Monica Geller-Bing

sofía, 24 (she/her) professional cry baby and feminist

[tomlinsof]

you belong with me, don´t you?

he was born on Columbus day, twenty five years ago. he turned twenty five today. and as I arrived home, after an imposible day of work, our song came on, and i thought of him for the first time in a really long time. 

i used to think he was the one. i used to think we were going to get married, have kids, and they would have my eyes and his smile. they’d be short and smart, free and passionate. 

it’s needless to say that we did not. but looking back, i kinda wish we had have. 

looking back at those six months of pure bliss and excitement, i now realise that, throughtout my brief existance, i have only loved three men; him being the first you being the last. 

he taught me to love, or what i thought was love.

with you, i’m sure it´s love. 

it’s funny to think about you two being best friends, though you are so similar. you share interests, you are both smart, kind of serious, yet you are charismatic and funny. 

with both of you, i’ve felt like i was getting back some incredible good karma of which i was so undeserving of. i used to look at him and thank life for giving me the chance of being part of the never ending adventure that was his life, even if it was suppossed to last just for a blink; just as i look at you and feel so lucky to know you, and so blessed to kiss my best friend every day. i still do, believe me; even after you read what is about to come. 

i love you. i love you endlessly. i love you unconditionally. i love you. 

meeting you has simply been my favourite part of my life. the happiness and light you brought into my life, shines brighter than the valencian sun and white sandy beaches. yet i think it has shone its way out.

the light of my love for you has shone so bright, it has taken out all the energy of me, and now i have nothing else to give. pretending that i do is taking a toll on me, and i can no longer think clear or put me first because i have no power, i have no will. 

it’s not your fault, it was just me trying to make work something that was not made to work, and clinging so hard to the idea of a future that never really stood a chance.

so i no longer get to think about our children. they were going to be tall and driven. they’d have your hair, and your eyes. they were going to be ours. 

and just as i gave up on a future with him, i will move on on a future without you. and just as i found happiness after him, i’ll find it in my heart to not let myself sink in sadness after this. 

and i’ll always love you. endlessly and unconditionally. i’ll love you. 

[tomlinsof]

siempre vas a ser el “hubiera” que más ansío.

[tomlinsof]

yo sí me creo.

el 8 de marzo es una fecha que me ha causado mucha ansiedad en los últimos años de mi vida. es una fecha en que muchas mujeres deciden levantar la voz y exponer a aquellos hombres que por actos misóginos violentaron su diginidad y afectaron su vida. 

cada año, presencio de lejos a aquellas mujeres valientes que le pierden el miedo a su agresor y envidio la respuesta de apoyo y amor que reciben de otras mujeres que les ofrecen un espacio seguro para expresarse y una red de sororidad incondicional al denunciarlos. 

porque a mí me gustaría hablar de lo que me pasó a mí. me gustaría poder sacar esto que me persigue todos los días y que no me deja vivir tranquila. 

aprovechando el anonimato de tumblr, comparto a un público que no escucha, mi historia. 

yo conocí y me enamoré de él en la universidad. era mi amigo. me entendía. me quería. 

comenzamos a salir. era bueno, caballeroso, cercano a dios, me consentía con regalos y piropos. 

una noche, salimos al antro a bailar y tomar. alguien adulteró mi bebida. 

(esta historia no va hacia donde creen)

perdí la consciencia y el glamour. vomité. y el hombre que tanto decía quererme, ese día me dejó de querer. “así no actúa una niña bien, qué vergüenza”.

me culpé de lo sucedido y acepté las consecuencias de actos que no fueron míos. lloré y lo extrañé de una manera tan profunda. me sentí fea, tonta e insuficiente. y nunca lo dejé de querer. 

entre amigos en común, él se ocupó de acabar con mi reputación; zorra, loca, inestable, manipuladora. perdí supuestos amigos al mismo tiempo que perdía mi identidad y confianza, enterradas bajo un serie interminable de mentiras que yo misma creía.

