Sitting here wasting the moment. Incense stick burning. Calming? Not so much. Just burning. A movie is playing. Flickering on the screen. Not important enough to keep my focus. A drink on the table. I won’t touch it. It doesn’t feel right. Too many emotions happened yesterday. I scared myself yesterday. My behaviour scared me. It never happened like that before. I lost control. But have I really lost control? I don’t know how to get back. One breath after the other. One step in front of the other. Emotionless. Until I am eaten by all these emotions. And nothing is alright. Yet everything is alright. I should not complain. And I am not. I am sitting in silence. Enduring the torture I bestow on myself. Silently.
I am supposed to be supporting a colleague from work tonight. She is acting in a play. Something small. But important for her. The team was supposed to go. Some of the girls bailed. Until tonight I was sure I would go. But the day was long. The day was hard. And I couldn’t go. I couldn’t join them. I couldn’t face a crowd of people tonight. And so, for the first time, I told my colleagues why I couldn’t go. That I need time for myself. And I know them enough to know that they will be speaking about me – gossiping. I am afraid to go back to work on Monday. They will look at me with different eyes. They will be nice and kind and empathetic. But that is not what I need. I need them to be the way they always are. I get stuff done at work. I am a doer. And I am afraid that they won’t let me do things anymore.
I did not hurt myself yesterday. I dropped hot grease on the floor. And I couldn’t clean it up. Such a stupid thing. But it made me cry. I failed. I began shaking and hyperventilating. I panicked. Anxiety kicking in. Over some god damn grease I couldn’t clean away. I tried and I tried. Until I was too agitated and gave up. I sat and breathed and breathed. And I grew tired. So tired. And empty. I finally cleaned the mess I made. Easily, i might add. And after that, I felt as if I had changed. That emptiness. It devoured me. So much so that I tried to get in touch with someone from the past. They didn’t react to my message. And maybe that’s good. Maybe it is better that way.
Stuck. Can’t move. Paralysed. It won’t stop by itself. And I don’t have any fight in me anymore.
Some days are so easy to just go with the flow. I don’t write about those days. They are plenty too. Some days are just a constant struggle.
I didn’t have a good start this year. Three months in. Enough time to go to change things. Make it better. Why can’t it be easier? What’s wrong with me? Why am I this consumed by toxic thoughts and feelings?
It began in 2015… I don’t regret it. And am not sure if I would change many things since then. The best things happened. The highest highs. But also the lowest lows. And if the people who inspired the highs where still there during the lows, I am sure it would be easier. But they are gone. Out of reach.
So many lonely moments and I am rarely alone. So much emptiness and so many overflowing emotions. So lost. So there. Too many contradictions, but they all make sense. To me.
And when I can’t find my path in the dark… I will keep moving.
Life’s a bitch, but it’s going to be okay.
My daughter had a nightmare about me dying. I tried to comfort her as best as I could, but there was a thought I couldn’t shake. I will die. Some day I will. And I cannot change it. And when she was finally asleep again, i felt guilty. So many times i thought about dying. I thought about ending my life. No – I will not kill myself, no need to worry. But I have these thoughts and I am aware that those are thoughts normal people don’t have. I cannot save my children from all the hurt that the world will inflict on them. It’s impossible. But I can try and not add to it. It pains me when my seven year old is bullied. It hurts that she didn’t want to tell me because she didn’t want to make me sad. It pains me when she tells me that she will come to me with everything that bothers her but that I can also come to her with the things that bother me.
Parenting is the best thing I do. It’s one of the few things I am sure of. But there is so much wrong with me that I worry that I will never be the parent they need or deserve. The world is crazy. And I am too.
And I am scared to share. I used to share a lot. But back then, people from my day to day life didn’t read anything I shared. And now I allowed some people in. And I feel ashamed and frightened to share who I really am. I hate this. And I want to scream “help”, but I can’t, and to be fair, I wouldn’t listen to anyone anyway. I need a hug from someone who isn’t a child. Who knew that being married also meant being lonely and longing for human connection.
