Today

By Clara

[claralipuma]

12.18.18

My mom always told me I lived with my head in the clouds, that I was constantly imagining and dreaming of an alternate reality, and though I knew that was true, I never saw it as a problem. Instead I perceived it as another differential trait of mine; simply put, I thought it made me special. At one point or another, the line between that dream reality and the present moment got blurred for me, not in the sense that I was pretending to live a life that was not real but rather that I lost my perception of reality. I became so distant to it that nothing affected me anymore. I went from crying over the smallest inconveniences to being completely unaffected by the biggest disasters that I faced. Even now I find it hard to write with feeling.

I stopped living, as cliché as it sounds. I stopped doing things that made me feel alive; I stopped writing, I stopped listening to music. I became a person that struggled to connect with others simply because I didn’t have anything to share with them.

It comes down to this: I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what I want. Actually, that’s not true. I know what I want, I just don’t know if I don’t work towards it out of fear of failing or rather because subconsciously, I know that what I think will make me happy won’t make me feel truly content.

 I don’t want to live anymore; not in the suicidal way (though maybe there is a hint of chronic depression in there but we’ll ignore it). I’m just struggling to find purpose in anything/everything I do. I need consolation. I need to feel that all this effort of going to sleep and waking up the next day just to fight not cry when I feel myself dying on the inside is worth something. I need to feel that being so fucking far away from the people that make me feel the most loved will help me grow and that it will make me come out stronger in the end. I need someone to give me a fucking hug and tell me that I’m doing well. Because if I’m being completely honest, I’m dead inside.

[claralipuma]

#106

​I don't think I can express how much I hate him.

I hate his name.

I hate his smile.

I hate his eyes.

I hate how his cheeks pop up slightly when he laughs.

I hate how he slouches a little.

I hate how I always feel like hugging him when he's around me.

I hate how he cared for two weeks, and that convinced me that I could potentially fall for him.

Must mostly, I hate that I don't hate him.

I hate that after everything,

after his lying,

his deceit,

I still wake up in the morning wishing I was with him.

I hate how I constantly have phrases he said to me running through my mind,

promises and plans he made for us,

and it angers me that I can't shake them off.

Why can't I let go of this?

Why am I so attached to someone who doesn't 

and will never be able to reciprocate those feelings towards me?

Why have I allowed myself to dig myself so deeply into this hole

and why did you let me keep digging when you knew you were going to leave?

I hate you for that.

[claralipuma]

so unbothered it bothers me

[claralipuma]

s.k. ii

I started thinking about it again. I was driving yesterday morning; my mom had asked me to go buy some groceries. ‘Onions, bread, and cheese. Onions, bread, and cheese’ I repeated in my head as I started the car. I drove past the gate and stopped at the light. This was a different car than the one I normally drive and I had forgotten to bring an aux cord, so I listened to music through the earbuds on my phone.

I kept driving, not worrying about the speed or acknowledging the white lines that marked the lanes on the pavement. I turned left. I couldn’t feel anything. I turned right. Cars began to drive next to me and passed me by, making me realize the pressure I was putting on the accelerator was not enough to dissimulate my lack of awareness. The light turned red. I watched the cars coming from perpendicular directions pass, some making turns and changing their directions. I resisted it. That urge inside of me to lift my foot from the break; that instinct to just let go and roll forwards into the inevitable. The light turned green. Another hundred meters and I once more waited to turn left. The rate of the oncoming traffic wasn’t diminishing. The thought rose to my head once more. What if I just let go? What is I just let the car turn on its own? Either I make it or I don’t but really, does it even matter?

I parked the car. I sat there, the headphones had fallen out of my ears the only music that could be heard were distant static beats. I missed him. I forced myself to push every thought away. Any feeling of loneliness and abandonment would be ignored. All impulses to scream and cry would be suppressed. I numbed everything so I didn’t feel anything at all.

That’s the thing about acknowledgement; it’s powerful. Me accepting that I miss him causes me so much pain. Thinking about him makes every single muscle in my body weak, I can’t walk and even laying feels uncomfortable. I know the reality though, that’s why I choose not to feel anything. I know I need him more than he could ever need me. I know that I have put him on a pedestal and he now consumes my every thought. I know that he will never experience the heart wrenching pain I feel when I see his pictures when he sees mine. I know I love him way more than he could ever comprehend. So, evidently, it makes no logical sense for me to dwell on it.