él es tan bueno. él va a misiones. él sabe tanto. y yo, yo no soy nada. 

y entonces comenzó a ir y venir. regresaba a mi vida cuando le aburría la suya y se iba  cuando se aburría de mí. me hacía promesas vacías y se reía de mí a mis espaldas por creerle. y yo simplemente no veía. 

así pasó más de un año hasta que sucedió lo que era la crónica de una tragedia anunciada. en una pelea de rutina, el cabroncito se atrevió a amenazarme. una amenaza sutil pero evidente, perdida entre líneas pero clara. 

y sentí un miedo como nunca había sentido antes. al platicarlo con amigas, me dijeron que no me preocupara, que eran amenazas vacías. pero no se sentía así. al día de hoy, no se siente así. 

yo, que llevaba años jactándome de ser feminista de médula morada, entendí que no podía tolerar esa clase de abuso. porque eso es lo que era, abuso. 

mis problemas nunca fueron más importantes que los suyos. mi sentimientos eran quejas. mi llanto, chantaje. mis sufrimientos, irrelevantes.

me odié tanto a mi misma por haberme permitido sufrir tanto. me culpé por tonta, por débil. ¿en dónde están tus ovarios, feminista? ¿en dónde quedó la voz con la que normalmente gritas a cualquiera que pretenda silenciar al movimiento?

me costó tanto trabajo volver a creer; en mí, en otros hombres, en el amor, en la gente. no confiaba ni en mis amigos, porque también son sus amigos.

tú dejaste una nube oscura que me empañaba el corazón con miedo y con dudas.

y verte todos los días en clases. escuchar esa vocesita con ese tonito cínico y condescendiente que utilizabas para humillarme, me rompía todos los días. no me sentía segura, no me sentía escuchada. qué ganas de pararme y gritar a todos la clase de basura humana que eres. qué ganas de llorar de impotencia por no decir nada porque nadie me va a creer. qué ganas de poder huir de ahí, de no tener que verte nunca más. pero nada es tan fácil. 

él es tan bueno. él va a misiones. él sabe tanto. y tú, tú no eres nada.

verte el día de hoy, compartiendo publicaciones sobre el día de la mujer, apoyando las manifestaciones, presentándote al mundo como aliado feminista; me llena de rabia.  

tú no eres feminista, tú eres mi agresor. 

tú intentaste romperme, pero regresé más fuerte. 

espero algún día pueda tener el valor de nombrarte y exponerte, sin miedo a que no me crean, a que minimicen mi dolor, a que te defiendan y me condenen a mí. por ahora, me conformo con sacarlo de mi pecho frente a mi audiencia sorda, y trataré de recordarme que tú ya no tienes ningún poder sobre mí, que soy libre de las cadenas que un día me ataron a ti. que soy inteligente, bonita, fuerte, independiente e importante. yo no soy lo que tú decías que yo era. yo siempre he sido yo, con o sin ti. 

el abuso psicológico también es abuso. 

si alguien ha pasado por algo parecido o simplemente quiere platicar, estoy súper abierta. yo te creo, yo te apoyo. no estamos solas. 

[tomlinsof]

Don Jorge

Dear Grandpa: 

I’ve been feeling this hole in my heart since you left us. It feels like a tiny sting in my chest each time I wake up, and I wonder every time, “what´s wrong with me?” and then I remeber you no longer walk with us. 

I walk through crowded bars and restaurants, and I hate the people who are out there enojoying themselves throwing precaution to the air. First, because they are not grieving you; second, because they’re helping spread the disease that took you.

I couldn´t say goodbye to you, I couldn´t kiss your cheek, I culdn´t hold your hands while you looked at me and smile and told me that, from all your grandaughters, I was the prettiest. Even though you told all of us the same, I did feel special. 

I was playing that song you like last night, the one about the moons of october. I could almost hear your clear, loud voice reminiscing Pedro Infante. You always loved to sing, loved to eat, loved life. 

And you loved life so much I never imagined you would be giving up on it. Sometimes I even used to think your love for life was perhaps more like a fear of death. You kept coming out unscathed from every single illness and complication that hit you. You kept dodging death until, yestarday, you didn´t. 

I can honestly tell you I´d never thought I’d miss you this much. I’d never imagined your absence would hurt me like this. I’d never thought I’d cry widow-like thinking about how I’ll never hear your commanding voice again. 

And you left her here. She, who loves and admires you the most. And I can´t dare to write in past tense, because she still does so very much. She has been standing strong all day, shaking hands of those who will miss you and listening politely to strangers speak words of encouragement. But she’s been sneaking out for crying breaks as well; I can tell hear heart is broken. 

