Greed

I want to be madly and passionately in love. I want to be less sad. I want to be an optimist. I want to think less. I want to be seen. I want to stay hidden. I want to be free. I want to be alone. I want to never be alone. I want to turn back time. I want to travel in time. I want to undo situations. I want to redo situations. I want to be young. I want to be old. I want to be beautiful. I want people to take me seriously. I want to be somewhere else. I want to vanish. I want to waste my time. I want to daydream. I want a future. I want to be freed of the past. I want to trust you. I want you to trust me too. I want to laugh with you. I want to make you laugh. I want you to make me laugh. I want to cry. I want to cry with you. I want you to make me cry. I want to be intelligent. I want to be merciful. I want to be special. I want to be inspired. I want to be inspiring. I want to be at peace. I want to stay melancholic. I want to be your most important memory. I want you to recognize me. I want to be talented. I don’t want to hide. I want to stay compassionate. I want to stay confused and amazed about the world and people. I want to keep contradicting myself. I want to be more than a fantasy. I want to live. I want to be me. I want to know me. I want you to know me. I want to be interested. I want to be interesting. I want to find me. I want to be sensual. I want to step into the light. I want to stay in my darkness. I want to go out of my mind. I want to stay who I am. I want so many different things. I want to be everything. I want to be no one at all.

Et le temps court…

My bed is empty. My mind is full. I am tired, fighting a headache. Lying in the dark, I am listening to the rain. The window is open, and I feel the breeze on my skin. I know I should be asleep, it would ease the headache and maybe prevent the bad mood I am sure I will suffer in the morning. But I can’t fall asleep. I had troubles letting go the last few nights — dreams; not a nightmare, just unsettling dreams.

I have so many things to say and to share, and yet, they don’t matter, and so I keep them to myself.

There are times when I share most everything on my mind. I let my fingers write, and my mind think, and I just float on that wave that jumps from one thought to the next. I can’t seem to do that right now. (Although I am doing it) It just feels like stealing your time and attention. I know that you give it freely or else you wouldn’t be here, but my mind is trying to tell me that no one cares and that I don’t matter?

Why am I sabotaging myself this much? After all, I am an okay person. Ordinary, but okay.

I ordered new music today (her name is Calla – animal choir). And I watched two movies (untamed heart and pump up the volume) with my favourite actor (Christian Slater). I also listened to music by Coastlands (postrock from Oregon/USA), burnt down an incense stick (sandalwood) and ate pizza (prosciutto). I read a couple of pages in my book (the I undiscovered gyrl by Allison Burnett)…

Who cares?! I want you to care, to be honest, because I want you to care about me. But again, who cares about this narcissistic vanity.

Do you dream about specific colours? I am used to having dreams that repeat themselves. They used to be in a green hue. Like a green veil or fog in front of my eyes… Nowadays that fog or veil is blue, but the images I see – the pictures in my dream are still the same.

Maybe the breeze and the rain will let me fall asleep eventually anyway… Who knows?

The title of this post is French and could be translated to “the time keeps running”

*hugs*

Cathy

Un-asleep

2:45 am. I can’t sleep. I woke up from a dream – not a nightmare, but unsettling too. I keep trying to recall my dream, but it is gone – lost in the corners of my mind. I just know that I was wrong about something. I did the worst one can do when unable to sleep; I took my phone and checked notifications. I was on Twitter and on a whim, I unfollowed a couple of accounts, the one of my former favourite band too – turns out they are a bunch of pretentious bellends. It took me almost 20 years to see it. I still appreciate their music; it was the soundtrack of my life, and yet… I really don’t like the people they became. Or is it me?

Am I drifting away from the person I used to be? I feel empty and overflowing. Sad and happy. Tired and wide awake.

How did that happen? When did everything change?

In a little more than 2 hours my alarm will go off, and I need to go to work. Early shift. I like that – if only it started later, lol.

Birds are beginning to chirp outside (the window is open); my husband is snoring next to me, and my mind is thinking too loud.

Piano Day 2019

It’s the 88th day of the year, that means it is piano day. Nils Frahm invented piano day, and it is on the 88th day because there are 88 keys on a piano.

And in honour of this day, I am sharing this with you.

Weikie (Adam Weikert) – Lantern

And I urge you to listen to James Radcliffe. If you follow this link, you will be able to find extraordinary blog posts and beautiful and intense music.

I wish you a beautiful day filled with good thoughts and beautiful music.

The Man Who Changed My Life

Sitting down to write is becoming harder and harder. I cannot hear my voice anymore and sometimes, I wonder if I can hear it but don’t recognise it as mine. I was a spoiled writer for a while. I sat down, and the words would just flow out of my fingers and onto the screen. It is not like that anymore. It all stopped being easy in 2015.

