Got burned again

Z lahkoto bi rekla, saj si vedela.

Saj je vse vodilo h temu.

Preosamljenost, preobčutljivost, čustvena podhranjenost.

In pol te en mal lepše pogleda in se ti možgani spržijo.

Puf.

Ni logike, ni razuma, ni jasnosti.

Samo sanjarjenje in hrepenenje.

Saj ne, da se ti je to prvič zgodilo.

Jako drsaš na to foro. Jako. 

Jezna nase.

Ker sem spet padla na tako očitno finto.

Ker sem popustila in dovolila, da sem se zblamirala (pa čeprav najbolj v lastnih fantazijah ter mičken pri frendu. In sodelavki. In znanki)

Jezna nase, ker ... ker sem spet dovolila, da me en moški toliko zmede, da prepustim vso svojo moč samo temu, kaj bo naprej z njim.

Pozabim nase.

Čakam.

In sanjarim.

Moški me povleče v sanjarjenje, ki mi do sedaj ni še nikoli ama čisto nič dobrega prineslo.

Točno to.

Nič dobrega.

Sedaj bi res že lahko to vedela.

Ne pa naivna jebeno naivna jst še vedno nekaj upam.

In sanjam.

Klinc pa vse to.

Dozo krute realnosti prosim.

Fizično gledano, nisem ravno nekaj.

Psihično gledano, sem totalni kaos. Oklepajoča. Hrepeneča. S tono prtljage in posesivnimi nagnjenji. Mejno psihotična. Nihajoče depresivna.

Cuker skratka.

Loterija.

Fantazija vsakega moškega.

Aja, nisem še definirala "mojega" moškega.

Da diha, je že dober znak, bi se reklo.

Saj veste, običajne stvari.

Visok, temen, privlačen, zelene oči, postaven, bogat, samski.

Z razčiščeno preteklostjo in izostrenim čutom za poslušanje in razumevanje.

Občasno zna brati misli.

Zverziran v obvladovanju pms-a in ostalih nihanj.

Pozoren.

Realen.

Mišljeno, da obstaja.

Resničen. Jp. Resničen, to besedo sem v bistvu iskala.

Aja, pa da mi ni do analnega seksa. 

Mu je pa všeč oralni seks. Kot prejemniku in vršitelju.

Da povzamem.

Umrla bom osamljena in z depresivno vagino. 

(ali pa se malo bolj zbrcam in nekaj naredim iz sebe)

(hahhahahahhahhahahah)

Pozaba

Jp, pozabila na ta blog.
In na ves jamr v njemu.
In moje lomljenje v angleščini.
Saj ne, da mi bo v slovenščini kaj bolje šlo.
Le ... hitreje tečejo misli v besede in prste in tipke in črke na zaslonu.

Ja, moški.
Moški je, spet, razlog, da sem začela pisati nazaj.
V bistvu, moje fantaziranje o moškem me je spravilo h temu.
Ker nisem več mogla glave trezno držati.
Ker me je vleklo na vse mogoče kraje in scenarije.
In ker, v trenutnem stanju, je to čisto odveč zame.

Sestavljam se.
Preselila sem se, še vedno nisem čisto vgnezdena.
Nad mano živita dva idiota.
V službi sem delno zadovoljna. 
Moje finančno stanje je katastrofalno. 
Večno zadolžena mami in dedku.
In večno v videzu, da imam vse pod kontrolo.

Kurac mam vse pod kontrolo.
Polzi mi lajf skozi prste.
Ma kaj polzi.
Teče.
Teče kot divja reka.
Beži pred mano.

Občasno me še prime, da bi se ga krčevito oprijela.
In me mine.
Resignirano gledam, kako polzi.
Dvignem se ven iz sebe in se opazujem, kako stoično stojim sredi časa in se ne premikam.
Kako sem sprijaznjena s tem, kje sem in kako sem in kdo sem.
Pošiljam si bolečino v srce, ma ne čutim več.
Kupujem si knjige, rokovnike, lepe stvari, da se zbrcam.
In tičijo v predalih, nabirajo prah in slabo vest.

Malo sem otopela.
Malo igram.
Malo bi najraje rekla, da se ne grem več.
Malo se težko prenašam.

In pol ti grem na čaj in tisti natakar, ki vedno daje videz smrkca zmrde, me zmede.
Ulovim njegove poglede.
Pa si rečem, maaa, kaj bi on mene gledal.
Štejem, koliko sekund pozornosti nameni drugim gostom, koliko meni.
Znižam malce glas, ko govorim z njim.
S težavo se pričnem odpravljati.
Nekako se malce zaklepetava.
Idiot jst, ker ne znam veščine lahkotnega, rahlo flirtajočega klepeta.
Kakšne neumnosti sem sposobna izustiti.

