What you must understand about me is that I am a deeply unhappy person.

It's been a long week and an even longer weekend you guys. Spent most of it sleeping on the cold tiles of my bathroom floor. Can't remember last time I ever felt this sick. And to make matters worse, it's now official, I just cancelled my hotel reservation. I was supposed to get the fuck out of this town for a few days starting next week and now I'm trapped here like a caged animal. There are no words expressing my anger and depression especially when the hotel is still in this country, I wasn't even going to cross the border. I am beyond mad, disappointed and literally just spiraling because I hate this place, utterly hate it, and my only release was leaving it for a few days each year and that's something I haven't been able to do for far too long. There really is nothing more that I could possibly lose this year is there? Can someone give me some idea, time frame, when will the world be normal again? If ever? Because if the reply to that is never then someone please send some arsenic my way because this is not a place or a world I want to live in and this prolonged suffering is pointless.

I went back to re reading a book I love, like I said I just can't commit to new books these days, so I go back to what I know. To what is home. So that's what this is about a book I think is a new modern classic. Or should be anyways. (Spoilers below the pics, consider yourself warned).

I loved John Green before it was ''cool'' to like him, you know with ''The fault in our stars'' which to this day I wonder what just WHAT made John write something so depressing. But then again mostly his books aren't particularly happy. Reading tip? I think my favourite by him is ''Will Grayson, Will Grayson''.

''Turtles all the way down'' is just the same. Not particularly happy I mean. It's basically a story about mental illness (aren't we all right at home there?) and a backdrop of mystery. You know how it goes you got romance, friendship, love and loss. You guys know what turtles all the way down means right? It's an expression of the problem of infinite regress. The saying alludes to the mythological idea of a World Turtle that supports a flat Earth on it's back. 

I usually don't get books with hard covers, not many titles make it here with hard covers, nevermind dust jacket. I just love this design, black, with silver lettering on the spine and the embossed lizard on the front cover. And the ''limited edition'' dust jacket with the significant quotes on the inside is pretty cool too. 

What made me wonder though is the fact that the main person in this book is a teenager named Aza Holmes, all her other problems aside, she's an introvert (aren't we all?), obsessed with bacteria and transmission of disease. Now Aza is fictional, but I wonder just how many of Aza's are out there and how hard this constant brain washing of wash your hands, wear your mask, don't leave your house must be for them. It's driving me insane and I don't have Aza's OCD. 

Wait stop! Didn't John just release a new book? Something about some essays or combined essays or something like that? I remember reading about it. Need to look that up and order it because I don't expect it to show up in bookstores in this third world country. I swear. I fucking swear color tv is a miracle. 

Now back to Aza. I was shocked to read about her OCD and how bad it can be, there was a point where she actually drinks hand disinfectant. (Which reminds me of a brand new bottle sitting on my desk ready to be packed. Oh wait, I aint going nowhere. Ugh). The story centers around Aza and her best friend Daisy who decides to investigate the mystery of a missing billionare Russell Pickett whose son Aza went to camp with years before. As they begin to dig into this weird disappearance, Aza reconnects with said son, Davis. Russell went missing under a cloud of fraud and bribery accusations and a 100 000 dollar reward. I mean honestly, who wouldn't want to ''play this kinda game''?

John once said that this is his most personal book. Researching and diving into the world of mental illness which is a major theme in this book but also he was very descriptive, relatable and quite graphic, the way you can read about Aza's thoughts processing and spiraling is really on point and for those that have experience will know it's very realistic. What I like about that though is that it's not romanticized as so many authors like to do, no kissing scars is not cute. Mental illness is ugly and that's what John captured so well, the bad, the ugly, the bad to worse to better again. A rollercoaster as mental illnesses tend to be. 

There's a brilliant quote in this book;

''I wanted to tell her that I was getting better because that was supposed to be the narrative of illness: It was a hurdle you jumped over or a battle you won. Illness is a story told in the past tense.''

It's true aint it? People rarely say I have cancer or depression, but so many times you can hear ''I had…''. It should be normalised to a point where it's nothing embarrassing to talk about an illness. Especially a mental illness, you don't see cancer patients aplogising like you do those with depression. Honestly nobody wants it. We all want to be normal.

