Cutting

 Retroactively published in August 2026 before getting rid of the notebook that this was written in.

Cuts. Lots of them.

I'm close to my end. It's like when you're walking alongside the edge of a cliff and trying your best not to look down, but the abyss is calling you and you can't quite not look away and then it's staring back at you. 

Because yes, look at the abyss in the eye, and it will look back at you. It hasn't ever stopped staring at you, actually. It's been a while.

When will I finally manage to jump?

Because yes, one day, I will. I just am waiting for my last guardrails to fail. One day, nothing will stop me. And that day, maybe, will be the last of my life. The best, probably.


[fuck I really was not doing well]

Empty

 Retroactively published in August 2026 before getting rid of the notebook that this was written in.

Where's the limit between consciousness, spirituality, and psychosis...

No appetite. I'm not sure why.

So much fog outside that you can't see 50m away.

It's going to kill me

Retroactively published in August 2026 before getting rid of the notebook that this was written in.

This is going to kill me. This is going to kill me. I can't say a word about it.

It's going to kill me, look, it already is killing me. I'm so close to the edge and yet so far from it.

If someone could see me, now. Not simplify anything. Not give me some retarded advice. Not not give a shit. be with me, in my pain!

Nobody has been there for me like I've always needed. I'm always here for others, but who's there for me? I'm afraid that it won't be changing anytime soon for me.

Assassine

 Retroactively published in August 2026 before getting rid of the notebook that this was written in.

I refuse to sabotage you, Hopoe dear.

Even if I must die, I refuse to put you in trouble.

Moral development

Retroactively published in August 2026, copied from a notebook I'm getting rid of because I don't use it much if at all.

Moral development: your dog poops right in front of someone's gate. "Shit, I didn't take a bag with me". You go get one a while away, you come back, you clean up the dog's poop.

What kind of level is that?

Also, the vertical cuts are fading away, good. Message to Cepheus. I want to send him some chapters but I'm afraid that he will tell Hopoe that the main love interests is very... resembling.

Feeling like sending Cassiopeia a text as well. But afraid to disturb.

I'm like that. Overly responsible. I don't know how to rid myself of that fear.

Nobody is coming to save you, and that's a massive problem

Sounds familiar?

"Nobody is coming to save you."

I can hear someone say it to me like that, looking me dead in the eyes, with a stern tone to their voice. The one that says a cutting truth (or lie that can masquerade just fine as a truth, proven it's said with enough conviction and sounds good enough in the ear of the average man) with a seriousness as heavy as a slab of lead being lowered on your head.

Some will say this is empowering. After all, when you realize nobody is coming to save you, you can do anything you want. You can also be proud of yourself for having been strong, pulled yourself up by the bootstraps when you were at your lowest, all while the world turned their head away, God forbid they saw the struggle of a fellow man and felt guilty for not stepping in!

Others will say it's depressing. Nobody is coming to save you? The heart breaks. The ground drops from under your feet. In the end that's true. It's a truth you preferred to hide from yourself, that all the thoughts were, in fact, not a delusion of your mind: that indeed, nobody cares. That everyone would rather eat shit than lend you a hand while you're drowning in sorrow. But that's the truth, isn't it? The truth is never pretty. She cuts, she is cold, she is hard, she will bite you like the cold in the middle of a winter night. Pierce through you like a sword, leave you in pieces, or rather, your illusions.

I will say that this mentality it's an enormous problem considering we are social creatures and have evolved as such, and nothing would make us truly able to deny our nature without causing consequential damage.

Nobody is coming to save you. That has to be the most individualistic idea that I've stumbled across, along with the honestly grating "love yourself" and other platitudes that are here to throw you the middle finger when all you want is for other people to care at least a little about you, when all you want is to belong, to be loved, to be cherished by a tribe.

Birthday girl

Retroactively posted in August 2025, as I'm copying some notebook entries before getting rid of the thing.

So, here I am, the birthday girl. Stardom for a day. And I'm writing this from work.

Insane how time passes. My contract ending tomorrow, the month that my beautiful Hopoe has spent ignoring me for the heinous crime of caring about what we had (and still have, in my mind). And just... being 26. Two days ago I was about to put an end to this life, I wasn't caring one bit that it was at the dawn of a new year.

Feeling lost. No light in my eyes. Not much more of a will to live. I don't even know if I'll make it to the end of this year [note: spoiler, I did]. Probably. But without much pleasure or joy of being here at all.

It was good from me to have brought breakfast, though. An act of goodwill. And they were all happy. Warms my heart, even superficially.

