part of me writes because there is nothing else i could do.
part of me writes in english because I have been taught that's the way I would feel I am not talking about feelings.
but i am.
there was a moment in time where things were good and then they just crashed. all of them at the same time. i was the valid and vividly representation of the butterfly effect. all the aspects related to me simply went bad and somehow most of them seemed out of my reach to be solved and i could do nothing about them, except wait.
-
there were nights, constant and repeatedly nights, where my body and my head asked for help. i felt i needed therapy again and i was not mad about it, i loved therapy - but therapy was the great reminder that something was not right and i needed to fix it.
sincerely, too many things needed therapy and i was not able to seek for help to all of them.
i was aware that university was the only environment that could postpone my feelings and mitigate them until i came back home, but university made me anxious about everything and that translated to me feeling not good enough. i was failing at things i do not fail. i was failing when i never fail. my grades were lower than ever and for a brief second in time i thought quitting was the answer. a three-language speaker, with noticeable memory retentive, constant participation and excellent reports was simply not enough. it was not fine even.
and home was not a home anymore. this place was confined to be four walls of separating each other. our desperately attempt to keep us together, made us distant. going through problems as family separated the whole troop and the weekly hugs of telling each other that everything would get solved someday, were more and more hurtful by the time until i could not even look at them without watering my eyes.
my mental health class was triggering my deepest feelings – reminding me about the time i took a pile of pills and shove them down my throat to later run into the emergency room. i appreciate my life and i appreciate my effort to stay alive after that time, i appreciate the things, the people, the memories i have been able to experience after that night, i have been extremely happy at times – but feeling not okay is the part that i am afraid the most.
i have convinced myself i deserve to go through some things not only because i believe i am paying for sins i do not remember, but because i am convinced i have become a stronger and more resilient women after all my downs. i have assured myself to learn about every thing and every person that hurt me to be better the next time, but i find myself failing again at things i had overcome.
-
the thought of getting married to the guy i am in love with drag me to my anxiety. the feeling of loving the person that hurts me the most was a strange mixture of feeling happy because i would get to wake up everyday to my favorite arms, his wrinkles in the corner of his lips when he smiles and the beautiful eyes that surprisingly are not blue. the memory of us; dinning at the restaurant he wanted to go from the beginning and me ordering our food to latter see him roll his eyes to the pleasure of tasting my favorite ice cream; kept repeating on my head over and over. the excitement on his eyes when i am sitting on top of him singing what he calls – latin music – while i kiss him and him wanting desperately to film me while i do it; versus the hurtful feeling of constant sadness that came from his words and actions. the nights i spent crying over him. the words “leave him”. the times he hit me without putting his hands on me.
the thought of thinking i would carry his child undoubtedly versus the feeling of desperation that came from the idea i could be miserable next to him.
the misinterpretation that came from my need to feel desirable because my ego had been shattered lead me to think i could easily open myself to other men in my life without the consideration i was harming other people. the guys i slept with when they had girlfriends waiting for them at home. the guys that were about to get married. the guys that wanted more of a one-night stand. that single guy that had been deeply in love with me for years. the weirdo. the one i care about too much but never had the time for, and after time became distant.
i ignored the consideration that i could get hurt as well. the ones that simply did not want. the guy with a name, whom i forced to be someone he did not want to be. i tried so hard to not climb on his chest until i realized i was projecting onto him. i became something so different to him than i tried to be and now hearing his name aches. i am demanding and i not everyone is obligated to give.
-
this is a moment in life when everything just crashes. and i am crashing.
this is when you drown
you drown and everyone is there but no one is.
and you apologize for drowning when they see it.
part of me writes in english because I have been taught that's the way I would feel I am not talking about feelings.
but i am.
there was a moment in time where things were good and then they just crashed. all of them at the same time. i was the valid and vividly representation of the butterfly effect. all the aspects related to me simply went bad and somehow most of them seemed out of my reach to be solved and i could do nothing about them, except wait.
-
there were nights, constant and repeatedly nights, where my body and my head asked for help. i felt i needed therapy again and i was not mad about it, i loved therapy - but therapy was the great reminder that something was not right and i needed to fix it.
sincerely, too many things needed therapy and i was not able to seek for help to all of them.
i was aware that university was the only environment that could postpone my feelings and mitigate them until i came back home, but university made me anxious about everything and that translated to me feeling not good enough. i was failing at things i do not fail. i was failing when i never fail. my grades were lower than ever and for a brief second in time i thought quitting was the answer. a three-language speaker, with noticeable memory retentive, constant participation and excellent reports was simply not enough. it was not fine even.
and home was not a home anymore. this place was confined to be four walls of separating each other. our desperately attempt to keep us together, made us distant. going through problems as family separated the whole troop and the weekly hugs of telling each other that everything would get solved someday, were more and more hurtful by the time until i could not even look at them without watering my eyes.
my mental health class was triggering my deepest feelings – reminding me about the time i took a pile of pills and shove them down my throat to later run into the emergency room. i appreciate my life and i appreciate my effort to stay alive after that time, i appreciate the things, the people, the memories i have been able to experience after that night, i have been extremely happy at times – but feeling not okay is the part that i am afraid the most.
i have convinced myself i deserve to go through some things not only because i believe i am paying for sins i do not remember, but because i am convinced i have become a stronger and more resilient women after all my downs. i have assured myself to learn about every thing and every person that hurt me to be better the next time, but i find myself failing again at things i had overcome.
-
the thought of getting married to the guy i am in love with drag me to my anxiety. the feeling of loving the person that hurts me the most was a strange mixture of feeling happy because i would get to wake up everyday to my favorite arms, his wrinkles in the corner of his lips when he smiles and the beautiful eyes that surprisingly are not blue. the memory of us; dinning at the restaurant he wanted to go from the beginning and me ordering our food to latter see him roll his eyes to the pleasure of tasting my favorite ice cream; kept repeating on my head over and over. the excitement on his eyes when i am sitting on top of him singing what he calls – latin music – while i kiss him and him wanting desperately to film me while i do it; versus the hurtful feeling of constant sadness that came from his words and actions. the nights i spent crying over him. the words “leave him”. the times he hit me without putting his hands on me.
the thought of thinking i would carry his child undoubtedly versus the feeling of desperation that came from the idea i could be miserable next to him.
the misinterpretation that came from my need to feel desirable because my ego had been shattered lead me to think i could easily open myself to other men in my life without the consideration i was harming other people. the guys i slept with when they had girlfriends waiting for them at home. the guys that were about to get married. the guys that wanted more of a one-night stand. that single guy that had been deeply in love with me for years. the weirdo. the one i care about too much but never had the time for, and after time became distant.
i ignored the consideration that i could get hurt as well. the ones that simply did not want. the guy with a name, whom i forced to be someone he did not want to be. i tried so hard to not climb on his chest until i realized i was projecting onto him. i became something so different to him than i tried to be and now hearing his name aches. i am demanding and i not everyone is obligated to give.
-
this is a moment in life when everything just crashes. and i am crashing.
this is when you drown
you drown and everyone is there but no one is.
and you apologize for drowning when they see it.
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