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.

Motherly

 Where are you? How's it going? 

It's hard to have given so much emotional support for you to be out of my life so abruptly.

Like a mother missing a child, that's really not a good sign. 

How could you compare a 15 second back rub and two standing hugs, with all the emotional and physically emotional support I've given you? It's breadcrumbs I got from you. You say it's all you could give, I understand it and accept it, but I need more than someone who would not reassure me after I tell him my fears, more than someone who would close his door while I'm crying as I leave.

I deserve someone who would think: "she works the whole day standing, maybe a long standing hug while I put part of my weight on her isn't the best", or "I do muay thai, I'm used to being hit and hit others, my hands are heavy and strong, I will be careful with her".

But instead I'd say something hurts and you wouldn't change a thing, only say you're not doing it strongly. I'll never forget the countless times you pressed your thumbs into the nerves on the soft sides of my wrists while "playing". Maybe already then you resented me and that's why you hurt me so much in disguises while saying it's not too strong.

It's hard to look back at these moment and recognize I let myself be mistreated again. 

In your kind eyes, I found my own pain.

The flowers died on Monday.

 "I will always be there for you" - his voice rang in my ears and he closed the door while I left, crying. Crying my heart out I left his house and he just said -"bye". The promise of eternal safety was already broken from the moment he pronounced those words, and now, at the edge of this bridge, I'm thinking life isn't worth it at all. It's just pain over injustice over heartbreak over loneliness over more pain. Goodness isn't there if you're honest. You must learn to bullshit them around and be a pretty petite girl or a petty snake.

Once again this year, despite the one resolution, I wished to be dead again. At least this should be the last time I ever wish for it.

Pieces of thoughts, pt.1

 If you had asked me to stay, I would have gladly stayed, in your arms if I could. Now if that would have been a good idea or not, I'd say probably not, but who cares, it's just life anyway. 

You cry with me, you fall asleep with me, but I don't know what you feel. 

What are you thinking? I wish to know your darkest thoughts, but you want them unknown and that is part of the part that has us apart.

As I freeze in the night walk to the station, I think of how love can be so silly, so consumingly dumb. Despite its purest intentions, its raw honesty and vulnerability, it can turn us blind and stupid. How can something so beautiful become the death of someone like me. A death within life, one of many, that we walk through as we go.

I found a note in my pocket, I wrote it a couple of days ago at the shop after a few couples of weirdos I saw:

"I see strange people and turns out they're couples, and I think of you and I. We are odd too, unlike them, not too cool, not too uncool either, we are our own unique sort of odd. How can it be so obvious, how can it feel so obvious, but not work out? I miss you, but I idealize you too and often I wonder if this is a mistake"

----

If you had asked me to stay, I would have stayed, we would have talked again, we would have decided to give a chance to that list we made, try it ouy. Maybe then, the scene of odd people and their lost odd partners suddenly found, would make sense for us too.

Death wishes again.

 What do I do now, with the note on my fridge, my favourite poem and the pillow I hug to sleep? 

What do I do now with the blanket you gave me and curtains and the kitchen?

What do I do now with all the love?

What do I do now, knowing she was right? Knowing I've lost again.

My new year's resolution was to stop wishing for death, but here I am again, knife at hand, only stopped by the knowledge of the pain I'd cause to those who love me.

I feel so lonely. It was always you who cleared my tears, you who I could call when the world crumble, to spoon me with your whole warmth, to let me rest my head on your chest and filled me with peace with the silly little things you would share. It was always you who were home and who made me feel like everything was going to be alright.

And now it's you who I've destroyed, who I've hurt so much with my own pain and it's my curse. 

So here I am, knife at hand, wishing to leave this place. Mother in my mind, a doomed future, the black hole I am.

And you were so mean, and you were so rushed, and you said I'm illogical, nonsensical, but you never truly asked.

Rubbing my knee, expecting me to cum, your arms would go numb. And so now, burntout, from trying so hard without knowing what.

Wasn't it easy, wasn't it fun? That last beautiful time. It hurts even more.

