Cactus & Balloon.

Have you ever felt ripped into two?

Literally, your body burning as if the skin were being torn.
I am both cactus and balloon.
I am both scared and brave.
I am both suicidal and full of life.
I am strong but weak.
Dizzy but standing strong.

I am terrified of loving but brave enough to run into a dog fight to save my dog from any harm, god forbid a single hair on his body is hurt and my fury shall be unleashed.
I want to live but that voice in my head whispering that death is my only option is a lot louder than that silence where laughter once lived.
I am strong enough to fight that voice but the tablets that help me are grinding me down, daily breaking my edges and crumbling me with every pain, every side effect weighing me down.
I stand but I’m not sure how, my world is spinning, like a child on a merry go round, there is no way to stop it, the faces blurring, my stomach clenching, holding on to the little food I give to my body…

I am both cactus and balloon…
I crave his arms but push them away, I crave to be their loved one, part of a family yet these thorns keep them away… Keep me away.
I try to cut them but I’m too weak to finish the job, they are too strong… I cut enough to be hugged but then I turn my back for a second and I’ve cut them, I feel the blood dripping from my barbs…
I am a cactus and happiness is a balloon, I am surrounded by balloons, doomed forever to watch from a distance and not touch for fear of exploding them.

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A Love Letter With No Destination.

Somebody once said that if an artist fell in love with you, you could never die…
So applying this rule… If I loved myself… Would I become immortal?

Dear stranger, 
I feel no right to call you any other way, as that is what we are now… Correct? We are strangers, just born on the same day, at the same time… By the same mother… With the same reflection, yet I do not recognise you anymore, I sometimes ask you who you are but I see the tears welling up in your eyes, I can see you can’t get the words out without choking and it hurts me, so I look away and hope to know the answer one day.

I feel the cool floor as she moves from room to room, her feet splaying like those of a duck as she tries not to slip, the water still running down her body and pooling around each step. She stops as she passes the mirror. Her eyes scanning her body without a smile.
“Smile fool, smile!” I chant in my head, “Just look at you, you are a woman, with the body of one.”
She ran her hands through her messy hair, past her face, over her hips, coming to land on her stomach, her swollen womb, about to bleed, a curse for not bearing a child, a curse upon all women but still she looks at it in disgust, in shame.
Unlike me, that sees a woman, being what she is meant to be in all its glory. I see a body that is doing its best in the condition it’s in, fighting from the inside, shedding painfully, swollen, sore; as if a decorator had come to scrape the wallpaper off and start a fresh, ‘baby pink’ he’d call it, opening his arms wide and smiling at the vision he saw in his mind, behind the wallpaper, the blood seeping from those walls…
But on the outside all she saw was a stomach too bloated to fit into her favourite clothes, a stomach to hide, a body to feel ashamed of.
Ashamed of being a woman.

Her eyes, now grey, unfocused and slightly puffy from yet another day of numb depression, slid away from the mirror, her hand dropping by her side, leaving a trailmark of nails, as if she wished to do the same on the outside as what was happening inside.
I wished to hold her hand, to smile at her and have her smile back but her mind didn’t want to listen. She closed her eyes as she turned away from the mirror, not wishing to see the sideview of herself when she should be admiring herself.

Is this what we’ve become? Shadows of ourselves?

She pulled an oversize tee over her curves, curves that had been worshipped by others, and even herself on good days, but there were few and far between.

Her skin, soft and the colour of a weak cup of tea, a description that made a smile creep to the corner of our lips, past the barriers of worlds she had created, there were cracks and I would find them all until I could shatter it.
She had hips like race curve tracks that she saw as a problem as she found many that had crashed on them and the guilt made her cover herself. I could hear her, telling herself she was nothing… So many more things that actually bring me physical pain to say outloud or written for those attacks weren’t only on her, they were at me too…

She sat infront of the laptop, her fingers wizzing over the keyboard, writing my words but she looked away, she looked past them, listened to the piano playing, the birds singing, anything to avoid me.

Hey.
HEY YOU.

