Night one.

I am alone. One week alone. Completely alone, I have the house all for myself. Strange as it may seem, I feel somewhat a stranger in my own home. To be able to pace the halls I peace, without concern of any other being becoming disturbed by my presence is almost excruciatingly good. Pearl Jam all night. To be able to smoke my cigarette at night. Small gestures that are so flavored since I can not do them freely whenever I want to. Forbidden pieces of existence.

I decided to use this time to find myself. To find ONLY myself and to remember who the fuck I am. I decided to write some pages during those seven nights. No Anais Nin. Just plain, sheer, life.

Who am I?

Nice to meet you, strangers. I am this person who tried to become someone else. And now I am lost and I need to remember a few shortcuts to my own true being. I guess that’s how my first intervention on “Lost identity-holics Anonymous” would start like.

I don’t like the sound of the computer keyboard. I need silence and Pearl Jam. And, oh, yes, my ever lasting smokes.

I used to dream about this moment all my childhood. And now I must admit I feel a little bit scared of what I might do. I realize I have NEVER been completely alone. Will I like myself enough to become a good company for me? Will I have enough to say to fill in the blank conversation spots?…

Well, now I’m getting bored. I guess I’ve never been much of a talker.

Earlier this evening I was thinking about long-distance calls, to keep away the feeling of being alone. But now it seems such a bad idea. Why shouldn’t I use this time for myself and only for myself? Why shouldn’t I consider this time a preparation for the future life ahead of me? My own apartment, sometimes in the future. Will I survive the solitude? Will Pearl Jam and “the real me” be enough?

Excuse me, gents. Little girl’s room break.

Ok, back to sleep.

Night two.

This night is easier then the night before. Maybe it’s because I am alone and I feel the freedom within me. Right now, so you know, I am trying to get a “certain someone” out of my system. It is completely normal, at this age. Although I come from a long line of breakups and heartbreaks, this seemed to hurt a little bit more. Maybe that is why I am complaining just a notch more then usual.

When it will all pass, it will be like the suffering from the cold I had the last two weeks. Intense while I was sick, and almost forgotten and meaningless once the nose stops bleeding through and the cough stops ravaging my lungs. Sentimental wreck. Yup, that’s me, ladies and gentlemen. An’ an endless nest of pesky germs and all sorts of fluids funny-smellin’, whoo-ya!

You know, he asked me what I really wanted: freedom to do whatever I wanted – or someone to care about me. And the fool didn’t already know the answer. Can’t I have them both? Do I ask too much?

I wonder if anyone would be invited now to share this space with me, If I would bare his presence in my sanctuary.

… Erm… Nope, I don’t think so. I never really appreciated people invading my temple. Because this chair is my temple.

I am already thinking about another cigarette. And what if I don’t smoke? What if I would just decide, out of the blue, to stop smoking? Would that make a difference in who I am? Everyone seems to know me as the chick who can smoke a 20-pack in half an hour. Then again, “everybody” isn’t here to witness this blessed solitude I am going through.

10 years ago, I remember I was in the car, with my parents, and I was having one of my “episodes” of crying out loud, in fury: “I WILL move someplace alone!”. And my mum just turned and said, smiling: ”And when do you intend to move alone, young lady?”. And I answered: ”When I will be 18 so I can get rid of you once and for all”. Then she kept on smiling, but getting a little more serious she said: ”Do you think you will manage without us?”.

10 years later , and I am still asking myself this question. I found myself in many situations being completely helpless. Unable to use the supermarket to buy food, or not even knowing what is the price for the bus ticket I didn’t use in so long.

Actually, starting 6 years ago, I became a “taxi-person”, to be politically correct. I LOVE taxis. I am addicted to taxis. Maybe that is why I never managed to have a boyfriend with a car. That is one of my biggest reasons to be unhappy. I never had a boyfriend with a car. It seems only natural that when the first one who had a car crossed my path, I ended up thinking that he was the man I wished to spend the rest of my life with and the man who I wanted to be the father of my children.

