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30 Minutes.
Day One.

Have you ever felt so low that you get dizzy?
Just standing up is a huge effort… Damn, even breathing is painful because your chest weighs that much.
Bursts of anger surge through you with no fore warning. They just appear, destroying whatever was in front of you. All logic retreats into the darkness that is all around you.

They disappear just as fast as they come, finished before you understand what is happening to you and you’re left with a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach. You’ve messed up again. You’ve broken it… You’ve hurt him.
And then the pounding resounds in your head, your vision turns blurry, all strenght long gone and all is left is you, a quivering mass of pain, all hope of being normal drained from your being…

Not every moment is this bad.
There’s worse too.
And better.

I was fine five hours ago. I was kissing my boyfriend good bye for work and dancing around with my dog. Sounds wonderful, I know. My life is wonderful, or it would be, if I were normal.

It’s mostly when I’m not occupying my mind that it takes over, but how do I keep busy when my body is failing me?
Every day I spend various hours on the computer looking for interesting jobs, courses, then when they call me to ask me for an interview I shy back, my mind is a web of excuses, terrified of leaving the house it can say anything. I envy its imagination. Yes, I refer to my own mind as another being. I stopped calling it mine when I realized I had no control over it.

“It’s just a bad month, just a hard time at the moment… You’ll be fine.”

Oh, it’s a wonderful world for the ignorant.

I wonder how long they could spend in my skin? Would they claw their way out? End it? Would they drink more? Sleep? Would they turn to drugs? Or could they handle it? Is it just me that can’t do this? Maybe it’s easy and I just can’t find the angle to make it right… It’s a photo that I’m unable to find the right light to capture, a recipe that just needs to be perfected. I can’t even control the flow of my thoughts. I’ve dragged the keyboard onto my lap as sitting correctly is too much for me right now. I can’t even look at the screen as the words waver and flash, is it the daily pain that makes me feel this way or is it this that makes me feel this pain as to be acknoledged?

It used to be just mental, I’d be sad, tired, but I’d sleep and it would all feel better for a few days. Now the pain is everywhere. My whole body is in tension, constantly, whilst I sleep, whilst I live every single day the pain is there. I can hardly talk these days as my throat is so tense, I can’t sing, I can’t scream… My mind is taking me prisioner and I am helpless as it does so.

I always find a reason not to end it, not to give up but sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it.
I love him so much, my puppy, my pets but I find it so hard sometimes to convince myself that he speaks the truth when he tells me he needs me and no matter how dark the dark days are with me, the light ones are worth it.
I don’t leave for the fear of the pain that I could cause others, but what about me?
What about me?
I’m so tired.
I need help.

And I have no idea where to turn.

Fuck you 30 minutes of writing. You’ve just made this a whole lotta not better.
Let’s see how tommorrow goes…

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Mindbomb.

Tonight my fingers are drawn towards the keyboard, I need to write, the force of the need is so urgent, my fingers to the keyboard like the lips of two lovers, almost lust as they touch and sparks fly, my mind needs its release.

I have always been a person with an active mind, not always in a productive way, it could be said that it has more of a chaotic design, where thoughts swirl around, criss-crossing over in curves, lines, dots, they intertwine and divide making specific thought sometimes hard to achieve. Creativity however has never been a problem thanks to this colourful abyss that is my mind.

I have had a very nerve racking month, my hands are shaking just thinking how to begin, it has been too much to process, too fast to mourn.

I feel the shock in my body, the tears trapped somewhere inside me, I can feel the sharp edges of their prison, it grows day by day, pressing my stomach, making me nauseous daily, yet my mind is determined to tell me I’m fine. My “monstruation” disappeared, my sleep disturbed, my heart broken but still my mind tells me to go on, go faster, don’t think about it.

Coping. That’s the word everyone uses,
“How are you coping? You seem to be coping well!”

What the hell does that even mean?

You’re holding in your feelings and lying to yourself well, yes, we’re all so proud, you’re fucking up your mind holding it all in and smiling, congratulations! You’re now normal!

Almax is best friend, along with valium and enantyum.
One to kill the physical pain of the stress, one to numb the part of me that wants to scream and one to stop me from throwing up stomach acid.

And people are proud of this.

Because I am… “Coping”.

I have started to think that maybe those that are “mentally unstable” are the ones that actually see how this world is, we are the ones who’s feelings have not yet been annihilated by society and its “feelings are stupid” rule.