May they not see the cuts on my right arm. Especially not the ones on my radial artery, because they're running alongside it. Because if I had the courage, I would've pressed down and would not be writing this at all today.

Funny how Steph's words help with the thoughts.

And Beowulf [retroactive naming: my tattoo artist friend who was mentored by Tane] is nice. I'll go to his studio someday. Scorpio sun and rising that he is.

Notebook

Retroactively published in August 2026 before getting rid of a notebook.

Here I am, beginning again. I do have my leather cover but it's starting to limit me. It might fit this one, but I'm a bit tired of this format, been using the same type of notebook for 2-3 years. And I think I'm in for some change. And I like this one.

Sentenced

I overthought. I wanted to understand.

What a hell of a heinous crime. At least equivalent to pissing on your ancestor's grave and strangling your mama to death.

I don't understand why what I did warrants such punishment. I'm just. I'm broken, you see? I'm falling apart because on top of that I can't open my mouth lest I want to make everything worse.I'm disappearing now. Took two days off work. Deactivated about everything I got that would give people a hold of me.

I want to turn off the light and go to sleep, now...
like a sleeping goddess.

Oh. Sleeping goddess?
That's both of us, dear.

Stupid piece of shit

 

Hey.

You spoke no word to me today, but the glance you gave me was like a candle in the dark.

I'm so sick of working on myself.

Yes. I know, I know. 

I know that self-work never stops, and that it's a lifelong process.

I know that traumas are to be worked on. That everyone has trauma.

But I'm so tired, so, so tired. I want to be a person. I want to live. I don't want to be constantly watching myself. I don't want to be constantly fixing myself. I'm not broken, for God's sake. I'm wounded yes, but does that make me unworthy of simply being?

Does that make me undeserving of some peace? Of rest? Of fucking around a little because I'm just so desperate for a bit of a breather when all I do is grind down the healing route. Hell I'm starting to feel this is wounding me even more. All this pathologization, psychologization, psychobabble, pathology babble that may or may not exist. I'm so sick of it. I haven't been to therapy in more than a month.

Because I'm so sick of it all. I don't want to die but the idea of doing more of this makes me want to kill myself. Because I will never get there. I know it. Nobody ever succeeds at it because there is nothing we can do to be perfect. It's taking all the joy I have "worked for". You're at a better place than a few years ago? Well tough luck bud, you gotta work more.

It's not that I don't want to get better.
I just cry for some respite.
I cry to be understood for a bit.
To be allowed to feel.
To be allowed to cry, and to overthink, nevermind that you fucking hate it, and to be allowed to just be my messy self for a little while because I want to vomit at all the therapy speak I hear.

From my ex.
From the internet.
From everyone.
From my colleagues.
From whoever the fuck has invented this shit.
From the one my heart is set on, herself. Yeah.

Someone drowning in the waters of the poverty-stricken South Pacific is drowning just as much as someone who is drowning in richer Europe.

You have your upbringing and what you've been through, my warrior. But pain is pain. And while my body isn't letting me down like yours is, it's my heart and mind that are.

It's in moments like this I just think of pulling the plug on myself. Because no matter how much you do, you're never good enough. You always have to "fix" yourself. You always have to "work on yourself". And whatnot.

I don't even want to live if life is just an endless grind like that.

Is it a crime that I want to rest for once?
To be out of this therapy/healing/self-improvement/WHATEVER THE FUCK grind for a hot minute?

So much BS on the internet

No, for real. So much bullshit. Everything that comes up is the same opinion. Or mostly. If I have another thought and want to find out if someone is thinking like me I can hardly find anything worthwhile. It feels lonely, so I bring it up to ChatGPT. But at the same time is it any healthy to overuse that chatbot? It's just a bot after all, and it only mirrors you, though at times it has told me stuff I didn't want to hear. It probably senses where I have doubts and brings it up.

But oh Lord. I can't even read Reddit anymore. I can't watch the gram anymore. Where are those days when things were actually interesting on the internet? Not the endlessly repeated takes?

I can't even talk about most things I have on my mind with people. How else am I going to find connection...

Her

It's not something I want to scream on the rooftops, or sing loudly about.
It's not something that I would bow to, or want to bless for ten thousand years.
It's something else, entirely.

It's in her accent, and how those R's are sweetly trilled. How it seems to slip out more when she's excited, or when we have been talking lately. Her eyes, those black eyes. 

The way she smiles at me from afar because she has spotted me half-hidden in a crowd. 

The way her hands move. Her tattoos. Those beautiful tattoos I fucking swear I'm obsessed with them. 

Her arms. Her massiveness. She isn't fat, nor overly muscular, but compared to tiny me, she is so big.

