An invisible woman

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Girls night out. Everyone was coming to the monthly gathering. Everyone but Annie. She said she was very busy with work and family issues, but the real thing was actually going around a man. Her whole world was revolving around Ernest. She was so obsessed it was absurd.


They spent very few days together doing basic stuff, but she cherished each and every moment with him. The would walk and talk even in the rain, shared some ice cream and a couple of beers and sometimes she would crash at his place. The world didn’t matter when they were next to each other, laughing, fighting and avoiding their own shit.


Every now and then, during dinner or in between games or chats, Ernest would excuse himself to take an important phone call or just to reply some message, from work or a friend he would say. But she knew. She knew Ernest was answering, texting and getting back to his life and she, Annie, was dealing with another woman, an invisible woman to her, a woman who probably loved Ernest as much as she loved him. A woman who probably wasn’t aware of Annie.


Maybe it wasn’t ok, but for a woman like Annie was ok at that time, cause women like Annie are ok with a man fooling around just as long she was able to find a way home to her unaware, and maybe invisible too, husband.

Recurrente

Ayer volví a soñar con muerte. Mi muerte. No sé si eso sea lo peor que uno pueda soñar, pero últimamente son sueños recurrentes.


Hace unas tres o cuatro semanas el insomnio ocasional se convirtió en un constante de varios días. En un momento sentí que alucinaba. No sabia ya si era verdad que no podía dormir o que estaba viviendo en un sueño. Las primeras 24 horas se volvieron 48 sin poder cerrar los ojos y descansar. Para el tercer día ya me sentía fuerte y sin necesidad de dormir. Quién necesita dormir…


De repente imaginé que mi sistema podría colapsar por falta de sueño. ¿De dónde sacaría la energía necesaria para mis jornadas? Me vi a mi mismo rindiéndome ante lo inevitable. Sentí miedo y recurrí a las tan famosas pastillas para dormir. Y nada.

Nada que ayudaron las condenadas. Ni siquiera un bostezo. Me resigne a una vida sin dormir y sin sueños. Y entonces me llegó lo que necesitaba: ¿una vida sin sueños? Qué de la chingada. Mejor no vivo. Mejor ya me doy, me rindo, me aviento de un puente, me paro en la carretera. Se acabó. En mi imaginación llegaba la muerte. Llegaba para llevarme. Y desperté.


Me dispuse a dormir y recuperar mi tiempo perdido entre los vivos que sueñan y caí rendido. Creo que fue por miedo. Mi temor a no dormir y a no vivir más le ganó a mis ganas de seguir despierto. Pero sigo soñando con muertes. Con mi muerte. No sé si ahora eso sea lo peor que pueda pasar, pero es lo que sueño recurrentemente.

Insomnia by Dispheria
Insomnia by Dispheria

Professional falling or That time my therapist fell in love with me

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He used to see me anytime because of my troubled mind. I came to him after the advice of a friend, and at some point I felt so much relief after talking to him that he was that shoulder I could cry on. He became my therapist even when I always thought therapy was for fools.

Our appointments were always good. Nice and funny. Background family issues and drama aside, of course. He was always pretty charming, no pushing, holding a great smile and always had a nice thing to comment. It was like we knew each other from before, another life maybe. We bonded and it was awesome, until I realized I was falling deeply. And you’ve heard this story like a million times: boy meets boy, one of them falls in love, the other one doesn’t feel the same way until some time passes and that guy isn’t willing or available anymore.

There was always some flirtation in our sessions. Mostly over coffee and pizza. He loved pizza.
In betweens relationships I could always count on his compliments and sweet words. In rare occasions we kissed  briefly, and by briefly I mean shortly and with lots of regrets, ’cause I knew for a fact that he was the ultimate fox.

Anyway that was the most of it for some years, but the day I finally moved on came and our world was not ready: the meetings weren’t only for themes surrounding myself and my issues. I could ask questions too, so obviously I did dig deep into this mysterious lifestyle. Of course the answers weren’t what I wanted to hear or even imagine. We were so different in so many levels. So the scenario of him being suddenly very much into me to the point of being in love was, honestly too much, a-little-too-late. I was out of mind.

We discussed that point in our last couple of encounters, mostly because he was very interested in my feelings towards him and I was fully committed in my own dreamed relationship (Note: not with him, obviously). When we got that clear, everything went downhill between us, even when we said we could still be friends. Cliché as hell, I know. But we both thought of it, so, whatever.

We’ve known each other for like five or six years at that point, so he asked when I stop feeling things about him. And then it hits you: sometimes you don’t stop feeling strong about a person, but start to enhance and feel your own love towards you. Boosted by selfies, of course. I told him he would always be deep in my heart. He said some nice stuff too after he understood I wasn’t going to be with him, not in this life.

Since we meet, he went through only one serious relationship. When I asked about this, on several occasions, he would avoid the question or answer with something like “it’s not my thing at the time” or “I’m waiting for something real”. Realer than real? And as with movies and life itself, time passed and we stop talking and meeting for therapy. A few weeks ago I found out he was/is/could be kind of in a relationship (fuck, I know for sure, ok?) and, surprisingly I was very happy for him, very-very happy. But the doubt hit me hard: was he waiting for me? Was he waiting for me to make some move so he could move on with his life and start anew? Is it all about me all the time?

There you have it. Men. A complex species. A complex mind divided by urges and hunger. I’m sure he would be very happy and I honestly hope he will be as happy as he wants to be. Maybe one day we could meet, hang out, and talk about our lives as married couples of something.

I’m so thrilled for you, doctor.
I’m sorry I had to make our professional falling into a blog entry.
I couldn’t help myself.
Now that I think about it, I’m sure I need another therapist.
Someone who won’t/can’t fall into me.
Some woman, this time.
Maybe.
Nah.
You know what? Therapy is for fools.

Used to

This never used to be “All About You”.

I used to lie in your “Bed Of Lies”.

We used to be “Better Than That”.

Never used to be happy or sad, just very “Blue”.

How wrong we were.

I think I used to “Call The Shots” every time.

I used to think I’ll “Catch You”. I eventually did.

We used to feel a “Fever” each time we were hanging out.

Everyone else used to say we “Got Love”.

How wrong we were.

I used to think I’ll “Die Young”. You erased that idea.

I used to think I’ll never be “Happy”. You erased that one too.

I never used to “Forget” my relationships right after they finished.

I never used to cry about you saying you’ll “Give Your Heart Away”.

How wrong we were.

We used to say that “Everybody Needs A Man”.

Time has passes and now “I Don’t Wanna Talk About It”.

I used to say “I’ll Stand By You”, but “I Lied”.

Now you think “I’m A Ruin”. But I’m not.

How wrong we were.

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I used to think I knew you.
How wrong was that.