I'd open my veins today, I wish you would come to stop me. I wish everything was truly ok. But I have nothing anymore.

The table I got, all my possessions, I want none anymore.

I took the note on my fridge, stored it in the book, it's facing the other way so I can't read the spine. I'm so glad I read it, now I won't move it again. 

Against all my wishes, today again I wish I was dead.

Black hole

I wanted to help you heal, 

yet all I did was hurt you deeper. 

I wanted to coat your heart with my love 

until only scars were left.

I wanted to kiss your harsh edges 

for to show you their worth.

I wanted to bathe you in my warmest embrace

scaring violent memories away.

I wanted to feed you kindness and song 

to free you from self-imposed chains.

There was so much I thought I could 

bring to your wounded soul,

so much I wanted to hold for you.

Yet all I did was to hurt you deeper, 

stab your brain with panic, 

nail your armour down in steel,

erase your golden heart,

and smash your fire till you

no longer could shine.

That is my curse,

all I touch dies, 

slowly, 

and you

were my victim, the one 

I hoped would end this cycle.

Yet history repeated itself, for

my void swallows it all,

and you of all creatures

deserve the sun, 

not 

a black hole.

I'm sorry amor, I promise

I won't hurt no new hearts.

I promise I

won't spread death no more.

I'm sorry you,

love of my all my lives, 

there won't be more 

after you.

No one else,

deserves better,

and despite it all, at times

I wish I'd never been summoned

into this fever dream I

made of you and I.

I'm sorry to have destroyed 

your precious mind.

Language, my love.

 Suddenly words seem so obsolete, so overwhelming and useless. List after list, nothing gets done, it's a trick, a nasty deceiving of productivity. Nothing has changed, yet it feels as if so much was done, it tires the soul when all these dreams and hopes stand still for too long.

You, that gave me so much comfort and release on its day. You, that held my void heart in your warmth and embraced my soul like no one else. How can you, my eternal lover, my confidant, feel so distant and meaningless?
I miss the joy we used to share, your charms and my depths made a pair like no other. I miss the way you understood me and helped me understand myself. So many tears you dried, so many fantasies we designed, so many plans we made and now, somehow, it's all gone.

What happened to us, my love? When did we fade away and dry out, and how? 
I miss your presence behind me, impulsing me to create beautiful mixtures of meaning and song. You were the father I never had, the mother I wasn't eaten by, you were my lover and my only true friend.

Is there a way to mend this?

I miss you.

Un-Happiness

 Welcome again, my wish to write, my wish to get better, it's been a while.

       Today I did a guided meditation, something I've been thinking of for weeks, but haven't done it since that one app stopped working on my phone. Finding your own meditations to follow, is also difficult, trusting someone's voice to guide you through your body and mind, isn't easy, or maybe it is for others, how could I know how you experience life?
    In today's meditation, the man guided a visualization of myself, something I have never done before: "Visualize yourself as you are right now", it wasn't intuitive even after years of doing body scans three times a day mostly. I had to remember moments in which I've seen my reflection on shop windows and big full-body mirrors (which I don't really have), and I thought: "man, I don't have a mental image of how I actually look, maybe that's also why I feel so bad about myself" -Seeing your belly from the perspective of your own head, just hanging there under your tits, which feel too far apart to be in any way pretty, may shift the idea of how your body actually looks like, but no one else sees you from that perspective, so maybe trusting a shop's display reflection makes more sense indeed. 
What I did after, to bring that reflection image into a proper three-dimensional and alive version of me, inside my head, was to caress her hair, and her cheeks, touch her shoulders and arms, hug her and gave gentle, loving taps on her torso and legs. Just like that, somehow, this beautiful little creature was me, and she was so happy to see me and I was so happy to see her. 

