domingo, 25 de novembro de 2018

I deserve better

I’ve finally deleted your number from my phone - demon exorcized!

It’s funny how it took me this long to do so. But I did it and I’m super proud of myself. Another step forward, another step in the right direction. A tiny detour towards happiness. I’ve been down the road to misery for so long I’ve forgotten who I am and how to be. I kept pushing everyone away because I thought I didn’t deserve to have friends, or love or even happiness.

I always thought of myself as someone who’d didn’t deserve to be here, who didn’t deserve to live. And I questioned myself and whatever higher being sent me here why did I exist? What was the point? I still don’t know what my purpose is. I don’t think any of us ever know that until the very end when life flashed before our eyes before we die, and sometimes, not even then. 


But I now feel deserving. I deserve a life, friends, happiness. I deserve to wake up next to someone who makes me smile. I deserve better than you. I always did...

terça-feira, 20 de novembro de 2018

Gasping for air

And here I am all alone at the Saint Anthony’s emergency room gasping for air. I am all alone. No one to hold my hand or to tell me everything will be alright. No one to comfort me. I desperately want to cry but the tears don’t come. Only numbness and emptiness are my company. 

This elephant on my chest keeps me gasping for air. The emergency room is filled with people and I’m here too but it feels like the halls are hollowed out and filled with ghosts and remnants of people who passed through. Their voices echo in these halls, this emergency waiting room, in my head... My chest feels like it’s on fire and ready to explode. I’ll never see him again. I am a ghost myself in his world. I keep gasping for air... I hope this won’t take long.

segunda-feira, 5 de novembro de 2018

Someone give me the drugs!

I have lost my groove. I don't think I have it in me anymore. I try desperately to write, clinging to emotions as if I'm clinging to life itself. But everything that comes out seems, feels and sounds forced. I guess my imagination died somewhere along the way to adulthood. Or I just became such a recluse that I can't write anything good anymore. I'm scattered, my mind is scattered. I lose track of my thoughts and everything comes out an incomplete and utter mess. I used to sit at my laptop for hours listening to music and dreaming up fantastical scenarios - partly true, but also imagined. I would mix truth and myth. And, oh man!, did I enjoy that! What happened? I feel like I'm trying to birth an 8 pound baby - someone give me the drugs!

In the end, I know that what I write isn't good (not even close). It's just what I do to work through my thoughts and feelings. For many years it's been my security blanket. But I guess it's time to put away childish things and get serious - should I stop writing and focus on more banal happenings? Most people would say yes. To be honest, at this point, I'd say yes too. But I can't... Hope subsides. I always hold out for a word, that one simple word that sparks inside you and makes you bleed a mountain of text onto paper (this case, laptop/blog).

I know that not many people read what I write, I have very few readers, but I thank every last one of you for keeping me motivated. I write for myself and for you. If any of these twisted ramblings entertains or helps a single person out there, it's a battle won for me. But someone, please, give me the drugs!  :)

Cup of Tea

I am listening to the rain,
Daydreaming of you again
And tucked safely in my bed,
Regretting what hasn't been said.
Imagining what could be,
Dreading an epic loss...
I'll have to make you see,
No matter the cost!
In the end it's you and me
No matter where or when,
Over a cup of tea
We'll be together again...

domingo, 4 de novembro de 2018

No Qualms

Once in a while I walk outside of myself trying to figure out how and what I should be. It never works but I keep trying anyway. It's a self-deprecating way of trying to know myself...

Sometimes I hurt myself. Emotionally. It's the best way I know how to keep myself "safe". It's what anyone would call self-sabotage. I self-sabotage daily... and it should upset me, but it actually doesn't. It's some sort of security blanket.

Other times I pretend to be someone else and I can actually function as a normal person. I smile, I socialise, I sing, I dance... but after a while I just tire myself out. Because, as you all well know, pretending to be someone else is exhausting!

I have no qualms about being myself, don't get me wrong. I just get bored easily and being someone else is sometimes fun. Other times it helps you find out a bit more about yourself - what you like and don't like.

I haven't been "someone else" in a while. I guess that means I somehow know myself? Although I don't believe we can fully know ourselves or someone else fully... maybe I'm just finally comfortable with who I am.

