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. 

"Go inward and choke"

   It took me nearly three weeks but I finally managed to wake up again at 6.30 - to get up, do the laundry, make myself a coffee, omelet for breakfast, dishes, sit down and write and then work for two hours. I've fallen in a misshaped kind of loop that I would very much like to blame on the quarantine but really, it's in my head. The quarantine feeds it.

  The thing is, I love the night in all its aspects and somehow watching it fade feeds me with a sense of calm - I dread the darkness sometimes, though it generally hides me, I feel that there's nothing to hide in it presently and maybe, annoyingly, I need the sun more at the moment. By the time the night falls my head is hopelessly immersed in fog. 

  So I have tried to get up in the morning - it's not so much about the number but it's also about it too. I've found that when I wake up early and keep my phone turned off and my laptop away from the socials time goes by differently, more slowly. I almost have the ability to perceive time in existence rather than something that is always at my neck, always rushing and pulling me along. I do not try to fight time but rather to understand it better and see it in relation to myself. To not take it too seriously but also not to disregard it either. I figured out and accept that I am, in spite of it all, full of ambition but at the end of the day I feel content if I have been present in a day enough to feel time go by rather than perceive it at something that slipped right through my fingers.

  Take care of yourself, your mind, so that you can take care of others too. The isolation sometimes drowns me but the isolation has also saved me in so many ways - I have however pushed people too far away and now I don't know how to be in their presence. Rather, I don't know how to be present without having to pretend. I take solace in the fact that for years I have drowned within the waters of my mind and that in spite of not asking for help I managed to somehow find the surface and somewhat pull my self ashore. I slip back in the murky waters often, I berate myself for not having asked for help but if I overcame the worst part then I can hold on some more. 

  I can shape things differently. 

  The introspection helps, the understanding, the acceptance - but they are only half the step. One has to start with small steps before jumping. Not to be cautious, but rather to give time to the muscles to rest and grow strong. I take care of the house. I do little things that in the "grand scheme of things" are nonsensical, perhaps practical in their own way but definitely the smallest of details. I find satisfaction in them. I try to gather strength.

  I try to talk to people when I am not too exhausted. I let him come close when I dare, he will maybe come on Monday and it's been a year since we met and that scares me. Do feelings perceive the distance or are we too lonely and desperate for some warmth that we let messages fly over electrical signals and travel for a few nights of shared life?

  Oh well, it is what it is. I let the relief overcome me.

Dead end

   I watched the snow melt outside, little by little, some of it preserves in nooks and corners here and there. I watched from my window and I did not budge, not until I had to make a new cup of tea. The pause has been necessary but it has not exactly been good. I manage to sleep more but every day is full of headaches - and the more time passes, the harder it is to put my mind in one singular action. I feel trapped. But that's not new: the problem is that I have no idea what to escape to. 

  I want to roll my eyes at my own thoughts at this point - I whine a lot and though I know that at this point the entire world is united in one united whining, I want to take a moment and step back and see beyond my shitty job and feelings of meaninglessness, what things do I have that I am grateful for?

For the apartment I live in: We have had a rocky start but I am putting effort in it and it has loyally provided me shelter.

The health of my loved ones.

The three loyal friends with whom I rarely ever talk.

The parents that try to love me as best as they can.

The man who will come to see me soon.

Actually, the few people who read this  blog: I have not kept up with numbers but some of you have stuck around for quite some time. I truly appreciate it.

The morning light.

My books.

These are all in all the core of what I am grateful for.  

I put one foot in front of the other. I mostly fall into puddles. I try to start again. I cry a lot at times. I try to take care of myself and am in full denial about it. My mind is still cluttered. I dislike the majority of the things I see around me and thus look inwards to see how I can perhaps start changing them from within.

I miss touching. The smell of orange blossoms - the feel of the wind on my face. The world is being deconstructed right under our feet and we're hovering, unsure of which way to move towards. But today, in this moment, I'm grateful for the precious things that amidst the chaos allow me the semblance of balance.

And I contemplate burning every screen I own.

This is an aimless post. 

To take care

 The are

many things

running

running 

through my mind.

Most of them

of

little value.

I try to 

value

my body

amidst all the chaos,

the only home 

a person has.

Taking care

of yourself

in reality and not

by substituting

the missing or

the painful

parts

is a difficult

choice

to make.

Entry #12

   I want to take photographs - it is an odd realisation to have. I felt it last night while taking in the few people surrounding me. I wanted to photograph their existence right in that moment, hopeless and in semi-darkness, semi-drunkenness and still able to laugh. The room was filled with their smoke, amazingly enough I abstained from touching a cigarette and that in itself is perhaps the most promising way to open the new year. The heaviness has not left but it felt good to share it with a few others and to sleep on the couch while another person slept on the floor and the other two in the bedroom. I woke up a couple of times but I slept peacefully for the most part. 

  Around midnight people started yelling and screaming and she hollered back to them while hanging her body out the window and we consumed whiskey and daze. There are many ways to be dazed and it's good to not always do it on your own. And it was so weird not to be alone last night after the year we passed. We're all people locked in our homes and for just a little while the four of us gathered in one home.

  I don't believe in new beginnings. But I am hoping that I will grow gentle again and that the bruises will hurt just a little less.

  This morning, in my house, I danced in spite of the despair.