Stressed out

Every time I come back here after a while, my head in between my legs with shame, I start singing Stressed Out by Twenty One Pilots, and I’m Tyler in every word he says, and I am insecure, and I care what people think.

I’m at a Starbucks, and some dude just passed by me, and he is wearing a godly perfume. I literally can not concentrate anymore, literally forgot what I wanted to write. I am about to get out of my chair and sniff him. He smells so good.

How are we? Really? It’s not that I can help you or anything, I can barely help myself, but it’s good to hear how you really are; maybe you are having mental breakdowns and existential crisis issues, and you would like to see if somebody else might be as messed up as you are, because in reality, we all are, messed up, and even messier.

I should be doing well. I want to point out all the nice things going on, the usuals that I tell myself about, and then wonder what’s wrong with me, but then, honestly, what exactly is the definition of well?

I paused. I don’t know, really. I often feel guilty when feeling a certain way despite all the good things around me, and I am reflecting on all the good things I wanted to list, but all the points have loopholes, a little something that is making me a little stressed. And I think it’s fine. It should be fine.

I’ve been in a kind of emotional burnout, where I cannot with any more stress than the usual stress of literally surviving. I’m like for traffic, mum complaining about lettuce prices, friends obligations, extra hours of work: “please, not today. I will probably start yelling at the wrong people and cry the whole night, and I literally and wholeheartedly cannot cope with any stress.”

It [the burnout] started around May, heightened around August, and I am working on myself; I think I am improving, but I am still in the distress era, and I cannot handle you telling me anything I do not want to hear. For once, let me fight my demons the way I want to; let me rid myself of them and be free.

I am going to the gym – I actually started going last week (I went four times!!!!), but I won’t be able to go this week due to all the messed-up life and because I *fingers crossed until they’re red* am traveling next week. I am extremely patiently waiting for my passport to be renewed, and I still need to apply for the visa, which could take four days; I intend on traveling on Friday, and I really really want to travel.

But maybe I don’t, which is also fine. Usually, I trust the process.

Need to log off and go to therapy. I’ll see you around 🙂

What is love?

Love is forbidding yourself from telling him you love him so he doesn’t get hurt, even though it’s 2:25am on a Monday and all you are thinking is of him and his arms around you.

I miss you, and I love you so, so, much and you don’t even know it.

A song about safety is on repeat as I write this

This song, like many others, reminded me of you. I don’t know why I can’t write about you, even though you have been the most important character in my life for the past months, even though I’ve written about people I care less about, even though you are all I could think about sometimes, even though all songs these days are reminding me of you, even though I have around three unfinished posts of how I need to let you go, and I still can’t write about you.

I could barely write the five sentences above, even though what I am feeling is not little, and I have never felt this way towards anyone, ever. I’ve never felt this free towards anyone as much as I do with you. It makes so much sense to me, but it won’t to you; it makes no sense to you, and it upsets you, and I understand that.

You called me weird last week, looking straight in my eyes to see what I might react to that because we both know what you meant by weird, and I just shrugged it off with a smile.

You called me weird when you wanted to say: “your words used to contradict your actions, and it frustrated me. Now, your words and actions are the same, and you’re pulling me in, and now your words and actions are contradicting you, what you have told me before, how you have acted before, and you are just so weird.” But I understood that. I understood all of that, and you knew I did, even though I just looked at you and smiled.

And then you told me I over exaggerate when I tell you how important you are to me. We were talking about this person that annoys me with exaggerated words, and you told me: “but you do the same when you tell me you care about me most,” and I told you, “but I am not exaggerating. I am not telling you you are the most important person on earth; I am simply telling you that you are the most important person to me. And I mean it, whether you believe it or not.” And I mean it, but you don’t believe it, and I don’t believe that it is my fault you don’t.

When are you going, to be honest with me? I know you like me, you know that I know you like me, and you’re skeptical of how I feel towards you, but why can’t you tell me you still want me? I know you do, but I need to hear it from you.

I can see your jealousy radiating at different times, like when I showed photos of my old close friend, and when I asked you if you know him, you said: “I don’t, and I’m glad I didn’t.” And when I talk about other guys, you either stay very quiet or light your cigarette and walk away. I see you; I see you liking me, and all I need of you is to say it.

And I know you’re expecting the same, but I can’t say it because I don’t even know how I feel, so that it would be unfair. There was a time where I wanted to tell you everything, where I was too selfish. I didn’t care that everyone was telling me it would be stupid and that I would hurt you, but you kept shutting me out, and I know I can’t say it anymore because you gave me the time to think and rethink, and I can’t say it anymore. See what happens where we’re not honest? You even told me: “you’re so honest about everything, except the few things that you will never say. You are so weird.”

Anyway.

I will be creating a new category called “Memory of You.” This will be a series of moments I have lived with different people, describing the events and how they happened more vividly- to a point where the person might even know I am talking about them if they are reading. In each post, I will talk about a different memory with a different person where the memory touched my heart, a memory that still lingers by.

I have so many of those; I am already thinking of five different persons I would like to share a moment with here. It will be fun to write, and I hope it will be as fun to read. x

For now, I am talking to you, flirting as always, and now you are not replying. Come back, and stay, per favore.