There's still things I need to learn

 So it happened again.

I'm a very self-demanding person. And it's not always something bad, I know I'm still here partly because of it. It makes my anxiety high-functioning, it keeps me going - yes, sometimes that's really bad, but it usually works -.

But I'm also insecure, and I don't think the best of myself. So I think everyone can do the things I do, because I'm not that great and those things aren't that hard, so why wouldn't they be able to? And then, when they don't - no matter the reasons - I'm disappointed, sometimes even mad. And it's something that happens A LOT. But what frustrates me the most is that I'm not getting used to that feeling of disappointment. It happens a lot, and every time it hurts, it makes me feel sad and empty, especially when things end. I'm at the end of everything. Everyone had a great time, I endured a lot of stress, my expectations weren't met, I didn't enjoy it to the fullest, and I'm left with a sad and empty feeling in my chest.

And I know this is a me feeling. Something maybe I should've worked on while I was in therapy - maybe a reason to come back - something for me to fix, since I "can't control other people's emotions, actions or reactions" (oh wow, so I guess we did talk about this in therapy). But, how do I do that? It seems I can't even control my own emotions or reactions, just try to hide what I'm thinking and pray so my face won't betray me and show everything.

And this applied to relationships, too. I don't hold the same "rules" as to what a friendship should entail as everyone else. And it can be... damaging. I feel drained and like I'm not doing enough at the same time. I feel guilty for doing more for people who don't deserve it or appreciate it than for people who have shown me nothing but love and not caused me any of these issues.

But thinking like this, is it not being selfish? Am I not feeling too high of myself? How can I be so insecure and so egotistical at the same time? Am I doing too much or too little? Or both? How do I fix it? How do I give myself to everyone who loves me, and I love, equally? How do I keep myself sane and rested? I feel like I can't win. Like, no matter what I'll do, I'll always lose. When do I get to be selfish and not feel guilty about it? 

I need a good night's sleep. I wish I could get it sometime soon.

Stress

 Hey, it's been a while.

And this time is different. This time, there's more will. I have come a long way, and the best part is that I want to keep going, which is refreshing but a new kind of hard. I feel like I deserve things now, at least sometimes. And I keep going back and forth, fighting with myself, trying to become someone else, a better version of me, one that wants to be alive.

But somehow now it's harder to give myself away. So I get angry. I get angry at everyone for always expecting things of me, getting me for granted, like everybody will do the things I do, except no one does. But when I think that way I cringe, because I'm not that special, and of course I'm dispensable and not special. But I am. But not really. So the part of me that despises me keeps fighting with the part of me that thinks I'm amazing and they keep ignoring the regular human side. But how can I say anything, what if I do and everyone hates me? What if they're all talking behind my back about how I think I'm something else when I'm not? And I'm scared of everyone hating me, and I have to know they do not. I have to think that and make that effort by myself.

When I'm low my mind keeps going to that dark side. My anxiety comes back to tell me that it would be easier and better to be dead. So I keep pushing that away. And I least I can kind of talk about it now. I can even manage it. I've found less dangerous ways to hurt myself to cope with things. But the funny thing is those are not harmless either, so I've just created a different issue to fix a problem. But hey, I least I binge instead of self-harming, and I guess that's an improvement.

I'm sad now, and this feels messy and a bunch of nonsense, but I swear I'm better now. It's just that recovery is not like they show in the movies. I'm scared of so many other new things. And I feel alone in such a different way, it surprises me. No one tells you how hard it feels to want to be alive while you're getting tired of wishing to be dead, I guess it's not something helpful. Maybe not everyone feels this way. I wonder if the voice ever goes completely away. Mine has gotten smaller and weaker, but it does not disappear. Even if I don't really feel like I want to die at the moment, it just comes and lets me know that it would be easier, less painful, like it was a helpful tip. 

And I keep doing these things, 'cause it's my thing to do them. And I keep getting tired of feeling like the Atlas of my world. And I keep saying I won't do this again, that I'll learn to delegate, I'll learn to speak out, to ask for help. But I don't. And I get angry. And I'm tired. And I think I know better. And I feel left out, betrayed, ignored, excluded, dismissed, lonely, angry, stressed, scared. I crave the approval of others, and it never feels enough; it never fills my void. Would anyone do the same for me? I'm scared of finding out. I'm supposed to be happy now. I am sometimes. I generally am. I don't want to keep unblocking new insecurities. I don't like this feeling. I feel like my feeling this way will bother others, so I shouldn't. I should just stop being a pain in the ass, being so entitled. But how? When will it be enough? How do I get to be happy and at peace with myself and to be the version of me I should be instead of the one I am? I can do this shit anymore, but I will. With hard work, breakdowns, tears, joy, love, and a newfound will to live, even if this is the cost. At least for now. I really hope it gets better.