In September 2015, I met Dan. Dan was a dream come true, and with him, I grew considerably. He helped me to become an adult. And I was already 32 at that time. I never met Dan in person, we had arranged to meet, we even were in the same room, but we chickened out. There was a massive build-up to that day we didn’t meet. Three years. We spoke on the phone, shared secrets, had incredible phone-sex too. It all sounds so weird and unreal. But it was not. Something fit. Profoundly. I felt abject loneliness without you. The love I felt was real. The pain I felt was real too. Dan is a musician. I used to love his music, his compositions and his lyrics. His music made me into the person I am today. And yet, I can’t listen to it anymore. Too much of him, too much that does not fit the person I saw glimpses of.
Truth is, he treated me like the best thing that could have ever happened to him. Truth is, he treated me like a piece of shit when he was busy with his life. Our relationship (if you want to label it as such) followed a particular pattern. He would get in touch, and I had to drop everything, or he would be upset and grow silent for weeks. I didn’t want that to happen, and so I did everything I could to humour him, make him feel happy and understood, give him a reason to come back. At the same time, it is not as if he manipulated me into doing things I didn’t want. But he just didn’t care about me.

I was a welcome distraction. When he was agitated or nervous, I was there to take the edge off. In the beginning, we spoke about many things; we had a real bond. But that changed and to this day, I am not sure why. He grew distant, and I became a mere sex-toy or masturbating fantasy; I knew exactly what to say to make him cum – and he knew what I needed to hear to get off too. I hated it, but his attention was too important to me to stop it. We were toxic. Several times he tried to end things. The first time he did it, I experienced my first anxiety attack. It was humiliating, and he was the one who helped me through it. We did not end things. The second time he tried to end things, he told me to ignore him and his messages. I was fed up and agreed. Until he got in touch a couple of months later and everything was like it used to be. I spent nights with him on the phone. Sleep deprived, my kids noticed the change in me.
I was happy and bubbly when he was a part of my life. Then he cut me off again. And came back and cut me off.

In the meantime, it was 2017. He was planning a tour with his band, and the last concert was in my home country. We made plans to meet, and I arranged everything – even a hotel room. But days before the big day he ignored my messages and didn’t get in touch anymore. It was a horrible time. I cannot deal with rejection and being rejected and ignored by him – wow… It was the worst feeling ever. Our opportunity slipped through our fingers. It took months before he got in touch again. And this time, he really broke me with a couple of things he said. It really hit me hard. And some of those things keep repeating in my head. Almost a year later. Who cares? Not me. It doesn’t matter; you don’t matter. I was never interested in you personally, I don’t care about anything you do. It was just for my pleasure. Even now, I get angry when I think about it. How could I have been so obsessed and blind? Why is he a charming man to most people and he showed his asshole side to me?

Between September 2015 and 2018, Dan was a constant inspiration in my writing. When I was finally able to make peace with the situation, I stopped writing. I have not kept any evidence or reminder of our time together. Sadly; or maybe it is better this way.

He is in everything I write, the memories we didn’t make; the emotions I wanted him to have; the thoughts I projected on him. I wanted him to be someone he couldn’t be for me. And I suffered to the point where I was ready to destroy myself.

For a while, I wondered how I could even live when he didn’t like me. I became obsessed and kept checking his social media channels and to keep him in my life like this. It was unhealthy. And I am ashamed of my behaviour. He never promised me anything. Quite the opposite actually. Will it hurt you if I tell you that I can never fall in love with you? I cannot love you.

And I realised something very important: what I felt for him was not love. I just liked the attention. His attention. He saw me, paid me compliments. As long as there is cum in my balls and a mind in my brain; I will never forget you. In his own way, he made me see myself with different eyes. I am grateful for that. And if it hadn’t been for him and a massive telephone bill, I would not have started to work.

Missing Dan became a comfortable feeling. It allowed me to wallow in my misery and melancholy without taking responsibility for it – he was to blame. Now I know that it is bullshit. He is not to blame at all. It was not his fault. It wasn’t mine either. I guess I was just one of a few after all. He used to say that it was different with me. I loved it when he said that, but I never believed it. I am naive when it comes to him, but not that naive. Still, I wonder why he was so open and trusting with me; incautious. Does he do the same with all the women who are drawn to him like moths to a flame? It stings to know that I was probably replaced for someone else — younger, fitter, freer.

In a different life, we might be the perfect couple. In this life, we are best when we are apart. You are the only one who can fill the holes in my mind, in my soul, and in my heart.

I am sure that I am breaking a couple of promises I made to him by writing this, but it is time. It is time to let go.

I didn’t share too many details now, but if I polished our story and added more romance, it could be a bestseller. Famous rock musician meets married mother of three and saves her from a dead-end life. Heck, I even lost 20kg because he challenged me.

Dan had a lot of power over me, but I don’t regret it. I gave it willingly. I needed this. I needed a man like him in my life. He woke me up. Because of him, I learned a lot about myself, and I am very grateful about that.

Today, with months of distance between us, I can think back with a fond smile. He is not a bad guy. He just doesn’t give a damn about me. And he is fighting his own battles, like every one of us does.

