It’s really been a long way. Some victories, some failures, some days that just passed by me, but I’m still here. I didn’t think that would happen.
Some days I try to live, some days I want to die, that much still scares me, mostly because I wasn’t always like this. I wasn’t like this when I first started writing, for starters, but I rather turned somewhere along the way. I’ve read all I had today, trying to find out what or at least when it happened, but I didn’t put any of the pieces together.
I’ve changed so much since then, yet this place is like a different reality, out of time, where I can come and hide. Scream. Most times, cry. That’s curious. I’ve moved on from writing so long ago, yet this is the only place where I can free myself and purge my angry times or my sadness, my overall melancholy. I can’t seem to do that painting, for instance. It’s always so overbearingly cute sometimes it makes me mad, but I guess that’s not bad, since I needed some place to also let my happiness roam free.
Sometimes this thing makes me embarrassed. How could I write such foolish and childish things? But I never delete anything anymore. I did once, as a way to forget the so hurtful first heartbreak, but the minute I pressed the delete button, seeing it all go away, it hurt more than whatever I was going through. So I made a vow to never delete anything, to the embarrassment of my future self, who will feel ashamed of this post too, one day. I hope she remembers this vow, because somewhere along the way, this thing became a part of who I am, a way to get through a rough day so I can live happier ones. With time, things may beridiculous, but this is who I was, and who led me to the me that lived enough to feel silly for writing childish things like they were the end of the world.
I feel bad it’s been 3 years since I wrote. Sometimes I trick myself into thinking that’s because I’ve been happy enough for 3 years that I didn’t need to write. Well, that isn’t true. Quite the opposite. I'm worse than ever, because reality keeps knocking at my door, relentlessly. Sometimes I can’t breath, it’s too much to bare and I don’t wanna purge feelings because that means dealing with them head on., but I just can’t seem to find the right words. I ache from so many hold back tears that I wouldn’t even know where to start.
I’m afraid of my mental shortcomings, of not paying rent, of not taking care of myself enough, of my career prospects, of how was I supposed to live my life by now, of being a bad partner, of being unreliable to the people who need me, of being alone and isolating myself, of chasing dreams I can’t reach, of not being able to let myself free, of how can I cook for another meal because help me god I hate cooking so much. Everything’s intertwined in this weird and incredibly complex web and I can’t even identify most feelings for what they really are. But I guess, most times I’m worried. About everything, and I can’t bring myself from stopping my head, and it just goes on and on and on and if I’m lucky, until exhaustion hits and I fall asleep, 5 hours later than I meant to.
How do I write that? How do I separate those feelings so I can deal with them in small portions at a time, and slowly soothe myself back to serenity? Or is that a lesson I’ll never learn, not on my dying day, on my last breath? And then my mind wanders off, away from my grasp, only pulled back by the alarm clock, another sleepless night. It’s hard, finding words for that, without mixing things up and making yet another post where I begin on a topic and end with another. When I come here, I’m usually feeling a thousand knifes through my body and everything aches so much and it feels like I’m bleeding dry but there’s no blood and I’m just fine, but these 3 years felt like a glass, water overflowing and spilling everything, everywhere, but the water won’t stop dropping, one after the other, while me, the glass, can’t hold anything in, so it just taints all that’s around. It’s really hard to write that down, as each drop is a different things, and it’s not this visceral-knife-in-the-guts pain that I’m used to, but a much more vibrant, growing and incessant one, that waves though me at each new drop. My shoulders are heavy and the neck pain keeps me awake. When I write to aliviate my pain, I go though every knife wound, brutally honest, and I dissect them as I type, until there’s nothing left to inspect, and I feel ready to start letting that go until sweet oblivion embraces those memories. But how can I dissect and inspect and let go if the problem is not that single apocalyptic feeling, but rather the overwhelming amount of different sized problems that pains me? It’s a type of pain new to me, so it made things harder to put on paper. But seeing how far I’ve gone with writing this, and how much more calm I feel after writing this, I guess this could be a new start for me. In many aspects, I need to change the way I think.
I wasn’t really going anywhere with all this, if any of the mysterious guests I get every week or so are reading this, and I’m sorry for that. This, like many (probably all) things here, is a letter to myself. I know I’ll come back here someday, looking for a pearl of wisdom I may have left behind. Just a little reminder that things have indeed changed, and they’ll continue to do so, and you will have to bare with that, it’s just how it is. A little gloom, but isn’t all things sad in our comfort zone, if were being completely honest? You’ll read this many times here, but you do always end up fine at the end, because when change comes, perspective shift, and you’re able to see further than you did before, and that’s always for the best.
I’m really glad I made this thing, and carried it out for 10 years. It’s been a wild ride.
