space and time; @halfhumancreaturething - Tumblr Blog

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todo el mundo me dice que el tiempo va a curar esto. que en unos meses voy a mirar para atrás y ya no me va a doler la panza de solo pensar en tu nombre. ¿que hago mientras el tiempo pasa? ¿que hago con todos los recuerdos, con todas las palabras, con todas las fotos? ¿como hago como vos, para que no me duela, para poder seguir con mi vida, para poder levantarme de la cama y comer más que un pedazo de pan?

¿te importe en algún momento en estos últimos meses? ¿tuviste alguna duda cuando estabas destruyendo todo o arrasaste con nuestra vida entera sin ningún tipo de reparo?

¿pensaste en mí? ¿en como me iba a sentir, en como sabias que me iba a doler? y si lo hiciste, ¿aún así elegiste destruir todo? ¿cuando la mirabas a los ojos, cuando hacias como que yo no existía, no te acordabas de que te estaba esperando en la cama para ir a dormir juntos?

no se como lidiar con saber que nada de esto te importó

#mine

17/10 . 2:00hs

nunca pensé que vos ibas a formar parte de las personas sobre las que vengo a escribir acá. mi cerebro no termina de entender bien todavía. mi corazón un poco más y por eso me duele a ratos desde hace ya un par de semanas. en esta chiquita y escondida parte del internet solo vengo a escupir las cosas feas, las cosas que me hacen doler la panza, el odio y el rencor y el resentimiento que me hacen pesar los pies y no me dejan seguir adelante. vos ya has aparecido acá, pero nunca de ese lado. eras el pequeño destello de luz que se empezaba a asomar entre mis pensamientos más oscuros. y nunca pensé que ibas a formar parte de lo otro, de lo oscuro, lo desagradable, las cosas que más me lastiman.

y me lastimaste como no me habían lastimado en años.

desde que te conocí siempre fuiste la excepción a lo mucho que me cuesta (o que me costaba, ya no tanto, ya soy otra) conectar y confiar en la gente. nos entendíamos tan bien, me cuidabas tanto, te interesaste tanto por mí, hasta por momentos parecía que era lo más importante a tus ojos. por eso no dude mucho en entregarme completamente, en cuerpo, alma, mente, corazón y cualquier otra cosa que tenía para darte. y lo hice, por casi 5 años. me robaste las últimas dos semanas, y tuviste un timing de mierda. pero amarte y dejar que me ames fue lo más fácil que hice en mis 23 años de vida. yo veía a la gente, a mis amigos, a los tuyos, teniendo problemas para encontrar algo así. y los dos sabíamos que lo que teníamos no era común hoy en día. de casualidad nos chocamos y encontramos algo tan lindo, algo tan puro y tan sano. nunca dude de cuidarlo y supongo que en algún punto vos tampoco, hasta que decidiste dejar de hacerlo.

no logro encontrar el momento y seguro me muera con la duda. ¿lo sabias para mi cumpleaños? siento un poco que sí, sino no te hubieras ido en la mitad de la noche a ver a tu amigo con quien ya habías festejado la noche anterior, no me hubieras dejado con un beso en la mitad de mi fiesta y sin chance a discutirte, a decirte que no me gustaba que te estés yendo así. se que lo sabías en junio, leí lo que le escribiste a ella, y me sorprende la forma en que no te cuesta nada mentirme a la cara sobre eso. y en como seguiste haciendo a escondidas la única cosa por la que casi cortamos.

seguro lo sabias la vez que volviste lleno de brillitos por toda la cara y me dijiste que nomas te habían saludado.

claramente lo supiste el último mes, donde me dejaste 30 días en la oscuridad misma, sin darme ni un poco de seguridad, sabiendo que la estaba pasando mal, pero no era tan importante alivianar mi dolor como lo era salir y chamullarte a la minita de turno que sabías que te podías coger si estuvieras soltero. fue mas importante tu ego y tu diversión que tener el más mínimo de cuidado con la persona que tuviste al lado los últimos 5 años.

me da asco pensar en como te dio la cara para venir a meterte a la cama conmigo después de venir en pedo de chamullarte a una minita en la joda, como te dio la cara para besarme, para abrazarme y para cogerme sabiendo que ya no me querías, que ya no te importaba, que ya no te interesaba tenerte en mi vida y solo lo estabas alargando porque sos un cagón y un cobarde de mierda que no tiene el valor de afrontarse a las consecuencias de sus decisiones. como mierda te dio la cara para asegurarme que me calme, que estaba todo bien, que íbamos a estar bien. me decías eso mientras te reías con tus amigos sobre como ya me tenias superada, como ya me ibas a poder descartar para poder seguir con tu vida como si los últimos 5 años no hubiesen sido nada.