Big and beautiful. It's in the way I notice that she has tiny braids accompanying her usual bun. 

It's in the bracelets around her arms, it's in the rings on both ring fingers. 

It's in her love of silver, and in the way her second given name is whispered and strangely echoes to my persona's name. 

In the way her first name, innocuous as can be, stands out to me because all people I knew with that name were bitches, but this one... this one's flowers are taking over my heart like vines, little by little, and there's no way I will escape it. I don't want to, in fact. Let those beautiful flowers embrace me.

It's in the way she walks, it's in the way she talks. It's in the way she holds space for me at lunch, has done so twice. The second time I sat across from her but I prefer to be next to her, actually. It's in the way we lean when we speak. It's in her laughter when something has caught it. 

It's in her... It's all of her, I think. Her quietness. The fact I don't feel like I have to pretend to be a sociable person around her, and in the way she calls herself "not sociable" yet with me, she seems just as social as any other person. That's what chemistry does, I think. It makes you open up. Makes you bloom into a beautiful flower.

There needs to be flowers in life. Oh yes, there needs to be. Ylang-ylang and wisteria, I think. Or tiare tahiti. Perhaps two? 

It's something I would sing, softly, rather than scream or shout. It's something I would caress and kiss rather than hungrily bite into and squeeze like a lemon. It's a dance I would do slowly, in the dark, rather than a speedy waltz under a spotlight.

Come on and dance with me. Then let's go back to our caves together.

♥

 

Arawak - Warhorse

 

"I don't know, but listening to it feels like falling asleep underwater one last time. You have a bit of hope in you to live, but you feel the comfort of the water sweeping over you... knowing it's soon to be over, that everything is getting so dark and distant... but you feel that's okay. You came from the sea, and returned to the sea...

"I am...

I'm so tired...

So old...

I can't...

I can't do it anymore.

I can't go much further.

Will you do me a favour?

Please bring me there, sweetheart.

Bring me to where it ends."

spoiler (after moving this entry from Dreamwidth 10 months later): 

this burning piece of shit did not even bother to do so.

Honey, I'm tired.

Honey. I'm tired.

I shouldn't be calling you that anymore, but fuck that, you don't even know this blog.

I'm tired.

I haven't seen you in four weeks.

I'm feeling godawful.

I just want to hear your voice, see you again, feel your hair under my fingers and share a drink with you
but why is it that calling and seeing each other isn't okay? But texting is?

Why do you say we'd see this week about seeing each other and you're not even?

Why is it that this three day birthday party you're doing goes before I do when you told me you'd see me after your legal stuff was sorted?

Is it sorted after all?

Are you just lying?

Why didn't you tell me first that you had this party, that your best friend and mom would be coming in September too?

Why?

Am I even anything to you anymore? A priority?

Those emojis, are they just a way to soften it?

Am I friendzoned?

Do you even truly want to see me at all?

Why?

Am I ever going to be able to give you this magnet I bought you when I was at my mom's place?
This shit is sitting in my room and has been for three weeks, and I want to cry every time I look at it. It waits for you, endlessly. I don't even know if you want it.

Have you read the Little Prince? Or tossed that book I dedicated to you with my own handwriting?
Please.

I know your period made it impossible to drive me back home. I got it.
Then your legal stuff. I was already aching to see you but... alright.
But then... all of that. And I find myself wondering. Am I even still a thing to you?

Where did all of this go?

Where did that intimacy we shared in that bar bathroom go?

The kisses? The fact you never said you didn't want me back?

Why does it feel so scummy to me and then right after I'm back to blaming myself because surely it's my own fault that everything is like this?

Because yes. I think... maybe I'm truly the one at fault.

After all, I've been asking you to see you at least once a week. Like, not at every text. But with every week that passed...

I remember when I tried calling you and ended up on your voicemail. Were you here? You did not reject the call. Did it simply ring?

You're right. I'm one who cannot let go. I make it hard. I'm not enjoying the moment.
I know I'm awful. I'm so sorry.

What is so wrong with me that I'm not even worth...

worth all of this?

Not even the cleanest of clean breaks, if you truly don't want anything to do with me anymore?

If I'm not just a mess because every week spent without you is harder?

And because I find my eyes wandering to somebody else too who may not even ever like me back in this way?

For real.

I'm tired and everything is wrong with me.

I love you. I don't know if you still do.

Tra la la

My life is wonderful.

I haven't seen my ex nor heard her voice in four weeks, just texted, and I find myself wondering whether I'll see her again despite her told me that yes, she wants to see me but wants to have some stuff sorted out first, then is always busy. I'm aching as shit. I just want to see her and be at her place and make love to her. Please end my misery. Please, my dear, come back to me fast. I'm faltering.

