My Diary - Tumblr Posts

Me and him (it's good imagining sometimes)

dead on the street

I severely dread grocery shopping. It reminds me of how I am a living being that must take care of itself. Even when my mind is clear as can be (which, frankly, isn't very), grocery shopping generates so many useless thoughts that don't stop bouncing around my skull like pissed off ping pong balls. That's too many calories. That's not enough protein. You can't justify that much money, you'll never even eat it. That expires in less than two weeks, it'll kill you. Those people just watched you stare at sliced cheese for five and a half minutes. Why don't you just get the same thing as always? You're sick of it already? Of course you are. Don't get that, you won't even cook it. You hate cooking. No, you won't cook it, and you know that. You're too lazy. No chips. No chocolate. You can't spend $6 on a gallon of iced coffee, but you can spend $10 a day each morning at Dunkin'. No, you won't eat that. Go ahead, put it in your basket, it'll sit in the fridge for the next eight months. And so on.

I left Target with less money and somehow even less confidence. A wave of utter upset hit me as I sat in my car. But drive I must.

The drive down a smooth road rimmed with foliage and the sound of my current favorite songs wash away the upset for a few minutes. Up ahead on the bend, I see a bird flutter down from the greenery, and swoop under the car about 30 yards ahead of me. The car does not break or swerve, as they probably didn't even see it. But then the car passed, and left behind was the bird. Belly-up. Flapping its wings but getting nowhere. Suddenly, seconds turned to minutes. There were no oncoming cars, so I respectfully drove around the victim. I moved back to the right side of the road, and slowed, looking wide-eyed into my rear-view mirror. There it was, still laying on its back, flapping its wings. I slowed more, and started to pull off the road. But within seconds, I made the decision not to stop.

I continued driving. In just one second, I thought of all my options. If I pull off, it might be dangerous for me. I'm clumsy, and I don't trust other drivers not to hit me. If I picked it up, I couldn't take it home. I'd want to. But there's nothing there for the bird, its late in the evening, and I can't afford a vet bill, and I have no idea how to care for it. I could put it on the side of the road. But it's already got one wing in the grave. The chances of a predator coming for it are higher than ever. If it doesn't die from the complications of the impact, a larger animal is sure to eat it. And I feared I would end up sitting on the side of the road with this bird for the rest of its life. I would, if I could. If I could abandon all reason I'd run off with the bird, heal it, and live in the woods with it. But I'm going 40 miles per hour down a two lane road with no shoulder or side walk. So I keep driving.

And to think, I get so worked up about grocery shopping. If that bird's life was so precious, I would have helped it. If my life weren't so precious, I'd leave it. If we were equals, there would be no hypotheticals. Hours later, I'm still wondering who's life is worth more: a robin that was hit by a car, or a 21-year-old teenager that can't figure out how to take care of herself.

sometimes a chance encounter can lead to a lifetime of friendship

   why do i feel like life is slipping away from me. i have to have a career now. ive only just turned twenty and i feel the pressures of having what i want in my life. what is even possible for someone like me, can i obtain it. college is screaming on what do i purse do i go to a field to work for something that i dont even wish to want because i would love to be in the movies. or “lets be realistic,” but i am being realistic. i obsess over it and every other job i feel calls to be is not good enough wont provide for my lifestyle. i never said it was to live comfortably. 

 there is the pressures of being a woman, clearly someone with my looks should have someone around my arms. for god’s sake a man’s arm around my waist as he suffocates me into eating less and wearing more clothes to protect his agenda except when i would have to wear more makeup and less clothing to show off his friends?   why is it expected for forced to put my dreams aside because for some reason in this dynamic it’s expected i am to be nothing but the sideline cheerleader in his world. the big millionaire with the submissive wife that spends her time remaking the kitchen that hardly anyone but her will enjoy to the same amount.

and for the conversation of children. but that’s another thing.

for now, I will put myself in acting classes to start small. 

I deserve it. 

Reading your old diary entries are like swallowing your own vomit.

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➺ Introduction :

This book isn’t really a book.

It’s more of a diary, a journal. In this I will simply put not only my opinion but my thoughts, precisely my train of thoughts.

Why you may ask. Simply because thinking is something I do a lot, maybe too much. I am what you may call an over-thinker. Even though most of the time I perceive it as some sort of curse for making me dwell on things too much, I sometimes find myself being impressed by how much one can think, by how one’s mind can go far and fast. So during one of my never ending insomnias I thought, why not write down those thoughts, those things you think or ask yourself about. It might actually help me write better and take away a bit of the burden that are those overwhelming thoughts, and maybe someone, like you dear reader, might relate to the things I write. Therefore I decided to give it a shot and simply put my mind into words, or at least I’ll try.

I don’t wish to speak too long in this introduction for fear of boring away some potential readers, not that I really care if actual people are going to read this or not, but I do have two more things to add.

First, I feel like I have to precise that I have not been an English speaker since birth. It’s a uselessly complicated way to say that I am still in the process of learning this language but I love it and I feel much more at ease writing in this universal language than my mother tongue. So my bad if I make some mistakes I try to proof read as much as I can usually but because I think in this journal I’ll just write as it comes I might make more mistakes that I might not see.

And finally, I simply wanted to address the meaning of the title. I always struggle to find titles for my books and novels, so most of the time I settle for something a bit abstract but still linked to the matter at hand.

Consequently, I decided to title this (whatever this is) ‘𝐏𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐬’ because in French those flowers are named ‘Pensées’ which also means ‘thoughts’.

I originally thought of a word play with ‘forget me not’ and ‘forget me notes’ because I personally write a lot of what's on my mind in the notes app on my phone... Am I the only one to do that?... Anyway…

To conclude, as I said somewhere above, I don’t really care if nobody actually ends up reading this, I might even keep it to myself, but if you are really there my dear reader and it is not myself reading this page over and over again in order to find a reason to do something about this manuscript, I hope you will enjoy this, whatever this is, and if you don’t I hope at least I will enjoy it.

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🔺Original work, please do not steal or copy. Thanks.🔺

❀ Pansy n°1 = F*cking writer’s block.

I really enjoy writing.

Like a lot.

I think it’s because I have a lot on my mind and I thrive to get it out of my head. Like I don’t want to lose the ideas I have so I try to write as much as I can somewhere, everywhere. I literally have a note on my phone titled ‘Story ideas’ , and up to this date (the time I’m writing this) I collected twelve ideas without counting this book, or whatever this is. I have some ideas that are way more developed than others and some that are just fun things I thought about, but I feel like I could do so much with each of them. And I want, I really want to use all those amazing ideas and make them into the novels they deserve to be, but sadly… It always ends the same.

You see, dear reader, there is some sort of pattern that seems to come back in my life as a wannabe writer. Most of the time it starts with me having a dream or a daydream about whatever came to my mind this day. Then I realize that I really like what I’m imagining, that it’s actually really interesting and maybe it could grow into something more. So I continue to think about it for days, weeks, months, sometimes years and I end up with a full on story of ten novels and even a sequel (I may exaggerate a bit, but only a bit). And here I am, attached to this universe I created, to these characters I watched growing up and all the important events of their adventures I want everyone to know about, and I’ll be heartbroken to just leave it at that. To just leave it as a simple fantasy, a dream, a figment of my subconscious. I cannot possibly let it be forgotten, because I’ll inevitably forget it if I do not act and do something to keep it somewhere, anywhere. So comes the time to write, to finally put into words this story, this scenario that was entirely made up by myself and my creative mind.

Yet, when I finally have the motivation to write something, anything, this so-called motivation never comes alone. It always comes with it. You might be confused as to who or what I’m talking about dear reader. Well, I am talking about this horrible realization that writing is difficult as f*ck.

In fact, I always end up being lost in all the details of my stories. I always end up realizing that I thought of things, but not everything, and that I have now to choose the right words, the right grammar, the right phrasing to accurately depict the world, the characters and the adventures I have created. And this dear reader is so very hard.

Then I also have to think about all that’s in between the big events of the story to tone down the dose of action in the script, to show the character development, to exploit the characters' relationships and make the readers like them as well as relate to them. At this point, writing seems like a chore, a big task that is too hard for me to actually be able to finish.