I actually just wanted to come here to vent about silly things like how stressed it makes me to organise things and take care of everything, but I got the headphones on and blasted music to a dangerous volume. And I discovered that half of my dark playist is now gone, but I turned that shit on anyways to try and get in my writing dark feeling mode and it got out of hand. I might go for a walk to try and get back to reality. 

But really. Everything is better now.

Ya no me acuerdo

 Me balanceo constantemente entre la suerte de la normalidad y el miedo de los traumas. 

La mayor parte de los días lo llevo bien. Luego hay algunos en los que la realidad me da de golpe en el corazón y vuelvo a sentirme como cuando tenía 11 años y el mundo entero cargado en los hombros. ¿Qué se hace cuando alguien a quien quieres está siendo tan cruel que aunque no sea contigo sangras igual? ¿Qué se hace cuando sabes que no puedes decirle nada porque tiene el mundo entero en los hombros y no podrá soportar ni 10 segundos más? 

Esta vez sí elegiría cargar yo con el mundo.

¿Cómo gestiono el echar de menos algo que nunca he tenido?

¿Cómo gestiono todos mis conflictos sobre si debo perdonar o no? ¿Sobre si quiero perdonar o no? Cambio de opinión cada vez que cambia mi registro de recuerdos y me preocupa la frecuencia con la que eso pasa.

¿Qué hago cuando se ha roto lo que solía ser perfecto?

¿Cómo actúo cuando los cambios me afectan hasta este nivel y siento que la única solución es fingir hasta adaptarme?

Y a veces siento que ya estoy cansada. Que estoy tan cansada que no quiero pasar más tiempo de mi vida en situaciones en las que no quiero estar.

Pero sigo cediendo por los demás, o por la idea que creo que tienen de cómo debería actuar. Y me siento de papel y de mentira.

¿Por qué no puedo arreglar nada?

Drupal

 Ha pasado mucho tiempo. Otra vez.

Estaba en la calle cuando me han entrado las ganas de escribir y se me ha encendido la chispa. Pero ahora, sentada frente al ordenador, me doy cuenta de que no he conseguido conservarla.

Pero quería hablar de muchas cosas. De cómo la vida es tremendamente complicada. A veces miro con nostalgia al pasado, concretamente a esos buenos cuatro años en los que mi vida era un desastre y fantaseaba constantemente con desaparecer mientras soportaba el peso de dos mundos en mis hombros. Era horrible. Pero tenía a mi lado a gente a la que nunca podré dejar de querer, personas increíbles que sin saberlo me salvaron la vida. Hoy paso meses sin verles y ni siquiera hablamos todos los días. Mi vida ha dado un cambio brusco y ahora lucho por ella y mis fantasías han cambiado, pero aunque la perspectiva del futuro ha mejorado y la mayor parte de los días incluso me atrevo a decir que soy feliz, ahora mi rutina son otras personas. Entiendo que no puedo quejarme, porque he encontrado en otros brazos un lugar seguro, he profundizado en otras amistades y he tomado otras costumbres. Tiendo a pensar que no soy de esas personas que echan de menos - aunque a veces me sorprenden mis propias lágrimas de nostalgia - pero echo de menos las horas de risas, confidencias, juegos y trabajos en el suelo de mi cueva personal. No quisiera volver a vivir ahí porque la vida cambia y avanza y mis esquinas se me han quedado pequeñas. Pero volvería con los ojos cerrados a pasar una noche más así. Sé que ya nunca será igual, al menos no exactamente igual. Pero quiero guardar siempre estos recuerdos en un baúl especial. Todo el mundo tiene sus defectos y sé que tiendo a idealizar lo que teníamos. Pero, ¿Cómo no voy a idealizarlo? Es difícil no poner en un pedestal aquello que fue tantas veces mi motivo de seguir adelante.