I got a crush on my dad's colleague whose tattooed arms and massive body and sweet accent get me weak in the knees, and she's way older than me, 12 years older. All I know is that she's never been married at the ripe age of 38 and doesn't have kids. But oh man she's massive. Not fat. Massive. All muscle and robust bones. But has she ever liked a woman? Would she feel the same? And I have my ex in my heart too, and I feel I'm betraying her. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about how a kiss with my dad's colleague might feel, and how I'd laugh like a complete madwoman if I went into bed with her. Like, how the fuck is that happening bro. But will I? If that's meant to be it will be. I won't be able to escape it.

I wish the guy in charge of me was my dad. For real I connect well with this guy and I think I impress him by how quickly and efficiently I do my job, and got how to do it. But he ain't my dad and he may be totally different at home. I know what it's like.

The other guy I work with doesn't get it when I make a joke even if it's obviously one. No, he isn't autistic.

I eat early, as soon as I get home from work, so I don't go to bed on a full stomach or at least still digesting my dinner and then have issues sleeping. Dad tells me I should wait for him to come home. Excuse me, I ain't starving for 2 more hours just to please you. I have lunch circa 11:30am so it's been easily 7 hours without eating by the time I get home. But then tonight he didn't come home at all and didn't tell me until 9pm just to ask me to water the goddamn plants. Wow. Why I don't trust him.

I'm constantly sleep deprived and am about to sleep by almost 27 degrees in my room again tonight, oooh joy. I'm a walking fucking zombie and my damn coworker always tells me how I look exhausted. He is, too. My crush is not sleeping well either due to the heat.

But. The neighbours I hated moved away. Now that's a win. I have an easier time relaxing now.

All wake and no sleep makes Hi'iaka a dull girl.

I started my new job on the 1st. Like it so far even though there was hardly a thing to do today and last night I could not sleep until 1:30 am and not before having cried for 20 minutes sitting up in bed, thinking I'd never get any sleep at all.
But fuuuuck. I'm tired. All wake and no sleep makes Aka a dull, tired, and tearful girl.

I'm still struggling to sleep correctly, and even Atarax doesn't seem to put me to sleep. It takes the edge off a bit at best. And I don't have an unlimited supply of it, so I try my best not to rely on it too much... but it's like my nerves won't relax. It's especially bad when my dad is here. Also damn. When I am alone I prepare myself dinner within half an hour. I get home ravenous (because lunch is a good six to seven hours away at that point), but when he's here, we frequently don't eat until 8pm. When you gotta get into bed around 10 that's less than ideal. And preparing food for two or three doesn't help either: yesterday I cooked too much on purpose and what did this fucker do? Bring some sort of pizza thing, another thing Italian I swear I'm going to hate Italian food by the time I get my own place, and my stuff became a side dish. I felt... insulted. I know he couldn't guess I would cook for myself and I couldn't, myself, guess that he would bring back food. But now I think I'll eat early regardless and not even cook for the family. Fuck that. I'm not getting that kind of shitty surprise again. I have to save my energy already.

I couldn't even touch the leftovers tonight. Just seeing them makes me feel angry. I'll have to eat them though... or have dad, stepmother or stepsibling do it. But I can't imagine eating that now. It looks sad and probably tastes like sadness.

The worst is yet to come though. When my siblings will be there for TWO weeks to end summer break. God fucking help me. I sleep best when literally no one else is home. When they are here I cannot relax. The emotional atmosphere is toxic as can be as my dad does not go one day without at some point getting angry at them or rushing them or pushing them or threatening punishment (not to mention how he treats the dog, too, but at least I can counter this by being nice to him, and that's what I do, I'm always nice to that dog), and I absorb everything, EVERYTHING. I wish I didn't. I sincerely wish I could turn a blind eye or just be as rotten as any person who thinks threatening is ever a good way to raise one's kids to be healthy and well-adjusted adults.

Anyway... I'm tired. Aka is tired. Aka is gonna rest.

The Grenfell fire documentary

I watched it a couple days ago and it's stayed with me. The OST is splendid too.

But moreso I'm listening to young Firdaws Hashim's performance of Read All About It. It's just... it just breaks me to know that this talented girl will never be heard singing again. She also seemed like she would grow up to be a really beautiful person.

I have a thing for catastrophes that kill a large amount of people, but moreso shipwrecks and fires. I don't know why that is. Is it the large amount of people dying in one setting? Is it knowing that life can be cut short, burned or drowned, in such a short amount of time? Is it because large amounts of souls leave at around the same time, accompanying each other in death? Is it that I've lived it in the past and I feel the resonance? Is it that my soul knew some of those souls that departed on that terrible night? Probably that's the case for a few.

