You leave me dry

The moist heat of your town hits me like a sledgehammer as I’m stepping off the aircraft and I can’t really relate to it all being real yet. The pattern on the floor is green and harbours a whole forest of branches and weird figures, and in many ways that pattern describes my own mixed feelings as well. My anxiety, my longing, my hopes and the way I’ve been living for so long now. I can feel time stopping, and it’s like I’m the only one moving at a normal pace. Balloons of different colours for someone returning home, children waiting for their mum or perhaps their dad are all moving in slow motion. There’s a light in the crowd down stairs though, I can see it from afar. It’s coming against me and some seconds later I’m feeling a warmth I’ve been missing against my skin like a sunburn.

 

Your lips taste of poison

I’m doing it again, running in circles and returning to bad habits I’ve kept myself from for weeks now. Well, starving has been there all the time but I’ve stayed off that bathroom floor at least. But there’s always something or someone there to make you stumble and fall back into that place where you think you belong. For me that place is a prison where I’m not good enough for him, for myself or for anyone.

 

Amarte es todo

I wonder when those people will realise they’re wrong. They think they’ve got it all figured out and this is something that will pass with the proper treatment or actually lack of treatment. No tests they’re running are showing anything; and all I want to do is yell back at them to run the right tests instead. But I can’t and I won’t, because they’re not interested. They’re only interested in body parts they can fix, and my mind isn’t included. My mind is for other people to fix, but I’m still waiting for that letter of relief to show up. Still nothing.

 

Amame por las calles perdidas de mi vida

I’m surprisingly calm at the moment. I know I shouldn’t be, I should be shredding curtains, smashing porcelain against walls and yelling my lungs out, but I’m not. Maybe it is because deep down I knew it, I don’t know. The thought of it before used to put me in a state of complete apathy and numbness but I’ve swallowed that this time. It must be because you told me straight and not to other people for me to hear from them. Another year. These 7 months went by quickly, even though everything I said and did was tinted by your smile and my longing.

 

A song inside my head, a demon in my bed

Upside down. It’s the only way I can describe it. I’m in Spain and I think most things I’ve been sure of have brutally been turned around or turned into nothing. I’m not sure of anything anymore; not other people, not myself. I feel two-faced, and I’m fooling myself over and over; I thought I could go down here with class and just keep up every little wall around me I’ve got that I treasure so much, but I can’t. My face, my mask, fell flat to the ground and I’m avoiding everyone, and I even think everyone is avoiding me. Them, him, Spain, the world. Cliffs aren’t high enough, buildings aren’t high enough. My flat is never high enough to be sure falling would be a certain death. I’m trapped. In Spain, in my head.

 

Leftovers of the night

I haven’t been writing lately because my head is spinning from all kinds of things happening lately, way back and right now. I’ll have to admit that I’m lost and that I don’t know where I’m going from here. Everything lacks a purpose, everything lacks meaning and reason. It’s like I’m just floating along waiting for something to burst for good so I can just give up. Giving up. In many ways I’m already there. I’m tired of standing up, I’m tired of fighting something that just won’t go away; I’m tired of this never-ending battle that’s just lining up round after round. I’m out of breath.

 

Empty room, empty heart

Love is a strange thing. It fills you up completely, but at the same time nothing can make you feel more empty. I actually stole that quote from myself, stated in another entry on this blog page. It rings more and more true for each day, for each day that passes by without you here and even though I’m insanely happy about our shared feelings, it brings me down as well. Seems I can never be happy enough right? Seems I can never be satisfied, there’s always a dark cloud or two in my blue sky. I still can’t say I’ve forgotten about the whole idea of letting go, whenever I’m not talking to you or replying your txts, it still feels like the most clever thing to do. The truth is that it seems faith has something else planned out for us, no matter how we puzzle with this between us, it won’t end up the way we want. At least not for another few years. We’re bound to be apart; it seems like destiny.

 

Wrap my heart around that

Like always when I’ve made up a plan about what to do with things, he comes around to strike me down and make me take back everything. I txted him late last night saying I wanted to talk something through, and I was going to tell him I was done with this, because I simply can’t cope with it with the rest of my life being as messed up as it is. Taking the easy, or not so easy way out, to gain some air to breathe for a while before I dive with my head first into what I hope will sort myself out. Rehabilitation, therapy and everything coming along with that. I was going to cut myself loose to be able to focus on something else but longing myself crazy for someone as far away as he is. He’s not just any opponent though, he’s the only one who’s able to pick me up, put the pieces together and fix me. Temporarily or for good, who knows.

 

With or without you

I’m thinking about giving it up. It’s adding too much tension to my life, too many things I can’t cope with; like being apart, like longing for someone not here, like fighting silent wars for no use. It’s getting more obvious for each day, the fact that I can’t handle it, and that I’m clinging onto something even more fragile than myself. It’s an impossible equation, it’s something already bound to break before it even started and it’s complicating my life in a way I’m not sure I can handle anymore.

 

Long way home

Fuck it, I ate too much again and the anxiety is throwing itself over me like a starved tiger, clawing my back until it’s bleeding red in the darkness in my bathroom. It’s got to go but I’m afraid of doing it, of giving in, because it’s something I never had the guts to do before. It’s like if I give up and surrender to this feeling I’ll never be able to stop it again. I close my eyes and I stick my whole hand down my throat but nothing is happening besides my guts are twisting from cramps. I keep trying but it’s useless. It’s got to go, now, and my head is spinning with ideas and ways to let it go. After thinking for a bit I head out to the kitchen and I find a bottle of vodka in the fridge. I guess this will have to do.