On the edge of my own nonsense


I have never learned how to make myself understood or what should I manifest in some of my interactions. How much it should be given, how much should I expect to be returned?

Most of the times, I would just tangle between my personalities, being uncertain if I should have any boundaries, if I should talk or just be silent.

I have crowned many times my ego and decided that I can cut the flesh of someone with my sharp tongue then watch them bleeding, then plaster them, rushing the recovery while being inconsiderate and impatient.

I would break things and after, I would try to glue them expecting to get the same perfect piece as it previously was.

I was swinging between emotions excusing myself for my almost insane behavior.

Other times, I would kneel in front of misfortune, begging and crawling as if never again I would be given a chance to see the sunlight. I would feel restless, drained but walking, trying to recover what was already lost.

I was just too much from everything, very few times managing the right proportions.

I couldn’t explain to people that I perceive the world differently, I am in a restless state of mind because my senses would catch glimpses of unknown worlds, spiritual, metaphysical and this will make me unearthly and at times, difficult to be around me.

I couldn’t tell if I am bipolar, anxious or highly clairvoyant and emphatic.

I cried under my sunglasses when I crashed into someone’s inability to see through my words, my behavior, my reckless run.

I yelled and threw objects, words as if they will never reach the other person, thinking that they should be crashing first in the big wall that I built between us.

I am guilty of burning hopes, starting with my own.
But you know what?
I am climbing my own mountain, using my old boots, poorly equipped, starved and losing track of time and direction.
I make mistakes but I am climbing my own mountain.

On my way up, I see people who are rising around me from nowhere, while losing others who failed to understand why I’m choosing a path or another so they decide to stick to their own.
Despite all the scratches and bruises that I may have suffered on my way up, I still hold beauty, I still have not stopped.

“A woman is like a tea bag – you can’t tell how strong she is until you put her in hot water.”
Eleanor Roosevelt

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