At this point, my visualization went on its own by holding her cheeks, kissing her forehead and running my fingers through her hair in a very caring, motherly way. I felt full of love for that moment in time, I felt full.
The man kept talking, and he said to repeat the next phrase:

- "May I be happy? Remember a time in which you were happy"

Now here is where it began to get interesting but in a different way. As I asked, the image of me got very excited about the idea of finally being happy, but as I had to remember a time in which I was happy, I looked at this week and found snippets of that, but most had such bittersweetness in them, so I looked further in the last months, same thing, year, same thing. I looked as far as my childhood, I thought, maybe a time before the responsibilities of adulthood, maybe before the hormonal changes of teenagerhood, maybe as far as before starting school altogether. 

No memory of my life was clean, every single one of them was tainted with pains of the mind or the heart, whether that was abandonment, loneliness, pressure or anxieties for trying to belong somewhere. -The man continued:

- "May I be safe? and remember a time when you felt safe" Now I found myself in a few moments of safety, but realising all the times in which I don't, as a highly sensitive, neurodivergent, female read creature on this fast-paced, loud, violent society, is hard to feel safe. So all the safety times, were with my current partner, for all the past ones brought upon more unsafety, while I had to protect them as well. Still, not many memories of safety in my life, a woman who took care of me as a toddler came to my mind; quiet times alone at home here, when my upstairs neighbors are gone; James' warm hands when he hugs me in the way I like it. That is all, for 30 years of life, how can it be that I have so few memories of feeling safe? As a neurodivergent kid, it makes sense.

- "May I be healthy? ..."

My body has never truly felt healthy, the mere experience of being human is exhausting more often than not, the stiffness of my bones, the way my belly folds on itself, my neck crumbling on my shoulders, the tension on my head, jaw and hips, the pains on my knees and ankles. The incapacity of moving as freely as I wish I could, the lack of energy on my dancing, my acting; I have never felt capable of physically being a human as others do, flexibile and tension-free bodies, a dream I've never been able to achieve.

- "May I live with ease" ..."

Absolutely no memories life being intuitive or easier to navigate. Obstacles and difficulties all over. I cannot see the shore as I've been trying to stay afloat on this broken boat as the storm never ends in the ocean of life. -Is that not how life feels like?

-----------------------

Seeing myself made me happy, realizing that my 30 years on this planet, have been mostly covered with unsafety, sadness, loneliness, abandonments, sadness, exclusion, difficulties and obstacles... makes me understand why I continue to have such a miserable existence and just a few moments of happiness here and there. I've been conditioned to be unhappy from birth, and I try my very best to give myself the love I deserve, the safety and joy, but it's been a short lifetime of pain with a few years of joy. 

How can I expect so much more from me?

But I will continue to try, I will continue to hug me, I will continue to bring safety, company and ease to my body and heart, to my life. To bring relaxation and love to my body and soul. For it's worth it, in each of those little glimpses of goodness I have lived, I see the worth and I see where I want to be.

Unnoticed.

 A dead baby bird smashed on the pavement, crushed and spread, no sign of life on its underdeveloped body, nothing but blood and other juices, almost dried up right there in the middle of the beautiful last yard of the idyllic passages in the centre of this city. - A silence of respect and pedalling away.

As I reached closer to my home it was already dark, almost 1am as I passed by the old folk's home, a coffin being brought out by two old men in suits, it was such a beautiful wood, light coloured with a golden brooch on top. - Slowed down, a silence and as I cycled further, tears streamed down my face.

Are these omens of our ending?
I've missed the good times, even when we're doing alright, painting on you balcony under the scorching afternoon sun. I miss something we lost and I cannot remember what it looks like, what did it feel like? Can you help us remember? 
You probably haven't even realized, nor could you tell what it used to be like. Sometimes I wonder if you know what colour my eyes are, or if I have earrings. Not even to mention, what's my favourite tea or my comfort films... I could spell it out and you wouldn't know, then in your despair, you'd say I never told you. 
And I'd agree, for my gaslighting experiences are still deep, for I don't want to make you feel bad about not remembering such important details, which may just be unimportant to you. 

