It gives the chills to think about how much your life can change in a year. A year ago, today, I was probably wondering if you were happy. If I really need to split up with another person. If I had to give our story a second chance. Second, more than second, I don’t know, last? I do not know. Only a few months later I found the courage to choose me, risking realizing, one day, perhaps today, that I was not enough alone, risking that day to regret not having given the last, plus one, chance to that love story. Because it was love. I don’t know what love it was, but it was a kind of love, no matter what. Today I am different, today I am a woman, I feel more powerful, more important, more mature. I feel it is possible, to be enough for yourself. It is possible to be enough. Frida said that first you had to fall in love with yourself, with life, and then with another person. Then. Well I didn’t even love myself, let alone life. But I loved another person. Maybe that was what was wrong, what pulled me to the bottom. The order. I remember that moment well, the moment I began to love myself, the moment I began to feel that I had a value. And there what do you do, what do you do when you believed that the love of another was enough to feel loved, and suddenly you discover that it is not so. For me it was like opening a door to which I never had the key. One day I got up and kicked that door down. And how do you go back when you understand how to love yourself, and that you can love yourself much more than another can? Don’t come back. And I didn’t come back.


I didn’t think the bottom of hell was that bad. It is filled with fear, tears, despair, anger, resignation and time does not flow here. It slips through your fingers but every day is the same as the others; filled with suffering. Sometimes you get out of breath it hurts so much trying to survive. It is called hell for a reason and as much as you want to make it, you are helpless. Crushed and reduced to a small and insignificant voice in an unprecedented din. We might as well adapt anyway, I’ll stay here for quite a while …I’m fine, but sometimes I break down and don’t notice. I’m fine, but sometimes my walls collapse and I realize I’m fragile. I’m fine, but sometimes I cry in front of a movie for too much love that I want and don’t have. I’m fine, but sometimes I don’t understand myself. I’m fine, but sometimes it still happens that I always hope too much and more than I should. I’m always fine, but sometimes I’m tired and my eyes shine less.

%d bloggers like this: