Heartbroken letter to you and to me and to no one too

  How should I feel? How would a normal person feel?

I guess partially being happy for the love you've had, and that I do feel. But then I thought of how much I'm not right for you, and even though I know that it's also about how you're not right for me, my sickness decides to focus on how I am flawed and lesser than, and how much I miss you.
I thought of how much I changed through the relationship and ended up caught up in myself, unable to see you. I thought about how much I hurt you and I wish I could make it right.
Maybe the wish to get back with you is only to prove myself in your eyes, that I am better than anyone else or than specific others. 

I listened to this podcast yesterday about how we don't even realize the things we're good at because they are easy, simple and a given, so it's hard to even imagine that others would struggle with them unless we get the praise or recognition necessary to see it and truly believe it.
Of course, singing came to mind, and writing. If I do my best concerts in the shower in front of only myself, I don't get praise, but shouldn't it be enough? I love it, I enjoy it, I have fun with the challenges, sometimes they frustrate me too. I do it so much until I'm too tired and fuck my voice up. Writing is a bit different, but still partly like that, and it used to be even more when I was younger and I'd create fantasy stories of things I didn't even know.

And today, as I made the mid-morning coffee and warmed up the cake, I thought about how hard it is to do things just for myself. I can take myself out on solo dates or have movie nights with pop-corn and cozy stuff, but if it comes to a bigger project, like writing a story, baking a cake, cooking an elaborate meal, making a song, cleaning or tidying up thoroughly, it's such a difficult process, but if it's for someone I love, the simple image of seeing them happy and enjoying things, makes me happy. In a way, this is also about that recognition, about proving myself in their eyes.

I guess what I'm aiming at is to do it for oneself.

___

I have a new dream. It is that you live with us too, doing history and language-related workshops at the school or in the house, working the land, making handmade things, writing, laughing, reading and enjoying the sun. I think you also underestimate the effects of the weather on your mental health. 
In my new vision, you come to visit for a week, you're now free from the blockages life has brought upon you and I am too, meeting again feels right, completely right, so you mention coming back, staying for longer, slowly growing the idea of moving here too. I'd been waiting for this moment since before leaving and finally, my heart can be full again.

- But I know you love the city, I know you want things to happen around you, I know you have your friends here too, so I know this dream is very far-fetched. I also know my issues, I know how much I've hurt you and how much I've tried to get better, with only partial success.

I am truly sorry for all the pain I caused you, all the new fears and triggers I created in you. At some point, my pain took over and I couldn't even tell you why I love you anymore, cause for each good thing, my brain would push two bad ones in. I want to make a list of all your great characteristics and all the reasons why I love you, both including me and outside of me, but it's too late for such a list, I fear that it will hurt too much and I will regret it all even more. I fear that will bring more obstacles to the unlikeability of this dream.

___

As I laughed so hard with my friends this past year, as we moved closer, supported, accepted and celebrated each other, I thought of you. Of how much I wish you had been more of that too, at times, that wave of strength, celebration and joy, an enabler of the good things in me. But I cannot understand what it was of either me, my past, our present, past or you, that kept me from showing myself fully to you, without fear or pressure.
I was so worried about seeming too eager, too much, dumb, too interested, too fat, too disgustingly human... I was weighed down by the thought of you rejecting parts of me which eventually would turn into a full rejection of me, that I subconsciously hid parts, slowly caging myself into a box that I myself had created of what, how and who you would like. I wish I had seen this before, I wish I had been able to stop myself when we still had a chance.

The trigger for our break up was my joy, I focused so much on only that, I couldn't see all the other things you gave me. I obsessed with wanting to wholeheartedly laugh with you, I thought that plus our ease and calm, we could have "Sosiego", the word I chose for this year. Both joyful and at peace.
I love you so much, even now, after all we've been through, after all the pain and even through each time I get triggered and remember the things that deeply hurt, the things that make me, until this day, feel insecure, uncomfortable, stuck and frustrated. Even through this all, I love you.

I think I'm selfish, I thought of the things you like and how I never really got too involved in them. I think in a way, I caged you too, talking about emotions and the past, instead of the things you loved like football and history. I'm sorry I got impatient when you'd tell me the same story for the 10th time, I'm sorry I forget things so often, but mostly I'm sorry for how much anguish, anxiety and wounds I caused you.

I'm sorry for my selfishness, I'm sorry for having tried to change you, even if it was subconsciously. The only thing I can see that was good about this all is that we did grow together, quite a bit. We went from our 20s to our 30s, we opened our wounds and disinfected some bits, we became ripe fruit. I wish now I could eat you whole, but in this same growth we found seemingly inescapable differences, we made new wounds. Have we learnt our lessons? 

I fear that after all this, in the end, I'm just like your ex.

Collection of Sleepy Morning Poems from 2021

April 17th - Homeless

Little bites over my body,
The inside of my lungs,
My brain, my guts.

A tiny monster gnawing,
Parasite of a world, 
Slow and steady. 