me das asco y me das lastima. me da asco ver la persona en la que te convertiste. terminaste siendo un chabón más de esos de los que te reías, de los que sentías que no tenían nada más en la vida para hacer que distraerse con joda y plata. terminaste siendo un irresponsable, un insensible, un forro, cualquier cosa menos la persona de la que me enamore. y encima tenes el tupe de pedirme que quede todo bien, que tenemos un vínculo muy lindo y que no había que arruinar eso. quiero quemar cualquier puente que te de la posibilidad de acercarte de vuelta, quiero tenerte lo más lejos posible para no arriesgarme a que me vuelvas a lastimar. no quiero que este todo bien porque no lo esta, dejó de estarlo cuando deje de importarte y decidiste cagarte en todo lo que habíamos construido.

no voy a estar acá cuando te des cuenta del error que cometiste.

#mine

these teenage hands will never touch yours again

i am beggining to believe this cycle will never come to an end. like clockwork, every summer, every start of a new year, you come back to haunt me. let it be in my dreams (which are becoming annoyingly recurrent), let it be just a thought that passes by late afternoon. let it be a memory, something you once said to me, the ghost of the things you made me feel when you used to touch my leg when you thought no one else could see us (or didnt care and still did it, i swear i can still feel the warmth seeping through the fabric of my blue sweatpants. all year long your hands would never go cold). or let it be something more solid. like you checking up on me when you think i dont notice, or me doing the same stupid fucking thing hoping you wont see me either. because if there’s something that you always were and consequently taught me to be was silent (close the door, turn off the light, only when its 3am and there’s not a soul around to witness the things you say to me, the things you do to me). and when you do is it just morbid curiosity or do you really care what the years have brought upon me? do you come around every six months because you want to see how im doing, or to check if i have gotten worse, if im still the person you were embarassed to be seen with. i cant help but wonder if you think about me the same way i think about you (not intently, not a lot and not wanting to dwell on it. of course i wouldnt expect to mean so much to you after all this time). but if maybe my name runs through your mind every now and again and you too wonder what has been of me.

i like to blame the summer because i know its the only time of the year when we are not 1300 kilometers away but in the same small city, and the chances of running into you sky rocket. to think that we havent crossed each other paths in what? four years? seems kind of absurd. you know this isnt that big of a city after all. but then again i tend to avoid your part of town around these months. because if i ever do see you in the street i know it will make this whole thing worse and honestly the amount of time and thought that i give you is already more than enough (and has always been more than what you deserve, anyways).

i was listening to one of my favorite albums today in the car, and i hate that still to this day, some lyrics make me think of you. its fucking stupid because it bears no weight nowadays but i know four years ago i would have cried myself to sleep listening to these songs with your name on my tongue and my mind. is it always going to be this way? like a curse that i cannot get rid of no matter how hard i try, will i be thirty years old and still wondering what was of you, still wondering if you think of me the same way i think about you? i hope not, but the years pass by and my stupid fucking brain still hasnt found the way to completely erase you from my memory.

#mine

(it hurts to think that they can still go on)

will it be like this for the rest of my life? will the darkness, the emptiness, the monster that resides in the back of my brain, always come back around claiming what belongs to it? it doesn’t belong to it. it reclaims it either way. it always does.

I once said, I don’t really remember how I felt back in high school. I said, it’s difficult for me to imagine living like that, the way I used to. for three years. day after day after day. I don’t remember what it was like, what it felt like. I know how I felt because I’ve written so much about it, it was enough for it to burn itself a special place in my mind. I know I felt like I was dead, even if I was still breathing and blood was still running through my veins. I know I felt like I was invisible, like I was disposable, like I had a hole in the middle of my fucking chest and one day I was going to wake up to find out that the hole had finally swallowed me, too.

I know I felt like I wasn’t good enough. never good enough. never enough.

not pretty enough.

not sociable enough.

not strong enough.

not intelligent enough.

not skinny enough.

never enough. no matter how much I fought and tried and screamed and tore my skin and killed myself to be at least, a little bit, the tiniest bit, enough. I wasn’t. and it killed me.

until it didn’t anymore. until I was enough. pretty enough, sociable enough, skinny enough, quiet enough, not confrontational enough, intelligent enough. and they loved it. they ate it all up. all of them. and they loved me. and they rewarded me. and it was good.

until it wasn’t anymore because the monster came back. it always does. but I mentioned that already, didn’t I?