The home you shared for over 54 years is completely covered in old photos of the both you. They look as taken away from a 50′s magazine: black and white, effortless and cool. She keeps pointing at them and saying “can you believe how good looking he is? can you believe I get him to be mine? ... got him to be mine...”

Grandpa, I know you really are resting now, you’ve finally gotten rid of that bug who wouldn´t let you talk or breathe. You´re free now from every pain that was ever caused to you. You always loved sleeping, and now, you´re sleeping for good. 

I can´t tell you we won´t miss your hugs, your talks, your cold hands and your smile; but I thank life I got to meet you and to enjoy your company for twenty four years. I will love you and admire you always. 

Thank you for so many songs, so many stories, so many hugs and kisses and memories. 

Your kindness and joy will be remebered forever. 

With love (and tears in her eyes), Chopía. 

[headspace-hotel]

sometimes it’s like. I have been so brave for so long. I deserve the universe not being terrifying for 5 minutes

[tomlinsof]

Sunday Morning

I don´t want to open my eyes. I feel like I have to, even though that ray of sunshine won´t let me keep them open for long. I’m afraid, if I do open them, you won´t be next to me, right where I left you. I’m afraid last night was just a dream and my subconscius played some sick joke on me, and I was the happiest in make-believe. So I open them and as the blinding light fades, I can get a view of the back of that head I know like the back of my hand. 

I close my eyes back. I pull up the blanket to cover my face from the sun and the flashbacks strike me as I feel butterflies rushing from my stomach to my toes, an electric current flowing through my bloodstream filling me with the weirdest urge to smile.  

Also I feel a little guilt. I feel guilt because I was not raised like this. I was not raised to sneak out late at night to meet with guys and do stuff that is reserved exclusively for married couples. Jesus is frowning down at me. My grannie would be ashamed if she knew. My mom would slut-shame me in her head if she found out. But I’m not sorry if it is not for them because, at for this moment, I know I’m more free and happier than them.

I hear you turn around so I uncover my face. A cloud must have covered the sun and  I can see just fine now. I watch you sleeping face up with your chest bare naked. I watch you breathe in and out so deeply. The room’s so quiet, it’s almost like I can hear your heart beat. 

Have I ever told you I adore your neck? It is so long and from it it hangs the most eatable Adam’s apple. I could just bite it off you... pretty sure I tried last night. 

Most people look peaceful when they sleep, yet you don’t. Somehow you manage to keep frowning even in your dreams. Your mouth, half open, lets out short and uneven snoring that resembles some old Beattle’s engine. Now I can´t move, I’m too  astouned. 

I can´t believe your’re mine. I can´t believe I’m here with you. I can’t believe I get to be this happy. I can´t believe I can love this much. 

As you breathe, I realise I have now synchronized my breath to yours. The cloud shiftes and the ray of sunlight strikes you in the eye. I hear you grunt and I think perhaps I should play sleep now, but I can´t quite look away. 

Now those hazel eyes are looking into mine. The frown goes away and the lips close into a cheeky little grin. You lean in and kiss my nose, and a feeling of safety warms me up. Your freezing hand brushes my arm, locks into my waist and pulls me closer to you as I get goosebumps.  

At this time, I can really hear your heart beat.

There’s no other sound I’d like to hear. 

There’s no other place I’d rather be.  

There’s no other touch I’d want to ever feel. 

This is it. 

[tomlinsof]

you (actually) belong with me.

i´ve spent my whole life craving the wrong lips, searching the wrong arms. drowing myself in drama and hell, looking for that one person who would make me complete, that one being that would make me, me. 

you stood by me in that search, you heard me rant and cry, you watched me being in love and in rage, in that endless circle of violence that i used to call love. 

and i stood by you while you quietly and peacefully went through the exact same kind of bad luck. never crying, never shouting, and never giving up on the hope of finding the one thing all of us hopelessly look for throughout all of our lives. 

we stood together through thick and thin, through our dark and darkest; always there for each other, not knowing we were meant to be with one another. 

i’ve finally found you, yet you’ve always been here. and all of the sudden love just feels so easy, so effortless, so right. and suddenly i don´t need the drama, the tears and the screaming, because all i ever needeed was your delicious scent, your crooked smile, your easy jokes, those perfect lips, our endless conversations, that mind that blows me away, and every piece of the mess we are. 

in your arms i´ve found the safest place i´ve ever been in. in your kiss i´ve found my favourite flavor of ice cream. in your touch, the softest feeling. in your eyes, the clearest view. in our path, my whole future.

i look at you and all i can think about is how i don´t want you to leave, ever. 

also, i kind of get the feeling that you won´t. 