Are we the insane ones or is it the rest of the population?

To all the people who agree with this post:
20882895_1960612827557975_4488751665222036085_nI have been fighting suicide for as long as I can remember and at one point these posts worked, the guilt worked. Now it just plain pisses me the fuck off.

What about the people who can’t afford help? Government help at least here in Spain is awful, their professionals push you further over the edge after months or years of waiting for help, that is absolutely crushing. Private professionals cost a lot of money most of us can’t afford, sometimes even if you can afford them, it just doesn’t work for you, everyone is different. Now what about the ones who’s family don’t give a shit and don’t make time for them even when they cry out for help, what about the people who’s friends aren’t there on those dark nights because they are busy or have their own shit? Or people that have nobody? And the ones that can’t work because their illness has got that bad so they are just stuck there hanging with no money? Are you going to pay their bills? Are you going to be there for them every single god damn time they need help? Because I haven’t found anyone strong enough yet to deal with what I live with. I live on meds that give me side affects that you would never wish to have to be able to lead a “half normal life” which doesn’t even fucking reach that level and my physical pain is stuff out of nightmares. Living every day in physical and mental pain on your own dealing with this on top of normal daily stress as people don’t take you seriously and still expect everything from you and you say we are selfish for wanting out?
Fuck that, you are the selfish ones for wanting us to stay, to endure this in hope that woweeee we can have one good day out of a month, one week maybe sometimes is an okay one, just so you can feel good and say “I saved them from suicide”, no, you forced them to live a life that you would never want for yourself and have no idea how shit that feels. We are here not to hurt you but in the process we get burned constantly for being a burden and being “hard work” or “complicated”, but if we leave we are cowards, we are selfish, we are cruel.

Now for the people that are now obviously going to say people die everyday from illnesses and want to live, I’m so sorry, we want to live too but unlike a broken leg, unlike a head injury, a car accident because you drunk drove, unlike a stab wound when you decided to pick a fight, we don’t get helped in the ER, we get told to go away, we get forgotten, we get made fun of and made into memes and turned into someone labeled as lazy and told to “snap out of it”. Snap out of that broken leg dude, it’s just a bone, come on, you can crawl… You’d never say that. Ever. Yet we get told that every single freaking day.

Fuck that, I’m so sorry about people that get taken before their time but also people should have the right to decide when they want to die without judgement. You can put an animal down in dignity because it’s “humane” but humans get locked away and drugged and abused de trying to do what they have decided is best, not just for themselves but for the people around them.
Fuck that, people that commit suicide are not selfish, we can’t expect you guys to be here for us, to spend your whole lives taking care of us and we are freeing you of that as WE NEED THAT and nobody can give it to us. It’s not fair on us and it’s not fair on you.

So if your friend is seriously suicidal, not just a phase, but has been through the doctors appointments, has tried their freaking hardest and still wants to do it, respect them and enjoy every moment by their side.

You don’t feel their pain, you can’t hear those voices, don’t judge.

What about what about angels…?

Change has never daunted me; it’s actually been the opposite, making my blood pump, my heart race, the change, the challenge…
But there are things that freeze me; I feel the cold wrap itself around my veins, my bones crumbling with sadness.
Have you ever loved someone?
Of course you have, what a silly question.
But have you ever felt the end at the beginning? When all is beautiful and new and you haven’t yet been able to memorise every curve of their smile, their body language still only on a medium level but advancing fast… The beautiful learning process of understanding a new human life… Have you ever thought how complex that is? How absolutely beautiful it is that we can do that?
Connect to a point of a glance can say a million words… A hand in yours can keep you safe…
This intricate, careful structure we nurture and watch flourish or die…
But all this takes time… Patience.

Have you ever seen it all played in your eyes the second you set your eyes on that person?
Knowing they will mean so much to you that you just can’t resist reaching out to them but instantly knowing they aren’t meant to be yours. Knowing they are perfect for you but the timing isn’t right, something whispers it, as if you weren’t meant to see them, it was a surprise, a secret, an early Christmas present maybe you were never meant to receive, maybe it was destined to be lost in the mail, stolen, kept out of anger…

There are people like those presents… People that you have for only a small amount of time, stolen time, time you seize at and grasp at, beg for the clock to stop, just one more minute, please! But you know you have to release them… Like a beautiful butterfly caught in a jar by a child, you know it belongs in the wild… It deserves to stretch its wings and fly, for others to admire its grace, it’s resilient colour and so delicately you open the jar… You hope it decides to stay, but slowly it feels the breeze and with it, it goes.