Admitting that I actually started something and didn’t give up just messily writing down notes on a random notebook, I never seem to end up writing things that I like. Writing becomes stress inducing because I constantly think about what I have to write down after this exact moment for it to make sense and how I have to make some details pop out but not too obvious for the reader to notice them but not understand their importance. All in all my thoughts, ideas and anxiety create this jumbled mess in my head and I am incapable of writing.

To this date I have three started and unfinished projects. One that I started when I was like 12 or 13 and actually finished (well at least the first book or season because it was written as a screenplay) after having started at least four or five different versions of it. But as time flew by I ended up hating what I wrote so I decided to start it all over again this time as a novel. Yet I didn’t get far because I started questioning the originality and interest of this story that was in fact kind of childish. It was very important to me because it was the first ever thing I wrote down and I loved it dearly, but I inevitably left it aside.

Then much later I started thinking of this thriller based on a nightmare I had. So with one of my sisters we wrote everything down about the plot, the characters, the universe, etc… I even started writing but I never went past the first chapter. I was just unable to. I wanted to, really, because it has a lot of potential and I wanted it done but I dreaded writing about it because I couldn’t come up with correct phrasing and ideas of filler chapters. I was also so far ahead in my mind, already thinking of what could happen in the second book of this saga. I’m always thinking too far, too fast. So I have a second draft lying around on my computer.

Finally, recently I decided that I wanted to truly finish a book, that I was going to do it, and in order to do just that I thought of a simple love story which could fit in a tiny and single book. Like that no thinking ahead and finishing with ideas for an infinite number of books. So I took notes of ideas as they came, created the characters and found their visuals, all of that in a very short amount of time and I loved doing it. I was thrilled! It felt good to be able to do things so fast and smoothly. Then I started writing, it went well, I was inspired and I liked how I wrote, but came chapter 7 and I stopped completely because I was once again starting to complicate the task at hand. I was either distracted or not inspired or just lazy. So I stopped and a third unfinished draft joined my computer.

Whenever I want I could go back to either of those drafts and continue them, because deep down I know I am capable of doing it, of writing but I can’t seem to do so. I am just stuck with overflowing ideas but the incapability of fully writing things down. It s*cks… And it makes me feel incapable.

So I just have one thing to say: f*ck writer’s block.

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🔺Original work, please do not steal or copy. Thanks.🔺

- notify me if there are typos ;)

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There was a long break between the time I wrote the first entry and this one. So I decided that after this opinion piece about writing in a foreign language I will probably in the near future publish a longer and more personal entry that I wrote in order to “catch up” on my mental health :)

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❀ Pansy n°2 = I love English.

It is true, I do love the English language.

In fact, today I am in my first year of college and I follow a course in English Literature and Civilisations. So basically I am studying this language in depth. It feels great as, when I started this journal, it was the only thing I was wishing for but it is a lot harder than I thought…

Anyway, it is definitely not what I want to write about.

What I want to speak of, to let my mind wander to, is how I find it easier to express myself, my thoughts, my mindset, my feelings in English rather than in my mother tongue. I find it so strange yet fascinating and a bit logical. Actually, I have been told (or I have read somewhere but can’t remember where) it is a fact that bilingual people describe their emotions and communicate in their learned language with more ease. I find it quite logical as we have learned precise words and ways to express peculiar and specific events, feelings,... We have a whole new and fresh vocabulary imprinted in our minds so it feels like we have more words to clearly express something. Moreover, it creates more distance between us and the problems or feelings we’re facing.

I personally relate to this a lot.

I think it might be enhanced by the fact that I read more in English as well. So in a way, my literary vocabulary is more extended in English. I consume a lot of English entertainment. Songs, books, movies, series, fanfictions…

My mind even works in English. I think, speak and dream in English. Weirdly, it just comes naturally.

When I write or read in my mother tongue things just feel cringe and wrong, like there’s always a better way to say those things. Sometimes I think of sayings and expressions in English which are perfect for what I am trying to say but, it has to be in my mother tongue and it either doesn’t have an equivalent or even if it has, I feel like it loses a bit of its meaning. It is truly complicated, especially when I talk with people and only English vocabulary comes to my mind. Moreover, as an aspiring writer and translator, I cannot and do not want to lose connection with my mother tongue. I have to practice it and feel more comfortable with it. And when I successfully write in my native language, I cannot express how proud I feel. It just is awesome to see that I am capable of writing beautiful and meaningful things in this language that I feel so uneasy with.

Yet, I feel that sometimes it is an enormous struggle to communicate with others when I can’t speak with them with some english words and expressions. Like I said, more than often I have english words which come to my mind and it is hard to find how to say it in my native language. The worst is, when I struggle and people tell me to just say as I think, they end up mocking me and saying things like “Oh excuse me ! Madame only speaks English !” It makes me feel awful as people clearly think I am trying to expose my good english. Like I am pompous, conceited, arrogant… And it is very much what I don’t want people to think of me. Even though I am, in fact, proud of the quality of my English - written and spoken - I don’t want people to see me as someone who thinks too highly of herself.

ANYWAY. I enjoy writing in english. I enjoy speaking in english. And I will not stop practicing this language.

✿❀✿

🔺Original work, please do not steal or copy. Thanks.🔺

- notify me if there are typos ;)

✿❀✿

This chapter tackles subjects that can be sensitive to some readers, please do not interact if you are uncomfortable.

⚠️ Warning : depiction of depressive behavior (depressive thoughts, suicidal thoughts,…).

Read at your own risk.

- Beaucoup d’amour, Poppy.

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❀ Pansy n°3 = “I’m tired.”

This quick, short, simple sentence is quite interesting. I like it as much as I hate it. It can be seen as meaningless whereas it is possibly quite meaningful.

“I’m tired.”

It is the most mundane way to express a physical state of fatigue. It is not too tiring to say it because of its shortness, and it is easily understandable. Everyone knows and understands what being tired is, right ? It is a state that everyone suffers from almost daily. Everyone knows this feeling in the morning, when it is difficult to get up because you’re still tired, you haven’t slept enough and your body is begging you to stay cuddled up in your warm bed sheets. The horrible pain that comes with having to pry your eyes open when they can’t help but stay closed. How helpless one can feel, as it is like fighting against your own body to finally get up, to finally wake up.

I also think that everyone knows the feeling of fatigue weighing down your eyes, as if you can physically feel your eyebags because your exhaustion is so present that it has started to weigh you down.

Personally, I know what I’m talking about, ‘cause I have quite the messed up sleep schedule (thanks to insomnia, never ending anxiety, and maybe a bit because of my excessive screen time… :/ ).

Living while being tired is very difficult. How can one be expected to work normally when their body isn’t at its maximum capacity. It’s normal to ask yourself this type of question, but sadly, because today’s society goes so fast, and everyone has to work their asses off to survive, you have no choice but to overview your own physical condition to go on. This type of difficult living is, today, what we can call “common-knowledge”. It bothers everyone but nothing can quite be done…

Yet, it can be even more difficult than being physically tired. In fact, it becomes worse when being physically exhausted is your everyday state. When it is like this constantly, you cannot help but also be emotionally tired. And that’s when the meaning of this simple sentence changes.

“I’m tired”, becomes a simplified way to express an emotional, moral and psychological state of fatigue. I would go even as far as saying, a state of depression.

In this specific case, I don’t think everyone knows how this feels. It is so particular, peculiar, distinct. This precise state can be depicted as a constant feeling of being numb. Emotions are tiring so you can end up not feeling them anymore, you literally seal them away to not waste the last small bits of your energy on them. On the other hand, you can end up feeling them as if they were multiplied, which tires you out even more. Both of those cases are terrible for your mental health. In this peculiar state of psychological exhaustion, thinking can become tiring, any little event or responsibility can be seen as a humongous activity which will inevitably steal away all your energy. My point of view and explanation of this physical, psychological and emotional state can be biased by the fact that I am quite subject to anxiety. So, I may give away a more “exaggerated” version of it (I am also hypersensitive, so everything feels multiplied).

I, personally, feel exhausted by these constant overwhelming thoughts, responsibilities, changements and the inevitable passing of time which gives me less time to process and get through all those things which overwhelm me.

As I grew up, this simple sentence totally changed its significance for me. It is as if it lost all of its raw meaning. I feel a bit guilty of this… Let me explain.

