It is not easy to explain, to open up, to write with your heart in your hand. Especially if done publicly. No, it is not at all. But, I got bored. I have reached the limit. This is why I decided to go to the beach. The place where I can scream, cry, despair, destroy myself. Immediately after looking at the sea and feeling alive again. The only place that reminds me of home. It is while I am sitting here that I write, it seems to help me. In front of me I have an expanse of blue waters, a sea that hurls itself against rocks, waves that wet the sand and are then claimed again by their master. And the wind that cradles me, gently, like a caress, while the ink stains the white paper. I'm here to write something, something too much. I am here because people listen little and perhaps by reading they will understand more.
During these years I have met many, but many people. Galore, I'd say. But, how many are left? I look around and I wonder too. Almost no one. It is said that the ones that remain are the most important. There have been some people who have remained, yet only until recently. The rest, all in passing, after making you believe the existence of the unknown. Get out, go, run away. Like a shadow in the night. A trail in the sky. A flash in front of the eyes. They weren't even afraid of being infected with a deadly disease.
And now, I still wonder how long this story will last. What do you think I am? A cigarette that you can light, smoke and then throw away? A dirty glass to leave at the bar, to wash and reuse? Or a simple mat on which you can clean your shoes, easily replaceable?
I am human. I am made of flesh and bones, too. And I have a heart. Is it so difficult to believe? I have a heart reduced to infinite microscopic pieces.
Because I too have feelings, I too would like to trust those around me, I too am afraid of losing people. I can hide it. I did it. And it didn't help. People just felt entitled to hurt me even more. More and more. They don't give up. They don't give up until they see you bleed, crawl. "She doesn't care anyway, she never cares." Who knows if they really believe what they say.

The truth is that I am not infallible, that weakness is within me, it lives within me. I fight it every damn day, every single moment. Weakness leads me on dark roads, dark thoughts. Only my head knows how horrible some have been. It pushes me to make absurd decisions. Weakness is a strong rival. Unbeatable. As strong as I may seem, as strong as I may believe I am, I easily collapse when my roots are uprooted from the soil.
The truth is that every time it is more and more destructive, that it is not true that sooner or later you reach the point where nothing hurts you anymore, nothing touches you anymore, nothing demoralizes you. It is not true that we become imperturbable by everything, it is not true that we finally come to live in apathy. Those are all fairy tales. We create apathy by ourselves, as an escape from feelings. As an escape from ourselves, we lie to each other. We delude ourselves. We screw ourselves. And, we get to the point of believing that the best choice is indifference. It is not true. It is not so. Being indifferent is not the best weapon. Being indifferent is the most destructive weapon. It destroys you inside, slowly. It consumes you without restraint.

3 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Elena Delle Selve
    Aug 31, 2022 @ 14:31:52

    L’arma migliore penso sia la Verità; vivere in funzione degli altri, esclusivamente degli altri, non è mai una buna idea. Le aspettative vengono inevitabilmente deluse, perché la verità è che occorre saper vivere innanzitutto in funzione di se stessi; poi il resto viene da solo.


  2. seekingdivineperspective
    Aug 31, 2022 @ 18:32:04

    Is “My Life as a Woman” a book you’re writing or have written? Or is this someone else’s story?
    I wish we didn’t live half a world away. I would love to be your friend and let you bounce your ideas and feelings off me. I’m guessing I am a lot older than you, and I’ve been where you are.
    I haven’t forgotten your “Haunted House” post, and I’ve been trying to find a post I wrote while back that I think would be relevant. But it seems to have mysteriously disappeared…. I may have to rewrite the main ideas. Meanwhile, know that you are loved by a big, strong, wonderful God, and He did not create you for nothing! ❤


  3. GirlieOnTheEdge
    Sep 17, 2022 @ 13:37:04

    I identify with the beach as anchor. It too is the place where as soon as my feet hit the sand, as soon as I begin walking water’s edge, wind blowing or not, breathing in the smells of the ocean… The only place to find comfort and peace from everything “out there” in the world – immediate and otherwise. Soothing balm for the soul, if you will.

    There will be some, who truly understand. Those who can identify with what you express. Not to be a downer, lol, but my experience is they are few. Yet they’re out there. If you’re lucky they will reach out. You will recognize them and they you. The others? Affording them proper placement in your world, identifying how they’re relating to their world, relieves a whole lot of pressure. Always about the understanding, the whys, isn’t it?

    “People just felt entitled to hurt me even more. More and more. They don’t give up. They don’t give up until they see you bleed, crawl. “She doesn’t care anyway, she never cares.”
    Imo, those are individuals looking merely to feed themselves off emotions/reactions/pain. They’re not aware of it, but that’s what it’s about. Continuing with questions perhaps, hoping to get more. There is nothing personal about the transaction.

    The part ” she doesn’t care…” Totally about perception. The lense through which a person views life, the world and the people in it.
    If you will indulge me, I have been perceived as cold, arrogant and called a snob by my own sister. None of those are me, yet that is how she views me, from the perspective of how she relates to the world. And it’s so not mine, lol.

    Damn, now I’m the one writing in a public forum exactly what I’m feeling. Forgive me if this appears as ramble. No offense taken should you delete this comment.

    May I say, before I exit stage left – I enjoy your writing, the poetry of your words.


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