Maybe you’ll see it again; maybe it will cross your path once more to stay, in another form, another life, another day… Maybe you’ll never see it again but you’ll never forget the time you had the most beautiful creature in your hand, that day will fill your heart forever with a mixture of awe and bitter sadness.

Some people are those butterflies.
The hard part is deciding whether it’s worth grasping every second knowing the clock’s on a count down or lowering your head and letting them pass, pretending not to see them, your eyes knowing too much showing tears nobody understands.

Sometimes I wish I was strong enough to resist, sometimes I wish I was a coward…
But I can’t… And so it starts.

“What are you reading?”
She asks, noticing the book gripped in the boys hand as if it were a secret, the pain in his eyes swiftly hidden by a mask and smile.
She watched him, remembering their story, a story yet to be told but as old as time. For he was a butterfly, with a broken wing and colours determined to be hidden, only making them, for her, the brightest object in her sight.

Destiny she knew, would take him, as she had others, this was only a trailer, only a taste of the batter yet to be put in the oven and deemed edible…
Raw. That’s what he was. Raw and broken and broken she was left when she pulled off her own wing to fix his, knowing his flight was much more important than hers.

Set him free, the wind whispered… So she cried, she trembled and she fell apart, so the pieces of him in her could fly back to him, full of love, the purest kind.

Set them free, said the world, time and time again.
Knowing fight was futile against destiny she fell to her knees…
When oh when would she stop losing pieces of herself to others? She wondered how much there was left to leave her…

Only the darkness stayed.
Maybe she was born to be consumed by the darkness, born in the night, she’d turn slowly into a part of it, full of stars, all the good parts of her sewn into souls she’d freed.

She looked at him and wondered, was he her last butterfly?
If she fixed him could she drift away?
Would peace come with his pain?

Her smile was that of an innocent girl, her soul of an ancient creature.
Some aren’t made for this world, it whispered; you’re only here to show them that both hell and heaven are on earth, remember that.

Now decide… Will you be his saviour or shall you watch him burn?

We all have that power.

And so she held out her hand and absorbed the flames from his soul in an embrace, tears running down his face, confusion scaring him, loving her, not realising soon he would hate her for leaving.

And there in the sea it all started and there in the sea it would all end.

Stormcube.

I have always been a person with an active mind, not in a productive way, more of a chaotic way, thoughts swirl around, criss-crossing over in curves, lines, dots, they intertwine and divide making specific thought sometimes hard to achieve. Creativity however has never been a problem thanks to this colourful abyss that is my mind.

One thing that often plays in my head is the past, it’s something no-one can escape, we create one since the moment we become a union of sperm and egg.

Now perspective plays a huge role here as it depends how you look back. There’s the regretful people and the ones who think that everything that happens has a reason, there’s also the person who says never looks back, it’s bullshit, we all do.

Decisions, the risks you didn’t take, people, tragedies, they all sit there in the mind, you can either learn from them or let them swallow you whole.

People have a curious effect on me, and here my mind disappeared and I have no idea what I was talking about but as it was obviously something I’ll publish it and come back to that thought.

*Puts pin in it*

October 2016

It was beautiful while it lasted.

When it’s been some of the hardest months of your life and you’ve been a complete dick to the person you love and you wake up and he’s still there.

I woke up this morning to hear him singing to the puppy about having breakfast, even though he’d only slept 5h, I fell back to sleep smiling to be woken up with flowers and that huge smile of his, just because he likes to see me happy.

I can’t begin to express how grateful I am to have him in my life, holding my reluctant hand through anxiety attacks and depression, holding me to sleep and not walking away when I lose control.

I’ve lost so many people in my life because of anxiety and depression, because I was ashamed to admit I had a problem, because I was afraid of being judged, of being called insane when hiding it was making me exactly that.
I really wish people understood what depression means. It’s not a bad day, it’s not that something happened, its not a way to call attention to yourself, it’s definitely not a joke, it’s a dark cloud that envelops you, tells you to sleep and not to talk to anyone. It’s losing control of your feelings and yourself. It makes outside seem like your enemy and your body ache as if you’ve been beaten up, you forget what hope is, it seems never ending. It makes you run away from open arms when all you want is a hug. Your nightmares don’t stop when you open your eyes. There are good days and bad days, you can smile right through it whilst you crumble inside, everyone lives it differently and not everyone survives it, because you know deep down that even when this cloud has passed, another will come, you don’t know when but you know it will. It’s something that makes me rethink the idea of having children as I don’t want them to have to live through my attacks because I know there will be days, weeks, where I won’t be able to face them, their needs, their little faces will become my enemies.