- Crying during a movie
- A song that turns back time and carries you to one specific moment
- A book you can’t set down
- Tea that has the right temperature
- The sun shining through trees
- A formation of clouds
- A rainbow
- Thunder and lightning
- A right pressure on the spot where your back hurts most
- A child saying your name
- A child giving you a hug
- Birthday wishes from people you thought had forgotten about you
- An evening with friends
- Hugs (but hugs aren’t a little thing)
- A song on the radio that you like
- Your child singing along to your favourite song
- An entire paragraph that was written without a typo
- Writing the first words after having felt uninspired for a long time
- Not setting the alarm
- Empty plates
- A decent parking spot
- One last chewing gum when you thought there weren’t any left
- A smile from a stranger
- Giving a busker some money and the gratitude in their eyes when you offer to buy them something warm to drink
- Old pictures
- New songs
- The smell of my pillow
- Clothes that are still warm from the tumble dryer
- Smooth skin
- Even numbers (grocery shopping, gas pump)
- The smell of my favourite perfume
- When the hurt goes away
- Being aware of life’s beauty
- Not forgetting life’s challenges
- Realising that many little things make some big things
- A kiss
- A good dream
- Thinking without succumbing to melancholy
- An old voice message that still makes you smile
- A memory
- Knowing that everything will be alright (even if it doesn’t look that way)
- Being present (are you there?)
- The clock that says 23:09 or 08:02
- Not feeling regrets
- Remembering a friend who has passed away
- Thinking of people who changed our lives (I am thinking about you daily lately – are you there?)
- I am what I am
- The wind in my hair
- The soundtrack of my life
- The perfect shade of your favourite colour (raspberry or aubergine)
- A picture that touches you
- A song that pulls at all the right strings
- Being understood without need to explain everything in detail
- A life in pictures that were never taken
- Everything and more
I am blind. I am too blind to see the struggle of others. Well… Not entirely. I see their battles, but I don’t see the severity of them. If I was a little less self-centred, I would see more of the world around me. As it is, I realized a year too late how bad a friend was really doing. I was too focused on myself and on the way I expected him to pull me out of the dark. But he was in even deeper than me and I didn’t see it.
Out of the dark into the dark.
I didn’t realize how much he was struggling. I had just scratched the surface when he pulled away. He had shared the bare minimum. I knew he was addicted to at least two things. I knew he was really not well. But I didn’t fight to be in his life when he pushed me out with all his might. Maybe our relationship was caustic from the beginning.
Two fragile minds becoming even more fragile because of what we shared.
I wish it had been different. Instead of breaking him even more, I could have helped him heal. But our relationship was based on a toxic behaviour. A pattern that repeated itself again and again. A circle. Of course there is more than this wrong pattern. There is more to the person I am and there is more to the person he is. But, we didn’t stand a chance. Our minds and our mental illnesses ruined every chance of a friendship. Quite sad, actually. But not irrevocably.
Ones views change over time… Mine too.
One day you will wake up and a wound that has always itched and that has always hurt – even if it was in a dull, almost imperceptible way, will have healed.
You will be surprised and it will be scary at first. You will try to get that feeling back – after all, it has been a part of you and your being for such a long time. But, let it go. You don’t need it anymore. And the hollow it left will be filled with something new. Something good.
This comes from a person who believed that wounds can be concealed but never healed. I woke up with a weight lifted off me. And I had the immediate desire to write it down. Because, if the hurt comes back (and it will be back full force), then I will have this to remind me that there are days when everything that weighs me down doesn’t seem to be as important anymore.
I’ll leave you on this rather content and serene note. I am going to make the beds now, then I’ll put my golden shoes on and spend my day at IKEA. (For me, IKEA is more stressful than working a double shift at the nursery).
I am a firm believer of “everything happens for a reason” and ” people walk parts of your journey with you for a reason”. Until now, I only applied it to me. This person entered my life for a reason and this person left for a reason. The reasons (phew… Lots of reason here), the reasons aren’t always understandable at first. Most often, we only understand the lesson we learned in hindsight. We are learning from the memories and experiences we made.
I recently understood that this works both ways.
I struggled with the fact that a person is not an active part of my life anymore. It was (and partly it still is) hurting my most sensitive feelings. And I miss him. But the truth is, I don’t miss him. I miss the idea of him. I miss the knowledge that he was just a swipe on the screen away. And while I tried to come to terms with it, using my mantra (everything happens for a reason), I failed to understand that I am not a part of his life anymore either. And as much as I have learned and gained (and lost) from this experience, he learned and gained (and lost) an equal amount of things. Sure, his lessons are certainly different, but they are there.
That thought, honestly, it blew my mind. Of course, I began pulling myself down and insulting myself as being egoistic and self-obsessed the moment I had some time to mull it over.
The fact remains that every coin has two sides. Everything we do has consequences. And sometimes, when we interact with someone, things happen for a reason. For us and for them too.
The lesson I am taking from this, is being even more considerate and kind. We all have our internal struggles. Most are hidden to the public eye.