Every time I look at such catastrophes... I feel that one day, maybe, I'll be part of them. It's a totally twisted sort of fantasy of mine... but the idea that I may die along with a large number of people in something that just kinda happens like that, in a terrible twist of fate, as helpless as everyone else, kind of... holds a sort of temptation. Of course I wouldn't willingly provoke any catastrophe or do a terror attack or whatever, but one day, I may very well be part of such a large event. I may survive... or as I wish for it, my life may be claimed that day.

Cut short. Disappeared in an instant. All that is left of me is my spirit. Everyone else's. All we think about is to escape, but then we realize... we haven't made it. And we all grieve together, and I get to comfort them, and I am comforted, myself, even as I wouldn't ever reveal that I stayed in the blaze on purpose, or chose to go down with the ship. It's such a fucking weird kind of fantasy to entertain, but I've been obsessed with death and my own mortality for so long.

And since the first time in my life that the call of death came to my mind, the call of the void, the urge to end it all and leave it all behind, it has never left me. It's like those viruses that once you've contracted them, they never go away.

When this very familiar of having a heavy heart came to me for the first time, I grew fond of it. This heavy hearts that leads me to think, one day I will be laid to rest, and this shall be the most peaceful day in my life, no matter how violent my death was. It doesn't matter if my body is charred remains or anything: I will be beautiful in death, in any way possible.

"Once upon a time, there was a boy on a boat, and he lived happily ever after."
Mehdi El-Wahabi, 8.

Fucking hell this one moment punched me in the guts. I hope you and your family live happily ever after, lil' bud.

16k in one week

Almost 16k words on my side project in... about a week or so? I'm on freaking fire.

Truth be told I want to wrap this up asap so I can fully go back to my main projects, but I'm really enjoying this so far. I wonder how long the final product will be, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was around 40k. All of the things I drafted were around that length. The last one I remember was 46k words in a language I was learning at the time...

OH MY GOD.

"I think you fell in love with me because I was kind to you, and nobody had been in your past."

(after I asked what I was bringing to her life) "Well... reassuring you, taking care of you because of your anxiety... (silence)"

"I was doing the bare minimum, those things are normal"

"Don't make this hard... "

"I'm not a rude person, I'm a nice person"

"I'm not gonna disappear out of your life, we can be friends, we can meet up for coffee..."

Come on, insult me a little more. Add more salt to the injury. Imply I'm a pathetic loser. Go on.

Savior syndrome, the savior syndrome you love to say you have. Wow. So I was adding nothing else to your life. I mean, besides a pretty face, beautiful eyes, a hot body, and hell of a lot of validation you didn't even want.

Like treating someone like any girlfriend does isn't the bare minimum. Politeness is. And you certainly weren't just being polite. You let me kiss you. You didn't push me away, and you even got carried away. You only stopped me after a while. Holding someone's waist, having sex, kissing for long periods of time, cuddling for hours, including after sex, calling me love every now and then, all of that is not the bare minimum. You tried to say that going on dates and going for coffee and eating together was the bare minimum but there was more to it than this. You were not just "being nice". Telling someone you haven't walked like that since your ex, and you had 3 short relationships in between, that's not being nice, that's not the bare minimum. Why won't you own up to the very real things you did?

Don't make this hard? I know you don't have any valid reason for breaking up. I'm not someone who goes down without a fight. And I did everything I could. Told you again and again, you do it scared, there's no way to escape it. You can do it. You're strong. We can do it. We can make it if you put in the work, because I am doing it. It's right there in front of you, a relationship that pushes you up, that is a partnership. Why don't you take it? Why do you say "I don't want to change and I don't want you to change" when relationships are precisely about that, growth together, and thus implies change? We don't become different people. We just become new versions of ourselves. If you expect to stay static your whole life you'll never evolve. In fact I suspect that despite the famous five years of therapy and "having done the work" that you really love to hide behind like it's some sort of shield, you haven't evolved at all from an age that's even younger than mine.

And the way you handled things, wanting to break up for weeks but delaying it "because this and that" until I had to force it out of you on a phone call because you had already made me wait 2 days knowing damn well what you wanted, and were planning to delay it even more, prolonging the emotional torture, that's not kind or any nice. You didn't do it for me. You did it for YOU. Because you can't own up to yourself. To your shit. To everything you do wrong. Besides, not telling me when you got home when I have requested you to do so is rude as fuck. You acted grossly, selfishly, and destructively, and you're lucky I haven't sworn you off completely yet despite being this close to doing it.