Put a lid on, it overflows.
There's no end to
Exponential growth.

How long till you change?
Do we have to die first? 

Despite it all,
Another shitty job, 
I'll be homeless again, soon.

Another Brain Dump on a bad day.

Hey there, long time no see, really.

I've been looking for you, and I know you've been looking for me too. It feels so strange to find you again after such a while, knowing you're there, hearing you knock as I'm stuck on the other side of the glass, looking into your eyes, incapable to go through, either me or you.
Writing here and there brings us closer, but we both know the right conditions are necessary and for much too long they've not been there. Today, however, it may be the day again, when that glass breaks and you can come back into my arms.

Or maybe not, we shall see what is there to come. No time pressure, not much at least, many emotions and confusions though, I hope the gentle music won't take me away from this. I want to hold you, be fully in here with you, flood me with your presence, I will take you however you're weathered.

I see the ocean raging, I hear raindrops, but there is some peaceful sun somewhere. I feel a frustration, like an ever-growing mountain that just won't let me finish the race. Tight hips, strange pains and a flu that's too strong, the blood. 
When did I stop being able to face the silence? When did screens and sounds become the rulers of my life? I tried so hard when I was younger, I told my parents I didn't want a TV in my room anymore, it was the 90s, the beginning of the end of brain usage. When you'd watch a film and think about it afterwards, there was space to be. The rest was also there, sexy women on billboards, prank radio shows, scammers, "don't talk to strangers on the internet", but it was possible to stay away and continue to be part of society, unlike now.

Now everything shines and everything sells and grows and moves and faster, faster!

The memories of my mother's office where I wrote endless secret stories while waiting for her day to be done so we could go home. I was scared of being alone. How old was I then? It all felt so much easier but even then I had an impossibly heaviness inside me, writing about death, hate and passion, I wasn't older than 12.
The TV was removed even earlier, I didn't want to be a slave, but here I am and here are we all. Everything sells, shines, grows, more portable, lighter, hardcore and faster, faster! I want no second without stimuli!

I've been trying for years to escape, but as much destruction as it brings, it also delivers hope. I could be discovered on YouTube too, or I can start my own business selling and shining and growing and faster, faster.

There was a little creature in here once, she drew wholeheartedly, but she wasn't the best. She could sing and play like angels, but her voice got too loud. She wrote stories and poems about things she hadn't ever known before and she was visited by all sorts of big men and women, to get her advice. A surprising little creature whose light was too bright for her own good. She was shut down, sometimes by others, sometimes by the world, mostly by herself. 
The shy little creature with a mother so eager that instead of supporting her gentle child, she scared her, without meaning to, with prospects of grandiose books and full stadiums of listeners. A creature so gentle, so soft and young feels only fear when those thoughts come by.
Over 20 years have passed since then, the creature is as much of an amateur as she was back then. She didn't know what she needed, hence didn't know to ask and now she cannot provide it for herself. This world is too fast and overwhelming.
They say that you have to fight for your dreams, with sweat, blood and tears. But how do you fight if you don't know the dream? Why fight 20 little battles when none is sure to be your own? How can you find the mountain that's for you to climb?

Today I decided to watch an old Ghibli film I'd never seen before, "Whispers of the Heart". The main character was reading 20 books before the beginning of the next semester and coincidentally a boy has lent the same library books, a bit of fate and a bit of work bring their lives together. He wants to be a violin maker, she envies him, for she doesn't know what she wants to be. Soon she figures it out and she knows the paths to take. 

I envy her, for within a school semester she figures out her dream. It's been over 20 years of being a master of none, knowing myself none.
I've done choir, clay, drawing, bookbinding, woodwork, piano, crochet, writing, knitting, designing furniture, architectural pieces, calendars, guitar, sewing clothes, tarot, ukulele, psychology, neuroscience, meditation, yoga, candle-making, declutter, styling, hair-dressing, interior design, organizational secretary... And here I am, still. As lost as I was when I was a child, a little shy creature who knew too much pain for her own good and was too concerned with the strangeness and pain of the world around her to understand herself. I am still the same. Good enough at too many things, too good enough for my own good.

So I wasted more hours on the phone, social media, and useless games. I feel so paralysed each time I think of what to do next. Free days become curses of insecurities, failures and restlessness, cause there is so much I would like to do but somehow, I can't get myself to do those things. I am still stuck in the freeze response.

Today between the period and the flu, there may have been more to it than I thought.

I feel so lonely today, I miss him, but not really him, the idea of him. That person I wished him to be, my mistake for not seeing who he really was, as well as not showing who I really am. At least I know none of it was on purpose, I can forgive myself for the mistakes I've made.
If he had asked me, invited me, offered me, I would have said yes without a doubt, but I know now that it's good that never happened, for it never felt completely right despite how perfectly natural and smooth it felt too. I always felt an obstacle in our path, whatever it is, it's still there now and us moving closer together wouldn't have dissolved it.

I wish it had been you, I miss you.