I had an empty day.
Is that what is called normal? There was no rage, no overwhelming moments, no serenity… Nothing. Just emptiness. An emptiness that wasn’t challenging. I was without deep emotions.
Strange. Strange indeed. But not unwelcome.
The sun was shining. I did not make my beds. I read, listened to music, played with the kids, took a bath… Mundane. And that was okay.
As long as there is cum in my balls and a mind in my brain I will never forget you.
I wrote about this one before but I can’t find it anywhere so I will write it down again. This was said to me. Not written, but said. And I thought it was weirdly romantic. He laughed then, saying that it is our kind of romanticism, and he was right. In the meantime, this man is not a part of my life anymore. We knew the day would come but we tried to ignore it until it was there and he left. Which is okay and his proper right to do. But that sentence there, it keeps repeating in my mind. Over and over again. If it is true, then he will not forget me for a long time. I don’t want to be forgotten. Least of all by him. He who meant so much to me at one moment in time and who still does, who will always do.
When I shared this sentence with a friend, she was disgusted and thought it was very disrespectful. And I wondered if I had rose-tinted glasses on to be happy about these words. Now, a long time later, and these words still get to me and they are still disgusting to other people. For me, they are the ultimate declaration of love.
Funny how people see one and the same thing and feel so differently about it. Or maybe I am just weird. By the way, that same man said to me that he felt abject loneliness without me and that I was the only one who could fill the holes in his heart, in his mind and in his soul. Indeed, he is a writer… but come on… Those are amazing words to hear… Alas, love or an infatuation is not always enough. And I am not a romantic person anyway…
(written in August 2016 and still true)
If you look at me, please see me. If you see me for the person that I am, please love me.
If you listen to me, please hear me. If you hear my words, please understand them.
If you want me, don’t hold back. If you don’t hold back, I will be all yours.
This is actually no fiction. This is all me in my most vulnerable state. I am afraid to be invisible, invaluable, used…
I work in a job where we are sent to trainings twice a year. Today I spent an entire day in training. We were a group of sixteen strangers. The training was about self-conception, our effect on the parents, and the use of verbal and nonverbal communication.
One exercise this morning was very uplifting. A stranger sat across from us. Facing one another, the stranger had one minute to compliment me. This was done twice. So… I had two minutes of compliments today and also gave two minutes of compliments.
Here are some things these strangers said to me which left an impact (or got me thinking). One man and one woman made these statements.
- There is something mysterious about you
- Very open and welcoming
- Bright smile
- Beautiful eyes
- Curvy (yes… That too was meant to be a compliment)
- I feel safe and accepted just sitting face to face with you
- Very high tolerance for everyone, regardless of gender or anything else
- Available to your friends
- We could talk for hours on end if we met for a drink
- At ease with yourself
- There for your friends
- You seem to be a person with a positive attitude who can find a solution to every problem
- Would love to work with you
- Beautiful when you smile
These are the ones I remember. The ‘you’ is me, of course. These things were said to me by people who I had never met before. It’s incredible how uplifting this exercise was. And, I recognise myself in the things they said, too.
I do want to add though: what is mysterious about me? Can anyone explain this to me? I’ve been told this more than once and I don’t know what to make of it.
Also, try to pay compliments to a stranger for an entire minute. It’s long…
Anyway, this made my day and I wanted to share.
I forget how to make my legs work. I stumble, I fall. My knees are bruised from polite submission. I can’t get up. Lying in the dirt. Digging my own hole with broken fingernails. Filthy and discarded. Damaged goods. That’s me. A failure. Someone who gave up.
But that’s just a tiny part of me.
I am a fighter. Stronger than I admit or let on. Calculated. Cold. Empathetic. Affectionate. One doesn’t exclude this other. I pulled myself up without any help. All by myself. Damaged goods. That’s me. A success. Someone who never gave up.
But that too is just a tiny part of me.
I know so much about music and movies and actors… And if I don’t know, I do my research. All this useless information that is stuck inside my head.
Voices… I have voices in my head. No, I am not insane. But I talk to myself and create storylines in my head. I think about what to say and work the words over in my head until they make sense. And my stutter got worse again.
Quite emotional… I am rarely emotional. I cried when my grandma passed away last November. I cried when my son told me that I am a bad mother (and when he told me a week later that he didn’t mean the words he said). I cried when I felt abandoned. But I also cry when I hear music. Lyrics get to me all the time. And all of a sudden I am a crying mess. I cry when I see movies or TV shows. Last time I cried was during an episode of How to Get Away With Murder. I’ve been binge watching that show since last Sunday.
