Tired again, one blocked nostril, the screen is too bright, I'm thirsty, so I pour some water and open the curtains: Another grey day in the loneliness of Berlin, I ask my mom if the blazing sun will ever shine again (-Loyle), only my mother is an ocean away, with reason, and her answer would only be idealizing the old continent.
If I say it's hard not to speak the language, she says she'd love it. -She has no idea, she doesn't even want to dismiss me, her intention is solely to get my approval of her plans to move here. - I won't, for this ocean is what keeps me safe.
Tita once told me she felt relieved when her mother died, I couldn't quite understand it then, but now...
Anyway, I got sort of up to talk about what seems to be my favourite, most current topic again: Loneliness and not belonging, only today with the twist of some old-school romance.
See I fear you will never understand because you're surrounded by loving hands, they are all incredibly intelligent, funny, naturally political, quite attractive and even cool. They have all these stories from their wilder days that you would want to have lived with them, yet when I would have wanted to be in yours, suddenly those times weren't so great anymore and I somehow shouldn't want that.
At times I fear there is an ocean between us too. - There were always utterly great people around you.
Bland and mild me, that's all that comes to my mind hearing you at times, I'm too busy being incapable to get out of those defective cages they left me in, fighting the same shadows over and over, trapped in fears and pains, not strong enough, not wild enough: FEARFUL, exactly as they raised me to be.
And now, it's too late, but back then I couldn't. Nowadays I couldn't either, let's be fucking honest here.
I was always too busy dissociating into loving interests to fill the void of my own cowardry, instead of inquiring into my own love and interests. Instead of learning to form real relationships with those around me and definitely instead of doing stupid shit that now could be stories like those of you and them. -Just like Helga, but even then, not wild enough. She still had her life, she still talked in crowds, she still was strong as hell and dreamt big. Me, I'm not even the sidekick.
And I still wonder how I could feel insecure when you remind me of your love in every single action, word and glance... Is it clearer now, why I ask you all the why's each time you utter loving prayers in my direction? Why I feel like a goddammed needy, broken little piece of useless plastic most of my days? Maybe you will never truly understand, how can that stand?
I need a friend, I always have, yet there's no one around, so I turn to words on a screen, hoping maybe my own advice, my own hug, my own warmth can soothe these pains of mine. Doesn't it make sense that I fear losing the few hearts around my life?
I wish I had something to bring me what I crave, something entirely mine, mine to share if I wish, mine to come home to, not a secret, not a scam. I tense my shoulders as I imagine how music could have been just that, if ever I had said yes to my mother, if ever those fears hadn't eaten me alive like they do still.
I want to say it isn't too late. I don't know how to start, I don't know how to do it when it seems like everything requires money now and I don't have enough energy to do that much.
Who do I want to be? How would I be if I had all that? Get back and move forward, change. All I want is a few friends, but somehow, I'm not whatever enough for anyone to want that.
You know, I thought that in my current home, I somewhat belonged more, but in these last few weeks and especially last night, I saw I don't. I probably never will, no matter my context, the timing of my life doesn't seem to work with that of others, even if divergent or out of the system, somehow I still don't fit in.
How I wish to find a group where I belong, loving hands and laughter and hearts, like you have, like they do too.
How I wish to find a group where I belong, loving hands and laughter and hearts, like you have, like they do too.
You all love your quiet, alone time, proudly. Yet you have plenty of social activities most days of your life... I always identified with the hermit, but I wonder if that was just out of rejection from the environment. My own heaviness forbids me from bonding from the place they want.
"I'm trying to be accurate, not nice."
"I'm trying to be accurate, not nice."
Only I do try to be nice, -maybe I just always overstay; boundariless, completely out of touch with my own needs in a desperate and ever-failing attempt to fit in. Once again I come to see that the special one is you, and her, not me. For maybe if I knew how to be really honest, I wouldn't be alone. It's in the discomfort that my mask is destroyed.
Maybe it's time for me to go, give up to the rejection from the world and surrender into the archetype I was meant to be, I'm not Siobhán, smart, beautiful and brave, I'm the old witch, a little bit rotten and scary. People will hide behind walls to avoid me, no one will like me, but I can draw joy from my weird, lonely and, hopefully, wise ways.
For I can't be assed with all the drama of the right and left, the world crumbling more each day, the destruction of our earth, the desperate need for power of some and the emptiness they try to fill by stuffing suffering into their pockets. It all hurts as if it was my own suffering, so why connect more?
It is my own pain, in my beliefs. The frustration of not being able to fix it once and for all, while seeing void-minded people destroying the few organisations we have in our favour, seeing hearts killing hearts for lack of understanding, of compassion, of brain... Honestly, you're all fucking dumb and I just want to fucking leave.
Once again I just wish upon death, cause what's the point to continue being alive?
