THIS IS NOT A DIARY ANY MORE
Celebrations of two years in Cork.
Welcome to the theatre of heart's blue eye.
it's been two years of lower and lows. it's been the episodes of rolling down the drain.
it's been a lot of struggle. in the beginning - for existence. then - for survival. then for existence again. the establishment of so called 'new background'.
it's been realisation of habits hard to change.
it's been a little growth. then - fall. keeping the hope, but forgetting self-love. working hard. pushing. keep building. not playing enough. watching new background sink. rising question marks on significant statements. then erasing them. then asking again. again and again. with no intention to take in the answers. just asking. and blaming. mostly the world. just a little, myself. you know this kind of way?
it's been two years of constant uncertainty, which felt like playing game of chess being blind. it's been a lot of intense negotiations, frustration, make of choices each day. it's been change of mind. also mistakes. doubt and shame. and anger came back again. it's been a feeling of worth nothing. and a feeling of being better than the rest.
there haven't been enough of conscious reflections. but plenty of stands-by, which always called for some kind of paradox. it's been a web of contradictions. confusion. loneliness. and the church bells ignored. it's been the change which hasn't just walked by, it ran and ran. new place. new people. different culture. different games. it's been trying to hard for the best.
it's been plenty of projections. mountain of tears. sweet promises which happened to be lies. it's been realisation of not being 'normal'. no sense of belonging. rivers of begging for love. blocked ears and sore eyes.
it's been a shift in friends. it's been closing the past.
it's been a few accomplishments. including the most favourite one. writing, of course. to watch it scattering into a thousand pieces, in three days. left me covered in dust.
it's been two years of poor physical health. autoimmune system disease, medics have said. what is that? that is when your body starts to attack itself. take a moment to think about that.
'you seem to live either in black or white, all the time. why can't you just stay in between of them?' my mother has asked, clearly having enough.
i don't know bloody why.
perhaps 'in between' requires something I lack.
Do not judge my story by the chapter you walked it on.