I don’t like women. The drama and narcissism is just too much for me. I don’t have many friends.
I love my son. We have a deep bond and I hope that it will stay that way. I think, I know a thing or two about him he doesn’t know himself. And when he comes to term with it, I will be there.
I am picky. With everything. Most of all with food and books.
I was so proud that I lost lots of weight some time ago. I guess it is all back and a little extra too. I’ve been neglecting myself. Drank too much, ate too much crap. It will stop and change. I am a stress eater and I eat when I am bored…
I had three weeks off work and my work colleagues sent me messages that they miss me and that they’re looking forward to me coming back. Me too.
I suffer from depression. And the older I get, the more anxiety is added to the mix. I feel useless and obsolete when I am not taking my medication. It has worsened a lot.
Two years ago, right around this time I was the happiest I have ever been in my life. I am not anymore. Yet, I still feel hopeful right now. As if it is okay.
Everything happens for a reason is such a cliché and yet such a huge part of my life’s philosophy.
Chewing gum. Phone/internet. These are my addictions.
I love vegetables, but I don’t like fruits.
I will never stop to need affection and acknowledgement. Of course I known that I need to earn it. And even when I receive love and admiration even, it is never enough to fill the hollow that has been there since I was a kid.
I didn’t have a nice childhood, but I didn’t have the worst either. And yet, all the events I experienced shaped me into the girl I am now. With a healthy mom and a present dad, I would be a different woman. A man once said I have daddy issues. I don’t know. Maybe he was right.
The most romantic thing I was ever told (spoken directly to me on the phone): “As long as I have cum in my balls and a mind in my brain, I will not forget you” It’s vulgar but beautiful too.
My favourite part of me is my eyes and my lips. I also like my voice.
Sometimes, things start out one way and end another and that’s okay.
People are onions. Layers and layers need to be peeled away to get to the core. And tears are plenty.
All of this is still just a tiny part of me. I am. But you just see the fragments I chose to show.
On December 21st 2012, I started this very blog. It was the day that had been predicted as the end of the world because the Mayan calendar ended that day. I cannot remember what made me start this thing, but it is one of the few things I seldom neglected. Back in the day, I shared a lot of music and rambled about it. That was until the day I realised that I don’t know anything about music. And even though I am passionate about it, I am in no way qualified to write about it. I began sharing my poetry and my writing but due to poor tagging I kept myself in my own little space. I didn’t read this blog or that either. I just wrote for me and used this space as a safe haven for me and my inner turmoil. Not much has changed since and yet… And yet. I am censoring myself and my words a lot more. For no real reason. But I am a bit more shallow these days. At least I think I am, I am not sure how regular readers see it.
I am sharing mostly poetry or short stories these days. The music is still present but not as much anymore.
There are times when I am more quiet. Those are the times when I am well and balanced within myself. Then, there are the times when I write a lot and the manic depressive episode is palpable through the screen. I don’t do it on purpose, but I don’t talk a lot to people; I need to write excessively during these times or I will implode. It is a part of who I am. And I am not looking for fame, but if readers can rely, I feel a little less alone. (And they do too.) And that’s something that means a lot to me. Comments are rare, but I cherish them all the more and it warms my heart to see the same usernames and avatar pop up in my notifications again and again.
Today, we are celebrating 100 followers here on micqu.wordpress.com It’s a small number, but I love it nonetheless. No post ever has 100 reads here… Most have around 10 to 15, depending on the tags I use.
Happy anniversary to us. To you and to me. And thank you for the generous gift of your time. I will never be able to repay you. Here’s to 5 more years and many more after that.
Lots of love,
Sadness. It covers her like a veil. For no reason. There are no passed memories trying to shred her future to pieces. There is no longing for a love she can’t get. There is nothing. Just emptiness. But the void inside hurts. And the tension, the inner pressure, rises. And rises. Her scars are prickling. Thoughts of suicide, not her own, just the act of it, are circling her mind and poisoning her writing. And the scars. They are begging for an addition. Open the skin. Release what’s inside and let it drip down the outside. It’s getting harder for her to avoid temptation and triggers. Everything is alright. She said it so many times that she stopped believing the lie. Just one tiny cut. Just one more. An addiction. And her drug is the pain she will not feel, only see in crimson droplets and opened skin. The box cutter lies on the shelf. Just one cut. It will make everything alright. Stop telling these lies.
I posted this little thing minutes ago on Wattpad. The comment touched me and made me happy