Please don’t take depression lightly those who don’t suffer it an those that do, please seek help and survive. It’s worth it, try to remember that even when it screams at you that it’s a lie. It’s not, there will always be someone that cares, be brave, be strong, reach out. Find us, we are here. The survivors.

I don’t think I’ve ever asked for anyone to share a post but please please PLEASE, if you’ve read this and have felt this way or know someone that has, share it, you really don’t know, who could need it the most might be the person you least expect and believe me, knowing you’re not alone can save your life.

Amazing as it sounds, it’s true, I promise.

 

 

 

“WOMEN NEED MEN”… To Understand.

En mí rinconcito de escribir solo suelo desahogar, pero hoy quiero tratar de explicarles algo sobre un tema que suele parecerle a muchos un tema incómodo: La violación.
Incluso voy a tener la valentía de compartir mi experiencia personal como ejemplo, cosa que nunca he hecho, con la esperanza de que así entiendan mejor.

Hace años fui la víctima de una violación.

No fue un extraño, no llevaba falda, no iba bebida y aun así ocurrió. Fue mi pareja, el chico que “me amaba” y sabiendo la confianza que deposité en él, me destrozó como persona.

Tras años enterrando la experiencia tuve que afrontarla y aun ahora, años después sigue envenenado mi vida personal. Me cambió. Ya no se puede volver atrás, no se puede borrar ese acto, pero pueden aprender a ayudar con estas situaciones, a las personas como yo, que han vivido algo así, porque lo sepan o no, lo más seguro es que la mayoría (por no decir todas) de las mujeres que conozcas han vivido algo así o similar.

Hoy en día y desde entonces he tenido la suerte de tener solo parejas muy considerados y comprensibles pero por supuesto, hay momentos incómodos, hay ataques de ansiedad, hay falta de libido y estas cosas pueden romper una relación, quieras o no. Cansa.

Ahora, para explicar a todas las personas que conviven con alguien que ha sobrevivido una experiencia así, sea hombre o mujer, como nos sentimos a veces les haré unos ejemplos, quizás así pueden entenderlo mejor, porque sé que es confuso todo, sé que es difícil, créeme, a nosotros también nos fastidia no ser como éramos antes, también nos duele y somos conscientes de que nuestra experiencia cambia vidas, tanto la nuestra como la de ustedes.

Yo día a día me encuentro en situaciones que me incomodan. Soy y siempre he sido una mujer muy independiente y tener miedo de caminar sola, de estar cerca de gente fuera sin control (bebida, droga), de conocer gente nueva, de ser cariñosa etc, no es natural para mí. Todos somos diferentes pero esto para mi es relativamente nuevo y cosa que me cabrea.

A veces alguien a quien quiero me toca y me alejo como si me hubieran quemado, me pueden intentar abrazar y me quedo de piedra, me saludan por la calle y mi contestación no es la misma que antes. Hay empleos que no puedo tener, hay amistades que he tenido que dejar ir, parejas que no han podido con ello… TE CAMBIA TODO.

Muchas personas dicen que apoyan a las víctimas de violación, violencia, etc pero luego te sueltan estas perlas (ojo, digo mayoría porque luego hay personas más comprensivas que tu puto psicólogo):

“Joder pero fue hace tiempo, que lo supere ya”

“Sólo te estoy acariciando…” (y ella/él no quiere)

“Pero se acostaba con todos”

“Soy tu novio, tengo DERECHOS”

“Se lo buscaba”

“Me daría pena pero es que llevaba puesto…”

“¿Si es su marido/pareja como va a ser violación? Que tontería!”

“Es que iba súper borracha”

“Pero soy tu pareja”

“Sólo quería abrazarte”

 

Aquí hay solo unas cuantas frases que me han dicho o he leído sobre otras personas y sus experiencias.

Voy a enfrentarme a ellos por zona:

ROPA, yo llevaba pijama, otras llevan vaqueros y camiseta enorme, otras vestido, otras bikini.