[tomlinsof]

Potato Head Must Die: His Birthday

dear alex: 

do you rember when letters used to start up that way? when I wasn´t black out drunk, drunk on memories of two years ago. 

I woke up with a hole in my heart. a hole of knowing I wouldnt´t wish you life or death. the last one I actually do. 

I woke up extremely confused about wheter I should be happy you were reaching 24 or regretting you were surviving 23. 

I’m not quite happy with your existance. 

y si pudo ser sincera, la verdad no es como que esté feliz como que compartamos el mismo aire infestado de covid 19. al menos no, mientra nadie te contagie. 

alex, hoy fue un día de recordar a ese niño. al niño al que le hice la caja. mi mejor amigo. mi persona favorita, a la que le podía contar lo que sea. 

ese alex nacido el 3 de mayo de 1998, muerto el 8 de mayo de 2018, ¿cómo se supone que le llore o le deje de llorar? 

aquí sigue, mi guerito flaquito. físicamente parecido, feo como patear a Dios, peor malo como como golpear a un niño negro con hambre. me cuesta, pero tú ya no existes. 

me quedé sola. sin mi mejor amigo. pero está increíble. 

porque Dios quería que  yo viera lo que realmente eres... y no eres la mitad del hombre que yo necesito. 

feliz cumpleaños, que alcances todo lo que te propusiste, sin mi, que al cabo no es tan lejos. 

que seas feliz, con tan poco, que es lo que buscabas. 

y que sientas a cada momento, que tus decisiones te han llevado a donde querías estas; aunque sea lejos de mí. porque al final, es lo que querías.m

[tomlinsof]

Friends: Part 1.

What I once called Begin Again, did not make justice to the masterpiece written by Miss Taylor Swift. A song about finding love again in someone new; a clean slate ready to be filled by new moments and memories. The kind of love that makes you wonder why you’d ever doubted its existance. 

A couple days after, I realized that this Begin Again was made to stay a You Belong With Me, and I was destined to wait at your backdoor for those tiny, ephemeral instants in which you forgot about her and decided you liked me better. 

You said it and made me believe in you. I breathed in those words the way I used to breath in your scent when you hugged me friendly-like. I can still feel your touch when you unexpectedly tried to massage my neck because I looked stressed out. Of course I was stressed out. Do you know how hard it is to have that one thing you want the most but can´t have, playfully dancing in front of you? 

You probably don´t, because there is not one single thing in the world that you couldn’t have. 

We both perfectly know what we are feeling. 

I’ve said too much. You’ve said too much. Yet we can´t get anywhere. 

As for me, my words always end up buried deep into the blurriness of my own alcohol excesses, making it unclear to you if I was speaking my heart or tequila was speaking my lust. 

You, you choose your words so carefully. As any decent lawyer, you leave absolutely no room for loopholes or interpretation. It is what it is but it’s not what I think it is, or maybe it is, as long as I say first what I want it to be. 

I, I am carrying emotional baggage equivalent to a three-times-divorceé-once-widowed woman. My heart has been tramped and flamenco danced on; so I won´t allow myself to take any risks again. 

You tend to hurt people. You’re selfish and narcisstic. You won´t  risk yourself for self preservation and you don´t really care if, at the end of this adventure, I am the victim of the terrible decisions I’ve made under the influence of those drug-like words, those yearning hands and those blond eyelashes, longer than these quarantine days. 

And in the end, does it really matter? We’ve agreed on staying friends despite the dreadful result this is definitely ending up in. And if it ends in tears, I know you won´t be there to dry them. And if we fight, I’ll just have to stamp a smile on my face and pretend it didn´t hurt. You will just grin at me with that devil smile and those angel eyes, call me friend, and playfully hug me as if nothing ever happened. I will smile back, faking it, and inhale your perfume while I awkwardly stand there, letting you hug me as I digest my resignation. 

