The Horror!

Today I'm writing about a different kind of horror.

Because today I started re-reading all those texts, and I had to stop. Even tho it's been YEARS, and I'm better now, and I can actually say that I'm happy, it still hurts so fucking much to see how easily you manipulated me, how shamelessly you hurt me. And I read, in horror, all those long conversations, blaming me for everything, pushing me into that horrible roller coaster of blame, emotional blackmail, twisted love and all that fucking shit.

Demanding so much of me, blaming me for not caring while you kicked me to the floor and I had to keep a good face on, cause that's what I've always been taught. You knew all my weaknesses, and you played with them. And I get it, you were hurt too. But why do I always have to get it? Why is it me the one who always has to be empathic? Why can't I be selfish without being the bad guy in the story?

I got so fucking tired of keeping everyone alive while I was sinking.

And I'm so mad. And I think I would be in the right if I just told you to go fuck yourself, but I don't, because I'm such a good girl. And it's so fucking exhausting. And yes, I might be the bad guy in your story. But I'm okay with it. And I know you still hold things against me.

But how convenient it is that the only thing you seem to have forgotten is one of the worst things you ever did to me? Oh, how you loved to talk about trust and sincerity. But wait, you didn't forget because the one time I had the courage to talk about it you scolded me instead for that one time. So full of shit. So good at knowing how to manipulate me.

So yeah, you became one of the horrors of my brain, one of the fears. While you casually keep popping in to ask silly advice, I idiotically offer it as if we were old pals. But I don't want to be pals. If it weren't for the rest you wouldn't be in my life in any form, or that's what I'd like to think. And I don't want you fucking reading this like you did my diary, so keep the hell out. You cannot be here anymore.

Now I don't care. I don't fucking care right now. You will not have the right to reproach me for anything again, 'cause if you do I'll come for you.

A bit of advice

 

So, it's been a while since I was here – again–.

I wanted to come back, at least in April.

Today's prompt is "a bit of advice". I don't know what to write about, what advice could I give anyway? I have no aspirations or ambitions anymore. Unless you count not being miserable. I just try to keep living, without the burden of my own sadness. So, what advice could I give? Go to therapy, let go of the things - the people - that harm you? that just feel like a Mr. Wonderful diary.

But that's what worked for me so I guess it couldn't help to try.

At least I'm happier. And yes, there are still days when I cry without reason, when I can't get myself out of bed, even now. But things are better.

So try and surround yourself with the good things, the people that keep you safe and warm. It won't be easy, but it'll get easier with time. And time will also give you a sense of clarity.

It hurt a little to realize some things. Like that I'm not special to the eyes of the world – but I am to the eyes of someone I really care about and that's quite better–, that I don't have some big destiny to fulfil – but I do have a duty to myself of keeping me alive and well and not terribly sad all the time–, that I don't fit in the mold I was taught to grow – but I fit here–.

Find your own seed of peace, nourish it, and keep on going.

it's been a while

– I almost never think about you, Fi. And I haven't seen her in so long I can't even remember what she looked like.

– Nobody here is angry at you. 

– Well, some of them are. I know they are. 

– Not me. 

– Not you – I smile–. I know you won't ever be... I'll try to come back sooner.

He smiles, a sad smile, but with loving, calming eyes. He has that effect. He is that loving, nurturing, protecting feeling. He's the keeper of my world, or at least part of it. 

– I'll be waiting. 

On another love

It's been a while.

I hate this feeling. Everything it's so fragile. 

And they say I'm the sensitive one.

I have to take my pain – every kind of it – and put it away in a box because it does not matter, it never will, there's no space for it.

The pain you all have, the pain you bring inside, is so big it takes all the space.

And it hurts me, in so many ways. I have to be strong all the time, 'cause the moment I lower my guard, I become the one to point at. So I'm never enough and every thing I do is wrong.

And you all are so cruel to one another, and I can't understand why. And I try, I have tried so many times to be the mediator, the empathetic one, the understanding. But sometimes it seems like you don't even want to understand each other anymore. Like, yeah, you love each other, but you don't put the effort of really understanding each other. So we're always here. And I feel small, insignificant. And I'm scared, I don't know want to do or what to be or how to react, and I feel still like a little scared girl.