Now this is a fun thing. The embossed lizard is actually something called a Tuatara. I honestly never heard of them before this book but it would appear it's a rare type of a reptile found only in New Zealand, they are supposed to be the only and last survivors of an order of reptiles that lived in the age of the dinosaurs. So to be fair, that's pretty damn badass. Living dinosaurs. Fun fact I actually love lizards, they're too cute, all kinds from tiny ones to those huge Comodo dragons. So why is the lizard on the front cover? Early in the search for the missing money man Aza develops a crush on his son Davis. That was a little predictable to me but not in an annoying kinda way. Davis is an interesting character, someone with excessive privileges, you know obviously money, huge house with a cinema, swimming pool etc but yet troubled with his own problems. I keep saying money doesn't buy you happiness. It buys you concert tickets and shoes which is close enough but that's not real happiness. So money aside Davis is troubled with the loss of his mother and of course his father disappearing, and this is where the lizard comes in, if said father is dead all his fortune will be left to the reptile. Can you imagine that? I keep saying pets ARE family but come on, leaving everything to a lizard and nothing to the only son (or in this case two sons)? That's just cruel.

It's the flow of the book that makes it really good. It's this sorta predictability, you know a billionare goes missing, he has a mansion that might hide a ton of secrets, then there's a murky river, and all kinds of clues that result into nothing. All that together makes it sorta predictable in which way this story goes. But here's the deal sometime in the middle you realise that despite looking like the point of the book is the mystery it's really not. It's about loss and love and friendship really, but above all it's about Aza's mental health. I actually find it refreshing how many books lately are about mental health and the LGBTQ. Cheers. I love it. 

I actually read somewhere, people complaining that is that they can't really relate to John Green's characters because they seem ''too grown up'' and just how stupid is that really? Shouldn't you be happy his characters aren't reduced into dumb kids? Shouldn't you want to read books where teenagers are credited for their inteligence and their problems aren't brushed aside but rather listened to?  Especially when it comes to mental health. I want to scream in frustration when people brush it off ''it's all in your head'' well yes, that's what's the problem with mental illness. It's in your head. Of course we should want to read books in which teenagers especially are taken seriously, their hopes, dreams, worries and fears taken seriously and listened to. Kids should always be listened to. 

I'm not giving away the ending, if you want to know if the billionare is found or not and all the rest of the questions, read the book, what I will tell you though is despite the humor in it, in theory this is a dark book, you don't really get a perfect happy ending that we all want at the end of a sad story. But what you do get is a very surprising ending and upon thinking, the perfect one for such a story. We are so used of those happy stories about someone that overcame an illness but here we don't get that we get, learning to live with it and by that with yourself and I think that's perfect.

Let me end this with another quote that I just love, probably because it's just as depressive as I feel most of the time;

''The problem with happy endings is that they're either not really happy, or not really endings, you know? In real life, some things get better and some things get worse. And then eventually you die.''

True. Maybe that's why I normally only read books with happy endings, because I know in real life they don't exist.

Wild, wild horses, couldn't drag me away.

I'm sitting here listening to one of my Stones records I dug up in one of the boxes, feeling as sad as ever. My heart is heavy. My chest is too tight. Everything hurts. Everything and nothing is wrong. I am homesick for a place that doesn't exist. I'm homesick for people that no longer exist in my life. I am homesick for a place where I'm understood, loved and my heart is full. Sigh. Who knew someday those basic things were going to be too much to ask for?

I keep coming back to ''Wild Horses'' I love that song so much. I actually love this band so much. I know you guys probably don't know, I find it bizarre to fangirl over men that could be my great grandfathers even if I do shriek like a little girl when their music comes on the radio (yes car rides with me usually are VERY fun). I didn't actually get to hear this song live on their show…I feel really really blessed and privileged to be able to see them live at all, and to hear all my other favorites including Angie which is nowhere near as popular to play live as some other hits are. My point here, it's a shame I didn't get to hear Wild Horses live, which I now never will, at least not in the right line up and that hurts my heart, this fucking pandemic took more than a year of touring, and losing Charlie Watts just made it more obvious how much time that is, it's not that I don't have time, it's that most of my favourite musicians don't have the time. 

I guess I love this heaviness, darkness if you will, that hangs in the air throughout the entire song, ''Wild Horses''. Maybe I like the heaviness because it reflects perfectly how I feel on the inside. Maybe I just like the darkness. Who knows. Maybe it's the progression of life of the couple in the song, life used to be simple, hell life used to be good ''Childhood living is easy to do, the things you wanted I bought them for you''. Inseparable love, innocent, happy, transparent, but as time passes and the pain sets in, and they share that too ''I watched you suffer a dull aching pain, now you've decided to show me the same''. Maybe it's the relatability of the lyrics that strike the right cord for me. Or maybe it's just this line ''Faith has been broken, tears must be cried, lets do some living after we die''. I guess we all hope for something better if life as it is is hell. 

People are debating what the ending means when the Wild horses are no longer dragging him away but rather ''we'll ride them someday''. I've been told I'm a cloud of bitterness because to me is saying goodbye to someone, a friend, lover, family, that you'll never see again, while other people see hope. I have no idea how, I keep saying, abandon all hope, it's the hope that keeps on breaking your heart, over and over and fucking over again. 

