Solitude and loneliness

This is a thank you note to a couple of people, who might have no idea how much their presence helps me. 
Loneliness is an ugly thing. I’ve been sleeping in a friend’s room for almost a week. I’m very grateful for this, he might not even notice, but to me it’s a big caring gesture. It makes me happy, which I haven’t been in a while. I’ve come to notice that I’m feeling lonely, which is extremely different from being alone. I’ve been surrounding myself with people; people who seem to love me, they seem to care. But I still feel it, loneliness. This hasn’t happened in over 4 years, it’s hard to go back into the same spot I was. There are people whose company, as silent it may be, give me a great comfort. Loneliness goes away for a moment. They make my heart happy, and I thank them for that. 

I’ve learned to be alone my whole life. There’s nothing wrong with that. It is actually nice; solitude is very freeing and somewhat comfortable. It is enjoying your own company and the beauty that silence can be. I’m trying to get back to that point. It isn’t as easy as I’d like, but nothing ever is. At the end of the day I just tell myself everything’s going to be fine, because it will. Nothing ever lasts, and for once that ain’t such a bad thing. 

Not anymore

But what will happen? What will happen after this?

Will I go back to being myself? 

Or a lost part of you will find its way through my skin and bones? 

I feel. I know that now. 

I feel and it’s not only beautiful but terrifying. 

My head is overloaded, sometimes empty. 

It is a paradox how much I can have inside

How beautiful can the world be seen through my eyes 

And still there’s something very dark in all of these…

Feelings.

Nothing

22/02/2016

I need these feelings to escape my soul, but how do I write about them? I have no idea. My head is pounding with the voices inside. Today I felt homesick for the very first time. It’s a strange feeling of impotence towards everything. There’s not much you can do. You’re in an unknown city surrounded by strangers. The fear of not having control over anything is taking over me. I don’t know what will happen next, how shittier might things get. I’m alone in this place, surrounded by millions of masses but still lonely. And what to expect from others? Nothing. That’s the best answer. A hug, reassuring smile? Nothing! You’re not suppose to expect anything, because you’ll end up more disappointed. 

I’m waiting for the day these feelings disappear, it might be tomorrow or the day after that. I just wish with all in me they go away, so I can have some peace of mind. 

To be anxious

19/02/2016

Shaking uncontrollably because of fucking anxiety, hardly breathing and racing thoughts that make you want to slap yourself across the face too many times.
“Stop it!” I want to yell at myself, but can’t because my voice trembles.

“Please, stop it.” I say to no one in particular, pleading for some rest. For my thoughts to be quite just for one second.

When I finally calm down everything is blurry, my mind can’t concentrate, it needs to be shut down. Reset. Another day. Everything will be better. That’s what I tell myself every fucking time. But to be anxious…to have fucking anxiety… I don’t wish it upon anyone.

But let me assure you, everything WILL be better. Even when it doesn’t feel like it will.

I’m S C R E W E D

14/12/2015

“Well, well…look who’s back. The writer who doesn’t write.” they said indignantly as she posted on her social platform. “Apologizing for leaving us here, with an insatiable expectance of what’s next. Huh! Unforgivable.”

“I beg your pardon, my lords! Please forgive my lack of commitment!” she admitted with sorrow.

“She most learn her lesson!” someone yelled.

“She most be punished!” another complained.

“Cut her hands!” everyone demanded. “So she’ll respect the right of actually writing.”

“No!” she begged “Please, no!”

 

Okay… very dramatic. Please don’t cut my hands, haha. I apologize (as I’ve done thousands of times before) for the lack of posting. I hope you’d like my small representation of an apology.

Now! Back to my life… as I’m what matters here (jk). I’m screwed! Totally, totally screwed. Because I just found out that I have exactly 3 days and 2 nights to write a proper novel sample for me to send as an audition into a Creative Writing Program, which I’ve always wish to be in.

I know what your wondering… “But Sam, if you’re a writer, shouldn’t you have an old writing piece you can send?” Well let me tell you, my dear social platform audience, that the first line of the fictitious conversation in the beginning it’s true. I’m a writer who doesn’t write…as much as I’d like to. Yes, an atrocious truth. So, as I’ve said before… I’m screwed!

You’ll wonder, what am I doing here? Writing about this big-ass problem, and not a novel sample. Well, I was writing, but nothing seemed good enough. Lack of confidence in novel writing maybe.

I know what you’ll say, “Don’t give up! Keep on going! It’s your long time dream!”. Those are actually words from me to me, but I receive whatever positive thoughts you have for me as well.

