Steps in any direction

   There are times when the mind easily forgets how many steps have been made. What exists only in the past is easily swallowed up by mist and the mind can be relentless in cultivating and keeping it intact. On days like this I try to take one minute to take some deep breaths. Locked by myself in the house, one would think that I would have plenty of time to do exactly that but my mind is almost always racing and breathing has proved to be the thing I do the least.

  I am almost always looking around and try to see what things no longer serve me and for once have decided that perhaps instead of just giving them left and right I might need to work somewhat more strategically. I know that sometime in the next two years I might need to move if I am to make any progress for myself: not to escape from something but simply to allow myself to follow at least one of my dreams. And perhaps to finally accept I need to grow. Seeing what serves you and what not sounds all big and flashy and shiny. In truth it's muddy and you will keep back-pedaling. I'm holding on tightly to the fact that I managed to distance myself from smoking for so long for the first time in nearly ten years: occasionally people minimize it because I was never smoking two packages a day but I know that I never lasted more than two months. I'm not jinxing it, just seeing it for what it is. Even if I back-pedal, at some point, eventually, in the future, I made it further than before. So I'm holding on to that idea. Quitting smoking was hard enough but I know that most other things will be harder. All the external little things are not what changes the bad seeds inside. They are the easy roots to spot but the ones withing you are harder to get a grasp of and, even if you do, there's just no guarantee that you won't pull out some good ones as well. 

  These are the things that keep me awake and accompany me quietly during the day. If I want the quality of my mind, of my life, to change, then I will need to learn to be forgiving and also to be firm. And I will need to choose consciously with which people I can grow and with which not. Sometimes, cutting out painful pieces means keeping intact you.

  

The resilience of a seed

   I went there so that we could work together: too many days locked away on my own, trying to work had set me on edge a tad bit too much. She said she had to finish two applications first and then we could get on. In the meantime I lounged on the couch, reading Benjamin's book on Baudelaire, her sister searching something on her phone on the other armchair. And there, amidst the noise and the light and the thought that I would certainly would have liked the chance to punch Baudelaire in the face, I was lulled to sleep. I slept deep and well, the best sleep I have had in weeks. I woke up in the morning well rested and thinking of flowers. 

  It is odd to always keep your life on hold: this prolonged pause of life difficult to measure at times. She remarked how a year ago these days I was at her home with them, my life already falling apart, the quarantine at its first days. I was a different, weaker more tender version of myself yet already tired. There was terror back then whereas now there is anger. The last year I feel like I have not existed in my life but it's effect is there nonetheless.

  I feel like one of the things that the pandemic exposed was the fact that I had not, in fact, been present in my life for a much longer period than I had realised. My mind had been too preoccupied with too many things to be present in anything. And every time an attempt to grow fails it hits harder than it should. On some days I feel desperate. On days like this it's difficult to hang on to anything that might help me feel better. It's harder to grasp the reality of myself. Breathing becomes erratic and I almost wish it was a sudden panic that would end faster even if it needed to be stronger for that to happen. 

  Losing myself in books sometimes helps but to be honest I would prefer to lose my self in creation: it has always been more effective to doodle than to chase after words that belong to someone else. And when I don't make things little else makes any sense. I'm trying to find interest in small insignificant creations though I always feel the pressure to make big and important things. But it is not always so: when you make as a calling to yourself, what importance does it have to measure up to others? Often I feel the desire to withdraw to somewhere more quiet, somewhere where I can walk without the fear of people, where I can watch the stars and gaze at the sea. 

  It's difficult to call upon yourself to hold your own hand. I'm saving money for a therapist - most of us should have gone to one even before this year started. And I try to remind myself that no matter how deeply I have been buried. I have always found the way towards the surface. I try to recognise in my heart the resilience of a seed. 

Entry #13

   I have been struggling, I am not going to lie. When I look around me I remember the itch with which I wanted to sell everything I owned when I first moved in this apartment. There are times when I still do. Lots of feelings that come rushing back are familiar to me. I try to get up in the morning, make coffee sit, write, study, eat something, resist taking take-out (I tend to fail at this one.) The other day I was coming home from the doctor when I spotted an orange-tree that has not yet grown tall, full of its white blossoms. Going closer I pulled down my mask and leaned in as much as I could, the branches engulfing my face, I took in the scent of the flowers. That was the most peaceful moment of the past ten days. There's not much else to tell. 

  It is hard not to be constantly down, I envy and admire the people I see carrying so much on their shoulders and still finding ways to stand up and keep going. Any step I make is small and trivial, I think I'm mostly crushed by my own brain and not reality itself. How does one go about building even a partial reality where they actually become the person they want? My mind is usually submerged in moments and fragments of the past or invents and play-acts fantasies to make the escape from the present possible. It is very difficult to be around my self sometimes.

  There are things I should do that I keep putting off - things that I do, in fact, want to do. They plague me the worst: how can I betray even myself so much? I make tea and get up to exercise when my thoughts swallow me too much. Sometimes it helps, others not. I make small progress. But every step is a step, is it not?

  Not really - that's the sneaky part they have not told you yet. Every step is a step and it counts for what it is but there's only so far you can go when you keep finding excuse after each and every one of them. 

  Some times, for exactly this reason, I push myself to go forward with doing things that I have not tried before; to be more exact, I push my self to go forward and fail. And see that I survive. That it did not, after all, kill me. But I emerge tired nonetheless.