I don't really know where I'm going with this, I guess I'm just tired beyond being able to sleep it off, cold and sad, trying to distract my mind from spinning out of control which seems to be a gift I posses these days. I suppose I'm also trying to pin point when things spun this far out of control, when did I just stop caring about everything? Why is music no joy? Why am I not even keeping up with my fave shows? Why am I hoarding books and never reading them? Why can't I finish a drawing pass a quick messy sketch? Maybe because I'm a fucking mess. Sigh. 

Have you read the book ''Diary of Anais Nin''? There's a quote in there saying ''I watched life and wanted to be a part of it, but found it painfully difficult''. I think that's how I feel all the time. I think people just don't know how sleepless nights can affect you, not just because it's unhealthy, or how overthinking will literally kill you bit by fucking bit, it turns your mind into thoughts you wish you didn't have, thoughts you wish weren't yours at all. I don't think people really understand anything.

God I saw a grafitti the other day and I can't stop thinking about it ''I no longer have any dreams, you can't kill me''. It's true isn't it? What more can you possibly lose when you no longer have dreams? I know this is unhealthy, storing up all this anger, grief, despair, depression, guilt, sadness, and eventually it spills over or you drown in it. I feel like I'm drowning these days. Life is really painfully difficult. I wish it really was as easy as ''Picking up the pieces''.

Actually, I just remembered what I wanted to share. My iPhone is currently full of what I hope are creative pictures of my newest books. Haven't shared them yet since I didn't get to read anything, but I hope to, soon. I have a thing about my books being new, perfect, no creases, god forbid broken spines on paperbacks, I will literally read a book half closed to avoid those, keep being called psycho for it but I guess I'm just OCD enough to be driven half insane by damaged books. Or when second part is taller than the first. Who does that?! What kinda animal does that? If any publisher is reading this, please for the love of everything holy, DO NOT change sizes of books in a series. 

But all that aside, what I love which is completely opposite of what I just wrote, are second hand books, that were once gifted to someone. I have one of those,''Wuthering Heights'', it had to be gifted to a woman by her lover after he fucked up something real bad. A beautiful message and I can't help but keep on wondering first what he did and second what happened that the book eventually ended up in the book store. What matters though is that this book was also a gift to me and the one who gave it to me, left his own message in the back. It's not my fave story but the book might be my favorite in my collection because of that alone. 

This post is a mess, like my mind, I apologise, it was supposed to be about Charlie but it would appear that these days I'm not so good at goodbyes even if it is ''just'' a musician I love. Charlie Watts was the heart and soul of Rolling stones, I can't imagine how the music world will be like now that he's gone. I can't imagine what the Stones will be like without him. I can't imagine what losing him and losing all of them at some point means for the rock n roll music. I guess in a way like a friend of mine said after Green Day announced that you have to be vaccinated for their concert ''punk is not dead, it's just on a respirator''. 

Enjoy this quick doodle of Charlie that I literally sketched up while waiting in the car, seems like 50% of my life these days is waiting and the other 50 is crying. 

Rest easy Charlie, you'll be missed terribly, the world is just a little bit darker without you here. 

Nothing can be loved or hated unless it's first understood.

Do you know that I've been to Florence and I never saw Michelangelo's David? Safe from a copy that's outside. And do you know that I've been to Milan countless times and I NEVER EVER saw the Last supper? And you know what else? It's fucking killing me. Literally killing me every single damn day. Michelangelo and Da Vinci are (next to Bernini and Botticelli and Tizian and Caravaggio and about two hundred others lol) two of my absolutely favourite artists and though I've seen their work (nearly sobbed over them too lol) I've never seen these two which are only the most important works of art in my book. Except of course Laocoon which to me is the hight of absolute beauty and nothing will ever top that. I had to be literally by force pulled away from it, lol, there I stood rooted at the spot staring at it, examining every single detail, muscle, vein, expression, the terror frozen on their faces, the bodies of the two snakes, the vicious agression in their attack, the fabric looking like it's real fabric, spilling down from the marble, everything is just amazing. As a whole. There is nothing quite as perfect on this planet as is that frozen moment that Laocoon depicts. Not Da Vinci's work or Michelangelos but of course you guys know that. (There's a picture on my insta if you wanna check it out, or punch ''Vatican'' as the side search bar here. You're welcome.)

