Hybris.

I am... relapsing. Falling back into the same patterns. Lying once again, trapped in the same vortex of obsessive thoughts, somewhere dark, some place dyed in anxiety colors. Yellow. Orange. Black. Too bright to look at, blinding me from seeing the truth, the logic, the Health.

Some place where there are only flaws. You are disgusting. You are weak. You don't deserve joy. You could do so much better. You are wasting your time, your energy, your potential. You must be punished. You didn't earn basic survival, so just... don't eat, don't sleep, don't rest.

This place is so cold, my bones hurt, even though they are not sticking out as much as they used to. I'm cold, alone and I'm not trust worty. I've deceived and dissapointed everyone I cared about, in their words. Liar. Bad sister, bad daughter. Lacking empathy and consideration, because I'm barely human. Who are you to make people you love worry? Why are you so dumb? You should be beyond this.

Life is heavy and I'm wearing off. Fading. Wildy told me once you only fall down to come back stronger, but just like Sisyphus and the boulder, I'm too tired to keep on pushing forward. I can't see the top of this steep mountain anymore, if I ever did. But there I go again, hubristic if anything, willing to defeat destiny itself... Stubborn? Stupid? Proud?

Black holes and Revelations

Creo que una parte de mí aún esperaba un milagro. Las expectativas son, ciertamente, malas; y el "todo saldrá bien" no siempre es tal.

Aún después de haber llegado hasta aquí, vacío el asiento a mi lado en el avión, creo que una absurda parte de mí tenía esperanza de que ocurriera un raro y loco milagro a lo Hollywood, con carreras por el aeropuerto y grandes gestos imposibles. ¡Ay! Qué mal educadas estamos las mujeres...

No one.

Still I feel sad, though.

The problem it's not being alone itself - that I don't have any issues with. I'm extremely independent and believe in my own skills on everything. I mean..., if I made it to rent a place or get an insurance in Japan, what makes people around me believe I can not spend a few days in the United Kingdom (whose language I actually speak) by myself?

No, loneliness is indeed not what makes me sad. I guess part of it it's just the effort I've input onto this trip-gift; I never imagined it would end up like this. If only I could have guessed...

Part of it relies in the fact that I've fantasized too much about it. I always fall into the same mistakes all over - all these past months, every time I had a fight with Dani, every time a rude customer crossed me, every time I got called out by my boss or a coworker, every single time I controlled and denied my feelings for Helio, I mentally caressed the idea of going away with my boyfriend, as he is also my safe space. I leaned on to sharing some time just the two of us, away from work, away from the move, away from family. I fed an idealized image of us chatting, eating together, walking around, laughing, taking pictures, creating memories, having sex and cuddling to sleep every night.

Also, for the fist time ever, I felt that I had no one. No friend or mate to come over. But it's worse knowing that I deserve this, I made it myself through my depressiond and subsequent isolation.

I did not allow myself a single tear on this, not a single sob came from me at any point of the last... two, three weeks? But today I'm just breaking apart. Today's just one of those rough, bad days; as nothing's appealing anymore. Not this trip, not my job, nor moving out, nor my masters, nor my future.

The words I should have never swallowed.

When did I start measuring my words, my tone and expressions?

I crated this space from scratch, using the perishing leftovers of an old blog, born in 2009 from my notes on a dream diary. I created this account to be my safe space, to watch me grow through the years.

Maybe giving some people access to my most intimate feelings was not such a good idea, as their feelings started meaning more than mine. Maybe I should refrain from sharing certain things.

All I know is that I'm a volcano of feelings, and my outbreaks are vile and violent. Part of getting more mature implies letting the lava run beneath the surface, changing the engines of my functioning system; but we all need to be able to just dive into the outburst of our emotions sometimes.

Perhaps it's a good thing that I get to travel on my own for once. This could be a good chance to be alone with my thoughts and get a fresh start from all the stress of these last few months.

Love

Nos hacen creer que hacer el amor se reduce a follar despacio y besarnos mucho, pero los que lo hemos hecho alguna vez sabemos que el amor solo se hace unas pocas veces en la vida, pero todas y cada una de ellas te marcarán por dentro con una huella indeleble, indestructible.

A hacer el amor se empieza no desnudando el cuerpo, sino el alma. Quitando las capas del pudor, de la vergüenza, despellejando cada una de las protecciones adicionales de las que pudiéramos disponer por la propia salvaguarda y dejando los sentimientos en carne viva. A hacer el amor se empieza con vulnerabilidad, con miedo, con inocencia, con un "te quiero" ardiendo en la lengua, abrazando la posibilidad de que el rechazo o el abandono merezcan la pena por unos sentimientos tan bonitos. El amor se hace también en la confianza, la imperfección, el cabello enredado, los ronquidos y la babita de la siesta, en pretender que el otro te ame con todos esos detalles que no te gustan y te hacen humano; se hace en los esfuerzos por ponerse guapo para el otro, en sonrojarse ante la expectación, en vestirse bien mientras uno desea ser desnudado.

Por eso, mi vida, podemos hacer el amor cada día y a cada momento, solo con dedicarle un pensamiento preñado de cariño y de ilusión al otro. Podemos amarnos con locura cuando nos damos un beso casto en los labios, acariciándonos los rostros, y también cuando destrozamos los somieres con tirones de pelo, azotes, lubricante y encaje fino. Podemos querernos hasta que duela, podemos odiar cada centímetro que haya entre nosotros. Podemos sentirnos conectados, y no solo físicamente, y estaremos haciendo el amor.

Perdóname, mi amor, si así pierde significado, si lo convierto en algo banal de tan reincidente. Perdóname si me gusta hacer el amor contigo a todas horas, porque contigo es extraordinariamente especial, porque siempre te llevo dentro y no solo cuando tu carne se clava en la mía. Perdóname si te he mentido diciéndote que no era virgen cuando nos conocimos, pero es que yo no sabía que nunca había hecho el amor antes. Perdóname si quiero desnudar el cuerpo y el alma para ti el resto de los días, las tardes y las noches que me quedan de vida.