When I was younger, everyone knew me for being a heavy sleeper. I mean, it happened more often than not that I slept in until 2pm. I just needed a lot of sleep, and also felt inevitably safe in my bed that on so many mornings I was just too lazy to get up and get breakfast. But as time went by, it was revealed that I indeed slept late, but that was because I fell asleep late (mostly because of hyperfixations, screens, sometimes books, fanfictions or, of course, overthinking). So even if I slept a lot, in the eyes of my family, I kept on complaining that I was tired, obviously. But what was not so obvious, was the fact that I slowly started to use this excuse of “I’m tired” to express a lot of other things.

In fact, I started answering to every worried plea towards me by, “Don’t worry, I’m just tired.” Even though that was not the only reason… When I was feeling down, I said “I’m tired.” When I was down right sad, I said “I’m tired.” When I was annoyed, I said “I’m tired.” Et caetera…

I just thought that it was easier that way. I did not have to bother and try to explain what happened in my mind to people I was sure did not care and couldn’t help me. Plus, I just didn’t know what truly made me feel so down, so tired. It was also easier for me to reduce all of those conflictive feelings to just tiredness. And it was not entirely false. I, indeed, feel exhausted.

I am tired of being tired. Tired of working, of talking, of moving, of socializing, of thinking, of pushing through, of going forward, of making efforts, and more often than not… tired of living.

Everything just feels like a humongous burden. Every little thing weighs me down like it’s a matter of life and death. I can’t help but overthink everything, anything. I always analyze things too much, I always think too far ahead, I’m a pessimist… And I’m just tired of it all.

Everything feels helpless when you can’t help but just be tired.

It makes living an exhausting, never ending effort. The worst is that most of the time this fatigue passes off as laziness. People just criticize you because you’re “lazy”, when in fact you’re just internally exhausted. And I hate it. So many people just don’t understand this state of mind. Because it is one. As I said before, it becomes a real state of physical, psychological, emotional and moral exhaustion. And it is overlooked more often than not.

It is a real state of distress.

I have no solution to this because I am very clearly suffering from it. But I simply want people to know that they're not alone. I am sure we are thousands out there feeling helpless. I know so because mental health has become a much more talked about subject these past years, especially on social media. Still, I don’t think it is enough.

The mental distress of teenagers is particularly overlooked. I personally think it is because the adult/parent generation of today is made of people whose feelings and mental health have been overlooked during their entire growing process. How many times have we heard from our parents or grandparents “At your age I had to deal with things on my own” or stuff like that. And we know that in the past, mental health was clearly not cared for or seen as important and impacting on people’s lives. So how can they teach us that mental state and emotions matter when they haven’t been educated like that. I think it can be qualified as “generational trauma”.

Anyway, I might have gone too far into thinking again. I feel like I am stating so many obvious things but I like getting it out of my system. I really enjoy writing those pensées… It helps me be a little less confused about my feelings and honestly…

It makes me feel a little less tired.

✿❀✿

🔺Original work please do not steal or copy, Thanks.🔺

✿❀✿

This chapter tackles subjects that can be sensitive to some readers, please do not interact if you are uncomfortable. And it's about my personnal life, though I feel comfortable sharing those facts. Of course, don't read if you're not interested :)

⚠️ Warnings : depiction of mental health (depressive thoughts, suicidal thoughts, self harm, self hate,…).

Read at your own risk. - Beaucoup d’amour, Poppy.

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❀ Pansy n°4 = A little catch-up.

*sigh* So ! There’s a lot to say…

I didn’t plan to make this book, or whatever this is, so personal but I feel like this could do me some good and that it could actually be interesting to share a bit more of my struggles.

I mean, I think this book makes it pretty clear - especially with what I write and think of writing in it - but I suffer from chronic anxiety, ‘masked’ depression and a bit of ADHD. First and foremost, ‘masked’ depression is a bad translation from my native language but basically it means that I try - or at least tried - to hide it from others, to keep up appearances. Which is… Way too true. But anyways.

To start from the beginning, it has been more than a year since I got “diagnosed” with chronic anxiety by my first therapist. He told me it was most likely hereditary - which is true, I got f*cking anxious parents especially my dad. I started therapy in January 2022, after years of mental distress. I always remember being anxious, sleeping badly and feeling lonely as well as inexistant, useless, transparent. It is like, most of what I remember from my teenage years (and I have massive blackouts from my childhood somehow :/). I am constantly struggling with my feelings, thoughts and place in life. It is as if my entire life revolves around internal conflict. I was - and still am a bit - used to dealing with all of it on my own, because I am convinced that you can count on nobody but yourself, but mostly that I shouldn’t burden people with it especially when they won’t care anyway.

Adding to that, the fact that I am the youngest of three siblings, I grew up thinking that I was too much in my family. Like my parents had already too much to deal with and just hadn’t the capacity to fully care for me. Moreover, on my dad’s side of the family I was also the younger cousin. So when my cousins and siblings became teenagers and young adults, I was very clearly put aside. The worst was that everyone was aware of it. I mean they literally gently threw me out of each room they were in when they wanted to talk about more “adult themed” subjects, always promising to call me back when they were done which obviously never happened. At the time, I complained to my parents and relatives about it, saying that I was tired of being rejected and just wanted to spend time with my cousins. But everyone just told me to wait it out, that it was normal as I was younger but with time it’ll change and it ended with people not even caring anymore if I was saddened about the situation. From this experience I think I just came to the conclusion that older people would always look at me as a less valuable being just because I was younger than them and theoretically couldn’t understand their “grown up and experienced” mind. As well as the fact that nobody - not even my family - cares about my feelings even if I communicate them.

I think that is when my difficulty communicating started to grow. I totally closed off from everyone, trapping myself in a never ending feeling of loneliness, even sometimes feeling like I am a spectator to my own life.

So I grew resentful towards my family, always wishing to stray away from them, to flee the country and build a new and better life. Away from everything. Then, I started thinking - very firmly - that without me, things would stay exactly the same. My family wouldn’t be impacted at all as I was only an unwanted nuisance that took too much care and money. I did not feel important, nor truly loved. I felt I just couldn’t be loved as I wasn’t interesting and had nothing for myself to make people appreciate me, just because I craved for attention I was not given by my family. 

Furthermore, when I had just started middle school, I found out I had scoliosis. And a pretty bad one at that. After three months of observation, my spine ended up forming a perfect S shape. It was so bad that I had to wear a medical corset, in order to keep my back in check. That is how I ended up wearing a plastic made medical corset 23 hours a day every day. All of that, just a few weeks before my 12th birthday… Yes, it was an amazing gift :).

So, I found myself being sort of disabled. Wearing something totally new to every single one of my classmates and even my school’s administration. Find a way to feel more left out and alienated. Yet, I was not truly bullied for it. People were kind and curious, often offering me to carry my bag or things like that. Still, I was faced with the fact that a majority of people just wouldn’t understand how hard it could be on someone’s body and mind. People just thought of aesthetic corsets when I had to explain what I had, and didn’t understand why I made the choice to wear one as well as why it handicapped me. 

In fact, it was truly a burden. It was not only painful, it was also truly incapacitating. I couldn’t bend down, I couldn’t sit without having my thighs being compressed and cut by the plastic, I couldn’t breathe or eat properly. At first I couldn’t even go to the bathroom with it. Plus, you are taught to get it on while laying down so I had authorized access to the nurse office - even when she wasn’t there - to take it off and pee. Only once was I refused the access to it, and my mom was so mad she made sure to call the school and report how it was unacceptable as I literally had a PCP (Personalized Care Project) which granted me special rights like access to the nurse office or even prioritized access to the cafeteria to not risk me being pushed and falling in the middle of a crowd. I actually got crushed by someone once. I was kneeling near my locker and someone fell on me. My breath cut short and I had trouble recovering. I only remember one of my friends opening my corset but nothing after that… Weird. But knowing how much I forget traumatic events I’m not even surprised :). 

Aside from that, the corset also took away my dream career of becoming a ballerina. It was a harsh reality check for a 12 year-old who already had a lot going on. So to sum it up, the corset physically blocked me, woke up unbearable back pains, made me feel even more abnormal, broke my dreams, ruined my birthday and made my nights even worse. Nice.

And it is only the beginning.

