La petite défoncée

Fierté déplacée

People have a tendency to show me their dark side. I’m not quite sure why. Is it because they can feel my limping soul ? People often say I look sad. Don’t be sad, they say. Don’t cry. Even when I’m not crying and they’re the ones who cry. People open their hearts and give me their feelings. Here, take them. Take them all away. You know how it feels, please take them away, I don’t want any of it. But, what do you want me to do with them ? Aren’t you used to being sad ? Is it not better if you’re the one who takes all the pain away and we the ones who can be happy again ? I don’t dare to say a word about their pains because I’m scared that a spill on my part would bring them to tears. You’re strong, they say. They can feel the weight of everyone’s pains thickening the blood in my veins. They see me out of breath and they whisper to me late at night that I am strong whilst my life slowly flickers out of sight.

Mes plus jolis écrits sont privés parce que voilà t'en as pas le droit.

C'est con. Putain que c'est con de ne pouvoir controller mes émotions. J'ai beau essayer de rationnaliser, me dire que c'est une situation impossible, que je ne voudrais pas de toute façon mais ce sentiment dégueulasse me colle tout de même à la peau, il vient tout de même me creuser le coeur et me donne l'impression que chaque centimètre cube de mon corps est de trop, que chaque respiration que je prends est souillée. Je me déteste en ce moment. Je déteste ce que je deviens lorsque je me perds.

Is it possible to love someone, to truly love someone and feel happy, without being in a relationship ? I think so. I think I can. But then I sometimes I catch myself crying and I wonder why. I’m not crying out of sadness nor even loneliness. Often I’m just crying from happiness, crying from laughter, crying from being so moved by a smile, a laugh, a twinkle in someone’s eye or something as simple as a sigh. I am incredibly moved by the littlest signs of love to the point where I question myself about it and wonder if there is something wrong with me and if there is something wrong with the way I love. Why can’t I control my emotions, why am I always crying ? Maybe I’m still sad.

Je veux m’isoler, quelques temps. Ou alors me perdre dans une foule aux visages flous. Je me sens horrible. Je suis méchante. Toutes ces pensées malsaines qui me traversent, tous ces mots secs et cassants d’impatience... Ce n’est pas moi. Je ne sais pas ce qui m’arrive. Est-ce l’âge ? Non. Quelle piètre excuse! L’âge. Ce n’est rien, juste un chiffre après tout. Non, je crois qu’il y a quelque chose qui s’est brisée en moi. Je crois que je suis brisée.

My mind is numb. Is it from all the drugs I took ? No, nothing harsh. I’m not stable enough for them, just some advils and a disgusting yellowish liquid that pretends to be hot lemonade. Ma gorge est écorchée, je n’arrive pas à parler. Mes yeux s’alourdissent déjà alors que je viens de me réveiller d’une sieste de quatre heures. Ils enflent tout doucement derrière mes paupières alourdies par la maladie. Ma gorge enfle aussi, plus brusquement, à chacune de mes respirations, écartant les fissures imaginaires de mon oesophage. J’écoute des chansons tristes, ce soir. Je suis triste. Je ne me sens pas capable d’avancer, en ce moment. Je n’arrive pas à m’accomplir dans aucun des domaines que j’ai exploré. Et puis, ce qui est encore plus terrible, c’est que je n’arrive pas à admirer le travail d’autrui sans ressentir une mordante jalousie dans mon coeur. Et je m’en veux tellement d’être jalouse. Je m’en veux d’être si mauvaise.

Current mood

When you write an essay about existentialism and how the past does not determine you, but your own past is wringing your heart.

I dreamt that I had to cut off my sister's arms because she broke her bones and my dad said that this was the only way. We had to cut her arms, replace the bones and then sew the arms back on again. She was crying a lot and I was horrified. Not so much because it was gruesome, but because I failed her as a big sister. I couldn't protect her and I'm even physically hurting her by cutting her arms off. I just felt so sad that she lost her arms, but she comforted me by saying that it was okay, it was the right thing to do. But I couldn't forgive myself. I'm afraid to sleep now. I'm afraid that I'll go back to that dream.

I feel dead. Drained. Heavy. Bloated. I feel like the world has become too overwhelming for me and that time is advancing way too quickly for me to hang on it anymore. Have I ever been able to hang on it ? All my life was a desperate attempt to ignore time, to forget time. As a child I thought I was immortal. As a teenager I thought I could stop time with love. As an adult I realize I will die and I do not have the courage to patiently wait for it to come to me. I am scared. I am still a child.

I feel bad. I can't work, I can't write, I can't speak. I can't look at people in the eyes, I can't have my head held high. I don't care about what they say or what they think or what they whisper in their sleep, but then I do. I don't care if I am not loved, will never be loved or was ever loved, but then I do. I am to be loved, but I can't bear this word anymore. I can't hear it, I can't see it, I can't speak of it and even less speak it. How miserable I am to be so estranged now with love.

J'ai le mal de vivre, mais j'y arriverai. Je n'ai que ça.

Mon coeur bat si fort de sa tristesse.

Du va et vient. J'ai envie de m'isoler. De sombrer dans un monde où je ne peux être touchée. Ne me touchez pas, je suis fragile. Un éternuement et pouf! Je ne suis plus. Quel est ce coeur à l'aspect dérangé ? Il est à moi ? Mais il ne m'est pas familier. Il est tout petit, tout recroquevillé. Est-ce une maladie ou l'a-t-on oublié ? Peinture, peinture, oh cruelle créature! Tu appelles cela de l'art ? Ah non! Hors de ma vue! Est-ce moi ? Est-ce mes mains ? Mon dieu, dites-moi qu'il n'y aura pas de lendemain.

Je me dit que ce n'est rien. Que c'est triste, mais que ce n'est rien. Que je le savais, que ce n'est rien. Je ris trop fort, je ris faux. Mes larmes assèchent mon coeur et le vent emporte mes pensées. Je marche sans direction, aucune destination, m'émiettant à chaque pas qui m'éloigne de notre passé.