LA VESTIMENTA O FALTA DE ELLA NO JUSTIFICA QUE ALGUIEN LE HAGA ALGO QUE OTRA PERSONA NO QUIERA.

Ejemplo: Tu amiga tiene derecho de ir en braga por el piso si quiere, si te incomoda se lo dices, no la violas.

ALCOHOL/DROGA:

Si tú tienes derecho de beber la cantidad que te dé la gana y meterte la sustancia que elijas, ELLA TAMBÍEN. PUNTO.

¿Está borracha? Se amable, métela en un taxi, acompáñala a la puerta de su casa, llama sus amigas/os,  NO SE LE HACE NADA SIN QUE ELLA DE PERMISO ESTANDO CONSCIENTE DE SUS ACTOS. SIN PERMISO NO HAY DERECHOS.
Este punto en concreto es difícil porque la línea es muy fina a veces, todos hemos hecho cosas estúpidas estando borrachos pero hay una GRAN diferencia entre sexo de acuerdo con ambas personas y que una persona este inconsciente y se aprovechen.

SEXUALIDAD:

A MUCHAS MUJERES TAMBIÉN NOS GUSTA EL SEXO. Y al igual que los hombres podemos acostarnos con quienes nos dé la gana.
Da igual si una víctima era virgen o era una persona muy sexual, sigue siendo violación. Cuando uno quiere sexo, se puede, cuando no quiere, NO SE TIENE. Es bastante fácil si lo miran así, ¿verdad?
ACTOS SEXUALES -> CUANDO DOS (o más) PERSONAS QUIEREN, NO SOLO UNA PARTE. (¿Tú quieres, la otra persona no? Usa la mano.)

RELACIÓNES DE PAREJA, AMISTAD, ETC:

Esta parte es una que no se le suele dedicar palabras, no es algo de que se habla tanto, no se considera lo difícil que es convivir con una superviviente de la violencia/violación.
Esta parte es muy importante para mí porque es lo que más me choca día a día, que no llegan a comprender esta parte me mata.

PRIMERO, antes que nada, LAS PERSONAS NO SOMOS OBJETOS, NO TENEMOS DUEÑOS Y NO TENÉIS DERECHO NADIE SOBRE NADIE (al menos que sea sexo sado que allí ya es otra cosa mariposa…) Así que aquí queda muerta la frase de “SOY TU PAREJA Y TENGO DERECHOS”.

PUNTO.

Ahora para las demás frases que tengan que ver con este apartado, para hacerlo más fácil de entender, les voy a poner un ejemplo:
Imagínense que hace unos años estabais tú y otra persona jugando con fuegos artificiales. Te encantaban los fuegos artificiales y lo pasabas genial. Era lo que más te gustaba de una época de festejo pero esta vez jugando tu amigo no tuvo cuidado, no hacía caso cuando le dijiste que era peligroso y causó un accidente y tú saliste herido. Perdiste una pierna, un brazo, la audición, algo importante para tu estilo de vida.

Te cambió la vida, algo que antes adorabas, ahora le tienes miedo, pánico incluso.

Ahora imagina que otro amigo, no tiene por qué ser el mismo, quizás es tu mejor amigo y le tienes muchísima confianza, pero imagina que estuviera haciendo algo parecido cerca de ti. Que sientas ese calor de las chispas, te arde la herida antigua, tu corazón late demasiado de prisa… No te haría gracia, ¿cierto?
Quizás otras veces lo puedas soportar  e incluso lo disfrutes pero habrá veces que te recuerde demasiado a lo que te pasó y no querrás estar tan cerca a esos fuegos que antes adorabas.
Da igual que tu amigo diga que sea “una broma”, eso no cambiaría el hecho de que te ha dado un susto y te hizo estar incómodo.
Si te enfadas, te hará sentir estúpido, infantil, por tener miedo a algo lógico, o te sentirías mal al ver que tu amigo se enfada porque “tú te has tomado a mal su broma”, te hace sentir que tú eres culpable, hagas lo que hagas. Luego piensas en eso y no lo puedes olvidar porque no es la primera vez que te hacen esas cosas y poco a poco daña la amistad, daña tu imagen de ti mismo. Te acabas preguntando si tienen razón sobre ti… Si solo exagerabas y deberías seguirle la broma… Acabas suprimiendo tus miedos para hacer feliz a otros… Y acabas perdiéndote por no perderles a ellos.

