's exactly what this is about: trust.

Trust that at one point it will be ok, trust that he's as wise, capable and strong as I've seen him to be countless times, trust that this is the best for us also in the hope for a future in which we are in each other's lives in some way, trust him and trust myself too.

And trust that the universe will bring him the support, healing and love he needs. And that once he confronts the much needed depths, the universe will bring him the love that will make him truly happy and full. He deserves much love, but I know from experience that we have to work inside ourselves to get the better love. As I see my timeline of love, in the last years of eye-opening healing and consciousness, I've had much healthier relationships than in the past, no matter if they ended or not, during them I could see the differences and feel the love or care that was there.

The main difference was that I learnt to know myself: 

what I wanted and what not, what was good and what wasn't, the discipline to stay away from what I craved out of my own void and fill it up partially but mainly with my own my own self-worth, to experience it running through my veins and glowing in my heart.

Yes, at times it's better, at others it's worst, but since I've opened my eyes, healed, believed and trusted myself, the love I've gotten from the outside has been more real and fulfilling, or is it that I can see it, feel it better? 

In either case I need to trust, trust, trust. The strong and capable soul, heart and mind that he is, as well as my own sober mind deciding to keep some distance for a while and trust whatever comes my way.

Yes I'm terrified, yes I miss him like hell, yes I love him, yes I care, yes I'm scared of all he said, yes I'm sad, yes I'm haunted by the memories, especially that one perfect London trip... But I have to stay sober and remind myself of the other side to the satisfaction and perfection of what we had.

None did perfectly, but I know we're flawed and real, we have issues and traumas, we are each on our own processes and journeys, our own levels of consciousness on each area of life and existence: an infinity.

I trust him that he will dare to dive deeper and find clarity, I trust myself that I will be able to confront the pains of my mistakes, and I trust that then we will talk and heal the wounds we still can't. 

I trust us, and I trust that better things will come for us, together and apart.

And as I cry with each word he's sent, I hold on to myself, like my tattoo shows, and trust in the blue triangle on my right arm, that there are better things to come if one's willing to open our minds, hearts and souls to oneself. 

We know confrontation could bring loads of good, but we couldn't confront healthily. Yet I will tattoo the confidence he had that completely unconscious night, to remind myself of the beauty of us and to trust blindly in myself as he did then, without regret, without doubts, fully.

I trust me, I trust him, I trust. Healing will come, healing has already arrived, whether seen or not. Things will get better and pass, and sooner than later, we will be able to talk looking eye to eye, wounds cleaned and closed, loving scars showing our strength. 

I wish him in my life and trust that this processes are key for that.

I am choosing to trust.

Connections in dreams.

 You had gone to the cliff at the beach that you always went to, but this time with friends. And as a war jet flew by and shot at the ocean, in the fear you jumped and fell on the rocks, you died.

I saw it all from the top, as an omniscient narrator, only incapable of changing anything and filled with incredible pain. One of your friends, the only one who survived came back and told your mom and I, as some gang was trying to rob your house which was a mansion with a huge garage-garden full of antiques and trash.

I couldn't believe it, nor could I stop crying, revisiting memories in the form of pictures in a secret room your mom had made for her immense love for her beautiful family.

You are lucky.

I opened my eyes and everything erased itself, except the pain and despair, it was 1:04, we probably connected in another level since you usually woke up at 7am in the past. Harshly and with effort I managed to fall asleep again. Now I woke up to your words which with incredible sadness remind me why I have to stay away.

It's the same but I won't explain myself again despite my strong impulse of doing so. She told me I shouldn't trust my first impulse, nor my emotions when things are so triggering of such deep childhood wounds, but to stick to the decisions I've made sober of feelings, in the quiet clarity of being alone. 

It's sad to know what you believe, since it's not what is in my mind and soul. But so, in the misunderstanding that the past difficulties, the miscommunication and the wounds and pains have made, I accept the intention you wrote.

If the picture isn't to your liking, tell me and I will delete it. 

I never thought you were bad, I always thought you're just hurt and blocked. The image I have of you is not your assumptions of it: You know I could always see through.