  So we're not taking the trains together again, especially the U8, cause it may be full of the type of woman you love, short hair, big nose, skinny but shapely, full tits, fit, maybe even wearing a big football top, even better if it's from a niche, lefty team from a cool country, like Turkey or Austria (yes, I chose those on purpose). And you don't want to feel bad for what you call "Human Nature" of being attracted to other people, one which I barely have, but sure, it's what humans are like. We're not taking the trains because you don't want to get triggered, meaning each time you go on - with me, you get triggered even if nothing is happening and no one is around us.
- Meaning my issues and needs in those moments are now secondary to those of you and I am alone again, even if you're right there next to me.

Still 4 hours of torture before ending this day, to be in a different world for just a few moments, not here with all this pain and heaviness. I've cried without control since I was at the corner of my building, it's hard to cry while cycling, you cannot see. It's hard to cycle when you just want to die, it's hard to avoid being in an accident. It's hard to show how horrible I feel when it's never been safe to do so, when it always ends up being about someone else, when you're being a burden and all that everyone wants is for it to end, to fix it, to fix me.

It's hard being the carer when you're the effector and the affected, when you are victim and at guilt. When it's all about you needing fixing, it's all about you bringing upon curses of anxiety that don't allow us to leave the house anymore, it's all about you and your stupidity for not seeing these allegedly very clear signs of love, it's all about you needing too much. - I thought that part of my journey was over, but it's not.
I'm too much and you're too little, but we respected each other until now. Now that I feel absolutely nothing good and all I see is the flaws, the missing bits, the unfulfilled wishes I have had in these 4 and a half years. All the times I wore special clothing for you, that I did special things for you, that I behaved in special ways for you, but the outcome was nothing special at all, just the same old, I've gone unnoticed once more.

I'm invisible when it comes to the effort, I'm invisible when it comes to the good, yet the bad, Oh the bad. 
Now we're talking, let's make it loud and clear! Let's scream to the open skies how horrible it is to be with me, let's get traumatized by me. For smelling flowers and jumping about is a pretty little girly thing to do, ugly crying, being overwhelmed and overstimulated by this city, being triggered and feeling insecure is absolutely not. 

All of that is simply too much and I am too much, but also not! Cause of course I shouldn't identify with the trauma, the hypersensitivity, no! I'm way more than that and I have to remember this, while also making it clear that all these symptoms are affecting him horribly, traumatising him and destroying him and us. - But let's see each other for three minutes today and sleep together, - no sex of course, and count it as a beautiful, qualitative day well-spent together.

Let's get me triggered and talk about you, all about you, let's comfort and care for you, respect your boundaries, fulfil your needs, do your activities, follow your guidelines to keep you happy, and don't forget tomorrow you'll need an exact time for me to leave, while there may be pouring rain, who knows, but no! It's alright, you won't kick me out in the pouring rain, only it's so deep I'll know how uncomfortable you are and how much you wish to be alone, but somehow you love me, you also just really want me gone, please, respect my needs.

And when I have truly left, like now, you are destroyed.
Well, baby, I've been destroyed again and again by your loveless ways. Your words say it's love, but your inaction, your lack of real touch and attention to my presence and stories, your not-sharing thoughts, your behaviours that are all about your own comfort and enjoyment, all that screams that you don't.

That I am too much, that you are tired and annoyed, that you are burdened and want me to go away. 

But it's unfair on you and having a break is something that should be discussed - Do you mean that I for once had control in the relationship so you cannot stand it and need to get it back with a talk about this in which we'll end up doing as you want?

- No, honestly not! But you are destroyed and I need to reflect. 

All I touch dies.

 I needed you and you weren't there. My heart was screaming for you to hold me, to show me your love, but you were busy advising about therapists, mindset changes and other changes, proving how I'm broken and if I only tried a bit harder, you could be happy.

But I am who I am, and that's inherently hurtful for you. I am who I am and you cannot take it even if you try. I am who I am and as that hurts you, you hurt me back. 

Look, if I'm such a burden, if I weight you down so much, if you cannot handle me, just please explain to me why are you still here? I don't see your love, so there must be something else that I'm blinded to. Please tell me why.

For all I see is your pain while trying to deal with mine, all I see is your stress and dislike, your anxiety, your overwhelm. All while I'm trying to calm myself and scream your name in hopes for your warmth to wrap me up and hold me until the sun is out again.