At the same time I also had a really sh*tty friend group. You know this type of friend circle in which everyone swears they’re best friends but spit on each others’ back? Well it was exactly like that. Adding the fact that they truly enjoyed putting only some people aside. I only have one friend from this group to which I still talk to this day. She is the only one who was honest with me, cared and liked me. And she changed schools during our second year, so she clearly got away from all the drama. But we kept contact and we are still really close.

Yet, I lost my best friend of 7 years to this group. She preferred to stay with them even if they were making fun of her behind her back, while I decided to leave and find other friends. Still, I was fairly traumatized by this friendship as one of the girls very clearly confessed in secret that she thought I was nonexistent, invisible and that without me things would be the same… So yeah, trusting people after that was especially hard.

Man, teenage years s*ck…

Eventually I found new friends with whom I felt a bit more like myself - whoever I was at that age. I got closer to this one girl I met at the very beginning of middle school and who is, today, still my beautiful and amazing best friend <3. That year I remember not having so many dark thoughts, but they became a bit too normal. Now that I had new people around me and felt I could express myself, it became really hard for me to repress my feelings. I was so used to bottling everything up, put on a straight face and feeling numb that once I felt a bit more at ease, it was impossible for me to go back.

I felt better with my friends and started questioning myself. Who I was. Who I wanted to become. Who I liked… I was around 14 years-old when I came out to my friends as Bisexual. I had this huge crush on one of my friends and even if I got - kindly - rejected, I knew where I stood. Everyone accepted me, I wasn’t judged by any of them. My siblings didn’t know yet at the time - as we didn’t share the close bond we have today. And my parents still don’t know to this day…

Nevertheless, this new discovery about myself made me question my attraction towards this one female friend of my friend group (just to bring precision, I didn’t and still don’t really hang out with boys much. Idk why lol). And this questioning ended up with me being in my first ever serious relationship, and it was with a girl behind my parents back.

I won’t go into details about this relationship or how catastrophic my middle sister’s first reaction was. But even if I should have known by now, things didn’t go according to plan… LOL.

I started this relationship thinking I had nothing to lose but in the end I lost my sanity and will to live, is that okay with you ? No but seriously, this girl ruined my life. She was what we call a ‘narcissistic pervert’. Literally made me lose any closeness I had to other people, wanting me to care only about her - even at my own expense. She constantly wanted to make me jealous with weird fantasies she had with her former crushes, making me feel like I clearly wasn’t the only one on her mind or even a tiny bit special. Once she even told me that before we got together she also had a crush on another girl, and that if we didn’t start something she might’ve not chosen me… B*tch. She even made me feel guilty for any little thing I could do or say when I tried to communicate - yes, it is called guilt tripping :). She was weirdly sexist, like she took on the ‘stereotypical role of the man’ in the relationship and wanted to be the one to lead the relationship in everything, even when it was uncalled for. She didn’t value my feelings, many times gaslighting me. Towards the end of our relationship, she often made me feel forced to engage in foreplay and sexual acts…

I know that, in a way, it was also my responsibility as I didn’t communicate much, always putting her first but I also felt like I couldn’t because whatever I said or did she put herself in the victim position while I was made the culprit. You know, she even got mad at me once because I fell asleep texting her - I took plant based pills, and they worked really well at the time. And she was aware of how much I struggled sleeping! Everything just had to revolve around her, all the time. It was clearly a one way relationship.

For other anecdotes - because I ended up going into details… :/. Even when I broke up with her, she couldn’t help but guilt trip me. She was literally telling me how cruel I was not to think about the situation she found herself in when I asked her for a break. (Yes, I needed a break first to see if I was better alone and to prepare myself to break up with someone… Oopsies.) Because of our relationship, I lost a friend who sided with her and it completely broke our friend group as no one wanted to hang out with the two of us when we were together. Yes we were f*cking cringe middle schoolers… Yikes.

One of the worst memories I have, concerning her lack of real care for me, was when I harmed myself… I was wallowing in self pity, hating myself and my life when everything was supposed to be better. I was dying with anxiety as important exams were coming up and as usual my feelings were minimized at home, and in my relationship. Even if it was the year I grew closer to my sisters, our relationships were still rocky - especially with my middle sister. I felt like all of my problems were meaningless, and I was the problem, the one to blame. So for an entire week I harmed myself. It was the simplest way I found to prove myself I had a reason to hurt. What better way to prove you’re in pain than having physical wounds ? That was my reasoning. It was also a clear cry for help as I did nothing to hide it. I constantly thought “the bigger it is, people would see it less.” And it always proved to be true.

One evening, I was having dinner with my two sisters and my mom. Simply wearing a tank top, my scarred wrists in plain sight. When my mom asked me what happened to them. I lied, saying that I simply scratched myself too hard with my long nails. And it was never tackled again. My sisters never caught up with it, my mom never asked more. It just went unseen. But, as I said earlier, my ex did even better. I literally showed her and after arguing a bit I just told her it was my way to cope and she answered “if it helps you, I’ll learn to live with it.” What a caring significant other am I right ?

Then after a week of only being able to think about doing it. I stopped because two of my friends found out and made me promise to never start again. But to be honest, I think I never really stopped. I learned that chewing the insides of your mouth (like really aggressively) is also a way to self-harm. I also used to scratch myself really hard when I felt mad at myself. And I happened to try and use a blade once more a few times, but felt extremely pathetic afterwards. I have been quite clean since then, especially since I don’t deny my own feelings and let myself have breakdowns lol.

During highschool I slowly started healing from this amazing relationship. Sadly, my anxiety grew because of school and just as I thought things could still go better… Boom. World wide pandemic. We had to stay focused on school while being stuck at home. It was really hard on me especially because my dad had to work from home while my mom - who takes care of kids at home - didn’t stop working. The cohabitation was less than pleasant. Anyway, I don’t have anything interesting to say about the period, just that it helped me go down the rabbit hole even faster :). A pleasure.

For my last year of highschool, teachers and adults expected us to go back to normal and be perfect students as if Covid never happened. They expected us to be okay. And it was just not possible. My anxiety went haywire as we had really important final exams at the end of the year that I couldn’t fail. All my friends were feeling down, I was feeling suicidal and just wanted to end the pain. I also lost my great-grandmother and a month later - literally two days before Christmas - my dog also passed away. It was a very difficult time for my family. Then came January and I felt more than ever like dying.

Each passing day I was only feeling like life was just a burden. Why did I have to suffer so much just from living ? I had to take the train every day, always thinking of just jumping on the rails. I had to fake a smile every day, to try and forget. To take care of my own friends who were too feeling horrible. I was just so tired…

Then my savior came. One of my close friends went to express their worries about me to one teacher with whom I was very close. She was a PE teacher and my dance option teacher for two years already. One day she asked me to talk after a class and as I exceptionally had finished class early I accepted.

It was the most intense and emotional discussion I ever had.

We both cried - a lot - I confessed everything. I was honest and she brought so much help. Thanks to her my parents became aware of the situation and I got help. She made my mom call a therapist she had heard only good things about and talked to me about what I could do and take to sleep better. I missed her class to go to my first ever therapy session and she often checked up on me. I could never thank her enough for everything. 

She saved my life. Literally.

This therapist was special but not bad. He talked a lot and I didn’t always feel heard, but he diagnosed me with chronic anxiety and slight ADHD. Therapy didn’t really help for my inner conflicts but I started to manage my stress a bit better. I passed my exams with less stress and excelled. But I still felt like it wasn’t a good match so I stopped seeing him. I let summer pass, trying to get my mind off of things. Went on vacation with my bestfriend and just tried to feel better.

Things went okay, but I was still bothered by anxiety as I was to start university. And it didn’t miss. Uni is a literal hell. Like what the f*ck ?? Why does it have to be so hard and stress inducing ? September was my way to hell…

I found a new therapist not far from my house. Since then I haven’t changed. My therapist is just amazing. I feel so much at ease with her, I have real conversations and I can freely express myself. I truly feel like it is helping me. Still, it was not enough for me to feel at least a little better on a daily basis so I started taking anxiolytics. It helped a bit but after a month it was clear that I had to take stronger medicine if I wanted to go through it day by day. So after being diagnosed with depression by a first psychiatrist I got prescribed antidepressant and sleeping pills. It was really hard at first as I had a LOT of side effects.

