EN: This is just me at my worst

26/3/2017 – Rotterdam, Netherlands
Listening now: Dean Lewis – Half a Man

Hello babes.

First of all, and before I get flooded by concerned texts, I am doing great, thank you. I feel like this need a little bit of an explanation, so here I go. What you are about to read is a mash up of my five last drafts. I didn’t mean to post that today – I first came to tell you how good I felt as of now – and actually I didn’t mean to post it at all, and that’s probably why they never made it through the publication stage (and why I didn’t post anything for ages). But then here I was, going through it all, and I suddenly started to reconsider. Now I concede that this is all genuinely depressing, and that’s exactly the reason why I didn’t want to post it before – I thought there was no need to give a stage to my sorrow, as it would only emphasize and possibly accentuate it. But now that I’m doing much better, I am thinking that it is important to acknowledge these feelings, and give them the space they need to carry their way. So here you go. There is no real conclusion nor anything to take out of it. This is just me at my worst, with the many questions I cannot seem to eradicate of my mind. “Enjoy” and take care.

Much love ♡



I hate myself. And when I say myself, believe me, I don’t only mean the physical me, although most of my body does upset me as well. The list of my complexes is never-ending, it is like a river throwing itself infinitely in the sea, only I am the river and the sea is my poor self-esteem. The voice in my head is like a condescending maniac who would yell insults to me all day long. Its sentences are punctuated by “how stupid” statements which only job is to make sure that my head keeps low, very, very low. The voice reminds me that I am never enough. Never beautiful, smart or funny enough. I am not gifted enough. I am barely average. If you asked, slightly below most of the time.

The real reason why I’ve been single for the past three years is not that I couldn’t overcome the failure of my last relationship, nor that I got sexually assaulted by some dude. The only valid reason is that I hate myself, and I cannot understand why would someone bother to love me. I cannot understand why someone who would be mentally stable and right in its own mind could find me good enough for him. I have been ruining every single relationship I may have had these last three years because I was scared that someone could see something in myself that I have never been able to perceive so far. I have been scared to accept that my entire existence have been evolving towards putting myself down, and most importantly, I have been profoundly scared to change anything about that, because god knows what kind of even darker place would failure bring me to.

The truth is, being single is comfortable. And I am not talking about these bullshits of being free to do whatever you want whenever you want. What I mean is, when being single you don’t need to cope with someone perceiving you as you really are. You don’t need to show them the scars which punctuate every part of your body and soul, you don’t have to give any explanations for the darkness which is surrounding you. You can chose to ignore the growing list of your personal problems, because anyway nobody will be there to pointing them out to you.

You can keep thinking that spending two days in bed, invaded by the most horrible migraines at the perspective of the exams is okey. Yeah right, it has always been such an intricate of your life for those past twenty years, why should you bother calling it into question.
You can keep thinking that having a panick attack after falling from a few stairs, hyperventilating and your heart running wild to the point that you cannot even speak or breathe for the next five to ten minutes, an intense fear submerging yourself is okey. After all, it already happened so many times..
You can keep binge eating all and every single one of your problems, as if food was the plaster of your bleeding soul. Weighing yourself five times a day, making yourself throwing up for feeling so guilty, while crying in your shower and then, keep sobbing while seeing your naked body in the mirror. It is fine, you got the situation in your hands.. Literally.
You can keep biting the inner part of your lip each and every time that sometimes body shames you, counting down the hours until you will be able to be home and get back to that holy shower.
You can keep your tinder account, establishing your self worth to the number of matches you can get in a day. Trying to fill your ego with the stupid compliments of horny, lonesome strangers. And you can even date some of them, anxious to the point of not being able to talk properly, to the point of not being able to be yourself. You can keep ignoring the long and awkward silences which ponderates those meetings by staring at the exit door. You can keep closing your eyes when he will try to kiss you so that you won’t have to see in what kind of mess you are putting yerself. You can keep chasing all his defaults to find the best way to sabotage what could have been the beginning of a nice story. If only..

I have been hating myself for pretty much my whole life, trying to make some light out of my darkest zones, trying to be a better person, trying to be just enough so that I could be in a place of self-acceptance. But the truth is, the solitude that I have been feeling this whole time has been like another obvious confirmation of the fact that i am not that okey person I pretend to be. How could I possibly love someone properly, when I am not even able to give myself the self-validation necessary to keep going smoothly? The answer is simple: I can’t. For that if i ever want to experience love again, I shall start to treat myself like someone who deserves it.

I think that’s what my brain has been trying to tell me as well, manifesting its uneasiness by putting itself on strike. It cannot express what it feels through words, so it uses pain to vehicle for its feelings. It forces me to introspection, remembering all the things I chose to suppress. My brain is like an idle teenager: it isolates himself from the rest, and when it feels like it cannot stand it all anymore, it yells so hard that you cannot not feel all the anger and sorrow that it is experiencing, yet cannot help but feel mad at it for not being capable to express it another way.

It is devastating though. When this happens, I feel like I’m a victim of my own body, of my own mind. And there is nothing I can do but curl up in silence because the more I strive, the more painful it is. The key is to completely lose control. But this is so frightening, because it means letting myself dive as deeply as I need to, and again, I’m not always so sure that I can get back to the surface.

Maybe one day i’ll be able to hug myself in the darkness, picking myself up when everything seems so cruel and then, maybe just maybe those satanic migraines will leave me forever. Or perhaps they won’t. Perhaps they will keep popping out as a reminder to take better care of my tiny heart, for my mind to be more gentle. Maybe they give me those hard days so that i can appreciate the normal ones better. Who knows? Perhaps I hear my heart beating in my brain to remind myself that life keeps floating at its own pace, no matter how inconvenient it might feel to me right now, so that I’d better get used to it.


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