You used to say I was brave and I was doing well when I was overwhelmed, now you just get triggered yourself and stay quiet, hoping it would go away. In my understanding, that's a pretty bad sign, of what I have done to you, whether on purpose or not, whether I did anything or just was.

I fucked you up as I have fucked them all up, as I fuck everything up, simply by being.

Mediocre.

   Such joy was to see your inner child today in full light, just like the blooming flowers all over the garden, a heart-warming sight indeed, after a too-long winter, like on these first sunny days, feeling like you're waking up again. It's weeks of waking up and standing randomly under sunny spots to take in the warmth and light of each ray that caresses one's skin, our most welcomed loved one.

   I've gotten so old, it's such a struggle, I don't want mirrors around me, the pain on my knee, the fat and wrinkles, yet fucking acne and blackheads... Each day some new discovery of how to keep you young forever without surgery or botox, just do gua-sha, derma-rolling, fascia exercises, face yoga, miracle drinks, exercises, diet changes... All I see is how my face is falling, but "look at me, and her and my clients, and all these examples, look at that other one too: Success!".
Look at the girlies, heavy on make-up and secret body issues on social media. Look at the whimsical fairy girls, and finally having my glow-up year. Look at my cute "Delulu" and the new version of the manic pixie dream girl. Look at the 16-year-olds getting plastic surgery, the massive tits and butts, the tiny waists, the thigh gap that's now called "legging legs", the plastic, inflamed lips, fake nails, extensions and the paedophile culture we keep cultivating...

   Look at me being 30 and feeling like my life is over, beginning to become invisible in a society that values beauty, sexuality, youth, millionaires and manhood while I become none of them. Actually, I'm drifting even further away from all. 

I just wish I felt confident, skilled, and triumphant in this, but all I feel is frustrated and mediocre, so goddamned mediocre. Half-assed, a failure. Never good enough, only good for nothing. And it's all my own fault for being into too much, having too much fear, always indecisive and never sticking to anything until the end. 
I know a bit about a lot, so it's not useful in this society where you can find all the experts on everything begging for a "buy me a coffee" on Instagram.  

   I didn't grow up in the times of this fake confidence and Tiktok dances, I was a bit late to become Youtube famous or work and buy a house, too early for Instagram even and definitely too parentified and caring of other and needy and lacking confidence and self-worth to dare to follow my own path. 
I never ever believed in myself and now I'm 30 and nothing.

A mediocre, shop working, frustrated, hopeless 30 year old.

Where did my words go? That novel that was brewing? The postcards I was drawing? The stickers, the meditations, the songs, the singing, the piano? Where did my dreams go?
   I feel so out of control of my own life that I can't see the point of trying anything anymore.

The dream of going to Chile across the Atlantic on a cruise that was off season, nope.
The dream of driving in Iceland following the Aurora, nope.
The dream of being discovered as a model, NOPE - you ugly old cunt! Delusional mate.
The dream of being discovered as a singer or musician, OF COURSE NOT! - what kind of bullshit do you believe in?! You cannot sing a song without yawning and your voice is the most boring shit ever...
The dream of speaking Mapudungún, French, Korean, Japanese, definitely no.
The dream of living in different places for a few months, clearly not possible.
The dream of having a successful Youtube channel, nope.
The dream of having a successful Instagram channel, hahahahaha!
The dream of having a successful website where I sell my designs and guided meditations, nope.
The dream of being a successful yoga teacher, NOPE BITCH! For that you have to actually enjoy it and know deeply about it. But as I already said, I know a little about many things.
Even the ideas of selling my own crocheted good, my own baked goods, my own clothes, building a tiny house, having a cute lefty café... all of these are just a huge:      n-o-p-e-

   NOPE.

And he believes in me, and she believes in me, but I'm too little to do anything. Too much of a scared stupid bug, trying to survive in a kitchen full of angry cooks with raised hands and electrified rackets.

   That's truly how I feel right now. 