 But holy shit I feel like I’m dying.

[claralipuma]

Yesterday

Was it just yesterday

When I felt your lips on mine

When you were holding my hand

I remember

Was it just yesterday

When you looked at me like that

When the sky was turning dark

Last December

Was it just yesterday

Yesterday

 I can still feel your smell

On the sweater that I wore

The letters that you failed to send

Are still scattered on the floor

 I keep wondering if after all this time you’re still dreaming of me

Or am I just a memory of what we used to be

Can I hold your hand at night

Can I go back in time and make you mine

[claralipuma]

s.k.

You made me nervous. Every conversation we had, I was always worried about the phrases I used, whether my accent would be noticeable when I said specific words or if the ideas that sounded intellectual in my head were just straight bullshit when I said them out loud.

I don’t want to make excuses but I developed a sort of wall. When I allowed myself to be free in front of him, when I showed my vulnerability, my insecurities and my passions, he took them for granted and showed no appreciation for them. It made me worry if anyone ever would. So, I convinced myself I wasn’t special. I didn’t have much to offer and from that moment on, I kept all my most intimate thoughts and feelings in my head. You didn’t though. You threw those words around so easily it made me anxious. It was “I love you” every time you said goodbye, and at random points in a conversation. I questioned whether you knew what those words meant, and if they had any value to you.

I always felt like I tricked you into liking me. I still believe that you never had a genuine interest in me and that you simply went along with the situation because it was convenient. That’s why I was always so push and pull, because I never felt that you had the overwhelmingly consuming feelings I did. I went months suppressing the attraction I had towards you. I naively hoped you had mirrored me in that sense, but that was not the case. I don’t know if your treatment was a method to infiltrate my mind in order for you to be able to manipulate me or if it came from a genuine place, but that uncertainty always scared me. That’s why I always rejected it, because I was scared it all part of some overly elaborate joke.

I pushed you again. This time I didn’t pull, but neither did you. Instead you turned around and left. I don’t want this to come off the wrong way but, all I know is that, when I was fifteen, my mind was somewhere else. If I had a boy like you approach me at that age, then my self-esteem would’ve sky rocketed. Not because I had any genuine feelings towards him, but because what he represented. I would have accepted any boy who was older, smart, funny, passionate, well-mannered, like you at that age for no other reason other than the pride that he instilled in me. I don’t mean to claim that she feels the same, I’m sure she is a lovely girl, but in reality, she’s just a kid.

Part of me is praying that you’re doing it on purpose. That you stand around her knowing that I’ll walk by just to spite me. That you’ll post your little inside jokes just so I can see them. I hope that every time you hold her hand you’re thinking of me and that it kills you that it’s not me simply because the mere thought of you not thinking about me at all is breaking me from the inside out. I hope your goal is to make me as jealous as you possibly can so that I understand how you felt. I get it, I fucked up. I’m a horrible person for it, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’d do anything to be next to you right now.

You don’t even answer my texts anymore. It’s gotten to the point where I’m scared to talk to you out of fear that you’ll laugh in my face. I can’t walk into that classroom without thinking about you and feeling a stabbing pain in my chest. My best friend is worried about me because she says every time she’s called me recently I’ve been crying. I know you tried your hardest to erase me from your life, but I can’t do that. I can’t forget the smell of your shirt, or all the nerdy tangents you’d go off on. I can’t forget how nervous you made me and how my brain was always working at hyper speed when I was with you. I’m sorry I can’t erase you and I’m sorry I don’t want to.

I’m sorry I was too quiet. I’m sorry for being distant, for not responding and making you feel like it was on purpose when in reality I was just dealing with my own shit. I’m sorry for not asking for help when I needed it. I’m sorry for not telling you that I loved you when I realized and I’m sorry for realizing it too late. I’m sorry for making you lose sleep because I didn’t want to hang up the phone and for making you question my intentions. I’m sorry I was so hard to love and I’m sorry I was cold towards you whenever I felt cold on the inside. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.

