Musical Sundays

"I don't wanna go, I don't wanna stay, so there's nothing left to say.

And why you'd lie when you wanna die, when you hurt inside."

Musical Sundays

"Dis-moi où es-tu caché? Ça doit faire au moins mille fois que j'ai compté mes doigts."

Muscal Sundays

"My window's cracked, but they can be replaced. 

But your arm will tire throwing stones my way."

Musical Sundays.

"Told myself I was a prisoner and I'd broken my chains; that I could be anyone, 

I'd run a thousand miles away."

Musical Sundays.

"And on most of the days we were searching for ways to get up and get out 

of the town that we were raised, yeah, 'cause we were done."

"Summer's over, Tixie. The bubble's burst."

In a way, I don't mind that summer's over. I hate the heat. I really can't understand how people like it. But on the other hand, I dread summer coming to an end.

The bubble has been burst for quite a while now, actually - when my friends said "next week is September." I thought I had one more week to get mentally ready for what was to come. Although to be completely honest, nothing could've prepared me. Well, maybe, if I had been going to therapy during the holidays. Which I just remembered that I said here that I would really try to go and I didn't even bother. Oh, well. Doesn't surprise me.

The beginning of summer was pretty bad (like every other, really) - my mum would spend days without talking to me after yelling at me for the stupidest reasons and it got to a point where I had a plan of where I was going to spend the rest of the summer, because I could not stay at home if that was going to be the situation there.

Then one day she reluctantly started talking to me in a more normal way and we created this environment at home which felt very fragile most of the time but that in the end evolved to our normal environment. Thankfully. 

I talked about it with my sister and she told me that we have to come to terms with our parents (mainly our mum, we're not close to our dad) getting older. That kinda broke me - I'd love to keep my mum the same age forever so nothing can happen to her. I've started accepting it a little bit but, oh man, how I hate time passing. I really do hate it.

For the first summer holiday in years (I'm not even joking) I haven't had a single fight with my sister. That was a nice surprise. I know the biggest reason as to why that has been that way, is because a couple of years back (or maybe even just last summer) we had out last conversation about how often I was going to see my father. She finally accepted that she can't make me go see him and that I have to choose at my own will. 

I think overall she has started taking me more seriously, she has realised that she doesn't know everything about me and that I have to follow my own path at my own rhythm. At least that's what it feels like to me.

I've also realised that she doesn't care about me as much as I used to think.It is true that I feel like that about most people in my life, but during these last few months, she has actually proven it to me. I get that she has been in a relationship for ten years now and that soon they are going to get married, but I know, I know, that if I was in her same situation, she would come first before my partner. Your sister is always going to be there - I have been there for her; partners come and go. I was pretty upset about that for a few weeks, maybe a few months, but it doesn't hurt so much anymore - I've kinda given up on it, there's just no point in trying to fight that.

It has also felt like a "coming of age" summer. I've donated most of my stuffed animals and a lot of my clothes (this actually happens every summer). I've given my 30 y.o. closet to one of my cousins for her spare room (it isn't in a bad condition, but we needed to put that piece of furniture and others in the past) and gotten a bigger and brand new one. I'm getting a new bed tomorrow (the old one goes to my cousin as well and was just as old) and I'll give her my nightstand as well as soon as I get a little shelf to replace it. 

I've also done some more redecorating in my room - I've painted the lower half of the ceiling in a dark blue (the color that was there previously drove me crazy, I absolutely hated it); I've also gotten rid of one of my cork boards and the other one I've changed what was there (I need to finish it though) - I just didn't feel represented anymore in all those pictures and concerts tickets and whatever else I had on them. It's still unfinished, but now I love my room so much.

So, even though I haven't traveled at all or done anything out of the ordinary, mentally, it has been a pretty intense summer. My life is always pretty intense mentally, there's always so much happening.

Today has been the first day of the new uni year and, well, I don't want to go into details now, but it hasn't been great,it has been absolutely disgusting and all that positivism and plans that my roommate and I had for this new year have gone down the drain as soon as I stepped foot in this city. I hate my hometown, I always will, but I also hate this city, I've hated it for years - it's just not the place for me. But I have to suck it up, and I will, and I will be miserable in the meantime, but it will get better. It has to. This is not my final state.

I really hope this will be a better year. It has to.

Coping with loss (or trying to), one year after.

There's no "real" point to this entry other than just letting my thoughts out. I'd love to have some tips or any of kind of advice on coping with loss, but every person feels emotions in different ways, so each has to find their own way. It's hard to do so, I know, but it's there, waiting to be found.

One year ago, one of my uncles passed away. The third of my mum's brothers to pass away at a young age (by young age I mean less than 60).

It all happened during the course of almost two years, which we can never decide whether it's a good thing or a bad one. It's both, really. This is one of the many things that aren't black or white.

The first couple of weeks were quite hard. It had been hard for over a year, but when he was gone, you know, it gets harder for some time. We felt relief because he wasn't in pain anymore but, at the same time, we obviously missed him. We still do. Added to those mixed feelings, I was trying to cope with going back to uni for -sadly- not the last year. It was quite a mess. I was a mess. Still am.

With a heavy heart, I had put him aside - I needed to concentrate on school, which I know is gonna sound typical, but I'm certain he would want me to do that. I remembered him almost every day, but I didn't allow myself to dwell on it for too long.

A few months later, I saw him in a dream. I was in a big house next to a beautiful cliff with giant windows that let a lot of light inside. I was walking around, talking to the people I knew there, then I suddenly bumped into him and he smiled at me. Just smiled. It was such a beautiful and radiant and warm smile. He looked happy, at peace. That smile calmed me. It filled me inside and I was so happy to see him with such a broad smile on his face and such light to his whole being.

