I had a dream that my mother went to jail.
And all I cared about was the missing cap to my red lipstick.
At the end of the dream, we ended up losing the house and I decided to throw a party so ridiculously out of control, that the house ended up in pieces. Literally.
I’m no expert in symbolism, especially in dreams, but what I do know is how disconnected I felt towards my mother getting thrown in jail. And how careless I was with letting the house get completely destroyed.
And in reality, I’ve been there and I’ve done that. I’ve sat. I’ve waited. I’ve visited.
And it’s exactly what you think hell will be like.
I am so detached from everything. Even in my dreams.
Your soulmate is not someone that comes into your life peacefully. It is who comes to make you question things, who changes your reality, somebody that marks a before and after in your life. It is not the human being everyone has idealized, but an ordinary person, who manages to revolutionize your world in a second…
My biggest problem isn’t intimacy.
It’s convincing myself that somehow I don’t deserve it.
I guess what they forget to tell you is that nothing in your life ever goes back to the way it once was. Nor should you want it to. The way you breathe, the way you laugh, the way you speak never sounds or feels the same. And you can cry and light candles but it doesn’t make up for the fact that the only thing you have left is a hole inside your soul where that someone you cared about use to be. And every day, for the rest of your life, you have to find ways to function normally because that’s the only thing you can do. And you can avoid feelings and you can avoid talking but one day you will stumble upon a memory that you cannot erase, a picture you cannot destroy and you will find yourself dying just little bit more than the last time.
When he died, I died. When he left, I left behind the girl I once was because that girl no longer existed without his presence. They say everyone has their own way of grieving and mine was questioning the existence of love. Love has never done much for me. Love died. Love destroyed living. Love stopped breathing and Love drowned . My way of dealing with his loss was trying to find the reason behind it. I tried searching for the lesson I was suppose to learn from all of this. All I wanted was to understand why it happened. Why it had to be him and why, WHY couldn’t it have been me? I hate living because I don’t deserve it. Because I don’t want it without him.
Swimming no longer feels the same nor do I ever want it to. It’s hard to breathe underwater. Deep water creates a fear in me that I never knew could exist. But somehow I find myself swimming in it because loving the water was what we shared. I swim freely for him. I’m in the water for him,
still looking for him.
I’m been obsessed with death because I feared it as a child. Because I’ve learned that it shatters everything around you in a way nothing else can. Because death has ultimately become a part of me, of my soul.