Some fun facts about senior Da Vinci, beacuse honestly I feel we are very much alike in so many ways. Did y'all know that he was a huge huge animal lover and chose to be a vegetarian? That was really unusual in his time, well I sometimes feel it still is because the way some people look at me sometimes…sigh. Nothing I love more than when I ask for something ''can I get that without meat?'' and people go ''what the hell would you want that for?'' lol. Leo said that his body ''will not be a tomb for living beings'' and would buy animals on the markets so he could set them free. I learned recently that my first desire to not eat animals came when I was like four years old. Of course my parents didn't respect that. Of course. Instead they lied to me that animals don't really die and that it's fine. I was a kid what did I know. Second time I was older, about ten years old and honestly I fought my family for two years before they caved and let me eat what I wanted. Partly because I was apparently ''annoying'' and they wanted to stop the arguments and partly because they assumed ''oh it's a whim she'll get over it''. And look at me about seventeen years later. Still here. Still not eating dead bodies. This is a personal opinion btw, before I get attacked again, I don't care what other people do. This was my choice and I can't stand being bitched at for it. You eat what you want and I eat what I want and there's that, show some mutual respect. Please, because if I have to hear the ''teeth argument'' again I will fucking scream.

Did you also know that Da Vinci was struggling with the perfectionists disease? Like me. I drive myself mad if my drawing is not exactly as I want them to be. Which in turn means that I drive myself crazy A LOT. When painting the Last supper, Leonardo realised that the ceiling was too low on the painting and should the apostoles stand their heads would bump the ceiling. So, while the other artists the ''help'', thought that's no big deal because at the end of the day, the painting is frozen, the apostoles can't stand, it drove Leonardo crazy, he said he'd never sleep, he said he could never un-see it. And I am the same. It drives me crazy. I can't get things like that out of my mind. At all. I end up ripping up a lot of sketches just like Leonardo ended up repainting the ceiling and making it higher. 

A chronic procrastinator. Sigh. Yes. That is literally me. And the fact that his reason for that was too many interests, which pulled him away from his art…well that's me too. Or used to be back when life was normal, always some music to listen to, always a new book to get lost in, always some new things to discover. Always something to learn, and in turn my art, which ironically I love above all else suffers. Sometimes I just like him just have trouble to focus on one thing, or just trouble focusing at all. 

Leo faced a tough time after his wealthy father died and he basically fought over his inheritance with his siblings. Sigh. Haven't I been there before. Family. The one that blood ties you to is is the worst. 

You know what's the one thing on a portrait I feel I can never get right? The lips. And you know what else? It is said that he spent ten years, TEN! Just to paint Mona Lisa's lips. Holy hell! And then I complain over erasing parts of drawings twenty times over. Remind me to shut up next time I say a smile or someone's lips don't look right.

Completely unrelated but did you know that his painting ''Salvator Mundi'' was sold for 450 million dollars and is the highest paid work of arts in history? I mean that…shit that is a lot of money. Makes sense it's one of THE Da Vinci's works, there are probably less than 20 paintings that exist today, I mean procrastinator and all…but still that is such a high number it makes my head spin. 

So Leonardo was a great musician, he loved music and for a while he was actually best known as a musician. I think I don't need to elaborate on that more right? Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I'd focus on a musical career and actually put music before traditional art. I mean I was never that drawn to it, loved it but not really wanted to do it…I don't know, I guess I'm spinning in circles and I always come to that one true love. Traditional art.

I was on this exhibition in Rome in 2019? I think. Don't hold me to it, my whole concept of time has been thrown out the window. But that's besides the point anyways, the point is that I always found Da Vinci amazing, as an artist, as an inventor, as a man way beyond his time. A genius. I wish I was more like him in things that matter rather then just the superficial likness but then again even just slight similarities to a genius are pretty cool. As was the exhibition, it was mostly his inventions and some you really couldn't believe. Such an amazing mind. Shit I wish I could attend more of these. More in general. More as in being able to go see them. Sigh.  Dying for those magic words ''ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking…'' and all that coming from me, who is deathly afraid of flying. My grandfather, a war pilot, is probably turning in the grave each time I say I'm afraid of flying.

And why am I rambling in the first place? (That whole have no concert write ups to talk about aside) The entire time I'm sitting here marveling at surreal beauty of these ancient pieces of art. The delicate way someone's facial expresion is carved or painted, the way their muscles are exactly right, nothing even a bit out of proportion, the way David's veins flow up his arm…the entire time I'm thinking about such perfection…there's only one face in my mind. Btw I did try to sketch these famous works of art before, I could never get it right, I lack the genius to do that, but that aside, the face that is always on my mind when studying perfection, is nothing short of perfect. The perfect golden ratio, eyes with lashes so perfect, lips full and with a curve Venus herself had to paint. A smile that would make Michelangelo's David blush. The jaw line, sharp to cut wood with, and makes you wanna run your fingers along those sharp lines. His face makes me feel like a blind man dying to ''read'' every curve, every line, every slight imperfection that make him more human. He makes me feel like dying in the desert and he's the first drop of rain. He makes me feel like there is magic out there, perfection, beauty, don't give up you'll find it. You know that feeling? I hope you do, or that you will. Everyone deserves that feeling at least once in their life. Truth is we need to learn how to love more, love each other, love ourselves, love life and love itself, love music, art, poetry, because lets face that is the only real beauty in this fucked up world. Art and love are the only things giving it meaning, but you know I get it, it's easy to hate, but so damn difficult to love.