and then I fought some more, like I always do. because I don’t ever give up. even if I’ve been close to, I never actually did. because for some fucking reason I always feel like I have to keep moving forward. no matter how many horrible things get thrown my way. you don’t give up. you don’t get to give up. you didn’t when you had your chance to- sixteen, alone in your room and wondering what the fuck you could write in your suicide letter so your mother wouldn’t blame herself, so your friends know that they couldn’t have avoided it, that you are alone and terrified and completely exhausted and you haven’t got a single fighting bone left in your body, and you don’t know how you’re going to do it yet, you are still thinking about it, the less messy way, you don’t want to be a bigger burden dead than the one you were alive-, and that chance passed and now you don’t get to even think about it anymore.

and so I did. I fought. I evicted one of the monsters. or I least I thought I did. I realized, later, it’d been more like putting it in a little box and throwing the lock on, and hoping it would never find the key again. but it turns out, with one monster out the other one, the forgotten one, the one I had thought I had left back in high school, slowly creeped its way back in, silently but surely. and now my afraid it’s made itself comfortable in my brain again. reclaiming its throne.

is that why the feeling of not being good enough is back again? or is it the other way around?

I don’t know anymore. but I’m scared.

and it turns out, there’s other old friends who are back as well.

I’m terrified and I don’t- I CAN’T- talk about this with anyone. because they will worry or they will look at me like everyone did when I was fifteen, because what the fuck is an almost 22-year-old adult doing, thinking about hurting herself again. about scratching skin until it bleeds, until it marks, until the pain makes itself present on the inside of my wrists again. it’s not like I actually considered it. it’s not that. it’s more like an impulse, like a really stupid fucking idiotic impulse that pops up every once again but I can’t- and I absolutely won’t- talk about it. because they wouldn’t understand. they would judge me. they would think I’m overreacting. they make jokes about it. they don’t think I’m that bad again, bad enough to do that, they would think I’m lying, making it all up.

I’m scared. I’m tired. and I’m wondering if the façade is even worth keeping up if this is the way it’s going to be for the rest of my life.

#mine #im so tired

wurnbo

sometimes im tired and other times im tired

neckkiss

oh,wow.

mirayama

i never liked ghosts. in fact, i fucking despise them.

i have never liked being repetitive. it bores me. it makes me uncomfortable and uneasy and i feel stupid. but for the billionth time, fuck you. honestly and with my whole chest, i am telling you, fuck you. and fuck off. get the fuck out of here. get out of my life, even if you are invading just the tiniest bit of it. i dont want ANY of it, not even that little. get out of here, go back to wherever the fuck you have been for the past three and a half years and fuck off. i dont want you watching me. what are you even here for? to see if im still as beautiful as you used to tell me i was? im not as beautiful. im even more beautiful. im better now without you here. to see if ive failed already? i havent. im doing the best i have ever been. choosing myself and my happiness and my well being over everything else for the first time in my life and it feels GOOD. of course it does. but i never said i wanted you here to witness it. i never said i allowed for you to watch me become the best version of myself the world has ever seen. you dont deserve it. you never liked me at my worst. you were embarassed of me, you made it very clear. you only liked the parts that you could get off on. like my tiny little waist and my flat stomach, my weight loss and the loss of my social anxiety. you were there for those but not for the ugly bits. not for the panic attacks, not for the guilt of existing eating me alive, not for me realizing i had been abused. of course you werent there for those. you are a piece of fucking shit. i was a fool for expecting you to be better. and at this point i dont care for the reasons that made you be that way. i dont give a fuck about your traumatic childhood and how you were raised to act as if nothing ever affected you because you were strong and only weak and pathetic people like get the world get to them. fuck you. i deserved better. i deserved a hug where you gave me a cold shoulder and i deserved being held where you gave me radio fucking silence. i deserved warmth and reassurance and safety and you only ever gave me mixed signals and distance and sporadic signs of affection to make sure i didnt stray to far away from the choke like hold you had on me. because as long as you gave me a kiss or you said something nice once in a while my stupid fucking hopefullness for something more would still be alive despite the years of you showing me that you never gave a shit about me.

so now that i finally have all those things, now that i have friends and someone who loves me unconditionally and things that make me happy, now that i have blossomed into the person i was always meant to be, you come back. and i dont want that. and i dont allow that and you dont deserve it. because you only bring back bad things. every fucking time you come creeping back around i end up looking back with nostalgia in ways that i dont even realize - maybe i miss my blue hair, maybe i miss my short hair, maybe i was prettier when i was skinny. none of that is true. NONE OF IT. i dont miss my old self as much as i dont miss you. and i thought i was better off swallowing my pride and letting go of this grudge but i cant because if spite and bitterness and not hate- but close to it- is the only thing left to protect me from you, then let there be it.

#mine