The fire consumes the page, slowly destroying its contents forever. A blasphemy. Yet… I put another one. I haven’t burned enough yet. There are still things that must be forgotten. Memories that nobody must know. Stories that must be lost in the sands of time.
Another page burns. Not as an attempt to erase the past, but as an attempt to forget. To forge something new, unfettered from any mistake.
You are supposed to grow from your mistakes, to learn from them and become a better version of yourself. And, slowly, the transformation will happen, perfecting the imperfect. That is why it is important to not lose sight of where we came from. Otherwise how would we stop ourselves from repeating the past?
Yet sometimes the past becomes crippling. Acceptance is supposed to be freeing, but instead it feels like giving up. The fear of others finding about it becomes paralyzing. The certainty that it’s not going to merely go away. If only I could make it disappear… or at least detach myself from it. Make it about somebody else. Somebody who I am not anymore.
Or, at least, I hope to distance myself enough to stand tall. To be able to interact without the fear of failing once again, even if deep inside it is all still there, locked up in a cage far away from everybody. To pretend, even if it is a lie, that I am normal, that there are no shackles and no scars.
That I might be worthy of love.
And for that, I burn with a cleansing fire.
I don’t know what to say about this week.
It’s been… Let’s start by the beginning. Last Friday, I told a friend I was having issues controlling my feelings (conversation pending). Last Saturday was the last session of a PnP RPG campaign I had been playing. Then came Monday and I couldn’t do anything except return to the usual routine, except I now had the added challenge of trying to keep my mind away from thinking of her. Tuesday was another last session of another campaign.
And then came the lull of the rest of the week. For health reasons, I didn’t get to hang out with said friend this week. Mistakes happened, which didn’t help either. Then the long train rides during which my mind essentially idles, falling back into old behaviors to keep itself busy despite my best efforts to think about something else.
Right now, I half-regret not continuing my bass classes. At least they would have provided some sort of normalcy or something to do out of home, despite my severe lack of will to continue going through what was essentially paying to play in a band setting. And… something else? Some other class or a hobby? Sadly, right now I’m doing my best to save enough money to travel to Sweden for a week. Anything I do can’t involve spending more money than what I already spend. Going somewhere is not much of an option, short of merely walking around the city of Porto.
I don’t know what to think of this week. I only want to curl up and hide. And I fear what is to come. I fear falling back into a routine of numbness, where every day looks just like the other and noting matter much. I fear returning to that grey-scale hole in which everything seems to be the same. I’ll keep pushing my friend to see if he could, at least, stand up on his own. He needs to. As for me? I might take a leap and attempt to find something else to do with more people. Otherwise, I will try to stick with the few habits I have managed to learn and see where they take me.