Now if you'll excuse me, the pouring rain is making me really, REALLY miserable, the fact that this summer might actually end up being the worst summer in my life isn't making things better, so there's a few blank sheets of paper on my desk and brand new, super sharp pencils, fun fact, nothing makes me quite as turned on as sharp, perfect, new pencils…so I'll be sketching the perfect face etched in my brain, who knows, maybe I show you a sketch or two….

Cheers. Happy Monday.

If this is to end in fire, then we shall all burn together.

Day 588 on the hostile alien planet. Running out of these short updates. Maybe just (insert one of Dante's Inferno quotes here). And maybe also, this is dark because it's an outlet, when nobody listens and nobody understands, you need something to let your frustrations out. I guess. I can't say that screaming into the internet void helps but you know...

We could start with the quote ''there is no greater sorrow then to recall our times of joy in wretchedness''. Fun fact, I've read the book ''a couple'' of times, once actually in Italian. I don't know what it is lately but it seems like starting a new story takes a commitment I'm not ready to take, so piles of new books are laying around my room (in just about every corner), completely untouched. I keep coming back to what I know, what I love, what I feel at home in. Maybe that's my real issue, longing for that feeling of home even in the most mundane things. I never truly felt at home anywhere, save from his arms, he'd wrap them around me and that was home, and you know, the world around us could burn to ashes or crumble to pieces and I'd not care one little bit. I suppose that's what love is supposed to be like huh? 

Maybe it's the fact that the ''home'' I know is not home at all. The people that should be ''home'' don't feel like it at all. Maybe it's the constant arguments, the putting down, the calling of names, stupid, worthless, failure, nothing, idiot, you're not superior, you're stupid, you got nowhere in life, you'll always be nothing, you'll die alone, you're an idiot, you're a terrible human being, your face repells people, you're not that smart, you're nothing, nothing, nothing. Always nothing, always worthless, always stupid. A waste of space.

I keep saying things are getting worse and worse and worse. They are. At this point though, I think I've reached the rock bottom. Only way forward now is literally down. In one of Dante's nine circles of hell. Maybe one by one or given the fact that they all represent sin and punishment for those that deserve it by commiting said sins, it may just be a drop all the way down. To be honest I don't think anything would change, upper and lower hell? I think I've been living in the upper part all my life. I don't know how to move on, I don't know how to make it better, I don't know how to make myself better. I don't know how to draw, I don't know how to concentrate and read, I don't know how to enjoy the things I loved, what little I have left anyway. You shouldn't have to force yourself to do your hobbies, to do your favourite things, like I shouldn't have to argue with myself ''get up and do it it's fun''. 

I don't know how to do things that are expected of me, things I should be doing, things a ''normal'' person does. I never been normal to start with but normal in a ''normal state of life progression'' I guess? I don't even know. I don't know how to comminucate with people, I don't know how to talk, I don't know how to be like other people. I feel like an alien. All I keep listening to on a daily basis is that it's me, I'm the problem, my mind, my attitude, my clothes, my face even is a problem. I guess it must be true, else more people would be like me, but since I'm all alone in my ways, it's clear that I'm the problem not them. It's not the world that's sick, I am. My way of seeing the society, that is nothing like what is considered ''normal''. I guess it is me that's sick. My way of not understanding people's priorities, not understanding mass hysteria over sports that I couldn't care less about, not understanding the way reality tv mesmerises crowds. I don't know. And I get told to submit to learn to like these things to fit in or I'll be a loner all my life. ''No person is an island''. Well maybe I'm an anomaly, maybe I am that mythical island. Please someone call David Attenboough and report a new species found.

And I feel betrayed with people closest to me and their ''life choices'', betrayed by what they do, how they chose to live their lives that automatically excludes something different, even if by their choice or mine. I don't hold that against them mind you, at all, simply expressing how I feel about it. Might be irrational but honestly, you can't really control how you feel. To be honest though, I don't want to be around people that are different, that think different no more either. There was a time when they challenged me and it was a good and healthy thing to exchange opinions and learn and feed off each others energy and now? Now I just want the world to disappear. I want me to disappear. It's not a world I want to live in no more, it hasn't been in a while but now it really isn't. 