It did not help me sleep at all. The first night I literally did not sleep and had a mental breakdown just as I got up. I got really shaky and I was constantly nauseous. I missed some classes to rest at home but I couldn’t allow myself to miss more. I went on and even if we add to rise the dosage of my medicine I am feeling a bit better today.

I am still on my way towards healing but I think I am on the right path. I am surrounded by amazing people. My sisters and I are closer than ever, best trio ever <3 And I even grew closer to my mom. I express myself way more and try to be positive. It is not easy everyday but I start to finally believe that it might not be that impossible to heal. Right now school is almost finished for me and I never felt better. I am working on myself, trying to improve the person I am in order to become the person I want to be. I take good care of myself, try to change my mind and go out more. I do things I want and do not force myself if I don’t feel like it. 

I feel like I am in my healing era. B*tch I’m gonna glow up ;)

Anyway, if you ever went through difficult things I cannot tell you how important it is to surround yourself with good people and get help. It is really hard to ask for yourself, so if you see friends struggling do not hesitate to get them help. Believe me when I say I know how hard it is to accept the fact that things aren’t going well and that you have to do something about it. It is not going to be easy, it asks for a lot of effort but you are not alone. We can get through this. And… I think it is going to be worth it.

It’s going to be 5 months since I started being medicated, and 7 months since I restarted therapy. Things are looking good right now. I know I might still face some hard times but I am going to continue trying to feel better. I promise, if you promise to try too, dear reader. <3

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🔺Original work please do not steal or copy, Thanks.🔺

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This chapter tackles subjects that can be sensitive to some readers, please do not interact if you are uncomfortable.

⚠️ Warning : depiction of depressive behavior and obsessive thoughts.

Read at your own risk. - Beaucoup d’amour, Poppy.

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❀ Pansy n°5 = Reality ? No, thanks…

When life feels too bland, one’s mind can do wonders to escape it.

It may seem unreal or fake to some people, but for some minds the easiest way to cope with a negative or stressful emotional state is to dive into one’s subconscious and imagination. The reason why is pretty simple. You are free to control everything and everyone in your own head. You are able to picture and make up every landscape, every environment with anyone you would want to be with.

You are free to give yourself a dream life while escaping the difficult truth of reality.

This “ability” can be considered a skill available to anyone willing to expand and develop their imagination. Personally, I have always considered myself to be quite creative and full of imagination, so being able to increase my capability of imagining things has been awfully thrilling through the years. My mind has always been triggered by music. Easily imagining or making up epic battles on action like songs, dance routines on classical music or simply fake scenarios on chill lofi beats. 

I have so many different fake lives, it’s concerning… :/

But it is such a cathartic experience to insert yourself in your favorite universes, with your favorite characters. What’s even better is when you are so into your mind that you can feel things. With time, it happens to me more and more.

Sometimes the smell of freshly baked bread, but mostly the feeling of a warm embrace or lips softly brushing against one another…

That might be why I often have lucid dreams or why I believe in shifting. But those are pansies for another time.

Nevertheless, this dream-like ability can become dangerous to a certain extent. In fact, when the fake scenarios become an obsession, when day-dreaming becomes a daily occurrence, all in all, when all of it becomes too important… Then it becomes a problem. Then it is unhealthy.

Why does this amazing experience have to be so toxic ?

It is a way to cope, to feel good, to relieve stress - for once without the use of anything illegal 👀- but sadly it also disinterests you from reality. Some people can end up resenting even more their real life.

Come to think of it, that’s how addictions work, no ?

I am no one to tell you what to do if you relate to what I’m writing, neither am I judging anyone. Too often do I feel detached from reality because of my will to live in fantasies. It is something I want to work on - most of my pansies are about myself, my thoughts and based on my will to evolve.

So once again, I am no one to judge.

I am someone so obsessed with daydreaming that, when I am feeling down, it literally plagues my days. I only think about when I’ll have alone time to listen to music and continue the scenario where I left off. Or when I’ll be able to read self-insert fanfictions to drown even more in this shameful obsession of the unreal.

All of it fueled by the fear of reality and the tiredness of living.

Too often do I think I would like to eternally dream.

And that’s because I am conscious it has become this unhealthy obsession that I want to work on. I know that on the one hand, I like to make up scenarios because I would like to experience other environments/universes with other people. But on the other hand, I realized it is also because I can be whoever I want to be.

So lately - being in a good mindset - I am on a quest to better myself, to let myself discover who I am, who I want to be and most importantly to let myself take time to heal.

I know this won't be easy, that I won’t drastically stop to escape reality. But now I also know that to make this creative ability healthy, I have to try and find or even make a dream out of reality.

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🔺Original work please do not steal or copy, Thanks.🔺

❀ Pansy n°6 = Oneiric inspiration.

oneiric |ə(ʊ)ˈnʌɪrɪk| adjective - formal → relating to dreams or dreaming. ORIGIN = mid 19th century: from Greek oneiros ‘dream’ + -ic.

I love this word. In my opinion it is a formal but beautiful way to put into words the subconscious universe that is a dream.

I love dreaming.

As I wrote in a former entry, getting too far in my head and imagination is something I do a lot, enjoy and try to make healthy. My fascination for the oneiric world started at a young age with my ability to remember my dreams. I remembered them so well that more often than not I was able to continue them on multiple nights. It was also really cool to be able to count them back to people - it created many laughs, thanks to the weird dream logic. 

Then I started working (it was not really a difficult or boring task, still it took time) on being able to remember more by forcing myself to think about what I saw straight when I woke up. Sometimes - when I was not too lazy - I wrote them down to get all the details. It is by working on those details that I started creating universes, worlds and stories of my own. I ended up with multiple characters, their backgrounds; future, relationships and development in a made up world. That is how started my first ever draft for my fantasy story. Based on dreams and worked on in my dreams. I could not stop thinking about it. In fact, that’s what happens when I get really inspired for a story, I just can’t stop picturing things in my mind, trying to make sense of it and developing my ideas. I get so focused yet I struggle to write - writer’s block am I right ? :/

However, there was one time when I had difficulties expanding my dream into a story. Why ? you may ask. Well, dear reader, it was because I was inspired by a nightmare and at first thinking about it again made it difficult for me to fall asleep - obviously… I won’t go into much detail about this nightmare because I plan on making a thriller out of it, but what intrigued me the most was that it was one of those dreams…

A lucid dream.

In fact, I knew I was dreaming and could control some of the things happening around me. I LOVE those types of dreams - except when they’re nightmares, and of course it happens to me quite a lot. Lucid dreaming was the next step to improve my “dream ability”. Those dreams are when you realize you are dreaming and can control what you can do (sometimes ^^).

Usually, to work on lucid dreaming, we are told to try and have the reflex of looking at your hands - because they’ll never be normal in your dreams. Or try and read something - yet again you’re not supposed to be able to see coherent words written. Even though I know these tricks - called “reality checks” - work, I personally just let them happen normally. 

Indeed, I have been blessed with the ability to lucid dream without much effort since I was a child - only realizing it was that as I grew up. So often do I have periods during which many lucid dreams come to plague my mind at night. It usually happens when I am in a semi-state of sleep, like half-awake. So it happens that sometimes I am too tired and the control slips out of my grasp. Still, I think it’s an amazing experience.

I guess my lucid dreams are triggered thanks to the fact that I tend to fall asleep making up scenarios and fully controlling my dreams - at that moment. And what gets me to recognize I am lucid dreaming is that I am almost always in first person p.o.v. Nevertheless, what I like the most about lucid dreams and inspires me the most - as I remember it more and it shocks me - are the sensations I get.

Yes, sensations.

Call me crazy if you want but I happen to feel so many things while dreaming - it’s mainly why I believe in shifting. Most of the time I can feel the warmth of things in my dreams, especially when I am close to someone or being embraced. Things definitely don’t feel real but they feel extremely similar. And I think it is extraordinary that you can feel in your head.

What’s even more unreal and that I particularly love, is the dream feeling of being kissed. It is just ethereal… I am someone very fond of physical affection - like, that’s literally one of my love languages - and it is just so awesome and astounding to be able to feel these types of things in your head.Once, I remember, I had a dream in which I kissed someone’s cheek and it had a little stubble, and the feeling I thought I had on my lips was just so weird and felt so real !

