Astazi chiar am chef sa scriu si sunt si in starea potrivita. Am un subiect in minte, dar nu prea vreau sa intru in el (ma afecteaza putin cam tare). Chiar si-asa, sunt putin nervoasa, putin suparata, putin cu dureri, putin ametita, putin dezamagita, putin ranita, ma simt si putin prost, cate putin din toate (ce sa mai zic...). Imi vine sa plang si degetele de la mana dreapta inca imi miros a fum. Ce-as baga o tigara acum... Poate doua... Poate trei... Nici un pachet intreg n-ar strica. M-ar mai calma. Mai e si speranta ca mi-ar izgoni ideile din cap. Este un haos total si vreau sa fac curatenie, dar nu prea stiu de unde sa incep. Mai bine bag o proza scurta. Cred c-o sa ajute.
" She was left alone once more. Another night. Another chaos inside her mind. There was no escape and she hated it. Even if the music was blasting in her ears, she could still hear that devilish voice in her head whispering the names of her insecurities, worries and pains. Only one was louder than the others: "You are not good enough.". It scared her to death and she couldn't avoid it either. There was a time when she didn't think about it anymore, but as more people came into her life and she started caring about them, that fear grew more and more. Maybe it weren't her friends and lovers the ones she had to be good enough for. It was something she didn't consider. Maybe she just had to be good enough for herself. But it was hard. Oh, so damn hard. She could barely tell that there was a difference between those two. The lack of confidence didn't help either. The words she heard from others only made it worse. Maybe they weren't pointing things out to be negative, but in her head that's what they looked like. They might have said those just as random facts, but they didn't realize how much it damaged her heart, how bad it hit her, how low it brought her...
Then something else crossed her mind: "This is all you have to offer.". That line made her wrap her arms around her slim figure, drawing red marks on her skin, nails digging deep enough to let the blood out. Tears were soon streaming down her face and she couldn't deny the cold truth. If she had something to add regarding the previous thought, this one was impossible to change, to erase, to forget... Even if others couldn't really notice it, she could clearly see it. In almost every conversation or relationship, she had to focus on one part of herself: her dark side. She just had to mention it. She couldn't resist not bringing it up. She kept telling herself: "This is what I'm good at and people usually talk about the things they're good at.". But it was a lie... She wasn't that good at it. She was actually pretty bad and unexperienced, but others' surprised and shocked expressions fed her the idea that that side of her is something special. So wrong... But she had gotten so used to it and so attached to those thoughts, that now she felt disappointed when someone acted unimpressed or had better plans than she did. It was even worse when they ignored her. All she could believe was that people kept her around as long as she could make them laugh or surprise them with her creativity and unless those happened, she was useless, disposable. It scared her so much, she couldn't sleep, she couldn't eat, she couldn't think about anything else. It slowly ruined her and it was sad. Not that something like this was destroying her, but because she was allowing it to happen. She was the one who was treating herself like an object and thought of herself like that. Others actually cared (maybe). But that's what she felt like and if there's something people can't do, telling your heart what to feel is on the list. She hated it and hated herself too, but she couldn't stop either, even though she had tried so many times. And when something actually worked...her brain started fucking around again: "Say this. Say that. You'll make them interested. That's all you have to offer after all. This is the only thing you're good at.". And then she stopped running. She began embracing that and accepting it. But the feeling of uneasiness was still there. And through perverted phrases and sexual innuendos, sometimes, when she knew others weren't listening, a few words fell off of her tongue, leaving behind a sour taste of hard truth: "You're broken. Stop. Fix yourself. There's more to you than that shell. Show them the pearl hidden inside.". "
A iesit mai bine decat ma asteptam si ma sperie un pic. E destul de deprimant. E destul de adevarat. E mai mult decat aveam de gand sa zic. Nu e tot ce-aveam in minte. Nu e nici macar un coltisor. E doar un ciob si bucata intreaga ce-a ramas, are o forma ciudata. Am dat iar peste un pic de nesiguranta si cateva emotii. Pe drum, am cules si un strop de vinovatie si unul mai mic de descoperire a sinelui. Am realizat ceva in legatura cu mine, ce mi-era greu sa accept pana acum. Mi-am dat seama care este problema si nu-mi place. Ma sperie si ma enerveaza. E aiurea. Foarte. S-ar putea ca proza sa zica mai multe (desi nu destule). Poate exprimarea n-o sa fie una din cele mai bune si o sa se mai piarda din inteles, dar pot spune ca din ce-am recitit eu, se-apropie destul de mult. Imi pare rau. Am crezut ca fac curat, dar mai rau m-am murdarit si n-am sapun sa curat. Stau asa momentan... Vreau sa rezolv singura si nu prea ma simt in stare acum (si cu partea asta nu cred ca o sa ma simt in stare vreodata - pierd prea mult din mine).
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