As I’ve been saying…I’m screwed. And empty of words. So, I’ll try and update you on what happends.

Love Always, Sam.

every seven years…

18/10/15

It is said that every seven years a human is entirely different from whom he was, because cells are in constant renewal. Our skin cells, our blood cells, everything renews constantly. Our entire body regenerates through time and seven years later it is a different self than what it was.

A week ago I had the opportunity to go on a day trip with my family; we visited the town I was born in, and where I spent most of my childhood summer and winter vacations. It’s a place filled with memories, mostly of my grandmas house. It is very different from the city I live and grew up in. It is calm, liberating, noiseless…

Before leaving this memory lane we decided to go to an ice cream place I hadn’t visited since I was ten. I remembered my favorite ice cream flavor from that exact place, and so as a usual I asked for it. I can’t even explain how horrible it was. Maybe the ice cream wasn’t the same that it was back in the old days, or maybe I was the one who had changed.

What I realized in that moment is that not only do our physical appearance changes through time, we in a whole do too. We change every day. Our points of view, perspectives, beliefs; they grow, decrease or simply become something entirely different. We become a different person through time, and some of us are afraid of that because we think change is wrong, that we’re not staying true to ourselves. We idealize staying the same forever… innocent, young, beautiful; but things are not that way.

At the end, we decide who we become. We cannot avoid change, we cannot avoid realizing how the world really is, we cannot avoid life. But we surely can choose what to be. Change isn’t bad, not if we don’t want it to.

J’adore les étoiles

It’s 6:25 am… (I’ll stop writing for a second to admire the view.)

Have you ever noticed, we create stars on the ground? By we I mean humans, and by stars on the ground I mean city lights. They look like a vague imitation of stars; not as magnificent but surely beautiful. 

I love a sky filled with stars. If someone granted me one impossible wish, I would wish for the sky to be filled with stars every where I went, or for them to appear on specific occasions in my life, to let me know something special is about to happen. 

It’s amazing, isn’t it? How something so distant can be considered so beautiful. Something that eventually becomes space dust is special to some humans. We’ve made out of them a romantical statement, a beauty concept, we’ve admired them for centuries. It’s strangely poetical.

What is it about stars that makes us love them? 

Somewhere, I read that we have most of the components of a star in ourselves, and maybe it’s not true…but what if it is? Then the real stars on the ground are us. Vaguely beautiful, but just as magnificent enough to be something. 

Romantic comedies not bullshit.

Doesn’t matter how big/small, or hard/simple, or horrible/plaine it might have been. Doesn’t matter if you think it’s not important or if people think it’s a tiny little thing that will pass away and shouldn’t bother you. If you have one of those days or (in my case) one of those weeks where you’re mopping around eating ice cream and watching movies to distract yourself after a pain of heart situation; if you tell yourself it ain’t that important, you’re better than this, and try to hide your real feelings about it. Please, watch a romantic comedy.

Watch it for the sake of love! Watch it because it’ll restore you’re faith in men; there’ll still be jerks, but it’ll pop you’re eye for the ones who are worth it; and even if it’s the fantasy of the Prince Charming, who we all have trouble believing in, it’s worth it! I assure you it’s worth it. Because when you see all those feelings, all that impossible love, all that corny endless fantasy, it makes you wanna have that. And if you understand it you’ll see, it’s not all dust fairy and bullshit, there’s a real thing that any of us can get, if we only wait, prepare ourselves and look hard enough. 

I’m not telling you it’ll solve your problems, and neither will it erase your sorrow. But it’ll help you a little, somehow. Movies do that. My advice on this particular case is that of romance. 

                                                                                From the mind of a hopeless romantic.

Things I enjoy that may look weird.

1. Drinking hot things in summer.

2. Eating ice-cream in winter.

3. Doing my makeup while naked.

4. Going grocery shopping really late at night. 

5. Sticking my head or hand out of the car window to feel the air. 

6. Laying in the ground looking up for hours. 

7. Dancing while I cook breakfast. 

8. Having funny conversations with myself, and laughing out loud. 

9. Doing sign language, even when people don’t understand me. 

10. Being single and happy about it…but you ruined that. 

A little piece of my writing…

And that’s how she knew. Abandoned in that little old library. 

She looked down at the words scribbled on the book she was holding, thinking that if he actually liked her, he wouldn’t have left. It was all a fantasy, a fantasy she created herself. And she wasn’t mad, she was sad; having constructed all this idea of a perfect person that didn’t exist. She was sad, for how perfect it all had seemed, and how untruthful it was. She looked back at him, already walking away, and she smiled to herself, thinking…“Well, finally everything is going back to normal”.