Sé que soy un desastre. En realidad como amiga me considero regular, me cuesta sacar tiempo y no me gusta salir de mi zona de confort. Así que considero todo un logro aquellas salidas. Y recuerdo con amor vuestra paciencia y apoyo. Ojalá haya podido daros yo al menos la mitad de lo que me habéis dado.

Supongo que por mucho que creyese que todo iba a seguir igual al final cada vida tiene su ritmo y cuando son distintos no se puede coincidir con tanta facilidad. Y no me molesta, no lo echo de menos de esa forma. Pero me da pena que eso pueda diluir la relación, me da miedo que se levanten muros que antes no estaban, porque no quiero que seamos extraños, aunque pasen los meses y los años. Y es parte del motivo por el que no quiero deshacerme de la identidad que nos une, y es parte del motivo por el que siendo orgullo de la misma.

Voy a dejarlo estar, porque empiezo a sentirme ridícula habiendo llorado tanto por lo mismo cuando siempre me habéis recibido con los brazos abiertos. Gracias.

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. 

21

Me encanta estar contigo.

En todos los sentidos.

A veces deseo poder hacerme pequeñita para meterme en algún hueco de tu ropa y quedarme a vivir ahí. Me hacer sentir una calidez especial, estable y segura. Como el calor de una estufa en invierno

Quiero acurrucarme en ti y enterrar la cabeza y dormir sabiendo que todo está bien. 

Quiero escuchar todas las mañanas como has dormido aplastado por mi culpa mientras sonríes porque en realidad no te importa. 

Quiero ver todos los días la sonrisa que pones cuando me miras porque el calor que me provocas gana de lejos a las mariposas.

Estar contigo es como vivir constantemente en la parte final y feliz de un cuento de hadas.

Me encanta sentirme como tú me haces sentir.

Y cada hora, cada túnel, cada diente de león, estrella fugaz o velas deseo una y otra vez no dejar de sentirme así nunca.

Quererte es una sensación maravillosa y sentirme querida por ti es un libro nuevo con sabor a chocolate en una tarde soleada de otoño. 

po

Desde que era pequeña me gustaba ir a clase, porque era sinónimo de ver a mis amigos. Y me gustaba ver a mis amigos a diario. 

Cuando empecé la universidad tenía miedo de estar sola. Pero resultó que me seguía gustando ir todos los días a clase (e incluso a veces no ir) porque eso significaba que os veía todos los días.

Es una de las cosas que no me gustan de haber terminado, que os echo de menos (aunque no lo parezca, lo siento).

Sé que soy un desastre como amiga, pero estaré eternamente agradecida de haberme encontrado con vosotros.

Los momentos han ido y venido, pero habéis estado ahí en momentos que realmente lo necesitaba. 

Aún me entran ganas de llorar cada vez que recuerdo cómo llamaste al timbre y subiste a verme aquel día que ni siquiera tenías que estar aquí, y sacaste tiempo en medio de tus problemas para verme, porque sabías que me hacía falta. 

O cuando me tranquilizaste y me escuchaste cuando echa un manojo de nervios y alcohol dije cosas que no debería y reaccionaste de la mejor manera posible y estuviste a mi lado.

O de todas las veces que me has hecho sentir escuchada y apreciada y te has preocupado por mí y has tragado con mis monólogos y mis problemas. 

O de como siempre podía contar contigo para hablar de cualquier cosa y hacerme reír y sentir que puedo contar contigo para cualquier tontería pero también para lo importante.

O mirar alrededor de mi habitación y darme cuenta de que el mejor regalo de amigo invisible es el que me demostró que me esuchabais al hablar de mis gustos y mis tonterías, en el que pusiste tu cariño y tus manos y es un tesoro.

Y en realidad esto no es más que una representación de todo. Porque no sé cómo expresaros la totalidad de lo afortunada que me siento. Porque sois personas maravillosas, me habéis hecho sentir querida, apreciada, escuchada, apoyada y a salvo tantísimas veces que no tengo vida suficiente para poder daros las gracias.

Pero gracias, por todo.

Os quiero muchísimo. 

.

Today was a bunch of "you're not enough" thrown at my face. I'm still trying to fight it. Sorry. 

Automobiles

Falling out of love feels like a weird roadtrip.

You knew where you were meant to go when you took off, but after a certain point you lost the map. So now you're driving in circles, not finding the way.

And you're able to recognize some signs, but none of them points you back home, so you keep going, with hope at first.