So it’s when I started having more and more of those feelings filled lucid dreams that I realized how fascinating and powerful the human brain really is. We can truly trick ourselves, with our own imagination ! And it is why I believe shifting to be possible/real. I, personally, am not an active shifter. I have tried, succeeded a bit and tried again sometimes but I prefer not to force it. I also think that I have succeeded a few times without realizing, so I let it come naturally.

The shifting community can be quite biased and not of the best advice on certain platforms - *cough cough* tiktok… - but also because there are “conflicts” within the community. I don’t associate with it mostly because I don’t really keep myself informed about it, so I don’t want/can’t to appear as a specialist on the matter. But… I have my opinion on how shifting might work.

I think that you are just diving so deep in your subconscious that you can explore all of its power. I like this explanation better than projecting your mind into another dimension. Moreover, I think that both the opinions I gave - among many others - still work to explain reality shifting because in the end we explore other realities regardless.

Anyway !

Shifting is harder for me as I ask myself too many questions and don’t really like to plan my dreams with scripts. Don’t get me wrong, I loved writing scripts for universes I knew I wanted to shift to, but I am always so scared of forgetting something. Plus because of my dream obsession I am scared that if I succeed, I will never want to come back. Still, I know I am never going to stop being inspired by what my mind creates.

→ Quote I like = “Everything that is or was, began with a dream” - Lavagirl.

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❀ Pansy n°7 = My mind's safe space.

safe space - noun → a place or environment in which a person or category of people can feel confident that they will not be exposed to discrimination, criticism, harassment, or any other emotional or physical harm.

It’s quite easy to understand what a safe space is, but I would like to add to this definition that it can also be a person - since you’re with someone it could go into “environment” I guess. Personally, my safe spaces are my room and bed, my sisters, my family circle and my mom’s embrace. Those are things that can make me feel instantly better.

I know about these, how they affect me and especially how I struggle to live without them. Getting out of my comfort zone really isn’t my forte… :/ Though there is one place where I can always go when I need a break, a breath… It’s a safe space I created on my own to fit my fantasies and needs to help me calm down and stay serene.

I can literally go there whenever, as I carry it in my mind. Firstly, I created this mind safe space in PE in Highschool  when we were doing yoga with my favorite teacher. She helped us a lot to manage our stress and so we did a lot of meditation at the end of her classes. And for this time of peaceful concentration, she asked us to find a memory of a cherished place or even a made up one where we can feel good, calm down and fully relax.

Loving to be in imaginary headplaces, I thought of creating one - it eventually became my waiting room when I tried to shift. The place I’m about to describe truly became a safe space for me.

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This safe haven basically consists of an opening in the middle of trees. The grass has the perfect height and is a warm tone of green. In the middle of the clearing, there is a huge and beautiful lake - that I often struggle to visualize. I’d love for it to have some sort of littler waterfalls and big rocks all around as if it was more of a natural pool you might find in mountains. But my brain keeps it simple, often picturing it just as a simple body of water - but I’ll work on that :). As the soft wind blows in the trees and the grass, occasionally making the water ripple, you can find under the shade of a tree, an outdoor bed. Its wooden structure sits directly on the ground. Its soft and pristine white sheets are the perfect depiction of comfort. Its size makes it more than able to hold two people and allowing the best naps of the world - well, imaginary world.

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This is most of what I visualize when meditating, laying down in this bed to release and concentrate on myself. I also do it when I try to fall asleep, sometimes - if not most of the time - I listen to quiet and soothing music with slight rain sounds, it really calms my running mind. Yet this place is bigger than expected. In fact, I expanded it for my dream purposes.

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Behind the bed - which faces the lake - the clearing extends itself towards a small meadow made of hills. Not too far from the outdoor bed, sits a medium size cottage. I don’t really know how it looks because it’s mostly in the background but I know it’s beautiful and cozy - probably with a stone façade. I love this place dearly. Many times have I pictured myself dancing with comfort characters in the tall grass in the white outdoor bed safely tucked in someone’s strong embrace. I just can’t help but feel calm and secure there.

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I think I’d advise everyone to have a place like this, to be able to retreat somewhere when things get too much and you need to focus on yourself. As I said, it’s also good for meditation times, though it’s important to know to not picture yourself with someone at that moment as it’s a time to pay attention to yourself and it’s really important to have those times. Taking care of yourself is detrimental.

I’ll leave you to that dear reader, but not without asking you what is your mind’s safe space ! Don’t be shy to comment or DM me, I’m very curious :).

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❀ Pansy n°8 = Who are my / our Husbandos ?

*sigh*

You know how therapists say - at least tiktok ones :/ - that to be ready for a relationship you have to break off your imaginary ones first ? Well for me - and many people I’m sure - it is complicated to say goodbye to thousand that much fictive lives and lovers… Especially when it’s the only way I get to fall asleep, making up fake scenarios.

I dream so much about love, I’ve got to have it in some way, no ? Be it with fictional characters, celebrities, voice actors or even made up characters, I have to dream about a significant other loving up on me. Am I exposing myself too much ? Yes, yes I am … :/ But, f*ck it.

It is really easy to imagine a life with a celebrity as they are public personalities and we know so much about their lives. Too much… Moreover, your brain - and heart - does not make the difference between real people and fictional ones. That’s why you can feel truly heartbroken when a character you’ve grown attached to is sad or dies. Real or not, it makes no difference when emotions are thrown into the mix…

→ The way I realized this was true is pretty embarrassing but I’ll tell you anyway… I was young - around 17 - and in a big as well as deep spiderman / Tom Holland period. So much that it was concerning… :/ Then, pictures of Zendaya and Tom kissing came out and their relationship was outed. And… *sigh* My first reaction was crying. I felt heartbroken but mostly pathetic and embarrassed to be affected so much by it. I was disgusted by myself, because I was crying over something - someone - that had nothing to do with me. Yet it was a true awakening. After that I stopped - or at least I think I did :/ - to get THIS attached to my dumb celebrity crushes.

It also made me realize something really important.

We don’t know who our celebrity crushes are, not really. What we see of them is only through media, dramas, speculations… Their images are controlled and a source of income for many - *cough cough* paparazzis :/. Sadly, they don’t have the chance to live freely, away from camera lenses…

And we, their fandom, play a part in their objectification. It’s important to know that the person we have a crush on, write fictions about and obsess over is a made up version of them. It’s only how we picture them, how we’d like them to be. Not how they are, because we don’t know. We can’t know. And we shouldn’t, because they have a right to privacy.

We don’t know them, exactly how they don’t know each one of us.

So now, I see it more like having a crush on a fictional character. Because that’s what they become. They have made up lives and personalities. It’s fake, it’s fictional. And it’s okay. I think it’s better than knowing every detail and overstepping boundaries in their busy and stressful lives. It might be okay to admire and be attracted to them, but it definitely isn’t if we don’t respect that they stay humans and that in their place we wouldn’t want our lives to be invaded by strangers.

Nevertheless, drawing this conclusion makes me feel even more lonely. Plus, all these imagination filled scenarios definitely don’t help to have a realistic idea of love. I feel bound to be disappointed by life and love - especially by men :/. That’s the problem with overthinking, dreaming and projecting too much… You always end up falling from the high cloud you set yourself on.

Maybe one day I’ll find “the one” - whoever it may be or if they even exist. Only time will tell, for now I’ll try and deal with the loneliness.

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🔺Original work please do not steal or copy, Thanks.🔺

Old piece :}

It is strange feeling, starting from a scratch, on a blank page, new chapter. exciting and stressful at the same time. not sure, if the path i chose is the right one, but only time will show me that.

i decided to start new blog, where i can be 100 % honest and open about things i wouldn't dare to talk about on my old blog. i really need place to vent, diary in a language, that might understand people with similar experiences.

and not just a diary. i'd like to share my old stories, things i lived through, as a form of therapy, caharsis, whatever you want to call it. there is so many things i need to talk about, that have been swelling under my skin and in my brain fibers for over decade.

really important disclaimer: as i am about to be very honest, i might share stuff that could be potentially triggering for some. (especially sh, ed, bullying, family issues, etc.) my aim is not trigger anyone, but possibly find people that went through similar stuff and need someone to talk, to understand.

so, be my guest and maybe you will find comfort and familiarity in those words i am about to share.