Why do I feel the need to write this now? I don’t know. Maybe because I am finally able to say that this chapter of my life is definitely over. My own behaviour in this entire relationship was new to me. I was overwhelming and intense – still am; I am not sure where this intensity came from. I would have run too. Some days I miss the feeling of him in my soul. I miss the words he said, and I miss the way he made me feel. And I allow myself to feel that way. After all, he was an important part of my story. He let me go through hell without knowing it. He raised me up – but that he knew.

So, in the end, Dan is gone. My muse and inner voice are gone too. The woman I was for and with him does not exist anymore. Just tiny parts stayed the same. Who am I? Who cares? And why can’t I hear my writing voice anymore? It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I learned my lesson well. And no matter how damaged and bruised I am because of all of this; I don’t hold any grudges; I would probably do it all again.

I just want him to be happy; I want him to find serenity and love – because he deserves it; even if it is not with me.

Cathy

(In italics are direct quotes…)

Throwback – I’ll never stop giving up

*stream of consciousness*

I sit, and I wait. Sitting and waiting. And I hope that no one will ask what I am waiting for. I would answer “Life”, and they would quote John Lennon “Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans”. And they wouldn’t even know that it’s not a simple quote but that this sentence is a line of lyrics from a song he wrote for his beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy Julian. And I would bite my tongue because information like that is plenty in my brain. It’s just – no one cares about it. And that’s why I keep sitting and waiting. For life to happen. And to understand it. But that is not entirely true. Because from my place, I have a nice view. I observe and analyse, and I keep to myself. The things I know, are not the things I need to share. But on the other hand, all the half-truths and snippets of misinformation I know, are not the ones others want to hear. It’s a circle. And if I don’t find the right corner to get off, I will stumble, and my clumsy attempt to catch myself will end with me lying face down enduring the spiral, the slipstream that brought this upon me. Upwards or downwards? Which way does it go? Maybe just sideways? Either way, I will end up puking on the floor and emptying what little is inside me. All of it, until the heaving is dry and the acrid smell of bile chases everyone away. Everyone left the building. Including me. I need to pay attention to the little things. Hold on tight to the pillars of this meagre existence, to keep myself from stumbling. And while I am doing just that, all these unfiltered thoughts are rushing down onto the screen.

I put the cigarette to my lips and inhale. No filter. Rolled with my own shaky hands. Because – yes, why? Because it is edgy. Cool people roll their cigarettes themselves. It’s all pretending anyway. Oh yes, I’m a great pretender. Who gives a crap about my cigarettes and my thoughts. But I keep writing. Someday, the romantic voice inside of my head suggests, someone will read the mix of weirdness and eclecticism my brain produces. They will beg me to publish a book – a memoir – a biography of this writer and all will be good. At least, I have dreams. The other possibility, far more probable, is that the words stay unread. I will die in a stuffy room with overflowing ashtrays and too many empty bottles.
Maybe a cat or two. Sheets of papers with the start of the next big novel is strewn across the floor and the bed — music loud and on repeat. And in the centre of it all; me. Picture me like Jimi Hendrix, suffocated on my own vomit. A rock star death. Don’t be alarmed, though. I am not a rock star. I don’t play the guitar well enough and all in all, I am just a coward who never did any drugs. On second thought, aren’t most rock stars ridden with anxiety? Isn’t that why they turn to alcohol and drugs and whatnot? Always on the hunt for the next high? But one day your brain (and your soul too), are just too used to the girls screaming your name and the papers printing your photographs, your name in the headlines. And while you pretend to crave your privacy, the thought of being left alone and forgotten scares you to death. And so you power on, with some chemical help, because you couldn’t do all the shows and interviews and all that other crap that comes with being famous, without it. I don’t envy these people at all — not one bit.

And so I stare out onto the lake. The sky is grey; the water is too. And I wait for the next idea to come up. A real writer wouldn’t wait. They would write. Or am I wrong and a real writer would draw charts and write every idea down? Being organised? Where’s the fun in that? So – no labelling my ideas. Just sitting. Waiting. Staring. Smoking. And while I am doing that, the music plays softly in the background. It’s not loud enough to drown out the voices that keep telling me that I am a waste of talent. I can still hear them judging me and how I spend the days. For them, I am doing nothing. For me, I am savouring the moment. It’s as a friend told me once: We need time to understand who we are before someone else comes along and makes us into the version they want us to be. So maybe – just maybe, my answer to the question “What are you waiting for”, would not be “Life”, but maybe the truer answer would be “To understand”. I guess the reaction would be close to the same. They would urge me to get up and do something.

But, if they don’t see it, does that really mean that I am not doing anything? Because in my mind, eccentric as it may be, I am doing a whole lot. I am not giving up.

###

Author’s Note:

Written in March 2016.

I haven’t had a cigarette this year… And, I don’t know how you feel about it, but I think that the last paragraph in this piece of writing is the most important thing I have ever written. Whenever I encounter people who are struggling with their mental health, whenever I am struggling myself, I remember these words. I am not giving up, even if people are not seeing that I am fighting.