Ahora aplícalo a nosotras.

A veces una caricia, un beso, un abrazo, sean inocentes o no, nos puede parecer una amenaza, puede ser algo que nos alarme o simplemente no querríamos en ese momento.
Y si tú insistes sería como sí ese amigo tuyo que está jugando con fuegos artificiales se echara a correr detrás de ti con uno encendido en la mano, torturándote, asustándote.
Sería cruel, ¿a que sí?
No lo verías correcto, ni justo, al menos que fueras un auténtico hijo de puta, que espero que entre mis amistades no haya.

Ahora piensa en lo que haces, contempla esas frases que usas con tu pareja, tu amigx, tu compañerx de trabajo y piensen, pónganse en la situación de otra persona.

No puedo hablar por otras personas aquí pero constantemente me encuentro pensando en las cosas que “causo yo” y la culpabilidad que cargo por ello es horroroso. Me siento culpable por decir que no, por ser arisca, por alejarme, por arruinar noches de fiesta por mi miedo, mil cosas. Cuando no debería ser así.

NO DEBERÍA SENTIRME ASÍ.

ES MÍ CUERPO, MÍ VIDA, MIS DECISIONES. Y no es no, aunque no le guste a alguien, aunque después de todo esto sigan sin entender, seguirá así. No siempre será NO.

*suspiro*
¿Y si pudiéramos evitar todo estos casos?

Siempre habrá monstruos en el mundo, es cierto, pero TÚ no tienes por qué contribuir al horror. No nos juzguen, aprendan a tener compasión sin excepciones, sin “pero…”.

NO PEDIMOS PENA, PEDIMOS COMPRESIÓN.

Y con eso les dejo.

…And it’s Not Even Halloween Yet.

I can feel it coming.

You’d think it’s better knowing somethings going to happen before it does… You’d think so.

But what about when it’s something you’re helpless to avoid?

Something that will destroy you..?

Would you want to know?

It hit me this morning.

It hit hard.

It’s like a storm, first comes the calm, that gentle cold breeze that makes you pull your coat in a little tighter, like the last day of autumn, you feel tired, it’s your minds monday state, words hit harder, you can feel pain just a little more, hardly enough to tell the diference unless you’re a pro like me…

Then the pounding starts… Your body feels heavy as if you were carrying lead in your skin, dreamless sleep ceases to exist and you awake as if you’ve travelled instead of sleeping, being pulled through time zones with no place to rest your head. Your eyes now have a purplish tint around them, the blue turns grey, people start to look at you funny, asking if you’re ill, if it’s contagious…You apply double makeup to hide it and make them happy to work with you again (how simple) but you know that tomorrow there’ll be no saving yourself from the black eyes that could have been made by angry fists yet are only there as a reminder from your body that it’s nearly time and there’s no going back now, as if there ever was, as if saving yourself from it was ever an option.

You tell yourself it’s a migraine, nothing more, the dizziness will pass, the pain will move on to another part of your body, there’s no mercy here.
Cry, there’s no one that can help you.

Today the anger starts to set in, yesterday it was just irritation, your anxiety on edge but it you could handle it, today full blown fury is there, just under the skin, hidden inbetween your bunched up muscles, tight with stress… Your whole body is wired and exhausted at the same time. Like a snowball effect, once started on a roll it will create a disaster you have no strength to clean up. It will destroy you, again.

Today’s delight was crippling pain creeping in from the toes to the hips as you try to walk home. You try to tell yourself it’s okay, you know this pain, just walk slow, stop every 5  steps, stretch, yeah, that should help… 5 steps… Stop and repeat… The burning sensation pulling you to the ground, people start to stare as you hobble home, feet making  slapping sound as your feet refuse to bend and cooperate.

The pressure’s too much, you’re about to blow, your partner is powerless and takes his anger out on the dog, withdrawing into his world which makes your heart ache, it’s  all your fault… Or is it? He doesn’t help, or does he? Do you trust him? Is he driving me mad or am I already there? You can no longer trust your insticts, you can’t distinguish between his faults and yours, there’s only anger, a burning fire blinding you, making you forget how much you love eachother, how much you care… What’s real? Is anything?