Požehnání v podobě virózky. Virózka, tak to nazval můj obvoďák po tom, co mi vzala sestra krev, udělala výtěr z krku a PCR. Můj krk hoří a jazyk mám bílej, teče mi z nosu a kvůli zimnici (a stresu, že musím vstát brzo) jsem toho moc nenaspala. Před sebou týdenní neschopenku. Připadám si tak dospěle, když odcházím od doktora. I got my shit together. Místo toho, abych se jednoho dne zhroutila s tím, že už nemůžu, jsem tentokrát docela spolehlivá. V ideálním světě, kde bych byla psychicky zdravá, bych nejspíš byla ten typ workoholika, co by se nenechal virózkou zastavit. Taky by chodil do práce včas, přesně a zůstával dlouho do odpoledne. Vycházel líp s kolegy, zvládal líp small talk u kávovaru. Všechno to, v čem jsem na hovno.  

Tohle není ideální svět. Připadám si neschopná, že se nedokážu přemoct a dovalit do kanclu s kapsama čaje na průdušky a horama posoplených kapesníků. Ale moc dobře vím, že tohle není jenom o virózce. Tohle není jen o fyzice a hmatatelnu.  

Dojedu domů, vyřídím telefon do práce. Přemýšlím, kolik věcí budu muset přeobjednat, kam nedorazím. Po delší době kontrola na psychiatrii. Here we go. Žeru antidepresiva jako lentilky a jakmile začne slunce zapadat dřív jak po osmé, propadám se. Ale zároveň vím, že to není jen tohle, ale všechny miniaturní denní úkony, všechny mikroskopický interakce, jichž jsem součástí. Vyčerpává mě bejt vůbec naživu, asi. A nějakou dobu už jsem. Pořád mi před očima visí ta dokonalejší verze, která je schopná po ránu cvičit jógu nebo běhat, chodit vždycky upravená a dřív než v půl desátý. A zvládá to a zvládá dělat všechny ostatní věci, číst knihy a včas je vracet do knihovny, vídat se s blízkými lidmi, nenechat zakrnět svůj mozek a každý den psát.  

Dřív, snad od základky a určitě na gymplu, jsem si pro sebe sestavovala tyhle seznamy. Jak být dokonalá osoba. Plány, který zahrnovaly všechny aspekty mýho adolescentního života, od školního průměru přes četnost psaní po mou váhu. Představovala jsem si svý 20 a něco letý já. Představovala jsem si samu sebe asi jako mix nějaké ženské z reklamy na šampon nebo ovesný vločky a mojí mámy. Pořád busy, pořád někam utíkající, pořád něco na seznamu, v nějakým cool elegantním oblečení, který určitě není udržitelný ani vythriftěný a nejspíš na podpatcích, ve kterých je ale schopná dohnat i tu rozjetou tramvaj. Pokaždý. Prototyp manažerky, která zavolá, zařídí, vyřídí. A která má nejspíš job v nějaký mega důležitý firmě a nemá ani ponětí o svým privilegiu.  

Je to možná štěstí, že nejsem tohle dokonalý vymyšlený zkonstruovaný já. Asi bych nepřemýšlela nad věcma tak, jak přemýšlím. Pravda je, že je můj život relativně poklidnej. Monotónní. Během zimy jako bílý šum, ohlušující ticho, všechno se přestane hýbat a když už se něco hýbe, tak ve slow motion. Najednou jsem na Měsíci a moje svaly a kosti váží tuny. A čas se zastaví. Nejsou žádný seznamy. Žádný blízký lidi. Jenom hrozně pomalu se pohybující stíny na zdi, který vypadají jinak ráno a v poledne a večer. Sleduju ze svý hybernace, ze výho zimního spánku, pohyb neviditelnýho slunce po obloze a čekám, až se setmí, až bude přípustný jít zase spát, protože to dělají i ostatní. A v mezičase, když jsou časy lepší, nějak funguju. Většinou... 

Potřebuju inventuru. Podívat se z odstupu. Ale ne z Měsíce.  

Je to přesně pět let. Celý tohle období mi přijde jako procházka skrz horečnatý sen, něco, co je už tak dávno a přitom je to jen pět let. Jako první trip, jako zhulený pochodování na zastávku po škole, jako všechny ty nikým jiným neviděný věci, který jsem dělala, do hlubin vlastního mozku pohřbený, zamčený v truhle a hozený do moře zapomenutí. Pohled do zrcadla osamělosti v přeplněným klubu a ožralý usmátí se na tu druhou na druhé straně...Melancholie podzimu. Připomíná mi to každej rok tohle období. Když přijde babí léto a to se rychle přetransformuje v podzim, nejdřív estetickej a pak už jen depresivní, když už opadají barevný lupeny a zůstanou jen holý větve. První rok to bylo nejtěžší, trigger v podobě mýho okna na koleji, trigger v podobě vůně rozkládajícího se listí ve škarpě a v podobě tmy, která se snášela dřív a dřív. Každej rok se ukončuje další cyklus, další letokruh na mý paži.  

S cizím člověkem poprvý, začátek mý sebedestrukce, sestup do Tartaru. Je těžký přestat mluvit v metaforách, říct to narovinu. Schovávám se za slovama.  

Poslouchám ambient a moje myšlenky prostě volně plynou. Předtím to bylo snadný, všechny svý texty jsem psala bez autocenzury, jako proud vědomí a asociací. Teď je to těžší, bojím se, co mi moje vědomí naservíruje, co na mě vyplivne ze svých útrob a že se z toho složím. Od letošního léta věřím svý hlavě ještě o něco míň po (nejspíš?) panický atace během přehřátí organismu, kdy mi mozek začal generovat obrazy nemoci a smrti, věci úplně zapomenutý a zahnaný...ležela jsem na matračce v morkým prostěradle s nohama na židli a nemohla se přestat třást.  

Proto jsem vůči svý hlavě skeptická víc než dřív.  

Procházím starý fotky na flešce. Některý jsou zničený, digitální stopa je míň trvalá než fotka z analogu. Stovky fotek z Anglie a z Německa, který jsem si u ž nikdy neprohlídla. Ráda bych asi svou gympláckou verzi smazala taky, odstřihla se, jako jsem se odstřihla od svý verze ze základky. Aspoň si to myslím, ale vždycky mě dožene ve snech. Viděla jsem poprvý svoje video z maturáku. Při nástupu jsme tancovali v párech, samozřejmě. Jako jediná jsem tancovala s holkou, můj bf se na mě vykašlal před rokem a tancoval už s někým jiným. Asi spolu nechodili, vlastně je mi to u prdele. I tehdy bylo, tehdy jsem byla moc v depresi, abych ho řešila, snažila jsem se udržet naživu samu sebe.  

Bylo to fajn, když jsme byli spolu. Po dlouhý době jsem měla aspoň iluzi toho, že někam patřím, že mám kamarády a kamarádky, jsem jedna z těch popular high school girls. Pro jednou na opačným konci spektra, ne pod palbou posměšků a šikany. Nejlepší bylo, že mě tahal ven ze svý ulity. Na rok a půl jsem se chovala jako teenager. Byla jsem mezi lidma, opíjela se na party s ostatníma a pro jednou nehnila ve svým pokoji. To samozřejmě skončilo, jakmile jsme skončili my. A pak jsem se ještě víc stahovala, protože jsem si rok a půl nedívala pozor, nechala jsem ostatní pohlídnout přes svý obraný valy, kurva. Rotting in my room it is. Obsesivní sledování youtube videí, záchvaty úzkosti o nedělních odpolednech, smrad svíčky a mýho těla v nevětraným pokoji, kterej se tak snadno mohl metamorfovat ve smrad mýho těla v rakvi. Nebylo to poprvý ani naposled, rok a půl byla jen výjimka z pravidla, glitch, chyba Matrixu. Jako když se zatouláte v obchoďáku někam, kde nemáte co dělat. Jen pro personál. Popular only. Teď jdi do prdele.  

