First Confession. Unedited.

Once up on a time too long ago, during a very difficult moment, I wrote a sentence that stuck with me for a while: today I woke up knowing less and suffering more.  Every morning, during quite a few years, I genuinely felt that. I felt the pain of being alive, the pain of not knowing, of not understanding this fucking universe, of not fitting, the pain of hiding under an image that should be loved.  I fucking hated myself, and I fucking hated everyone else, but mainly myself. My whole being felt that needed love, as if an essential part of successfully being alive required to be loved.  I still don’t know if that is true, every day feels more like being in this world is about effectively connecting with other people or things, in order to move forward, in order to have some sort of uncertified purpose.  Purpose, not in a profound afterlife sort of way, but in its basic form of coping with existence and not quitting life, a way of passing time in this strange place we are in.

I’m drifting, my point is that, although I felt this was essential to my being, I could not accomplish love.  By love I don’t mean finding a person to be with me until eternity do us apart, not even about having someone to cuddle with, but in the basic sense of another person listening what I have to say or caring if I fall.

It’s very difficult to find any sort of connexion when you hate yourself and others. I genuinely believe (not very much out loud, but I do) that people can smell your genuine interest in ‘the other’, I think is because of fear.  In my experience, when some cannot connect with others is because of fear, fear of being rejected, fear of not being enough, fear of all sorts of shit. I deeply and profoundly believe this fear can be smelt.  I smelt. And that my smell meant hate, self-destruction, the destruction of others and with it, the destruction of everything that I could care for or could care for me.

Time have passed, and today I don’t know how I got here, but when I wake up I don’t fully hate myself.  Not fully. Enough to cope with life and to function.  I often wonder if I have lost my edge, if I have sold out, if I am just a sheep, but I don’t care, because most of the time I can breathe.  I worried about insignificant things like my job, they keep me busy and together.  I genuinely don’t know what happened, If I had to guess I would say that everything started a few years back when I got a job that made me hear problems of others, in order to fulfill my duties and be ‘successful’ at what I do, I had to hear about other serious, catastrophic and genuinely unfair complex problems.  In a way that was my first window to others, a glimpse of what ‘the other’ goes through.

Later on I got a dog, for me this was a huge step, it all started when I said I was going to take care of this dog for a few months.  I always saw pets of a way of getting free love, but I knew it wasn’t so simple, I had tried before during my teens but it hadn’t work.  I guess this time I was aware that ‘the other’ really existed, so when my tiny little dog came to my life, I realised that she needed my care and my love.  Not the other way around.  I felt responsible and suddenly capable of loving, loving and not expecting love back, but as an act of care, connection and co-responsibility with the world I was using.  I love her so much.

Then I met someone, someone a lot like me, someone that for the first time I let in. He was a bit mad, also needed of love.  For me, as usual, it was all about romance, about sex and illusions, about dazzling…  but then one day he said: our love is nothing compared to what we will build together. That was strange, can you build love? What the fuck did that mean?

At some point, as always happened, he got tired of my possessiveness and myself destructing habits.  He gave me an ultimatum, I failed, he got anger and he gave me another one, I failed again and again, became a bit of a cycle.  He kept saying just stop, don’t be depressive and self-destructing, that is all you have to do.  I guess he thought that I could do it, I could really change, he saw it possible.  For me at the beginning felt very unfair, I though this guy doesn’t even know what it feels to be me, there is nothing I can do.  Now that I think about it, there was a moment of hope there, the connexion with this person, his way of seeing things and the fact that someone else believe that change can be made, it must have given me hope.  I decided to act, I went to a therapist, did therapy, nothing changed, I even prayed, I did everything I could to get help.  It helped a bit, it made look at my family and appreciate them (a little bit), appreciated the difficulties they went through and their human qualities.  It helped me to stop hating them profoundly, now I just hate them moderately and occasionally. BUT, nothing changed with my relationship, I was still the crazy bitch I had always been.

Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t perfect, he had very bad tempers, he isolated himself, everything of him trickled my insecurities.  To be honest, now that I think about it, when I started going to therapy, and starting hating a bit less my family, he also started changing, he opened more to me, he talked, and he made an effort to understand even more what I was going through.  Maybe I opened more and that implied we could talk further.  But once again, no structural changes to my madness had happened.  (…) I’m lying, one night I got drunk, very drunk, I went crazy, screwed up big time, horribly, no need for details, and I woke up and though fuck this. No more. Alcohol doesn’t help me connecting with others, it just makes me an idiot. I started to lower and lower my alcohol intake, with time, and few much smaller screw ups, I managed to stay sober.

It is important to say I haven’t stop drinking (at least not form more than 8 weeks) and although I still have crazy issues with It, like waking up feeling so ashamed every time I have one beer to the point of feeling depressed and insane, however I haven’t gotten fully and really drunk as I used to do, for me that counts as sober.   But then again things were still highly complex between my partner and I.  I fell terribly insecure, I felt I had to control everything to make sure he would behave in a way that would damage us permanently. I put the relationship on my back, as if I was the only person capable of dealing with it, and the control I took was (and is) destroying it.  (…) I just realised that this is what I still do.

For me, every single mistake he has made is a reason to distrust him, to control him. I don’t see him as a person with the capacity to choose me (for many other reasons – see Desconfianza – sorry only in Spanish). I don’t see him as a human being entitled with judgement because society has created this crazy idea that men are men only if they are unfaithful, that they can help it and its on their nature.  With my own believed I reinforced this model. I don’t give the chance to take responsibility for what he does and I don’t let the world surprise me.

Anyway, again drifting.  One day, after a very sad night I realised that most of the things I had gone to therapy for were still there, I kept saying I’m doing my best, I am going to therapy, but nothing has changed.  I felt stuck, disappointed, frustrated, sick, tired of life, I didn’t want to be alive. Once again I was waking up knowing less and suffering more.

That day I took a huge crazy step, I decided to fuck therapy.  To give myself a final fucking chance of getting my act together. I decided to take responsibility for myself, to stop trying and doing.  I quit therapy, for me, at that point, was an incredible step for independence, not for everyone.  I decide to take my life back and to be responsible for it.

Since then I have made changes, there are not huge, I am still very much insecure and crazy, but I have a firm belief in my capacity to act beyond my impulses, to control the crazy inside me.  I thought, if I am not going to change, at least I should stop hurting others.  I realized that my insecurities did not justified any harmful behaviour, and even in someone did me wrong I should not hurt them.  I realised that control is a form of violence and that even if I wanted to do it, I couldn’t.  Nothing justifies violence against others.  If I am not happy with someone leave them but nothing justifies controlling someone’s life. I also realised I was happy and I loved my partner, so I should keep destroying the relationship.  By the way, that was just a moment, not a change in personality, but enough to have something to go back to find moments of clarity.

Well, things are not going great to be honest, I am pretty insecure, I question life constantly, I feel depressed, I hate things when come out of my control, I hate people in stressful times and I really try to match societies expectations, which is stupid and exhausting.  I am still work in progress, but the point of this random monologue was not to find out how did I became a perfect human being, but to understand how the heck I now wake up and don’t feel suicidal. That’s a fucking good step.  And this letter to no one, is another fucking good step to acknowledge that I have the capacity to change to make my life a bit more bearable and therefore a good incentive to keep trying.

I need to learn, I need to know deep inside, that it doesn’t matter if I don’t fit expectations of others, and doesn’t matter if others fail or don’t fit my expectations.  Life goes on and it is full of opportunities if we choose to seize them.  I know this in theory but how can I bring it to practice, how can I reallyyyyyy believe it and act on it?  I have no effing clue.

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