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Always. Never. Part I

I've always loved writing. I started with my diary at the age of 12, where I kept all my thoughts. Thoughts about how I hate my dad for being drunk, thoughts about my uncle, about school and how only my teachers witnessed my abilities, about quarrels with my sister, about my mother's hatred and how she treated me, about the fear of leaving me behind, to the first feelings aroused when I liked a boy and my shyness to say something. I didn’t really have anyone to talk to and that's how I chose to write. It was my way of talking, with me ... with God. Then, after an experience in French class, when, satiated for everyone to copy the homework from me, one day, I didn't do it. Oh, but I did it, in my head. Everyone's shock that I didn't do my homework was amazing. As no one had the homework done, of course, I, the "A" student, had to had it. But I confessed that I don't have it in my notebook, but I have it in my head. I took A+ obviously. Since then, I have learned to "write" in my head, to fill my mind with tens of pages, in thousands and millions of volumes, theoretically, beautifully arranged on shelves, on years, days, clear and specific sections. However, the reality is that it's all fake. Basically, all the pages are torn from the books and each one flies where it can. It's chaos, but it's my chaos, which I can still manage, in an attempt to make it clean, to make everything perfect. But nothing is perfect. Or it is, as it is ... you just have to have eyes to see beyond...

 

I don't know if anything good has ever happened to me in my life, in worldly terms. A childhood that I try to erase from memory, trying to erase all bad memories and everything that hurt me or was misunderstood by my mind, which always sought answers, feeling different, unjust, abused, humiliated, mocked, but never without hope. Very late I realized that my misunderstood hope was making me go through every situation in which I was suffering with the speed of light, telling me that it was passing, that it would be fine, that something good was waiting for me. However, the subconscious does not work that way. It creates patterns and programs, which are so deeply rooted that you are unaware of them, which is why it is called `subconscious`. And, you get like me, after years of suffering fast forward, over and over again, to gather all those sufferings, which come at some point to the surface, that they no longer take place in thousands of pages.

 

My hope, that good one, made me want to choose that every relationship I had, it would be the one forever. I had read that women unconsciously choose their men based on their relationship with their father. That is why, I always avoided people who liked to drink, to be able to start a family, to have a beautiful one and not projected on the patterns from my childhood that I try to forget. It worked somehow and I fell in love with people who weren't like my father. However, I never thought that there were also patterns from my mother. Oh, I certainly never anticipated that, I still manage to surprise myself.

If every relationship I started was "because I fell in love" and that's how it started, it was totally different with you. Everything was different with you, from the first day or night. I didn't fall in love with you all right away and I said it was the perfect time to not rush, to take things in stride, to give myself time, even if the truth was that I didn't want a relationship, considering that I had so many problems, so much debts, so much suffering on fast-forward. You made me feel safe from the first moment I saw you and that was enough for me. Because even in the longest relationship I've had, I didn't have that feeling, the one I had with you, a precious one and one that I haven't met before. To feel protected and safe. Oh, and I didn't understand why that happened, because in the next few days after I met you, I realized. It was that feeling that nothing could hurt me, a feeling that only my prayer of complaint in my discussions with God brought it to me. And you came ... and I felt it with you. I know I've talked about the fact that I didn't fall in love with you right away, but I don't think I ever told you why I kept going, when I couldn't.