And honestly maybe it is true that life just isn't for everyone. When you can't be productive, at least a little bit happy or even really alive, barely surviving never really living, what kinda life is that? I am stuck in limbo, can't sleep at night and tired all day, with progressingly worse headaches that never give me a moment of peace. And funny thing there are moments of clarity in between, short brief moments, things I'm probably imagining, ''fatamorgana'' type thing. A psychosis maybe. Moments of complete madness.  And it's all him. Always him. The blue eyes that haunt me. 

I got another tattoo the other day, a name. Which is ridiculous since I said I am never getting a name tattooed and much less a mans name. Look at me, David Garretts name is tattooed on my ass and involved in so many incidents I can't count. One would imagine that a tattoo in a private place should remain private. Yes. I should be so lucky. The funny part is that it was a ''drunken mistake'' about 13 years ago but I learned to love it to a point when it's actually my fave tattoo, not becuse of the name, or David himself (lord bless that beautiful unicorn of a man) but because of all the memories tied to it. Some literally are my favourite memories in my entire life. Anyways back to the point, I got another name tattooed, intentionally on one of the most painful parts of the body (you may google those, you get a pretty little map of a human body with color charts where it hurts) because I wanted it to hurt. I wanted it to hurt bad, because it's not just physical pain it's emotional pain that's tied to it. And in a way it was cathartic, tears that were pouring down my face while the tattoo was made may be aimed at the pain of the needle but it felt like another type of pain was leaving my body too. It won't ever leave, each time I'll see the tattoo I'll feel a little jab of pain. It will always hurt, maybe that's why I needed the reminder in the first place, maybe I need it to hurt all the time. Maybe I deserve pain, maybe it's one of those circles of hell, punishment for being the way I am, hurting me in ways I didn't even know I can be hurt in. The worst kinda pain, the one so sharp and so sudden you never see coming and yet it hurts like nothing ever hurt before. Losing someone you love, someone you loved, someone you maybe have yet to love, that is hell. Specially when it's obvious from the get go how few of those people there are in a persons life. So many fakes, so many liars but so few geniune people. 

It's not just what the inked name represents, it's everything that I no longer have, a future. Future that could be happy or not, the problem is that I'll never get to find out. I'll never know what it could be like. I know we all have such doubts and such…what ifs but what do you do when at some point these fucked up life choices are the only thing you do know? 

I'm running in circles to be honest, my actions and the way my brain is hardwired clearly deserves punishment, clearly I deserve pain but being unable to change…that just means I'll spin in this vicious cycle forever and I wonder what for. Endless life of unhappiness. Why? For what purpose. For what benefit? What is that good for? Life at the end of the day is so fragile and it can be ended so easily. We're all hanging in the balance and that balance can be torn in a heartbeat. I experienced that too many times. And maybe the worst part is that I am completely alone in the circle of hell. No family and no friends I could talk to about such things. No friends that would take the time to listen. No friends that would bother because they just don't see things the same way. Maybe that's what hurts most too, being dismissive, not really caring. I always assumed that you take the time for those you care about / love. Everything else are excuses because a few minutes of focused time to talk to someone you care for shouldn't be an issue. Which brings us to the conclussion of being completely alone. People see the glitter but they don't see the dirt underneath, they think how great my life is, they think how happy I am because they see the glitter, they see what I want them to see and they see what they want to se…but they never see the misery underneath. They're attracted to the spotlight like moths, but they don't see what happens behind that spotlight, they don't see what's it like when the spotlight is turned off and the stage falls into darkness so deep it feels like it will never lift again. A veil. A veil of darkness where no light can come trough. 

And it brings us back to him. Always him. My friend would joke, he'd say that I see blond hair, blue eyes, tattoos and a pretty smile and I get a little stupid. Hah. And him, the one? Fits this to the last detail. Eyes you get lost in, and a smile that radiates light. Literal pure white light. Have you read Lord of the rings?  In Fellowship of the ring Haldir has what I think it may just be most meaningful thing in the entire series. He talks about the importance of finding light and love in a world that's full of grief. He says that ''after all, sometimes it all seems hopeless and yet, hope is the most important thing we have''. That's what his smile reminds me of, love, light and hope. 

So here we are again, it's always him. The one who understood, loved, cared, was always there, made me feel loved, made me feel cared for, made me feel like I matter and am enough. Something nobody else ever did or does now. Maybe something I struggled with all my life and still do, being enough. I never was for anyone, and I never will be for anyone. A disappointment at best and failure at worst. But to him. The one that made me feel unconditional love with just one look or a soft, kind, gentle touch. We really were like darkness and light, fire and ice. I was dark and broody and fiery and temparamental and he was cool blue light. Nothing alike but yet so perfect for each other because we perfectly balanced each other out in every single aspect of our lives. 