I am currently watching the new show Titans and mentally preparing myself to get back to work tomorrow. I've been ill this past week - another respiratory tract infection. I'm still not 100% but it's back to the grind. I've missed work and all my co-workers. We always have fun during our day. I can't wait to see them all tomorrow!

I'm actually feeling quite tired right now. Weekend is coming to, well, an end. I've taken my meds and I've showered and put on my jammies. I'm ready to slide into bed. Yes, alone. There is no one - he disappeared.

sexta-feira, 2 de novembro de 2018

The Swear Jar

I got off the phone with my sister around 12:05 PM. My sister is eight years older than I am and lives further south, off the coast. Most people say we look alike. Some have gone as far as to say we're twins. I don't really see much of a resemblance but I guess that's because I'm not really looking at our physical traits. I guess I don't see the resemblance because we are completely different people, even though we're sisters. We're close, as close as sisters are, but we don't really know much about each other.

We don't usually talk much, but lately we had been texting a lot. I decided to go down the coast for a visit, so I called her up to let her know I'd be driving down that afternoon after work. She seemed psyched to hang out and even made plans to go out to dinner at my favourite Chinese place. I was psyched too. Mostly for the drive. Driving relaxes me, although I do "suffer" from road rage. But there really isn't anything as perfect as driving down the coast, listening to your favourite music.

When I got down there, my sister was still at work which meant I'd have to wait until she got home. I decided to wait for her at the coffee shop across the street. I walked in and memories rushed back in from when I used to live down there. Happy memories mixed with sad memories fuelled my depression that day. I sat down and asked for some coffee. I lit a cigarette and tried not to let myself get flooded by the memories that hit me when I crossed the threshold of the coffee shop.

I looked around as if I was stuck in some kind of time warp. Every little thing looked the same as it was years ago. Except for one thing: there was a swear jar at the counter. It sparked my curiosity so I asked the owner what that was about. The owner told me that he put the swear jar there to work as a sort of tip jar. He told me that the typical tip jar always got "forgotten" but the sewer jar... well, the swear jar was magic! He told me that, at first, he thought people would tell him to fuck off if he made them put money in the swear jar. But they found it fair and quite appropriate. So, anyone who swears will have to drop twenty cents in the swear jar. It's a tip jar that keeps people civil, he told me.

Eventually, my sister got home. I waited for her about an hour. The swear jar stuck to my mind. I asked her if she ever had to drop money in the swear jar - she told me she doesn't go there often. I wondered if that meant "yes" or "no".

Since we were going out to dinner, my sister decided to dress up. She listened to Madonna while doing her makeup. It took me back to when we were teenagers. Except this time, I was still and wasn't dressing up. I'm just not a girly-girl anymore. I watched her get ready and expressed my opinion - "Yes, yes. You look great". She finally decided she was presentably hot, and we made our way to the restaurant.

We talked about how much fun we used to have, how I am no longer a "fun" person. She doesn't get depression. It latches on. It takes over. It twists you up inside but you can't feel anything. Everything loses colour, sounds get distorted, anxiety sets in. It's crippling, and you exhaust yourself just trying to keep it together day in and day out. But she doesn't get it. No one does. Depression is like a ghost scratching at the back of your head. But she doesn't know what that's like, so she doesn't understand. I just let her talk and just agree with her. I tell her I grew up and like different things now. It's not true, but she finds the answer acceptable and changes the subject. We drink wine, talk about boys, have coffee, pay the check, leave a tip (no swear jar available) and go home.

That night I slept like a baby. When I woke up I couldn't remember if I had any dreams which is unusual because I always have strange dreams which wake me up during the night. I smile... and stay in bed for a few minutes longer just savouring those few happy seconds when you wake up and depression hasn't set in yet. I get up and get ready to make my way back up north. My sister makes some breakfast but I just have a piece of toast. I thank her for the nice evening and the nice chat, grab my overnight bag and walk out the door.