Not only do I feel ugly as hell, with my terrible skin and sagging face, my shapeless, deflated tits and bloatedness, the cellulite, the stretch marks, the new hairs in weird places, the right hair thinning and falling off, the leaving eyebrows, these eyes that are too big and outwards, this terrible curse of a nose that my grandma suffered too and told me as a baby about... How did she know? Such a terrible fucking curse. These lips that are way too thin, crooked teeth and now, not even I have my sexual confidence, I'm a dry well. Who goes dancing and feels old, left out, looks around and sees all the crazy, sexy, half-naked girls almost having sex on the dancefloor and the only thing I can think of is how I've wasted my life.

How I am incapable of being that way, looking that way, feeling that way. How even thinking this means I'm wasting my current life as well. 

   How I look at myself in the mirror and only feel DISGUST, how I know it's wrong and how I simply feel overpowered by it, overtaken. For it's not only feeling ugly and dirty, it's feeling dried of eroticism and creativity, or worse, wasted creativity that leads nowhere. I'm ideas that never came to life, I am pure frustration, I'm knowledge that never went deep enough, I am sensitivity that kept me from joy, I am different even if you said "you're not that special Dani..." - I wasn't trying to be. I just opened up to who I thought was a safe friend. But even in that space, my lack of confidence told me she was right and I was wrong... 

I'm not special, I'm normal and the struggles I've been through are simply what everyone goes through, so I am just incapable, stupid, mediocre and a failure. 
It's not hyper-sensitivity, it's not neurodivergence... I'm not that special. I'm not allowed to be anything besides a mediocre, invisible, silent failure.

- Well Fer, I am. I am a failure and I hope you got what you wanted by invalidating my experiences. For I feel exactly as you made me feel. For I have zero confidence or fire in me. For I am another stupid little people-pleaser who's terrified of starting confrontation, for I never learned to debate and I am not fierce, I cannot even fake it!
                                                I am just a bland blob of mediocrity, set for failure, never good enough, but just about. Crawling under the door as my mother and teachers would say.

Even not good enough for the doctors to see my disabilities, so much even I don't acknowledge them. I go through life in physical pain, and mental chaos and not even panic attacks I show. Running out of breath in complete silence, with a smile on my face, so as to not worry you, the stranger on the train, my mother, my friend. To not show vulnerability for you may take advantage of me and yell and kick me while I'm already down. 

I still remember that day perfectly, back on Triftstr. with the mustard hoodie that fit me so well, the colours darkened in my tears and you kept yelling and telling me how horrible I am, but you wouldn't leave, you just kept yelling your frustration about yourself at me, all the times you didn't stand up for yourself, all the times you didn't leave, all the times you said yes, instead of no. And you put them on me in the most horrible form, despite my best efforts at honesty and clarity.
 

It's always those who are the closest who hurt the deepest. 
For I was never truly loved.

And no wonder, if I'm an ugly, skinny-fat, badly ageing, incapable, good-for-nothing, mediocre failure. How could anyone ever love this?

   So of course now that I have love, I'm too damaged to be able to enjoy it fully. All I think is of how he would rather be with someone prettier, skinnier, clearer skin, bigger tits, stronger, successful, less fucking depressed, more confident... We walk around, I see an ass better than mine and I feel like all I had going on for me is gone, replaced by those jeans in front of us, despite having had such a beautiful day, such a nurturing, deeply connecting one. A pair of juicy glutes in some tight jeans and I'm over, dead again; mediocre, failed, silent, invisible.

- That was always my best technique: Silent, motionless, invisible. Disappearing in the noise, in the crowd, in the chaos. 
I was always either invisible or annoying, except for the few times I did what they all wanted, helped them, did what they needed, was who they expected... And since I never know who everyone expects, since I cannot be everyone's expectation in a group, the only way was to be invisible. Better barely pleasant than rejected.