How do you expect me to be friends when I love you so dearly? I don't want to be your friend, honey. I want to be by your side. I want to be the home you come home to when you're trashed after a night of partying and the chores are done and you don't have to worry about it, hell you might even have a little snack ready for you. The door is still open, though ajar, but I'm going to close it at some point, and by the time you realize what you fucked up, it's probably going to be late, too late.

You're 33 fucking years old, you should be the one who knows better than me, who is 7 years younger.

My girlfriend left me and everything is worse now

Yeah. It turns out that I thought everything was going well, but it wasn't. She was not telling me about everything. I feel blindsided and betrayed. I don't want to live anymore, even though I got my job contract on that exact same day, coincidentally enough.If you got anything, tell me. If I got anything, I'll tell you.

Where did that simple principle we had discussed go? You were "sitting back and observing". Ah. Okay. Just tell me you didn't want to be alone. Stepmom says that you likely started getting attached and you got scared. Understandable. I had doubts too at the beginning but I pushed through them. I did it scared.

The day we had sex for the first time I think, or another one where we did, perhaps the second, I told you I was afraid of my feelings for you, but that the difference I had with my ex was that I chose to do it scared. To love in spite of knowing I may get hurt. And I don't regret it. I'm a person who loves. A thousand hearts' worth of love. Was I going to hold that back? Of course not. You were saying that we were on the way to become actual girlfriends, so I assumed that yours would rejoin mine in a few months. It wasn't going to make me "control my feelings". To me they were there, and yours were going to come anyway so no worries to be had.

You wanted to break up with me next Friday and then say, I don't want to make you wait. Oh yeah? Isn't that making me wait when you've seemingly made up your mind a long time ago? Don't fuck with my head, my dear party girl. You're smart enough to know what you were doing.

"I want alone time on Friday"

ah yeah. You're just delaying it because you're too much of a coward to end it. I told you, if you made up your mind, then do it. You wanted to do it in person but for God's sake, do it asap instead of making me wait. In a situation like that, leaving the other hanging like this is the most cruel thing you can do to them.

How was it up to me to "take my precautions" and not fall too hard or get attached when you were acting like a loving girlfriend to me and doing everything that a girlfriend does? How is someone exactly supposed to react not like the girlfriend of a loving girlfriend? What the fuck is wrong in your head exactly? If your actions are showing something, I won't believe your words as much. If you act like you love me but then say you don't, I'm gonna get confused but go by your actions because they typically shout while words whisper.

How is it even possible to look at me with this much love, to touch me with this much tenderness, to be so worried about my well-being, to hold my waist on the street, to give me a sweet kiss while holding said waist, and when I ask you about the last time you did that, you tell me you haven't done it since your ex, and not feel any attachment or love?

How is everything you did for me even possible to fake? Why? Why not simply be upfront and say, I'm not being serious?

Why not simply NOT act like this? Why cuddle me for hours on end? Why make love to me? Why? What's exactly your point?

You were "patient" with me. Because of my anxiety. I was doing my best and it was still not enough. Oh, I should have known when you told me I needed to meet your expectations. My standards supposedly are too high, but neither I, nor my stepmom, nor my therapist think they're that high. Yours on the other hand. How do you expect someone to be "healed" before entering a relationship? How is that remotely possible? We are never healed. Never fully. A relationship where nobody is ever triggered is either shallow or simply nonexistent.

You're five years into therapy and you have "done the work". But let me tell you, you're a work in progress. You're not "done with the work". And it's not about how long you've been. It's about the efforts.

"You need to get out of your comfort zone!"

Pardon me, but how many times have I done this actually? To you it felt "normal" and you barely acknowledged my achievements. Besides, how about YOU do it as well? It's all fine and dandy to pin all the blame on me. You're right in your goddamn comfort zone and you don't care to get out of it. No, you'd rather brainrot and get drunk, and smoke weed and get horny and flick your bean to porn.

"It's not fun to be around you when you're in this state!"

But it's not fun either when you're in a mood for whatever reason, when you're on your period, tired from work or whatever I don't know about, and yet I still did it. I was there for you. I was happy to be. It was coming from my heart.

You see, honey, relationships aren't about fun. The genuine ones at least. They have the good, the bad, the ugly in them. The impossibly beautiful. The pain. The compromises and sacrifices. But that's what makes it worth it. You give a little of yourself. You adapt yourself to the person in front ot you. "I don't want you to change yourself for me", but my passion, my anxiety, all the things that made me "me" were so impossible to deal with for you, you had to be "patient" rather than straight up ending it. And it was the thing that broke the relationship apparently. I did nothing wrong and yet I was the reason why it broke, make up your mind.