Theres a moment when all these hateful thoughts got to me, all the negative comments, about my hair, about my face, about my makeup, clothes I chose to wear, people I chose to hang out with, the way my brain works, the things I believe, the things I think, feel…people always have an opinion…all of that got to me bad, all I could do was sit and sob and let it consume me, let it eat me alive, feel the raw emotion. I probably shouldn't but…well…and it's the way he made it better ''amore, I can't even begin to understand who put these poisonous thoughts in your head and why, beauty is only skin deep, I always thought you're the most beautiful girl I ever saw but loving someone is not in their appearance alone, I'll always love you for you, for your inteligence, and compassion and your mind and the way you love me, unconditionally, what more could I want?'' what more indeed? Why is it that we always want more? Why is it that we never feel good enough, pretty enough, just enough enough. Why is nothing ever enough, why do we always want more? I agree you should never settle, you should always keep moving forward, you should always want to reach for more, want more, you should always remain curious, but not in a toxic kinda way. In a healthy kinda way, I don't know why we can't learn how to do that. I don't know why the fuck can't we just be nicer to each other, why can't we just understand and accept how much better all our lives would be if we would as Harry Styles says ''treat people with kindness''.

Honestly, the not being enough part aside, I keep seeing the same three events that led up to this in my head, they feel like a cheap horror movie, a production made purely to drive you crazy, to take that tiny bit of sanity you may have left. May have. I honestly think I lost it months ago. It's been a tough year. It's been a tough ten years, it's been a tough life. You know how it is. These events are swirling in my head at midnight all the time. As the darkness approaches and I lie awake across my bed each night, drowning in the hell that is my head, no wind outside to distract my raging thoughts, no creacking in the house to focus my panic on something else, a ghost, a serial killer coming to finally put me out of my misery, a cat looking for a midnight snack, idk something. The raging heartbeat keeps raging, skin crawling and mind a nightmare, haunted by fears so dark it would make darkness run scared and pathetic, all those guilty secrets, consequences of emotions impossible to pin point, emotions that spiraled out of control, rage, revenge, obsession, love, lust, passion, hate. In such moments it's actually Hemingways words ringing in my ears and mind ''a smart man is rarely happy''. Was I ever happy? With him. Will I ever be happy again? Most likely no.

''Amore della mia vita''. I keep wondering if things would have ended different if I had done just one thing my heart was begging me to do, just one thing without telling myself to stop, to just stop being a scared stupid bitch and fight for what I want just once. Fight for love not fight out of hate. Would it be different if I just spoke up? If I was as honest with him as I am here? Spilling my feelings like spilled ink on canvas? Fuck I love him. That's the truth. And why is it so easy to drop bodies in revenge but it's impossible to grow a pair of balls and speak up, tell the truth?

And while we're talking about the truth, I can't tell him…but I can ramble some more over here, paper and screen can handle anything right? Truth is, he told me once what his favourite book is, I didn't know it, but I bought it, read it once, twice and then again, just looking for pieces of him inside. Things he relates to, parts that made him smile, parts that made him feel the same heartache I felt when going through those lines. I was looking for things I love about him on those pages, and I read it again and again now, feeling like my heart was slowly twisted and crushed, the missing becoming unbearable. 

And the truth is I fell even more in love with you when you told me that you understand why I'm scared to let people close, that I'm scared they'll do more damage and that I'm scared that they'll see the damage inside, I fell more in love with you when you told me, that you know I don't need to be saved, that I just need someone to find me, appreciate me and never let go. It's true. But how stupid of me to think I deserve that. Isn't it?

And the truth is I fell in love with you more because of the way we talked. Our conversations were never one sided, one or two worded, never superficial how are yous but deep, meaningful, we shared our deepest fears, darkest secrets, passions, love, lust and our souls with each other. Maybe we shared too much, maybe we left each with a part of each other. A part we'll never get back. At least how I feel. That you hold a part of me that I won't get back. It makes sense. I know I'll never be whole again. 

And the truth is that I sit here at night staring at the sky missing you like crazy, wondering if you're looking at the same sky at the same moment, missing me at least a little, or what it is that you think about when someone mentions my name, when you see something that reminds you of me…? If anything does that is...Truth is I fall to pieces each time I see a yellow lab, a red Ferarri, Bernini's Apollo and Daphne, or Johnny Depps perfume commercial. 