[claralipuma]

Fourteen

Hi. We haven’t talked in a while. To be honest, I was fine at first. I didn’t really think much of it and I felt like I was getting a breath of fresh air I’d been longing for. Then, I started drowning again.

 I don’t think I can pin point the exact moment when that feeling first appeared. Maybe it increasingly got worse, or maybe it emerged overnight. One day I was fine, laughing and smiling around school, living with my head in the clouds like I always have and the next I wasn’t. No one questioned the return of my suddenly bubbly personality, yet at the same time, no one asked why I went home every day. I presume the amateur acting techniques I learned at film camp were finally put to good use. I think my overconfidence was also due to the fact that I didn’t see you all week. It was more of a euphoric state of denial, if I had to label it.

I think it was Friday. You were wearing all black like always. I don’t think the thought was anywhere in your subconscious but I always said I liked you best when you wore all black. It accentuated the darkness of your hair and the intensity of your eyes. Then again, maybe I never said that out loud to you. Maybe I always kept it locked in the back of my mind among the thousands of other things I failed to tell you. Somehow seeing you standing surrounded by your friends made me want to throw up. Not out of disgust, of course, simply as a reaction to an overwhelming feeling that erupted in my stomach. You had the same glasses you always do on, the ones that are so dark that never reveal the true focus of your eyes. I wanted to believe that you were looking at me, even if it was for just a second. I wanted to believe that seeing me made you want to cry too, but I was well aware it was not a reciprocated reaction.

 I sat in her car for what felt like an eternity, going on and on about this convoluted feeling that controlled me. Everyone in the parking lot was gone, they had all continued with their day, driving home or to lunch or to wherever their responsibilities beckoned them. I remember feeling like I couldn’t breathe. Like no matter how hard I tried there didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in that space for me to alleviate my lungs from the suffering they were enduring. My whole body felt weak, the numbness in my legs spread to tips of my fingers and suddenly I was back to being that detached and emotionless fourteen-year-old girl I so much despised.

 It’s been a month now, and I still feel fourteen.

[claralipuma]

Just thoughts...

I’ve realized that I wanted this to become a place that could somehow represent what’s in my head. I want people to be able to look at this blog and figure out who I am and what I’m thinking. I’ll be honest, I’m not an easy person to figure out. I am constantly changing the person people see me as and I like that about myself. I’m never the same person to anyone. I think there’s a beauty in that, but with these constant alterations that I make to myself, whether it be a new belief or a new side of myself I didn’t know existed, I’m forming into an individual and figuring out how I fit into this world. So, in this series I intend to somehow follow that journey of exploring who I am and who I become. I want to document even the smallest things, like the really cool restaurant I discovered with my best friend, or the time I smoked for the first time. I want to write about moments in my life that I feel shape me, all the fights and arguments, all the kisses and hugs. The idea is that this will serve as a major archive of my life and hopefully, the day I change someone’s life, my story will be relevant too. 

[claralipuma]

#104

​I’d always felt safe around him. I had never felt the need to distance myself, to take a minute to assess the situation and see if I was comfortable with was about to happen. It wasn’t until last Wednesday that I panicked. I drove my car from school to his house, following the path of orange trees and passing by the enormous bags of leaves left at every corner to be picked up and taken to recycle. The same radio I always listen to was on, filling my car with the sounds of mellow R&B artists singing about love and heartbreak. I parked my car in my usual spot, right next to the mailbox I knew was overflowing with unopened letters and overdue bills and walked up to the door opening it without ringing the bell because I knew he would’ve just yelled that it was open and had me let myself in either way. It started as it usually did, us laying on his bed watching another show he could assure me was the greatest thing he’d ever seen even though he’d said that about the last four ones we’d watched. In most days, it would slowly escalate. It started with him caressing my arm, to stroking my back, and then sliding his had under my shirt to unclasp by bra. Then our heads would turn and our lips would meet, moving harshly against each other. His shirt along with mine were quickly removed and our pants followed the rest of the clothing thrown on the floor. His hands would slide down to my hips where he would eagerly slip my panties off as I slipped my hand into the inside of his boxers, making him groan. It was a simple routine that was never broken. The same way people have breakfast before they leave for work, it was just ordinary and it made sense.