You, perfectly aware that every single bone in my body screams in ache. Me, silent because I know I agreed to this arragement in which I can only bet to lose. 

I know I’m better than this little game. I know this is not worth it. I know this could destroy me. Yet I can´t get out and, in a way, I don´t think I want to. 

For now, the high is worth the fall. 

Yet the fall seems unavoidable. 

[tomlinsof]

On your lips just leave it.  If you don´t mean it.

[tomlinsof]

just forget what I said. 

I meant it. 

I mean it. 

I can´t take it back. 

now it’s just there on table, 

neither of us want to look at it.

like an ill man urging fot attention. 

we won´t adress it, 

it´s too uncomfurtable. 

this enormous elephant in the room, 

sitting in between us, 

It won´t go away. 

we just pretend it isn´t here. 

I can´t take it back.

I wish I could, but I can´t.

I meant it. 

I still do. 

I’d take it back and probably say it again. 

[joaquin-sorolla]

After the Bath, Valencia, 1916, Joaquín Sorolla

Medium: oil,canvas

[tomlinsof]

Begin Again.

I think I might be having writer’s block. Not only as I write this letter, the first of many more, I hope. But like emotional writer’s block.

I am writing it as I become more aware that I probably shouldn´t. It can´t be real. It’d be too good to be true. Too big to put into words. Too bad if it ended. Almost worse if it’d began. 

You are everything I ever wanted,and at the same time, everything I don´t need. You´re this pretty dancing force threating to take down my house of cards.

I can feel it building, rising tall and strong. The Wall, the one that had been down for almost two years is growing as firm as ever as it recognizes its biggest opponent to this day.

I don´t even love you. I like you at most. Or maybe I do, but The Wall won´t let me feel it. Our conversation from last night, completely blocked by vodka and my many emotional barriers, was completely wiped out from my memory but very much treasured in my heart. 

Today, I woke up with the taste of you in my mouth. Your taste´s quite especific. I haven´t made up my mind if like it. Yet I always feel like I need more of it. 

You are this great mystery that I can´t quite figure out yet. I can read you, but I can´t go too deep. You, just like I did, built a wall around your heart. This cold wall, taken straight from a Disney Movie, prevents you from feeling anything. No one can get through it, and I’d never dare to try. I’d probably be dissapointed. 

I have this physical inability that won´t let me be dissapointed in you, like ever. Since the first time we met, I’ve always looked up to you in awe, because of that bright intelligence, that determination to amount to something big, that willing to change whatever or whoever you encounter, and that stricking pretty face. 

You always know what to say and when to say it. You read me open and you know when to step back and when to come closer. You know me so well, it scares the crap of me that you probably have already figured out how fragile I am.How I am the perfect target. 

You just need to say those right words that I know you already know. And I wouldn´t blink twice before leaping into the inminent doom I know we are. 

I look at you and you look like danger. You look like the kind of event I need to get broken for good. This heart that believes in nothing, trusts no one and is deeply convinced it wasn´t made to be alive for long; hopes that everything will work out, but is pretty sure it won´t. 

And do you love me, though? I don´t think you do. I think you were pretty much forced to say those words because I locked you inside the cupboard with me. I think, to you, we are really good friends. We just get confused sometimes. 

And do I love you, though? I do think I do. I think I locked you inside the cupboard because I needed you to know it. I can´t be sure, because of the complexity of the situation. You, me and her. 

Her, I think about her almost more often than I think about you. The guilt drowns me as I know I once was just like her. I know she loves you, why wouldn´t she? You are as addictive as it gets. You look nice in pictures. You are well liked by parents. You can do no wrong. And I can tell she loves you, because she has stuck with you despite everything. 

They say that what badly begins, badly will end. This looks bad from every perspective. Yet, I know I’d take the rough finish just for twenty minutes of the pleasure of your company. 

Is there any good, though? I really hope there is. But then again, hope is as dangerous as you are. 

So let us keep dancing around this line we are so afraid to cross.

[tomlinsof]

Give me a good reason and I swear I’ll take the risk. 

[tomlinsof]

I have rised up from deeper. 

[piece-of-godney]

the guy in the audience SNAPPED

[chibihere]

i love this, video

[strangehorse]

[ID: Britney and dancers performing ‘Gimme More’. Right before Britney can begin, a guy screams ‘WHO IS IT?’. Britney laughs and says ‘It’s Britney, bitch’, resuming the routine.]