In še danes premlevam.
Poglede. Nasmehe. Tisto nekaj v očeh.
In si rečem, nehaj. 
To te bo pokopalo.
Vedno te je.
Vedno si se obesila na neke iskrice in nekaj.
Na koncu se je izkazalo, da tega sploh ni bilo.
In si se sestavljala.
Sedaj res ne potrebujem še enega udarca.
Čisto lepo v luknji sem, sama. 
In ne rabim še nekoga, da mi zakrije luknjico svetlobe.
(to sem si komot sposobna tudi sama narediti)

Ampak.
Toliko časa sem že sama.
In toliko časa sem že globoko osamljena.
In toliko časa že hrepenim po njemu. 
Objemu.
Dotiku.
Nevarna linija se pričenja pojavljati tule.
Zato ... zato ...
Zato  je bolje, da se prekinem. 
Zamotim misli.
Naredim nekaj zase.
In 

In si ne kličem več v misli njegov obraz.
Oči.
Nasmeh.

Ne.
Ni čas za to.
Ne še.

Lacking.

Lacking.
Of wine. Am down to the last glass of cheap rose. It's good though.
Lacking.
Of energy. To do something.
Lacking.
Love. 
Lacking.
Self respect.
Lacking.
Me.

Can I crawl back to be miserable and cry how the world is unfair to me?
Please?
Can it please be someone's else's fault?
Please?
I don't want to be responsible for my life anymore.
It appears I'm not capable of doing it.
Or taking care of myself.
Because I know I'm falling down and all I do is just pour myself another glass of wine.
I shouldn't be in charge of my life.
All the decisions I have made.
I shouldn't have been in charge of my life.

Maybe tomorrow.
I'll wake up early and have a good breakfast and start to clean up my apartment.
Maybe tomorrow.
I'll manage to do something with my life.
Maybe tomorrow.
I won't go to the store for another bottle of wine.
Maybe tomorrow.
I'll finally manage to do everything right for me, in my mind hopefully.
Maybe tomorrow.
Maybe.

Red wine and emotions.

That's the perfect combination.
Oh, and add resentment to the mix.
And sorrow.
Beautiful.
Now, take another sip of the wine.
And take a look at his picture.
No tears, just cynical smile.
A year has passed since I was forgotten.
And yes, I still can't quite let it go.
He lives his life to the fullest.
I live in resentment. Anger. Bitterness. 
Piling up my emotions.
Waiting to burst.
Wearing a fake smile.
Wearing a fake "I'm fine" attitude.
It's not about love.
It's about abandonment.
Broken promises.
All the chances, the possibilities that were laid in front of me then.
And now.
Nothing.
I ceased to exist last year.
That's just not something I can easily let go.
Fuck my principles and statements and feelings.
Yes, fuck them.
Where did they leave me???
If I could just move away from here ....
If I could just move ...
No need for punishment. Mine or his.
Just ... move ... away .... 
please ....

Waiting. Again.

This time is different.
Scratch that.
Always is different.
Now is ... different.
Yes, I daydream. And I'm making some sort of scenarios in my head.
But I'm really trying not to.
Not to think too much of him.
Not to expect something.
Although ...
Although we finished each other sentences.
Although we knew exactly how the other feels.
What he means, how does it feel like, what the meaning is.
We both have scars and luggage. 
And are fully aware of it.
For now, there is no us.
It's me and him.
And tea.
And talk.
And I'm trying not to sleep through the day waiting for his text if we will meet today.
I'm so trying to go on with my life that I'm left paralyzed.
Frankly, there is nothing much going on in my life.
A lot of waiting, hoping, wishing, procrastinating, blaming, feeling bad and sorry.
The same old depression wagon. 
Not that I'm depressed. At least not so much as I used to be.
Nevermind.
I am fully aware he will not save me. This is up to me.
I am fully aware that he is not an answer to my prayers.
He is a man, with his charms and faults. He is who he is. 
And, the thing that scares me ... so far I really like him the way he is. 
And, the thing that scares me even more ... I like that I am me around him. 
I put my glasses away and look him straight into the eyes.
No more masks.
And now ... waiting. 

The pledge

You said you've got my back.
You said we are close.
You promised.
You pledged.
I relied onto you.
Waited for you.
Been there for you.
You said you haven't had such a great birthday for the last couple of years.
You said you haven't felt loved until now.
You said a lot of things.
And I ... I believed you.
I believed everything you said to me.
I believed you.
I truly believed you.
Nevertheless I knew you were not the golden boy you didn't want to be but gladly took the part of it.
Nevertheless I knew you were a manipulative liar.
I believed you.
That's why I resent you so much for forgeting about me.
For forgetting about everything you said.
For those faked smiles and pretended care.
For all those manipulative moments when you tried to get back on my good side.
For all those moments you tried to influence me with your blueish eyes.
I resent that.
You made me believe I mean so much to you.
You made me believe I count.
You made me believe I'm smart and beautiful.
And then you just forgot about me.
That hurts.
A lot. 

Under influence, yet again

I had some alcohol.
It is, what it is.
Had a great night with friends.
Talks, laughter, alcohol.
Feelings.
About myself, for a change.
Then, I came home.
And saw pictures of cute pandas.
And remember. 
And felt anger.
Just this - you could have had it all with me.
But.
I couldn't have had it all with you.
Simple as that.
You are not enough for me.
Simple as that.
I smile.
I smile.
And I'm fine.