"The thing I really like about you is how emotionally intelligent you are, because that's a very rare thing to find in someone..."


Ironically that's this same emotional intelligence you could not handle. Be careful what you wish for.

"You're so pretty, I chose you..."

You chose me until it became inconvenient for you to deal with what came with me.

You're seven years older than me and you can't even hold a decent relationship, how are you ever going to be happy in one? And don't tell me you are an independent woman and whatnot. Don't serve me this bullshit. You're doing your 'triage' and whatever which makes me think you're on the search for the one, but the one is made, not found.

Love is a choice. I love you. I made that choice every day, and I'd choose you all over again if you choose to come back.

But not twice. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. You better not fuck it up.

I can't wrap my head around all of this. It's an inextricable mess of a lot of shit that is projection, inability to take responsibility for what you're doing, and your own trauma getting mixed in all of this. I don't get how you can be so loving and yet not love me. How it's "my fault" somehow for how things went down.

I told you a lot of things. Cried several times while doing so because of how painful it was. I hope you think HARD on them. But a part of me thinks that I shouldn't expect you to. Because at the end of the day, it's easier not to think about it. It's easier to watch TikTok, reinstall Tinder if you hadn't uninstalled it like I did, scroll Instagram, get high, get drunk, and do it all over again with another girl.

Your relationships after your 3 year ex lasted 1 week, 2 weeks, 1 month, and me, 2 months. You broke all of them off. One of them was controlling, I get it. The others were nothing serious.

You're 5 years into therapy. You're still unable to have proper relationships as I can see.

At least I was brave and I told you everything, even that I love you. After all, if we're breaking it off, might as well say it, otherwise it will kill me from being left unsaid. I had my chance and took it.

I regret nothing.

I think you just want your cake and to eat it too.But I don't want to live anymore. I want an elephant's dose of Jack Daniel's, thirty pills of Benadryl, an isolated beach, and a notebook to write out a whole damn essay on my death. Hiding my IDs and phone as to delay identification, though I'm fairly recognizable from the unique tattoos I got. Drawn by me for two of them. Last night I wished my heart would stop in my sleep. It didn't, obviously. I wish it did. I don't want to live anymore. I don't have much holding me back if at all: I knew love from a woman. This was the only thing keeping me alive, that sense that I wouldn't die in peace until I knew it. Now that I know what it's like...

Nobody cares. Nobody loves Aka. Aka is just something pretty to look at, to fuck eventually, and to discard when her not-so-big needs (therapist's words!) are becoming too inconvenient. You tell me to love myself. The most loving act I can do to myself is self-destruction. To put an end to my misery.
If I can even get to it and override my survival instincts.

I think I'll have another cigarette. My lungs will be destroyed soon enough. Unable to breathe in life. Not like I really have a drive to live, anyway. Plus I don't know what Camels taste like, I have never tried them but I got my first pack of them...

Wild horses

 

Wild horses couldn't drag me away...

That G and Bm together in the verses... they do it for me. I think Bm is my favourite chord. Wish it wasn't a bitch to play, though nothing beats B and barre chords with an A shape in terms of "proper bitch".

Reader, do you know if the people who buy Rolling Stones t-shirts at H&M (or any band for that matter) have ever listened to it? When I was younger and not yet knowing it was a band, I thought Nirvana was a brand of clothing.

There she goes

 

I've been hooked on that one for a good month now.

God help me

Grief

Grief, not my friend, but not entirely my enemy, either. I'm well-acquainted with you. I can be happy, but you're always there, waiting for me to feel tired and then wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. You've been my companion for more than a decade, but perhaps for longer, perhaps ever since my personality truly developed after the first seven years of life in which you are little more than the extension of a parent.

I've come to know you better than any of your counterparts, joyful or sad, mad or fearful. You're not even originating from a death like you are considered, for most, to spring from. It's not much that I've never mourned anyone, but I have been in a constant state of mourning something abstract since I was eleven or twelve.

I can't pinpoint what it is that I've been grieving, only the times when I truly had something to grieve: a hope, a person, a relationship, a dream. It's not my childhood that I mourn, as I disliked being a child because nobody would ever take me seriously. It's not my family unit, as I never felt truly safe within it. My best memories include other kids, never my parents. It's not innocence, as I realized in a recent therapy session that I've never really had it. It's something I cannot pinpoint. Something that always takes me back to the same thing, like a whirlpool: to death. To the death of something, or someone.