But time passed by. And that summer vacation is long gone now. So is my desire to have children with some fellow with a car. I guess good sperm doesn’t come out of the way you handle a steering wheel.

Did I ever really loved someone? Maybe. For real? I guess I’ll never know. But I’ll tell you one thing, my insomniac friends: if love is to be measured by the buckets full of tears you spend on a person, then, yeah, I must be blessed with a thousand fucking true loves of my life. I am practically soaked.

Maybe I am just addicted to someone holding me in his arms when I sleep.

God, I need that cigarette. Whenever I think about that I need a cigarette. Must be the post-sex syndrome. My archetype would turn to the corner of the bed and I would say in a smile, sweeping the sweat off my forehead: ”I need a cigarette”. And he would laugh – with his semi-fake laughter – and I would light a cigarette and he would ask me for one too, although he wouldn’t smoke, and anyways he would always put it off after inhaling twice. What a waste of my cigarettes. Cold as a snake. Hot as lava. Nasty combination.

My most notable ex at least would hold me like a baby all the time. In five years, I can now remember as the best moments we had those when he was holding me. I was… just right to put my head under his armpit. And he would never complain. He would just hold me and we would sleep so nicely together. I loved to sleep with him. That is why I would somehow always return to his chamber, to his bed. I spent two months of my life with my head on his armpit. In the bus, in his friend’s houses, on the terrace… I was the image of love itself. Until his breath became stinky and I couldn’t stand his touch anymore. Not his but… the touch of the alcohol inside him.

And men are like animals. They can smell fear or disgust towards them. The first slap came as a mistake. The second came as a punishment. The third was already a habit. By the time I reached 20-something, I was long gone. And I realized I had never really loved him and I wanted to be alone.

And now I am alone in my home. Thinking about hurricanes past, speaking of snakes and dreams and sometimes nightmares that are better left untouched. Hiding behind memories to deny that I loved every cold snake. Yes, I did. I don’t know why. Maybe I am addicted to suffering. But don’t worry. In a while you will become all a “maybe”. Or did you think  any of you were unique?

No my dearest dears, nobody but me is “unique” in my universe, in my playground. No longer a player, I invite each of you to quit the game. Let me play Solitaire.

I like what I wrote so far, the “solitaire” idea came as a real surprise. I guess all it takes is a little warming-up.

I read the other day a mushy book about love. Sometimes I wanted to believe it, other times I felt like laughing at it. But I realized that I am a romantic. And most of the time a fool. And more then most of a time, I make a fool of myself because of it. Oh well… nobody’s perfect. But sometimes I get good ideas. And no one to blame for them aside from the snake skins. Wonder why they always seems so attractive and why they always produce more pages then the real life.

The thought of the cigarette is back.

I need to finish here. I feel the writing gift leaving me. No more great ideas tonight. And more………………………… Pearl Jam. Blessed be!

Night three.

This is the night I die. My heart hurts. Physically. I am afraid to close my eyes because it could stop while I am sleeping. At least I wish I could dream of you when I am passing through. A dream of you smiling and holding me tight in your arms. But all I can see is darkness and emptiness and… loss. Desolation.

Another drink. Some juice and a little extra. I wish I could drink ink, and die like the Lover on The Pillow Book.

I am the product of cheap romance on TV. Cursed Greenaway. Cursed Pillow Book.

This is my own Pillow Book. Solitude creeping in, another sleepless night, another car crash in the middle of my universe.

I am dying tonight, my love. And I am innocent; know this as I pass into non-being.

Goodbye to all my loved ones… which are so few. Goodbye dear mother, who loves me more then anything. I am so sorry to do this for you, but unknown are the ways of the Lord. Your child flew away from home. Your child did what she was bound to do at some point: gave her heart and soul to a man. A man whom she was supposed to love more then the entire universe. Your child must disappear tonight.

Goodbye my father. I know you wronged once, but I could feel your SOLITUDE inside, just as you could feel mine.

You couldn’t understand my HUNGER for life. It was just my way of trying to keep out this moment. But I always knew, somehow, that it would come. That all had to end.