[tomlinsof]

Potato Head Must Die: Day 72

I had stopped writing. I had stopped posting on here. I guess I just was afraid of facing the shame and the sadness that came out of the events from one month ago. 

One month ago, we shared our first kiss. I can´t quite remember it. But we did. 

In a the blurriest of blurs, you kissed my lips and I promised, once again, to save you. To free you from all your pain. To walk along you by your troubles. 

Yet here we are, I haven´t talked to you for like two weeks. We blocked each other everywhere. Our existance goes unrecognized, our eyes won´t meet. Because to me you are dead. 

And, God, I wish you really were. For the first time, I can speak those words guilt-freely. I can say it out loud and know I mean it, because I know life won´t do me the favor of removing from my field of view he who has wounded me the deepest. 

I can´t walk two feet without hearing that wicked laugh or looking at the back of that shapeless head; you are everywhere. 

Or I can be by myself and suddenly get flashbacks of that horrid conversation in which you spoke words sharp enough to finally break this cicle of emotional radioactivity. 

That day, I realized my boy was dead. The boy that once promised to wrap that yellow scarf around my neck is gone for good. I wasted one year and a half trying to fix something I did not break, while breaking me. And with those pieces of myself, I helped him build up that ladder he climbs on to look down on me. 

I clung so hard on my project, I didnt even notice when I stopped loving you and also stopped loving myself. I don´t like me when I’m with you and I don´t like who you became being with me. 

You have really become that one wine-stained dress I can´t wear anymore (s/o to TS). You simply are what one day was one of my favorite parts of life but now is dirty, ugly and useless. 

I try to pretend like everything is fine, like it didn´t hurt. Like I can just scratch the page, burn the pictures and move on; but I can´t. I keep falling into the same patterns. 

And my sane side gets angry at the hung-up part, who hides behind the bad-decision-making one, who´s helplessly trying to find a love like her fist love; under weak pretenses such as forbidden kisses, bad boys and midnight tacos in october. 

He was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of experience.

Not even him can distract me from this unexpected turn of events. I´d never in my life pictured a world in which you wouldn’t love me or I wouldn´t love you. After all this time, I can´t seem to recall how was life like without your chaos. And I guess that might be a good thing; after all, I got my tranquility back. Yet I feel empty. I guess I gave you so much, you took away a part of me.

I won´t come back, I swear to God. But I can´t move forward either. 

I’m so scared to get lost between the red wine, the vodka, the cigarrette smoke and that fake peace I get from the club’s defeaning music. Between  meaningless kisses from air-mouthed people who are up to no good.

They sure clear my mind for a while, yes. But nothing can prepare you to fall from the highest of fake tops. From finding peace in the loss of all hope. From living life to the most, praying to die soon. 

Your face, your voice, your laugh remind me of all those things I don´t like about me because you don´t like them. One day, they made me feel as strong, different and beautiful  as they now make me feel not enough, broken and disposable. 

“Broken and unstable, that’s how I love her. And that’s how she’s gotta love me too, with all of my many, many problems”. 

Those were your words that pinned me to floor when everything I wanted to do was to run. But in this game, you always had the upper hand. 

Because later on “broken and unstable” would turn into “blackmailer and manipulative”, and your many, many problems would become excuses for you to hurt me. And we set a spiral in which we hurt each other so bad, the first thing we lost was the “that´s how I love her and that´s how she´s gotta love me”. 

Our famous “Untill the memory of me fades”: Our little game of pulling in then kicking out. Our all or nothing. Our shades of gray (mostly black). Our saying yes and saying maybe, but never no. 

Untill we said no. 

Today, I think I can finally look at you and feel nothing. Because there´s nothing left of that boy I loved so deeply.

I want to grieve him. My dance partner at prom. My fellow Criminal Law classmate. My good-doer and prayer sayer. My brave hard-working friend. My favorite person in the world. 

I want to cry and say goodbye, so I can finally move on. He’d wanted me to move forward. Be better. Be happier. Find someone like him. He was sweet like that. 

He might be gone, but not forgotten. 

To forget him, only time.

Or give time to time, untill I run out of it. 

After all, Potato Head did die.