You rest your legs and swollen feet and your back suddenly decides it doesn’t want to lie down, the neck sending shooting pain through her head making it impossible to relax…

You can’t even tell her friends anymore as they just say they are excuses and they slowly disappear and along with them, your support. They don’t understand how much you wish it was that simple. They don’t know how much you needed them, to keep you aflote, to help you survive when your body is hellbent in destroying you.

The doctors fob you off with tablets and insults “you’re just fat, it’s just hormones…” and your mind is breaking. Go away, find courage, go back, leave again, more broken than the last time…

Every day gets longer and harder…

And still she fights, even knowing that she’s in the descent now, the black dog has nearly arrived. It feels like it should be raining yet there’s the sun, blinding her and forcing her to pull away from the window. The cruelty of being a prisoner in your own body.

It’s here again… It’s only been weeks since you started feeling like a person again yet it’s back to claim more of you, how much more do you have left to give? How long until you can call it a day and not be blamed..? How much more does the world expect you to do with no help, like a school project, is it half done, have you been tested enough? Have you passed..? You feel broken, knowing less now than you did when it all started…

All I know is it hurts. Everything hurts, every day.

And now you know too.

I know my enemy. I know when it’s coming and still I’m unarmed, I’m unable to save myself. Oh I know my enemy, my enemy is me.

 

To Stay Or To Flee..?

When does love stop being enough to glue us together? When did love become so evil? So hurtful? So strong…

Binded with the phrase “I love you”, when does it become more than a burden than a virtue?
He dropped a seed of doubt in my mind and watered it with his stupid lies… Now he blames me for the poisonous plant that has flowered and wound its way through me when it’s his baby and he is the only one that can trim and rid me of it…
Sometimes I feel he enjoys seeing me errupt, he enjoys hiding his flaws in me, feeling innocent… Sometimes I feel he uses me to erase his sins for I am the true sinner.

Knowing my mind tricks me, knowing the complications he promised to accept me, promise me it’s worth it, yet… Every fight he shouts it’s me, every flaw is mine. Taking advantage of my cracks he slowly drips the self loath into them, his quiet words so loud to my ears, telling me it’s all me, it’s my fault…

To what extent is it true?

I am destroying you or are you destroying me?

When did this stop being love..? Or is it still? I can’t make it out anymore, it blurs through the tears that are constantly on the verge of escaping my eyes.

We smile and tell our story, embellishments making people wish it were their own but behind closed doors the days pass and my self loath builds, my anger creeps towards him for preferring hobbies to me… Staring into that mobile screen where he used to stare into my eyes… Lips attatched to that blunt instead of my skin. Yet it’s me… I get angry for no reason, I blame him for the rain, the wind he says, when he doesn’t realise that I blame him for the butterflies in my chest, the love in my eyes.

My fragile heart, tangled with a broken body was not ready for a love like this… The most exquisite poison that is him, my goodnight lullaby. Hugging him whilst he sleeps deeply, peacefully and I cry as he left me alone yet again. Alone with only my thoughts to acompany me, the worst company… And still I hug him before sleeping at dawn, even when I’m angry, I hug him, how couldn’t I?
Even when he breaks me, I love him.

 

My mind screams… I don’t want to do this anymore. I can’t face another fight. Convinced it’s me now, I am the monster, I push him away, with the simplest words he’s gone, it’s not hard, he doesn’t try to fix anything, he’s far too proud… I mean all too little although later he insists it’s not true… But actions speak louder than our fights and each fight ends with my pride disolving whilst his stands strong.

RUN. Don’t say sorry anymore.

Break the dirty plates that never got cleaned, burn the house that echoes of fights and slamming doors, free the ghosts and run…

Run, you are the problem there’s no solution to, run before you end up dead.
Run, until you forget you hate yourself, until you’re too exhausted to remember your own name and can take another. Run until you blow away, run until you’re gone… Run…

The Crush.

Most cases of rape that can be found on the popular news channels are about strangers that randomly pick the victim, drug her, attack her and even murder her. It’s a fact that 1 out of 5 women have been sexually abused before their 20th birthday. But they don’t talk so much about all those cases of it being your best friend that does it, your husband, boyfriend, colleague…Family cases are brought up but; is it more about the shock factor, the horror factor than the actual news?
Do they publish it just to make you worry about wearing that skirt you bought last week, to make you think twice about being the independent woman that you are and walking home alone, living alone, to make you hold your child’s hand just that little bit tighter and trust a little bit less…Or do they actually give a damn?
Out of my circle of feminine friends, I admit this to be a small one as I tend to find myself more comfortable in the company of men (ironic considering…), maybe only one or two out of all the women I have had the pleasure of being close friends with have never admitted to have been violated in one way or another. Note the tiny number in that sentence and bear in mind that they could have suffered an event like the others but prefer not to tell the tale. That means, let’s say I have 12 female friends for example, 8 of them have been abused or raped, two have been victims of attempted rape or abuse and the other two we make no assumptions about what or what not has happened.