But then at some point, you get into a traffic jam that goes on forever, and you start losing faith.

So you try to get out of there. You end up in a car crash, unable to move while your car gets on fire.

Then you realize that you may be able to get out of that car in time, but that shit is going to explode.

The ambulance shows up and the noises get louder and louder. It hurts but you're going to make it.

Comfortable

Puede que sea egoísta. 

Porque después de todo este tiempo y toda esta vida y toda esta gente quiero dejar de preocuparme. 

Quiero dejar de sentir que me ahogo y me hundo cada vez que alguien dice algo o deja de decirlo. 

Quiero dejar de sentir que tengo que sujetar el mundo sobre mis hombros.

Me gustaría poder estar sola conmigo misma y no sentir que se me revuelve el cerebro.

Y hay cosas que han mejorado, y hay días que hasta me aguanto más de 10 horas sin caer en el pozo, son pequeños logros.

Pero quiero empezar a sentirme cómoda en el mundo. A sentir que soy la única persona que depende de mí. Que no tengo por qué recorrer todo el camino sola y cargando con la misma mochila de siempre.

Quiero que no me resulte extraño salir sin nada en los bolsillos. 

Y si pudiera pediría incluso dejar de pensar constantemente en cómo me estará juzgando el mundo.

Y quiero volver a mi psicóloga y sentirme cómoda hablando y volver a oír que estoy en el buen camino.

Quiero librarme de los recuerdos, o más bien del dolor que me producen y borrar todas las cosas que duelen. Porque quiero que la vida sea siempre del color del atardecer.

No quiero volver a querer desaparecer.

(L)onl(e)ly

I've felt lonely my entire life.

It has always been there, the emptiness, like background music.

Even when I was surrounded by people and joy, the silence came and left me all alone again.

When I was supposed to be happy, even then, I felt so lonely.

Don't get me wrong, it hasn't gone away.

And I didn't want to make it all about you, but.

You fill that void when you're here. And I don't want to put that over your shoulders. I don't want you to feel responsible.

It's not like I'm only okay when I'm with you.

But love is such a powerful feeling. 

Capable of making me feel less lonely, even if it's just only for a while.

here's what I remember

Recuerdo levantar la cabeza y ver las estrellas tan brillantes que casi parecen de mentira.

Bajar la cabeza y verte de espaldas en la semioscuridad, brillando. 

Estoy haciendo una colección de nuevos recuerdos y se me hace pequeña.

Porque recuerdo verte y tocarte y me enciendo como una estrella nueva. Y recuerdo tu cara y tu sonrisa y me cuesta respirar en el mejor de los sentidos. 

Y recuerdo tu calor y me siento como una niña viviendo en una estrella.

Recordar nunca ha sido lo mío (por suerte o por desgracia) y hay decenas de recuerdos que querría olvidar y miles que desearía poder recuperar. Pero miras la hora o soplas las velas o se te cae una pestaña o pasamos un túnel y deseo con todas mis fuerzas no olvidar nunca estos momentos. 

Ego

Today is day one and I'm supposed to write about me. 

About my ego.

But I've been feeling this way for a while now and all I can think about is you.

So I'll write about the me I wanna be. The me you see, the one you love. The one that feels so incredibly loved by you. 

So much that I can't understand it. What did I do to deserve this?

So I try my best to be that version of myself even though I know I don't have to try. And it makes me so happy I could cry.

It feels like I could be any version of myself and you would love me anyway. My heart feels warmer than it's ever felt. 

You keep trying to feed my ego with your feelings, your words, your actions and your touch. God, I feel hungry and full and happy and so warm.

It's such an amazing feeling. 

I'm supposed to write about my ego. But I only find words to write about you.

The sun in my eyes

Love is weird. 

I'm used to talk about it quietly, to hide the big words and save them for the right moment. Even when I've already said them. 

But he's not like that.

He comes in with a smile and no backpack and ready to announce how much love he has.

It's like a volcano. Hot and vibrant and sometimes suffocating but oh. 

It feels nice and warm and comfy and God, so weird. 

My head keeps reminding me of the lies — you're not good enough, you're a liar, you're a bad person, you don't deserve this — but that voice often dissappears under the touch of his hands. And I feel small and soft and loved.

And I see the world from another point of view. I don't really see the world, but I see him — his tenderness, his eyes, his laughter, his heart, the way he cares, his love — and that's quite the view.