As I walk out of the building, I think about how I try to connect with her but don't really know how to let anyone in. Is it because it would be pointless? Is it because I don't know who I am? Or is it because I hate myself? I'm not quite sure... maybe it's all those little things. I put those thoughts out of my mind and found myself back at the coffee shop. I decided to have coffee. As I bring that nice fresh cup of black coffee deliciousness, I burn my tongue and I yell - FUCK! I felt the quiet stares quietly trying to make out my next move. I reached into my pocket and dropped twenty cents in the swear jar. As soon as I did that, the coffee shop was alive with sounds again - background noise - and I finished my cup of coffee (after blowing it a few times to cool it down).

As I drove back home I kept thinking about that damned swear jar and how it became such a big part of a place I used to be part of too. The swear jar seemed more relevant than I ever was. I felt small, but I smiled. Sometimes, people don't matter as much. Sometimes, what brings people together and has them interacting is more important.

quarta-feira, 29 de agosto de 2018

My heart & my mind

My heart is tame
But my mind is wild.

My heart is barren 
But my mind radiates.

My heart is broken
But my mind prevails.

My heart explodes
But my mind implodes.

My heart crumbles
But my mind remains...




terça-feira, 28 de agosto de 2018

Missing someone sucks

I miss him. Last time we saw each other was months ago. It was electrifying! There was definitely still something there which I can’t describe. I don’t think there are enough adjectives in any language that I can use to describe it. Everything was perfect! Even the rain... I hoped he would kiss me,  but he didn’t and even that was perfect! It was a perfect afternoon. But I got too scared and I let my anxiety take over, and retreated within myself... again! But he wasn’t even mad at me. But now... I get the feeling he doesn’t want to see me again. I hoped he would call me or text me while I was in my shell of birthday blues... I keep hoping to see him outside when I get off work... but... I don’t know. I think he’s just not that into me anymore. I just want to see him again...

Missing someone sucks. Especially when you really want to see them and they’re so close yet so far. You want the perfection of the last time you saw him. You want to hear his voice and look in his eyes. You want to touch his hand just to feel his warm skin.  You want to sit there and listen to everything he says. And even though he isn’t perfect and you (certainly!) aren’t perfect either, you just want another perfect afternoon with him. YOU’RE DRIVING ME NUTS!

sábado, 24 de março de 2018

If you ever need to talk

“If you ever need to talk” is something I’ve heard from different kinds of people throughout the years. Unfortunately, no one is ever interested when you do need to talk. At least, that’s how it goes with me. Every single time I gather the strength and courage to open up and talk I end up drowned by the most banal of conversations… As I just sit there, quietly listening to the fucking stupid rant du jour, I can’t explain it… it’s like I step outside of myself or am split in two… the me that’s inside is kicking and screaming… but in a way that it feels like a uncontrollable storm. So… now, when I hear the words “if you ever need to talk” I just say thank you and change the conversation. Even though all I want to do is punch that person in the face. But for a few seconds, that split second where I imagine myself punching said person in the face actually helps a little. Much more than any “talk” I could ever have with anyone.

I sit here now, at my computer on a Saturday night, in my pyjamas, watching romantic comedies, crying and mourning the life I ruined. Mourning who I could’ve been, who I should’ve been. Now I’m just a sad ghost like creature. Invisible…

I’m the girl at the bar who gets drinks spilled on her, who some idiot will blow chunks on her favourite shoes. The one who sits quietly at the bar waiting or hoping for a change. A change that never happened and will never come. I rewind certain moments in my head and it feels like I’m remembering a movie I watched long ago because none of my memories feel like they belong to me or are even about my life. I realised too late that looking for love is an impossible quest, especially if you’ve ever looked in all the wrong places. Now it’s just too late. Love has ghosted me. I am done waiting for it, and I am done looking for it. I am done with love.


No one will ever look at me from across the room. No one will ever ask me to dance, or think I’m the most incredibly fascinating person in the whole wide world. Love is dead. And I killed it.


sexta-feira, 9 de fevereiro de 2018

Jasmin Tea

Close your eyes…
Tell me what you see 
Right now.
Jasmin tea on your lips
Smiles caused by your fingertips.
A maybe, a when and a how
I was wishing for a now…
Jasmin Tea
Swirling in your cup
While I talk way too much
Oh! Just you listen to me!
Not to what I say
But to the way our bodies sway
And the touch of your lips
On my cheek
Warmed by Jasmin tea
Like the colour of my misery!