The part that makes my stomach drop, no matter how many times a similar story is told to me through tears, is that these people, the ones that have taken these women’s dignity, their privacy, their right to say no, the ones that have soiled that body that society already makes so damn hard to love “just the way we are”, making it impossible to ever see it the same way again, those people, are nearly always someone so close to them, you’d never suspect it. Why question that she’s quiet around a co-worker all of a sudden? They probably had a problem at work, what about her boyfriend? Maybe the love has fizzled… A husband? Money troubles!
There shall always be a reason she could be quiet, subdued.
But those people love her, right? They care for her, right?
She thought that too and that’s the devastation, right there.
How can you ever trust a person again when the person you’ve trusted the most is the one to crush you in the most intimate way…

 

There’s always going to be someone worse off than you but that isn’t a reason to belittle your pain or quiet down your story, you too are a survivor and that’s something to be proud of, not ashamed.

Countdown.

I really don’t know how much longer I can do this.

I used to brush it off, it was just a bad moment, it would pass.
That’s what people must think when they shout in the snow covered mountains… Just a moment of insanity and an avalanche was born, they suffocated.
I’m suffocating now, with forced normality, forced calm.

The world seems to grate a lot harder on me than on others, I used to think I was strong, I’m not anymore.
Like a rock turned to sand over time by the gentle caress of waves, their dancing foam slowly washing away everything that made me, me, just like the rock, I can’t recognize myself in this sand I’ve become.
Made of glass and bone, swept along, unable to be what I was destined to, waking up is painful now, just knowing I have a whole new day ahead of me, I can’t face it.
I’ve alienated all of those around me, been called crazy, a monster, maybe they’re right, I don’t know anymore, I don’t know me.

They tell me I’m hurting them but they don’t want me to leave yet it hurts so much to stay.
Is is more selfish of me to want to leave or of them to want to force me to stay?

I can hardly breathe, I wish I wasn’t anymore. I wish it would just stop, go dark and the pain would turn into numbness, unaware, I’d be free and freedom sounds like the loveliest thing.

The pacive part of me is turning to active, each time there are less reasons to stay, more to go. All I do is hurt people, wouldn’t it be better to hurt them in one go and then them never suffer me again?
Surely it would be preferable to a lifetime of annoyance, leaning my weight on them.
Surely they know nothing when they ask me to stay, why say it’s for them when they earlier said I only hurt them?

Do they only want me to stay to liberate themselves of guilt? The “I could have helped her, I should have…” the “whys” and “what ifs…” for the rest of their lives…?

I’ve began to think that way, each time more and more.

I have so much to give you world but my time is running out, I can feel it.

I feel myself slipping, my hands reaching for the medicine drawer, each time I care less the dosis I take, I only waver thinking of the consecuences if I fail.

How absurd is it that for trying and failing to take your own life you will be sentenced to jail… ? Your body in shreds along with your mind and all they think of is punishing you, instead of trying to give you help long ago needed. The world is fucked up, surely it isn’t just me that feels it, that can’t stand it… I can’t be alone but no matter how much I scream out, it seems to be in vain, for loving ears turn deaf to things they aren’t ready to deal with.

My throat is sore for begging, I don’t want to do this, I want help, I’ve spent years od my short life asking for it, screaming for it, how can nobody listen?

It terrifies me to contemplate the amount of people that have felt this way, lost in the system, ignored by the world for not being like them, silenced by the air that gave them life. All my life I’ve wanted to help them and now I can’t even help myself.

I beg of you, if you really love me, if anyone really cares,
take my hand, take me to a doctor, someone who will listen, I’ll go, I have a story to tell, I need to tell or surely it will kill me.

I won’t fight you, you claim to want me to stay, we’re on the same side, I’m fighting  for this too.

I always thought I could save myself but how can I save myself from…me?

I’m losing a battle that will determine the outcome of a war, don’t let me lose.

Please, somebody hear me.