Nevím, proč jsem z toho nevycouvala. Asi kvůli té druhé holce, měla jsem pocit, že mě potřebuje. Spíš to byla z její strany laskavost, prokázání služby té chudince, která zůstala na ocet. Nevím, proč jsem se na to nevysrala, asi jsem byla tolik v depresi, že jsem 90 % času nevnímala, co se děje. Pár hodin před plesem jsem se máčela ve vaně a měla pocit, že je moje tělo z oceli. Pomalými pohyby si oblíkla šaty, nechala se učesat, nechala se odvézt. Asi jsem nechtěla zklamat rodiče tím, že bych se neúčastnila. Všechno se to nějak dělo beze mě. Přemýšlím, jak se cítili, když nás viděli jako jiný dvě, který tančí spolu. Nemůžu si pomoct, myslím, že na nějaký úrovni ze mě byli zklamaní. Já jsem nad tém přemýšlela jako nad progresivním krokem, proč by museli heteronormativní párečky určovat úplně všechno? Pravda ale je, že to mohl být kdokoli, ale byla jsem to já, protože se na mě vysral bf. A s tímhle vědomím jsem se na to posraný video poprvý koukala a přišlo mi to ponižující. Jako by bylo třeba dát na odiv, že jsem nežádoucí, jsem ta vyřazená, ten odkrojek, ten zbytek. Protože vím fakta. Protože vím, jak to bylo.  

Lituju samu sebe, mám patetickou náladu. Koukám se na sebe a vidím ten effort, fakt jsem se snažila, aby mi to slušelo, ikdyž jsem měla chuť se utopit ve vaně. Je to hrozný, ale doufala jsem, že si mě všimne a třeba si sám pro sebe řekne, že mi to sluší. To jsem ještě byla mladá a pěkně blbá.  

17. listopadu jsem se stavila domů...? vždycky se nějak zastavím, když mám použít slovo doma, je tak vyprázdněný a nějak divně studí. podobný, jako když jsem asi před měsícem seděla v noci na studený lavičce a tekly mi slzy a sopel z nosu, protože mě zas dostihlo, jak zapomenutelná jsem a mráz kolem ani z poloviny nestudil tak jako chlad uvnitř mých vlastních útrob. husí kůže a reálnej pocit, jako by mi po zádech jezdila ruka Smrti. záchvěv suicidality, touha se prostě vypnout, aby to přestalo bolet. 

Hodně teď používám slovo “komunita”. Říkám, že si potřebuju najít svou komunitu. Tight-knitted group of my own. Potřeba patřit někam, konečně. Před 4 rokama to bylo poprvý, co jsem měla pocit, že jsem našla svoje lidi. V klubu, kterej kvůli dementům, co nevidí přes svoje vlastní předsudky, už zanikl. Diy scéna potetovaných lidí s ve vythriftěných hadrech a s piercingy na obličeji. Bytosti, co se hýbou do rytmu hc kapel na veganských beneficích. Mám z lidí strach, měla jsem strach i z těchhle lidí, moje minulý vanilkový já s jedinou modifikací - obarvenými vlasy. Byly to nápisy na záchodech, který mě přesvědčily, že sem patřím. Nálepky na kachlících za práva zvířat a letáčky s veganskými akcemi. Lgbtq vlaječka, cedule, na který tenkrát bylo něco ve smyslu: no homophobia, no racism, no sexism. Nikdy, nikdy jsem nezažila, že by mě tam někdo obtěžoval, naopak mi tam bylo líp než kdekoli jinde. Je to paradox, nitro jako horká čokoláda za drsnou slupkou. Pach umělýho kouře, plísně a trávy. Po nějaké době jsem si začala zapamatovávat tváře lidí, vystalkovala jsem na scokách jména. Protože chci někam patřit. Potřebuju najít svý lidi.  

Alienated. Další slovo. V češtině odcizený, ale to není ono. Necítím se jako cizinec, ale jako mimozemšťan. Nikdy jsem nezapadala to těch úzkejch školních kolektivů, mohla jsem nějakou dobu předstírat, ale po nějaký době jsem zas začala vyčnínvat, trčet. Deformovaná mysl nezapadá do soukolí.  

Nedávno jsem přemýšlela nad oblečením a hudbou, věcma, který frčely v době mýho dospívání na vesnici vprostřed zapomenutýho kraje. Mikiny, kšiltovky, hadry derivovaný z hip hopu, co přivlastnily tyhle taky předem zapomenutý děcka. Holky s příliš drsnými způsoby, aby se trochu vyrovnaly těm starším klukům, těm příliš křupanským idolům, příliš maskulinním, hrubým a budoucím vařičům pika. Or whatever. Myslela jsem na soundtrack z Projektu X , Black eyed peas, Scary movie a Shakiru nebo Davida Guettu, všechny ty popkulturní sračky, který mi řipomnají depresivní základku, který tvořily kulisu šikaně a bitkám na autobusový zastávce a prvním cigaretám. Dokud jsem si nenašla něco svýho, dokud jsem neuviděla, jak moc z toho trčím. Taky značkový hadry a snaha stylizovat se do úplných vyvrhelů. Později to bylo ještě trapnější geekovství ve stylu the big bang theory a LMFAO. 

 A pak jsem tady byla já. S vlasy, který jsem si sama barvila černým Palette tajně asi o půlnoci v zamčený koupelně. S černou tužkou na oči, která se naprosto nehodí k mýmu podivnýmu tvaru očí, s černým lakem na nehty a s jakýmikoli hadry černý barvy. A později černý náramky na rukách, který “nenápadně” kryly jizvy, protoře co bych to jinak byla za emo, že (haha. Not realy.).  

chtěla jsem bejt Gerard, chtěla jsem hrozně něam patřit. Jenže tenhle rychlík už ujel, MCR měli svou největší slávu jaksi za sebou, měla jsem asi sedm let zpoždění, podobně, jako jsem měla x let zpoždění v případě punku, grunge, rock’n’rollu a metalu, nebyla jsem u toho, když se psaly hudební dějiny. Byla jsem teenager zrovna v nějakým hluchým období, kdy nic reálně charismatickýho k mání nebylo. Nebo mi to aspoň tak přijde. Popík, Guetta, lady gaga mi v tý době taky mic ještě neříkala. Kdyby billie eilish přišla v tý době, působila by jako zjevení a já bych z ní skoro určitě byla naprosto hotová.  

Ale našla jsem si to svoje, nakonec. Předtím to byli HIM a jejich prokletej básník Vile Valo. Romantizace smrti, láska jako synonymum sebevraždy. A naopak. Proč mě máma nedokopala na psychiatrii dřív mi je fakt záhadou. Někdy v tý době jsem objevila tumblr. Heuréka! 

Tehdy mi přišlo, jako by to byla platforma přesně pro mě. Absence českých blogerů, takže jsem se nemusela ani bát, že by mě někdo nějak poznal (?). Už dřív jsem byla depresivní, takže mi všechny ty černobílý gify pořezaných rukou s cigaretama a podobný srandy přišly jako pohlazení po duši. Po tom, co jsem se dostala přes pocit, že se dívám na něco, na co bych se dívat neměla. Je to asi divný, ale v době a sociální bublině, kde jsem se tehdy nacházela, bylo duševní (ne(zdraví a všechno s tím související tabu. Principy “kluci nebrečí” se tak nějak aplikovaly i na holky, všichni museli zapadat do normy, protože se kolektiv řídil mottem “žer nebo buď sežrán”. Kolektivní traumatizace, duševní mrzačení. Kvůli ničemu.  

Tak jsem objevila tumblr a přišlo mi, že sem chodí všechny ty usoužený duše ze všech koutů světa, protože smutek je univerzální jazyk. Bylo to srozumitelný, srozumitelnější než můj přítomnej všednodenní svět na základce (a pak střední) a linulo se to skrz prostor i čas. Citáty dávno mrtvých spisovatelů a spisovatelek, rockových ikon, umělců a umělkyň. Naše kolektvní utrpení, který jsem denně tajně do ranních hodin prolézala jako speolog. Koncentrovaná hořkosladká bolest prosakující skrz tmavě modrý background.  

Holky v martenskách nebo converskách, flanelový košile, černý silonky, tmavá rtěnka a choker na krku. Neo grunge byl v tý době moje aspirace, moje evangelium., něco “mýho”. Něco tak povrchního a obyčejnýho, jako je olbečení a...stejně jsem se bála odlišovat, vyčnívat, byť jen trochu. Tohle bylo už na střední, ale myslím, že se mi základka zaryla hluboko pod kůži a přichytila se tam háčky. Kromě grunge, arctic monkeys a lany del rey mě tumblr přivedl do mnohem temnějších vod...ne, nepřivedl. Já jsem už totiž byla na té dráze a střetnutí bylo nevyhnutelný...