I knew then, for certain, that he was okay. I know he is okay wherever he is if there's something and this is not just a product of my imagination.

That smile has been, is a big comfort.

But I must admit that I can't help (or couldn't help, I'm trying not to do it anymore) to look for him whenever I'm in my hometown. I turn the corner from my street to his and wish for him to be walking his dog and stop me and have a normal conversation. By normal conversation I mean that, he's... he was the only uncle that when bumping into each other would ask me about my life and tell me about his and we would just chat for a few minutes. We would have grown-up conversations, which I don't have with any other of my aunts and uncles (mainly because I don't see them often/ever). He would see me as an adult, he would treat me as one - something I feel no one around me does. But that's a story for another day.

So on Thursday morning, I went out with my mum to run some errands and just when we turned the corner we bumped into my cousin (his daughter), who was going to my aunt's house to have some family time. Someone called us from the balcony and we saw my cousin (his son) there, followed by my aunt and then my heart broke and I had to turn around and stop looking at that balcony. My uncle didn't appear in the balcony after them (or by himself) as he did so often when I walked down that street. It hit me again, for the millionth time ever since he died, that I'm never going to bump into him, walking his dog so content. He loved walking that dog and just being out, having some time for himself. It fucking broke my heart. 

I haven't been able to get it out of my head, specially now, one exact year after and with all the stuff that is going on (more of that soon). I reckon I'll be better in a few days, and with some more time, I'll be more okay about it, kind of how it happened with my other uncle four years ago. But for now - for just a little while, I have to and need to keep going - I feel so shitty that he's gone. I feel so truly and utterly sorry about it.

I feel sorry that we've lost him. I feel sorry for the despair I saw in my mum's eyes every night she came home after seeing him. I am so glad that my cousin has finally left their house and that they're all moving on and even though they have weak moments they keep on going just as they should. I feel sorry for the terror I saw in my other uncle's eyes because he thinks "what if I'm next? what if there's something genetically wrong in the males of the family?" and "I've lost all my brothers", whether they had a better or worse relationship. I feel so sorry because I didn't go see him in his last two months, even tough he knew why. I feel so sorry because he suffered, he suffered a lot. I just feel so fucking sorry.

In time, we'll all be fine - but I know I'll find myself looking for him from time to time whenever I turn that corner.

Musical Sundays

"'Cause it's not right, I'm magnetised to somebody that don't feel it. Love paralyzed, I know you're never gonna need me. I'm sure as the world keeps the moon in the sky."

Musical Sundays

"Here, you're my witness, still we are strangers.  Are we just strangers? I call it love."

I discovered this band about two weeks ago through a movie called "Hello, my name is Doris" (which has an amazing soundtrack and I recommend) and I've barely been able to listen to any other band ever since. They play pop-folk and I think the way they make music, and their lyrics is just incredible. Here's a little extract from their website that describes what "they do" (I'm not feeling very connected to words today, sorry) that won me over:

"Formed in 2007, the three passionately intertwine three distinct voices amidst a powerfully delicate orchestra of cello, guitars, keyboard, bells, and percussion, offering songs that speak to joy and sorrow, love and loss. "

I chose "River" because it's the one that I've been feeling the most identified with. If you don't feel very attracted to slow, ballad-like songs, don't worry, they have plenty of more upbeat, cheerful ones that I'm sure you will enjoy. Like this one: Sweetness.

Hope you love them as much as I do!

About crying, kind of.

It just dawned on me, after a day in which, if someone were to ask me what I've been doing, my answer would have to be "I've been depressed" (yes, that qualifies as an action), something that I stopped doing so much as I used to when I only suspected from vaguely to strongly that I had depression, has been crying.

I used to cry at everything. In a way, I still do. I still cry at songs, at books, at movies, etc. But as a pre-teen, and during my early teenage years, I would cry about my feelings so easily. Like, it's insane how easily my feelings would have me sobbing.

I remember that one day I started repressing and hiding the feelings that would escape that cage I had made for them. Which I call both "doomsday" and "the day I made a fucking great decision". I started hiding. Emotionally. And physically. But that's a story for another day.

I guess that with age (I know I'm not very old, but you get what I mean), I would've grown out of crying so much. I guess. I don't know. What I actually feel is that, with depression, crying about my feelings became the last thing that I would do. Which, again, is both a good and bad thing. I barely even cry in private when I feel like I can't handle anything anymore.

But being able to stop my tears makes me feel in control.

When tears come streaming down my face, that's the worst part. When I can hold anything inside my chest, when it hurts too much.

Last night I had a good cry because of another failed final at university, but today, even if I was still feeling like utter shit, I was keeping myself in check. No more tears from 12 o'clock. 

Until I decided that tonight I should watch a movie (instead of doing what I actually have to do and knowing very well that anxiety is going to chase me later) but I couldn't decide on which. I wanted to watch a movie, but I didn't want to watch any. That triggered the tears. And it's so fucking stupid and I hate so much that depression has taken away from me the things that I love. It still hasn't taken away my love for music (thank fuck), that's all I have left. I want to read a book, I will pick up one and not be able to read more than a page; I will start watching an episode from a tv-show that I love, I will lose interest after a few minutes; I will start watching a normal length movie, if I make it to the end in "one go", it will be six hours later, or more.
And these are just some mundane, kind of insignificant examples of what depression does to one person.

It's so fucking stupid, ridiculous and infuriating.

Sorry for any errors and extremely long sentences that probably don't make any sense. I had to let it out.