11 ноември, 2018

without me

So ... Ever since my first tattoo I've had a very different understanding about people and the memories related to them than most people. I keep so many things related to so many people that remind me of so many memories. In boxes in the closet or under the bed. And it means the world to me to have such things. Not so much because of the people, but because of me. The me that was there and then and that lived through all that, good or bad. When I say I miss those times, it's not my feelings for those people yet again burning and me wanting to get back to said people. It's me being grateful to have had those people and moments, it's me being grateful that I got through that. Because every box means people who are no longer part of my life. And it means that at some point they were a bit part of it. Seeing those things means it was real at some point. And as hard as it may have been, I survived that loss and am the person I am because of those people. 
Think of it, one word, one person getting into your life changes it forever. And then leads you to other people. I mean, a simple misunderstanding brought me yet again to that bar where I met the love of my life. How can I ever be mad or be missing anyone I've ever had feelings before that?! I miss the friendships. Because I am never just with people, I value them. I learn from them and appreciate all the lessons they teach me, sometimes with their presence and sometimes with their absence. 
Today I spent half the day rereading and throwing away so much words. It felt like throwing parts of me. And as I did so, I realized that even if I don't keep the things, the words will always be a part of me. Those truths that have made me who I am will always be present one way or another. 
I have made peace with my past long time ago. I don't hate people for what they've done. I don't mind talking to them every now and then. I don't regret any of it. It's just life. And life is messy, as am I. But again, if it wasn't for all those shitty things happening, I wouldn't have been there. And that "there" made all the difference. I've pictured my life thousand different ways and it never felt quite this right, you know. 
I kept saying before that I miss the me who was brave. I realize now that I still am. Being in this is the scariest thing that has happened to me. It's not scary for what it is but for all the scary stuff I've lived through. I must have learnt to be careful with myself finally. Not that I am all that much considering the lack of sleep. 
I miss writing and feeling this way. Like everything matters and is real. I remember writing things down because they felt so not real. As if they'd disappear and I'd realize they never happened. I still have those moments even now. I had them the first couple of weeks when we kept talking till it was morning. And then I'd sleepwalk through my day until it was time to talk again. That was some seven or eight months ago. 
I think I owed it to myself to finally write some stuff down again. I feel more like me when I do so. The funny thing is, throwing things away won't make things any less real. It won't erase the past. It won't make it any less confusing and it won't make me any less of who I am now. At least I hope so. 
And while I am on the topic, I wonder if those people have ever spent this much time thinking about why we are no longer friends or something. Am I that reason for someone to be a better person and not screw things up? Am I "the one that got away"? This is what actually fascinates me about people - the things you can never know about them unless they tell you. And even then it might not be the entire truth. Then again, if I had the chance to change anything, go back and do things differently - I would not. One simple change and things would have been so different. I would have been so different. I like who I am now. I like who I've become. And one change could have been the reason why we never met. Which would have been a tragedy I'd never know about. 

24 септември, 2018

high and low

Congrats for being the girl who for her car finally and is kinda too scared to drive it! It's not that I actively disapprove of the way things are right now. Not at all! I learned a lot of things the hard way by fighting for them and I am grateful for that. But every now and then I do wonder what it would have been like if my town actually felt like my town. Like I actually had memories there besides going to school and out like 5 times in my 18 years of living there. Like ... What it would have been if all my stories didn't start with "that one time" or with "here is where someone lives". My memories from back then are so few that sometimes it feels like I wasn't really living while being there with some few exceptions. 
So... I started going out when I no longer felt the need to. When I was used to being on my own. Irony at play here. Then I got my car, when I was too comfortable using the public transport and well, being a coward obviously. And all this time I just wanted a damn apology like "sorry we screwed this one up for you, how do we make it right?". Because back then I had fire and I wanted to drive anywhere. It was my way out. It was everything I ever wanted. Now... Well, I already don't have enough faith in me that I can do it, thanks to past memories of "not having enough time" to teach me or simply letting me learn in a small town rather than here. And I do want this but I need another me to be there for me and to understand when I say "this is too much", and to make it all feel not like yet another test I'm going to fail but like something I was born to do. Which... well is never going to happen. 
And on top of that ridiculous thing that seems to be torturing me yet again, I'm supposed to be at that age where I have started to build a career and to have even the faintest idea where I want to be, what I want to do. Which I don't. 
I actually miss just sitting and watching some old TV series and reordering something in my otherwise always messy room. Or having a lazy Sunday with no alarms. Lately there's a bit too much pressure to prove myself at work and then discussing the other project till late after midnight and I wouldn't mind usually but I need time in order to feel comfortable with all my responsibilities and time to not think about them at all. And time to figure stuff out. Did I say time? Oh, yes, sleep too. 
I think my room being a mess is a poetic spin of the fact that I am also a mess. Not that I like it but... Admitting defeat seems like a good way to go at this point. I don't have it in me to fight for stuff and to prove people wrong. What's another thing to cry about and give up on, right? And there goes the phrase "it's not other people's fault that you are the way you are", but ... it is. "No man is an island entire of itself".