The girl with the freckle on her lip and the badly done tattoo on her wrist. Yeah, YOU.
You are beautiful.
You have eyes that freaking change colour! You have lips that although small, are the perfect shape to draw and curve into the most contagious smile.
Your button nose is centered between those rosy cheeks and highlighting your face are your expressive eyebrows that always remind you of your brother, for the string trick he used to do to make you laugh.
It’s okay to miss him, you know? It’s okay to wish things were different and that they were closer to you. But stop expecting that from them. Just because you want a frog to be a unicorn doesn’t mean it’s going to happen. But that’s okay too.
You’re doing okay, look at you.
You fight off depression every day, anxiety? Meh, you can fight him off too! And any other problem that comes in here and tries to make you fall.
You’re not alone either.
You have friends who care, even when you don’t talk in months, even if you sort of dislike them sometimes because they can be obnoxious or they you because you’re being irritable, those people? They are your friends and those people can be your family.
They have seen the worse in you and the best and they are still here, they still let you be you, even steal their glasses design so now you’re twinsies, haha!

And love?
You’ve been loved by some amazing people. Some not so, but they have all tought you something, haven’t they?
It’s okay to miss them too, or maybe just the feeling, but you can, just don’t drown yourself in it. Glance back and then do what you’ve gotta do, which is keep going.

Now, let’s go to bed, our ass has a doctors appointment in the morning and it’s past two am.

We can talk more tomorrow, we have a lot to catch up on, I have a lot to show you.
Sweet dreams.

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.

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.

Welcome to The Runaway Cafe.

30minutes.
Day two.

 

She sat on the couch, quietly gripping her coffee mug.
She heard a noise, or was it the silence that was deafening her? Making a drop of water seem like a thunder clap, the solitude was suffocating, yet she was the one that had cancelled all her plans… Again. Outside the sun was shining, too bright for her blue eyes and sad soul. No-one would believe it was nearly November.

She lived five minutes from the beach, a beautiful white beach that stretched for kilometers… She craved the feeling of sand beneath her feet, between her toes, her hair crazy in the wind, waves washing away her shadows…
But… That meant going out.
Out there.
Her soul sank with the realisation of what that meant, and she hadn’t even touched the water yet.

She could do it.
Biting her lip she took a deep breathe and unfolded her legs from under her. They trembled slightly as she got up, her head spinning. It’s hard to believe how something so simple can be so hard.

She peeled off her t-shirt and strolled to the shower, letting the cool water cascade down her body, at that moment everything seemed better than it was, always a waterbaby, it was her favourite place in the house.

She sighed and reached for her towel. You can do this! She thought to herself, pushing herself to the wardrobe to search for something to wear.
Finally after searching she found what she was looking for. The biggest t-shirt she had. Pulling it over her head she reached for her shorts and stopped.
No… She was fine… Wasn’t she..?
Her heart started beating like that of a hummingbird, her body suddenly jumpy and sweating… She could hardly swallow for the ball in her chest.
Her head pounding she slid to the floor, taking deep breaths, she could do this today. She wanted to go to the beach, so why why why did she feel this way? Why did this always happen?!
Tears sprung to her eyes, once again her body was giving in against her minds tricks.

She couldn’t find the strength to make her legs work.
The room that five minutes ago was filled with a beautiful afternoon light, a breeze running through the house, suddenly felt menacing. It started to close in around her. The light taunted her, the breeze had gone. The light was no longer beautiful but burning, scorching her pale skin, she could feel her skin screaming for mercy, her heart beating faster… Faster. The comfortable tee she had pulled on was strangling her, restricting her breathing… Too hot… It’s too hot. She could hardly breathe, her eyes swimming in and out of focus…
The soft material was scratching at her, pain striking all over like needles, she gasped and tried fruitlessly to release herself from her material prison…
And in a flash the fury arrived, like a lightning bolt through her body, the control of her limbs lost to her, her knuckles struck wood and bruised instantly, the pain only making her angrier.
-You’re WEAK, this was STUPID. YOU ARE STUPID! What a stupid idea! The beach? Yeah, right. Why would anyone want you there? They’d just stare at such a weirdo. Her mind snarled at her, the flow of insults spinning around her head.
Yanking the tee over her head she made herself into a ball in a dark corner, hating everybody she could hear in the street. How dare they pass by here laughing? Taunting her suffering?

And just like that the anger dissapated. Gone before she could control it, control herself… And in its place was the darkness it fed off… Her insides a hollow, cold, echoey place where the black dog that had her soul lived.

She reached for the door to help herself up but couldn’t even raise her hand anymore…
And so she gave in, the tears rolling down her coloured cheeks, her eyes grey, the blue bled out. What was the point in trying? She wondered how long it would be until she would see herself again, until he let her go, and for how long this time..? Surely this couldn’t last forever… Could it?

They say after the darkest hour comes dawn…

So there she sat, hugging her knees to her chest, in the corner of her beautiful room, waiting for her sunrise.