But this time was different. This time, he stopped me before I could wrap my mouth around him. This time he grabbed my hands and looked at me in the eyes before he kissed me. The way his lips moved against mine, gently pushing off each time, making me feel as if I needed my lips to touch his in order to be able to breath. Suddenly everything was in slow motion, him rolling back until he was laying on his back with me sitting comfortably on top of him. The way his hands roamed my body in a way no one else had before. I felt exposed and defenseless yet, at the same time, like nothing in the world could hurt me. I suddenly lifted myself up enough to be able to look into his eyes.

"Your eyes changed again" he said.

[claralipuma]

#103

​Stop telling people that love is easy. Stop saying that you shouldn't fight for someone's attention. Quit talking about how everyone deserves to be treated like royalty and about how knowing your worth means leaving when someone's done you wrong. Some of us don't know how to love. Some of us have been broken so much we don't know how to treat you right. Some of us don't know how to give you attention because we're not used to having to share that with anyone other than ourselves. And knowing your worth doesn't mean giving up on something because things go wrong; it means loving yourself enough to know what is worth fighting for and what just can't be salvaged. Love isn't fucking easy. It's not butterflies and rainbows. Love starts as a feeling but it's ultimately a choice you make to continuously care for and be there for someone else. So stop feeding people this crap about how relationships should be easy, they're not.!

[claralipuma]

#102

​The world can always be divided into two. There's the dreamers and the realists; the artists and the businessmen, the bored and the amused, the old versus the youth. There's the ones who hate the rain and would much prefer to spend their time underneath the sun, whilst I lie within the slight fraction of those who constantly yearn to feel cold droplets fall on our foreheads and see the sky infinitely filled with dark clouds that are always a different shade of gray. On days like these I ironically usually find myself outside. Somehow, there is always an appointment to get to, an errand to run, a book to return, a missing ingredient to get for my chocolate chip cookies that, though I've been making for years, seem to come out differently each time. It's on those cold rainy days, as I slowly make my way home, that I find myself thinking of him.Because I remember how much he loved the smell of wet grass and always said that the flowers were smiling when it rained. 

Because I picture him running around jumping into puddles, knowing too well that the woman who always walked her poodle in the park was judging him and wondering how a man his age could act like such a child. It's with those memories in mind that I walk up to the roof of the high school that we first met in. Sitting on the ledge with my legs hanging over the letters that spelled out the name of the school, I think about those little moments, when he slipped jokes scribbled onto post-it notes into my locker; when he would ask me to watch guard while he smoked in the back of the teachers' parking lot.

And thinking of him makes my body feel cold every time. Almost as if I needed to be cold in order to remember him. The goosebumps on my arms and legs and the uncomfortable sporadic shivers my body produces should be warning enough to make me retreat inside, but I sit on the ledge allowing the already heavy storm to pour down on me. And sitting there, i attempt to light a cigarette in order to feel his scent again, but the wind and the rain blow out the flame each time. It's after I've attempted to light an entire pack that i see him, sitting next to me, joking about how smoking kills lives and for what is probably three minutes, he's not gone. He's still there with me until my last cigarette finishes, and then it's just me and the rain again.

[claralipuma]

#101

​So, I don't know how to say this in a way that doesn't sound like I'm obsessed but, I keep missing you. I'm not really the type to get attached to people so easily and it's weird to say it out loud but I think at some point I just got used to the sound of your voice. Mornings when I woke up tangled up in your arms just became routine the same way you making my tea in the morning did. The idea of coming to you when I wasn't feeling my best and having you hug me and tickle me and fill my ears with goofy comments that you know were guaranteed to make me laugh; that's become a memory now.

I wake up everyday now surprised as to why I'm wrapped up in blankets instead of you. My tea is always cold in the morning now. On days when I'm down I'm forced to turn on the TV and fake my laughter in order to fill the silence.

I think that's the worst part. It's always quiet without you now. I didn't think it'd hit me that hard but it did. All of a sudden there's no background music, no silly jokes being told, and your voice, fuck, it's not there anymore. I don't get to fall asleep to it or wake up to it. It all happened to quickly I didn't realize how much comfort I got from just hearing you say my name.