Another memory

 It smelled like London today, I couldn't focus at times on what my old friends said while one of them brought these memories to me. I watched old pictures once I got into bed alone, bad idea through and through.

I painted us on my phone as I asked for a free "nonsensing" tattoo, soon I will have you in my skin as I said I would. Despite the bad times there was always good, still I need to keep reminding myself of the bad so I don't go back.

I don't know how to stop, I saw your playlist and hid behind a veil of funny stories from a painful past. Jana was surprised that it's over, proud even, she knew how triggering this was and couldn't believe I made it out. Me neither and I keep wondering how long it will last this time.

She told me to do it and not just try, but I don't quite know the difference so I'm trying, but I need an outlet, especially when I miss, after seeing the thousands of lovely pictures of years of us, the funny videos, the jungle and such...

Then, I need to write. So I write my heart into a cage and don't say it all because I have to be careful. I need a temporary home to be alone with the pain of your departure, or mine.

I miss you but I will stay strong, I want to send you pictures, but I won't. I will focus on what is here now and ease the pain with the love of those who were here as I grew. I will keep reminding myself that I don't know what the future holds and let go of hope while I reinforce my boundaries and leave the toxicity once more: She said the twisted anger didn't take me to Freedom Road, and Harmony Road was tempting but a dead end after all.

Music came up today, the arts, the childhood dreams and the teenager ones. How do I move forward? Music man.

Crystalline - Björk

Re-connecting

 

A glass of wine with your wife gave me the strength to talk about you, she talked about how you don't fight and I told her about the times you said "but let's not fight", to which she wisely replied: "you have to grab his attention, he's always thinking of many different things, he can't be calm or fully resting. In all conversations he's jumping from topic to topic, but once you tell him to listen, he does."

Then she added her belief of him having ADHD and somehow everything made perfect sense and I could come back, even if it still hurts to believe you don't care, especially after your confession of not letting yourself love anyone deeply to not get hurt, I could understand and not feel too much pain from the lack of questions about my life and the interruptions during my stories.

Once again my suspicion is proven: you are not bad, you do love me, you just can't love fully, even if that "can't" actually means you won't let yourself (and by now it's probably too late).

But as I heal this with family and stars, another hole comes up, there's a freed space in my head, so another of the feelings I've been pushing down comes up: as he disappears into the oblivion of time difference, I miss that hurricane who would make me feel connected, important, missed... though often too much.

I just want balance, so comes Bang Chan: responsible yet free, mature and silly, male and female. Balance.

But my niece would cry and I love her more, though it's entirely a fantasy, why do I keep seeing signs?

Tomorrow I'll have some help and I'm nervously hoping it will actually help. I wonder what's there to come in this healing season.

Things will change sooner rather than later. One month and 5 days.

Foreigner waiting for Monday.

 Back to the place I didn't grow in, back to the pains and mistakes, back to the loneliness, the emptiness and the waiting to be alone to hear my own thoughts. Silent pressure.

Hidden in the toilet of a house I didn't know, of a family I don't truly belong to, away from your incessant words. They might me thinking I'm so weird.

And to realize that a family in London loved me more than this, breaks my heart. They listened, they were interested, they respected me. Here I'm just a tail to tag along, here I'm forced to be a listener, here I don't matter yet the pressure to perform is heavy.

Boundaries come to mind, but in the fear of no longer being loved I quietly agree, overstep myself while I think further and see that this is not love, nor healthy. 

I have been tired for weeks, slave of my own fears of loneliness while I'm already alone. Then your friends and the life we could have come to me as my heart weeps while my face smiles because I don't have what you do and being the girlfriend once more will break my heart when they also leave if you do. I was never the friend, though I thought I was.

I think of the future and I'm terrified of the healthy boredom, but I don't want the fun abuse either. And so comes my newest obsession that is breaking my heart as I sing them in the shower, the perfect being, protective, free, responsible, silly, serious and loving. I imagine, like a teenager, how I would meet him and the future we would have, music, travel, dance and love, sex? 