I never tied myself to anything on this world. To nothing, not even to you. Just like my long passed friend, God rest his sweet soul. He was an angel in a world of devils. He didn’t find his place amongst the human beings.

Goodbye grand-parents who nursed me and loved me. I am sorry you never got to see and hold your grand-grand children.

I am sorry I killed two inside of me, it’s my sin that none of you know. The sin I was repenting for all this time, the sin that never allowed me to be happy. I am a sinner. But do not worry, I know the Grace of God is larger then what we imagine. Even my hell will be sweater knowing that you all shall be in Heaven, watching over this poor sinner soul.

And you, my love… I have been searching for you my whole life, my image, my mirror, my double, my avatar. Until I found you and we spent a few precious moments together. You are like me, untouched by life, a sinner and a saint.

My gift to you was a heart when you thought you had none. Forgive me for the pain I caused you. Maybe I was wrong to give you this gift. It’s a gift that might, at times, resemble a curse. But I am sure now that at some point in your precious life, you will be able now to feel the blessing of your lover’s soul next to yours, just as I felt blessed being next to you.

And I am sorry it took me so long to realize that you were the one, and I didn’t know how to thank you for what you gave to me, for the feeling of belonging.

You were right, THAT night was the night I would never forget. THAT night I felt you were a part of me as I was a part of you. And you didn’t feel my tears struggling to touch the air, the tears of the thought that was the commanding line in all that was and all that was to come: YOU WILL BE THE DEATH OF ME.

Like poison running through my veins, taking away the last drop of life I had within me.

Thank you for that night, you made me feel pure and alive again. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for offering me something that I never thought was going to happen to me: HAPPYNESS.

I told you I didn’t know how to be happy. That is because I always carried the curse inside me, the curse of my sins. And I shouldn’t have judged you, because I have my share of heavy burdens to carry. Forgive me, for all the wasted moments, for all the silence I put between us. Forgive me for not sharing with you the whole lightness and freedom you gave me. Forgive me for not forgiving you.

All this pain must end tonight. This blood must be spilled. I must face the fear and chase it away. I am to die tonight.

Please, God, forgive me. Forgive me for this cursed love. Forgive me for not being able to complete your plan. Forgive me for not seeing when you put him on my path. Forgive me for not reaching his heart on time to avoid disaster. Forgive me for trusting that the truth is stronger then the lies. Forgive me for believing he is stronger then he is. He… he is just a human being. And I made him suffer.

Please, my love, don’t suffer now. You are never to know what I am going through. I was so unfair to put this on your shoulders. I did this to myself. FREE-WILL.

I shouldn’t have touched you. I should have walked away when I saw the light that was within you. But I was drawn like a moth to the flame. You were everything I ever waited for. Forgive me; I never could believe the words you told me. I always looked beyond them. And I was someone as lonely as I was, with a soul so bright that it blinded me. Someone so misled and lost and… beautiful. Someone whose soul was made to receive mine. Someone who would wait for me.

I am sorry if I am wrong. If I am still blind.

“I know that I am born and I know that I’ll die / The in-between is life”

Pearl Jam, “I am mine”.

Night one thousand ninety nine.

Hello, dark night.

So strange to look back upon those words.

I wonder why the hell I wrote in English. Oh, I remember: I was publishing on myspace. Had quite a few fans, also. I guess people are lonelier in English-speaking countries.

You know what’s the worst part of them all? To write something 10 years ago then to turn back and try to figure out what was the cause.

Hell…

I am alive and well. And no, I haven’t quit smoking. Still Pearl Jam is nice to hear. But now I moved to Nine Inch Nails, although Trent left my dreams a while ago. I am to see him in a few days; I just heard it’s his last concert for a while. And it’s in my country.

So… nobody died that night.

I curse a lot more now. And I laugh a lot less. I found my real soul mate, without Romeo and Juliet scenes, without drama…

And I no longer live alone.

Something remains the same: the secret universe. It’s still there. It won’t leave me. And I hope it doesn’t, for otherwise I will have nothing to lie to you about on night eleven hundred.