And the truth is I wonder if you're as scared of the future as I am. I wonder if you're insecure, lost, not sure how to go on. Maybe not. Maybe you were my whole world, while I was just a footnote in yours. Or maybe a page, not even a whole chapter. 

And I wonder what happens when that one song comes up on the radio, do you think nothing of it or do you like me, park the car and fall to pieces with the memories swirling in your head. I wonder if you think back of that night till you can't breathe. I wonder if you remember the lights, the glitter, the emotion,…fuck now I'm crying again. I knew I won't make it through this post as a whole but that song. That song feels like a dagger each time, I only think about it and it plays in my head and it's enough. Enough to make me go crazy. Enough to make me want to rip open my chest and throw out my heart just so it stops feeling. 

And the truth is that I never felt love like I did when you told me that you understand fully that I don't need anyone and let alone a partner to make my life complete, which is true, I am perfectly fine on my own, I would be perfectly fine if I never met you, I would be prefectly fucking fine. I'm falling apart because of the damage you left. Like a hurricane, tore through me and left me a mess. It's true a strong woman doesn't need a partner but how perfect it is to have someone who kisses all your wounds and doesn't see them as flaws and mistakes but rather cracks to put their love into? 

I don't even know how is it that 40% of this post is now about a specific person, it wasn't supposed to be, it's just where my mind wanders to, maybe because he never left my mind. Maybe because there's pieces of him in everything I do, everywhere I go, everything I dream about.

I guess the point was that I just wanna come to a point where I heal, heal in a way that doesn't mean that damage never existed but heal in a way it no longer controls my life. Heal…idk as much to maybe make plans, long term ones, when I see the future anything but dark and black, and a void. When I can imagine some sorta happiness…or if not happiness at least progress. Or just, I don't even really know. Heal in a way where I can enjoy the little things again. Where I can just enjoy life, step outside and appreciate the warm sun, the clear blue skies and the smell of fresh cut grass. Where I'm not annoyed by mundane things like rattling of the cuttlery in a drawer, screaming kids, slamming doors. Where a shower isn't a place I go to cry to, but rather a shower. Where while driving I end up enjoying the ride with a good song on not constantly thinking about how easy it could be to drive of a cliff. And I'm not talking about him, the boy with blue eyes, he only added to it, all the rest…it's not his doing. I was messed up long before he showed up. It's just the life he showed me that crumbled to dust that's hurting like hell on top of the usual hell I've known my entire life.

My friend would say though, it's not the love that hurt you, it's a person who didn't really love you because love doesn't feel like this. He was right. I hope. I can't ask him what he thinks no more, unless I talk to a medium. But really, I don't think I know true love. I can't say I really felt it growing up. I can't say I learned how to love where it should begin. At home. I actually…can't remember being told I was loved. Ever. I took that as normal all my life, but really…it's not. Unless of course if I wasn't loved. Then it makes sense. Actually so much makes sense. It makes sense when all these thoughts show up as cuts and bleed the pain away. Or a scruffs when I beat the boxing bag bloody, or as bruises when I let the frustrations out on a training mat. People don't understand it. And good for them. I never want anyone to understand it really. It's a whole different level of hell. When you feel nothing and are dying to feel something, anything. Even if pain. But to be honest even that feels too numbing these days. 

And on top of all this, the world is crazy too. Completely utterly crazy, maybe being stuck here with no possible way to get away is what is killing me too, I need to get away for a little bit, I need to breathe different air, I need to get lost in Italy, my favourite spots and those I don't know yet, or in Vienna, the busy Mariahilfer street, or maybe somewhere completely new because there's nothing more exciting then explore the world, I need a long weekend at the sea side, I need galleries and museums, I need art and passion, I need love and laughter. I need to be lost in things I love instead of being lost in things I hate. I just need to be free. I need to be free. 

What do you do when the pain is too much? When it's choking and strangling you? When there's no release? What can you even do? I don't want to be broken no more. I don't want to be sad. I don't want to be lost. I don't want to be lonely. Alone. Afraid. Actually come to think of it, I don't want to ''be'' no more. 

I know you're reading, the blond, blue eyed monster, who I can't stop loving no matter what happens, the sky may fall down and here I am, shedding blood and tears over the keyboard…I'm sorry, I wish I was healed before I met you, so you could meet the best version of me and maybe then you could love me like I love you. 

''Otkako nisi, više kraj mene, ja dušo sanjam, divlje slonove, u glavi imam, kratke spojeve, da je bar tebi, isto kao, kao što je meni, kao ja da poludiš, jednom kad se zaljubiš. Da mi je negdje, južno, južnije, da upoznam dušo, voodoo vračeve, da me nauče, tajne crne magije, pa da je tebi isto kao, kao što je meni.''