I remember that girl back in the spring break of 2009. She was from a faraway land, a couple years my senior, and she and her male bilingual friend were riding at that club where I would ride during the holidays, as opposed to the main one that would see me every Saturday. I remember how beautiful I found her, but how I never really dared get close to her. I remember her turquoise puff jacket, her long brown hair. I even remember her name. Her friend had curly hair and hazel or blue eyes, I'm not sure, but slightly tanned skin. I remember having managed to snap a photo of them but those files have long been lost to accidental deletion.

They were here for a week, I think, and I remember, every day, waiting to see her. To catch a glimpse of her. It would make me so happy.

When one day, neither her friend nor her were to be seen again, I started talking on the Internet about how she died. Some even believed me. I made her a totally different person than she really was in my life. Imagined us as closer, as best friends, not knowing I actually had a crush. Her death was caused by a heart issue which is laughable when we think of preteens, but wasn't that "heart issue" a projection of my own heartache?

I was lying and I knew it, it was routine for me to lie and make up stories on the Internet at that age, starting with posing as an older kid (going from 8 to 12), but it was never to mislead people: it was because I thought nobody would want to talk to an 8 year old, I was feeling bored with children my age, and because I was expressing what I was feeling, although awkwardly: loss, Grief. A death. I never learnt her last name and I don't even really remember her face in detail, so finding her isn't even an option. She may be truly dead today, for all I know.

Creativity, like any other skills, often is clumsy in the beginning, and I believe children who invent elaborate lies like I did have some tremendous creative potential. Especially if, like me, it's not with malicious intentions. I was an online liar up until 13 or so. In a sense I may still be, especially when I keep details about myself ambiguous, hinting at something, but maybe totally misleading you in an effort to obfuscate my traces.

There is one song I still associate with this, as I discovered it right then: "If" from the Korean movie Hong Gil Dong. I never watched it, but many years later, curious about the meaning of the song as I don't speak Korean, I found out that it fit quite well with how I was feeling at the time. Intuition? Universal language of music? Either way, it sums you up perfectly, Grief, as I was just starting to know you. I cannot say if this is the first of your apparitions in my life, but it sure is the most powerful of my earlier days.

It's strange how I never seem to feel Grief after the death of a person. Something must be off with my psyche. I have experienced a few, but none of them, except for the moment when I touched my grandmother's casket, ever seemed to trigger it. It's almost as if I am too used to it, as if I am desensitized, or... maybe another option that makes me question my supposed "goodness" as a person. But the end of a relationship? The death of a pet? An argument with a friend that irremediably tainted our bond, causing it to break forever? Moving to another place? So much of it, of you. The more sudden, the worse. I am often the last to give up her dead. Things seem to stay with me long after everyone else has moved on.

I am a creature of memories. I remember too much, too many things, often in detail, to the point I can recall the green sofa and the bunk bed at two years old, a classroom I went in at four, or a small tropical bungalow I lived in for a short time at six. So is my mother, who's been carrying the grief of my grandfather's death for more than thirty years. I must have heard her life stories a million times, but she always tells them with so many details that I can picture them clearly in my mind.

I wonder if us, "creatures of memories", are more prone to complicated or endless Grief than the average person. Always looking at the past, because the future not only has so far only been a repetition of what you've always known, good or bad, regardless of what you do or hope for, but also because you try your best not to repeat history, all the while people seem focused on the present or on some sort of vision that may or may not materialize, all at the detriment of lessons that they should learn as not to get in a future pickle. They don't seem to attach much importance to little moments that will remain lost in time, to take pictures because they would want a physical (or digital) trace of said moments, or to spend a long time happily, or unhappily, recounting what has already happened. Reflecting endlessly on what could have been, on how things could be today, turning it in your hand like a golden coin.

Blessed is the one who is that carefree, and not haunted by this ever-present Grief even in their happiest moments.

Hi'iaka

Maybe someone here has seen me on the street.

Maybe someone actually does see me everyday on public transport, or walking around.

Maybe someone has answered me on the phone, or maybe I have answered theirs.

Maybe someone works with me here.

I could be anybody,

I could be the daughter of whoever lives next door to you,

I could be living on the other side of the country.

I could be white,

I could be black,

I could be yellow,

I could even be an actual girl of the Pacific. Who knows?

I could be a public figure, or a complete unknown.

I could be a striking beauty, I could be a real eyesore.

I could be your ex, I could be your former friend.

I could be in your life, I could have never been.

I could be in the newspaper for a good thing or in the obituaries in a couple days, and no one will ever know.

Who says I'm not just a fragment of your imagination, anyway?

I am just Hi'iaka, and I got a strange pearl inside that seashell...