And I remember, when there was a calm after the storm, and I felt confident for a while that we were gonna be okay. But I guess that once you're a dysfunctional family, it's hard to not be one again, even when it gets rebuilt.

So I shut up and down. And I try. And I fail every damn time. And it's gotten to a point we're the things I've learned are to not stand up for myself, just in case I hurt other people's feeling along the way, just in case.

It's very hard to try and work on myself when home is not the idea of love anymore, when it's a place to pick up again and again the little pieces of my heart that fell to the ground. And I'm “the introvert one” but no one ever says that I'm the one that went through abuse and trauma since the very start and had no other coping mechanism than a closed bedroom and a stuffed rabbit. And everything I've learned about my mind, it's only because I got tired of wanting to be dead every single day and put the effort of talking to someone. And I fight every damn day to get out of that mind space. But they don't know, and I would be selfish of me if they did. 

So I have to release the pain somewhere, sometimes. And add some other stuff to the list of things they don't know about while I keep fighting to not hurt myself to relieve some of the pain, to keep those thoughts away. And it's been like this since I remember, at least since I was 11 – which, if you think about it, is really messed up –. Funny thing is, I'm the most okay I've probably have been since then. But hey, baby steps.

Almost there

We're almost there.

I feel so happy and excited. I just want this moment to come and be perfect, cause I'm so sure – It's going to be perfect.

And I won't be sad when it passes, because I'll still have you, and I'll have next year to plan and think about.

It's just so overwhelming sometimes. The way you make me feel. I look at you and you shine so bright and you love me so much that it makes me want to cry because I know, you're going to make me happy. I know you're going to take it me, worry about me, try your best, be interested in me.

Just today you were alone in the car listening to a song that I told you I liked, reading the lyrics along, making an effort, just so that you could understand it better. And when I got back in the car and noticed that I had missed it you put the track on again and sang along with me.

It's the little things, that feel so big. Because you make the effort. And I feel so loved.

You came to dinner with my friends yesterday and I was so happy to see you there. To have that much fun, to have you, eager to meet them, happy to be there. And it made me so happy to know that you had liked each other that I really cried that night.

And also today, we were joking with our friends, talking about you and the way you are, the jokes you crack. And I was so amazed. I've known you for years, we've been friends all this time and I knew you. But as a boyfriend, as a partner... I could've never imagined something like this was possible. You're everything, you give everything and I can only hope that I am able to make you feel at least half as happy as you make me. Everyday I think to myself, this is it, there's no higher love than this, no way this feeling gets more intense... But then I see you again, new day, and my love for you grows again. I'm even afraid that my heart won't be able to hold it sometimes. But I know it will, cause I seriously feel it getting bigger too. 

I love you. 

I think about the 90s

 Quería escribir. Pero más por necesidad y por el miedo de no hacerlo que por el hecho de escribir en sí mismo. Porque estoy empezando a hacerme una bola de cosas que no quiero ser.

 Han pasado muchas cosas, aunque en realidad parece que no ha pasado absolutamente nada. Pero llevo días con el ruido de fondo, con el peso del llanto en el pecho y con la sensación de que no he dejado de llorar en ningún momento. Y me molesta, porque de verdad he tenido muy buenos momentos. Y me han dicho que estos lo suficientemente bien, aunque no me han quitado el miedo.

 No sé cómo gestionar el hecho de que voy a pasar un cumpleaños, por primera vez en años, sin una de mis partes favoritas, y cada vez sueño más con ella. Y cada vez que lo pienso me siento de una manera diferente al respecto pero la verdad es que no quiero hacer nada porque no sabría qué hacer. Y hay una parte de mí que quiere olvidarse de una vez mientras otra está convencida de que nunca podré. Pero no voy a hacer nada, porque no me veo capaz, porque me da miedo.