So I swipe through and through as I slowly convince myself I'm unattractive since the few who aren't fugly, don't match me. And so I get back to the fantasy, if I become famous, I could have whoever I want, so the message I wrote for Sundays, the ridiculous music ideas, all become not only real but viable options. So silly and so dumb. Shame.

Ah, another tired sunrise, no matter the dreams, no matter the hours of sleep, I don't really have a close friend and this foreign feeling remains, the fantasies make it harder and so does the distance from you, the break up, the missing, the loneliness. Here or there, it comes with me, and I'm suicidal again, but nobody knows, this time I have no one to talk to. 

Waiting for Monday.

The warmth of a memory that never was.

Cornwall, walking along the shore, your parents in the house. The sun is strong and makes it seem like a desert, some old wooden cart and a plow, a bit of your stories, mostly my own creation.

London, your family's house, the place and the people I felt so welcomed by, a family closer than mine. A place to go to and be loved, they don't know the monster that I am. The most beautiful Christmas tree in one of those houses I saw so often in movies, but even better: it warmed up my heart.

Bristol, a visit to your childhood and a few miles away, our own beloved home. My peace in the countryside and the energy of your brightest future. A home that's never boring, a heart that's never lonely. 

All fantasies that only became memories as we fed them lies, the same lies that broke us. You wouldn't call them such of course, you'd be asking me which lies, because I'm insane, or that's how I feel deep down when we fight, my true monster self, that which you, my mother and your not-babe know so well.

Why do I keep coming back? Why do I keep reopening the wound? Why am I holding on so tightly to these wishes that are as unreal as the hope for my mother to change?

All the songs you showed me and we danced till the sun wrapped us in love, the sweet moments of eyes and lips, the silly fun and fun fun, the adventures on wheels or legs, the infinite laughter, the passion and intensity of each second: the raw needs you fulfilled and overflowed... That's why I keep coming back.

There is indeed no one else like you, we could have been massive, hell, we even were and still are, to me. There was no sight that wasn't full of emotion, whether love or hate, all had all.

Now the contrast was the disrespect, the toxicity, the abuse, the lies, the double speech, the fights, the screams, the hitting, the pressure, the lack of freedom and acceptance, which turned to a resentment and mistrust that grew to become the very image of my mother in my heart. Tainted for ever, or just really hard to clean?

So then I ask myself again, why do I keep coming back?

You filled me up like no one else and in my eternal emptiness, I craved you, I still do. But there's another part in me now, one that worked and learnt that my void is trauma and it's only mine to love. If you had loved me like that without the abuse, maybe it could have worked. If you had loved me like that but with respect, maybe those fantasies we made in our hearts, could have been true. 

Only it's not like that, and despite how much I wish it was, despite how much I love you, there's no stopping us now. Just not in the way we danced it. 

I constantly wonder what I cannot see, those things I'm blinded to by these deep pains that resurface like a sunken ship in the foggy dawn: My mistakes, the pains I've inflicted. Those I won't understand nearly as deeply as these infected wounds of mine.

I can tell you all my wishes of growth, healing and re-encountering, all my own fantasies of true love with you, but they might just bring more pain so I will only say the next.

Louis, once again, I am sorry for a lot and thankful for another bunch. I wish it had been different since the beginning and I miss you immensely, but I need to protect myself because this wound that reopens each week as we speak from different sides of the planet flows too deep for me to sustain such bleeding. I feel empty without you because I got used to your loving heart on mine, but the pains surrounding this divine company are the signs that shine the brightest, worrying red like severe burns.

I'm sorry for exploding and I hope you understand the reason for each of them, just as I understand the reasons for your anger, your fears and your pains, you actions and words.

I really wish you the very best, the healing and true love you deserve, my heart-stopping ginger love. I miss your freckled skin and your old-looking hands. The quirks of a treasure almost hand-made for me. What a loss, yet a relief.

I need to go now and you have to move on (up), you're stronger than before, wiser too, and I really hope you see your own light now or soon. I send you freeing love, sunshine and luck for this new stage in your life. I only hope you don't hate me more now that I'm saying goodbye.

Goodbye Loupi and the other many nicknames you got throughout our never-boring intertwine. You always were, are and will be special, and I wish you know that by now.