   I remember the psychosis of having died very clearly. The fear of being a ghost in the house and one of my main pains was the imagination of the sadness of my parents at the moment they would find my lifeless body. A little spotlight for her, a little task for him: everyone happy, somehow.
I remember her lies and her disappearing. I remember her leaving and my love letters for her trips, ready written weekly or daily for each month.
I remember being completely certain that I was dead far too often, how old was I?   - Probably I was old enough and I'm just exaggerating cause that seems to be the case in all that's childhood, I remember it all wrong says she. Just as I always remember it all wrong, even now. But that doesn't mean my brain works differently, it just means that I am wrong. 

That I am mediocre. Even in her exhalation of my musical skills, I continued to be not good enough, barely crawling under the door each end of school year. Even in therapy as a kid, as a pre-teen, as a teen, as a young adult, that's normal and I'm not that special. And I am not dead and I am so pleasing. 

- Of course I am a good one when I'm a mirror of you. 

Of course I am anxious if I don't know you, cause how can I mirror you then? How can I make sure that you won't cast me out? They all had dinner together sometimes after my bedtime: some bread and hot chocolate, brush your teeth and off to sleep. I could hear them having the time of their lives, something I never heard if I was there.
Thankfully I had a TV in my room, I had Nickelodeon, MTV and all the porn channels after 10pm, and the usual horror film here and there that would terrify me and captivate me. Jumping back and forth in all the options, but either depressive 90s music videos or porn were my go-to, at least if Hey Arnold, As Told by Ginger, Ranma or Sailor Moon wasn't on.

- So now what. I know all of this already, I've written about it many times, some clearer and more straightforward than others, but it's all known news. So what do I do about this knowledge? How the fuck do I change the way I feel about myself based on all this I know? How do I stop being ugly, skinny-fat, badly ageing, incapable, good-for-nothing, mediocre failure?

How am I me? Alharaca, hipersensible, tonta... for this society at least.

English always protected me somehow... Es que acaso necesito más claridad? Que soy una fea, flaca-gorda, envejeciendo horriblemente, incapaz, buena para nada, fracasada y mediocre. Que no soy capaz de mostrar quien realmente soy un 90% del tiempo porque fui rechazada siempre de niña? Que soy incapaz de mantener las rutinas que sé que me hacen bien por fracasada? Que no logro cumplir mis sueños? Que soy puro miedo, pura ansiedad, pura farsa, pura mediocridad, puro fracaso, pura nada que valga la pena? 

Que no soy tan especial...

- Gaslighting, pero de mi seres queridos, de personas con títulos, de mi misma... Y cómo se supone que crea en mi? Que sienta mi propio valor cuando sólo estaba permitido ser para los demás o sería expulsada? Cómo se supone que me sintiera parte de la familia cuando eran tan felices sin mi?

Es que eran tan felices sin mi. 

Cómo se supone que me sienta mejor si mi propio padre es más feliz sin mi, si mi madre me extraña porque en realidad es sólo que se siente sola y que mi hermana me extraña porque también, en su propia forma, se siente sola y no tiene mi apoyo y mis oídos en tanto la han escuchado?

Eran felices sin mi y ahora me quieren sólo por lo que les puedo seguir dando... Es que no soy tan especial. 

Sigo silenciando los ataques de pánico, sigo haciendo masking, sigo siendo un reflejo de lo que quieren de mi. Sigo aterrada de ser expulsada de nuevo, de no ser querida una vez más, de ser persona non-grata... Y sigo sin saber realmente quien soy. Pero me siento incapaz, mediocre, fea, buena para nada, sé un poco de mucho, lo que es inservible, igual que yo. Nunca soy lo suficientemente buena en algo, ni bonita ni talentosa ni humana... Soy un puto espejo medio roto más encima... 

Qué vida tan espantosa esta. Y qué mierda hago ahora con todo lo que ya sabía, ahora que lo puse en español, ahora que llega más profundo... Qué mierda hago ahora?

O es esta una maldición con la que tengo que vivir por el resto de mi vida, igual que estas tetas horrendas y esta nariz aguileña que hizo chillar a mi abuela?

Qué hago ahora que es bien sabido lo asquerosa e incapaz que soy? Qué hago ahora? De qué me sirvió?