 No sé cómo gestionar el malestar que siento. Hoy ha muerto mi abuelo, mi yayo. No sé cuántos años llevaba sin verle. La única persona con la que hablo es mi padre, y de aquellas maneras. Hay una parte de mi que quiere sentirse culpable, hay otra parte que lo hace y otra más que está tan enfadada que desearía no sentir la tristeza que siento por esto. No quiero ni siquiera saber cuándo es el entierro. No quiero ponerme la careta y agachar la cabeza y mentir otra vez. Aunque sí querría que las cosas fuesen diferentes.

 Me duele el pecho de agobio cada vez que pienso en el mundo y en todas las situaciones y en como tengo que sentirme afortunada y lo muy injusto que es, pero intento descartar ese tipo de pensamientos cuando los detecto porque no quiero hundirme. 

 Resulta fácil hundirme. Eso creo. Llevo años hundiéndome y saliendo a flote y tratando de nadar pero soy incapaz de coordinar mi cuerpo lo suficiente así que me hundo una y otra vez. He conseguido llegar a un punto en el que por lo menos veo la orilla y ya no quiero que me trague el mar todos los días, y ya no quiero desaparecer para siempre. Pero no ha dejado de ser difícil, ni duro. He avanzado mucho pero también me he vuelto más paranoica, puede que sea el efecto secundario de empezar a pensar que no tiene por qué ser todo culpa mía. A cambio ahora, de vez en cuando, creo que la gente que me quiere me odia.

 Parece que no, pero estoy bien. Solo necesito sacarme esto del cuerpo y dejar de sentirme mal y dejar de soñar con todas las cosas que me dan miedo y todas las cosas que me hacen sentir insegura. Solo necesito más tiempo para no hacer nada, para poder quedarme en la cama y encerrarme en mi cabeza pero sin los pensamientos que me abruman.

 Y no quiero que nadie venga corriendo a preguntarme qué me pasa, a ofrecerme su apoyo. Lo sé, lo agradezco, lo sé. Pero es que hay veces que simplemente no puedo. Y no quiero. Y también me preocupa la hora que es y el seguir despierta y no estar ni siquiera acostada porque tengo obligaciones todos los días y todavía no he aprendido a gestionar cierta vida.

 Solo quiero dormir. Hibernar. Meterme en la cama debajo de kilos de mantas y calor, rodearme de almohadas y peluches y no salir en mil años. Pero no lo hago. Porque sé que no debo, así que no puedo. Pero todo va bien. Todo va mucho mejor. Lo que pasa es que a veces el camino se me hace cuesta arriba. Pero por lo menos ya no siento que lo esté subiendo sola. Y por lo menos ahora la mochila no me pesa tanto.

25

Hoy, después de meses, he vuelto a escribir en mi diario. Te he dejado para la posdata como un breve comentario, como casi un detalle sin importancia. No me veía capaz de más. Pero al final resulta que solo esa línea ha vuelto a despertar el recuerdo así que he venido aquí a lamentarme porque me siento un desastre y no sé lo que hice mal.

El otro día creí verte en una persona que ni siquiera se parecía a ti y me dio tal vuelco el corazón que volví a pensar que debo ser una persona horrible. 

Sé que no manejo las relaciones tan bien como debería. Y a lo mejor el fallo está ahí, que debí fallar en darte lo que querías, no debí hacer suficiente y cuando dejé de creer que el silencio era el de siempre ya era muy tarde. Así que después de dos intentos, conversaciones incómodas y un ataque de ansiedad decidí rendirme. Y me siento horrible cada vez que lo recuerdo. Y sé que podría salir y hacer más, como otras veces. Pero solo de pensar en ello me entra el miedo y conforme más tiempo pasa más grande es. Así que es más fácil rendirse, pensar que lo hice fatal y olvidarme antes de que vuelva a subirme el pulso porque soy egoísta y ya no quiero sentirme así.

Pero lo siento muchísimo. Siento haberte fallado, no haber hecho suficiente y haber estado ciega. Siento no haber sabido comunicarme contigo y fallar estrepitosamente cuando pensaba que estaba haciéndolo bien, claramente me equivocaba. No quería hacerte daño.