Añil

I suppose I should start by saying "hello," it’s me again. Are you still alive? I don’t know, it’s been a long time since I lost you. I come to you, broken again. Trying to make things happen.

Are you near? Or far? I need you. You were supposed to be my being, the one who’d stay with me and bring me joy just by existing, and… and I don’t have you. I hate you, honestly. My life, my emotions, my feelings, my complaints, my thoughts, the adventures that were supposed to live inside me. They never did… And it’s hard to see, detestable too, because every day, every hour I try to make myself happy, I end up here; the void left from the day I traded myself for you.

I gave you everything so you’d love me, care for me, and even then, you didn’t notice. Of course, my letters never reached your hands. All I got back was a friend of yours, the same one I later had to screw over as revenge for what you did to me, for how much he reminded me of you, for that thing that would change my life and make it better knowing I was trying, even so, it was thrown in the trash, again.

Why couldn’t I have a happy ending that day? Why did I have to live bitter, knowing and being aware that my life would only get worse? And the best part, the advantage of there over here, was that it didn’t hurt, it didn’t make me cry. And now, here I am, suffering, in pain, feeling like the worst, never heard.

My first boyfriend, five years together, five damn years, only for time to say, "You’re too happy, goodbye," and take him to another province, for him to then forget me, and no matter how much I missed him, I wouldn’t suffer knowing things had to be that way, and I accepted it. Then my best friend, over twelve years of history together, who gave me a place in this shitty world, because few know what it’s like to have someone loyal who offers their hand to make you feel at ease as you want. He left too. My uncle, who took care of me when I was little, only shows up in dreams without a face worthy of his essence, and even though I look at photos, my mind echoes, "It’s not him, don’t try, you don’t remember, idiot." He taught me so much when I was just a kid. And no, I’m not going to be pretentious asking for him to come back, just being able to say goodbye would’ve been enough. They were my pillars. Like columns, they fell one by one, and in a matter of months, I had to make a decision.

Time passed, and I learned to shut myself off. I learned that your family is your family, they want what’s best for you and a future where the rest barely matters. “The things you want are nonsense,” my mother would repeat, that the world is what it shows you, and no one with their promises could ever give you a safe place. I only needed them, my parents, but… what about me? Where did I fit? And so, one night, full of arguments and torments no one would see, behind a smile stitched from side to side, I realized I didn’t even love myself, that no matter how much self-esteem I had, my being didn’t want to share with me. That filthy void that kept showing up to ruin my mornings, then my afternoons at gatherings with my “friends,” the nights that turned into my hours of total torture to make myself strong, piled up pain to shut me off and see if happiness would appear in all of it. The eternal suffering in the early hours had no limits or restrictions, and I preferred to say “come in” instead of “it’s not the time.”

Time passed again, I grew a little. It didn’t matter as much anymore. I had friends, lots, but at the same time few, knowing that one day I’d have to say “goodbye” like I did with my first boyfriend. I had intelligence, knowing that no matter the dedications and efforts, one day they’d stop being achievements and just challenges. I started to love myself, it cost me to get there, but I knew the truth; it wasn’t true. It would only turn horrific remembering the tears that appeared on the face of that “me” I covered up. And with that, my personality too, the same innocent and pure, extraordinary one I had to change so someone would notice me, the same person who was never there and never would be, and on top of that, I lost. The same beautiful music that one day would make me insecure about who I was and what I could do. I thought my empathy was something good, that it gave me hope that everything would change for me, but it became my worst enemy, the destroyer of my happiness and harmony. It took everything from me.

Today I realize, it wasn’t just my kindness, but me too. Trash, a mistake, a burden, a weight, and a replacement. A listener, but not a communicator, a backup, but not a first-choice friend. The one who’s there to listen, not to share the good outcome. I’m the other, the one they turn to for something, then close their eyes so as not to see and feel pity because nothing can be done for her… I’m a person who turns into a ghost and an angel, to carry the weight of others and not her own, because she doesn’t have a life, never did, and never will.

That’s how one day, after begging God for help, to shelter me because I couldn’t take it anymore, something I didn’t expect appeared; a stranger. An idiot who only knew how to make me laugh and give me a bit of brightness in what I called “calm and maturity.” We got to know each other a little. We talked about our problems and felt heard. And I, who in my past met someone like him, could never talk so calmly about my issues, because of how important it was to me. And here came the mess like a whirlwind. The relationship grew a bit more, and I started questioning this stranger, how important he’d be to me, if I could tell him about it, about my awful past, as if he were someone who might say, like the others, “maybe it’s your mind, and you’re just exhausted.” Anyway, I told him about my concerns, everything that was in me. I exploded that afternoon, between the talk and the laughter, something wanted to make its presence known in that scene, a little “me” was still alive. All it took was for her to take the reins of my feelings and express herself. But that’s when he offered me his hand, and though I called him a stranger, he insisted on making me feel good, heard, and even loved. It was hard to believe him, with so much pain on me. So I didn’t give it the value it deserved, and I made him remember it in the worst way, with red flags. Who would’ve thought I’d pay for it with the same coin later… I thought he’d be that person I was waiting for to come and cover those disasters caused and transformed by me. That he’d be one of those who, like in the movies, says, “I’m staying here to help you, even if you don’t want it.” Until, well, one day he came to me destroyed. He felt so bad, so… well, like me. Confused, maybe. I opened up more to him, to understand and help him. I knew it was wrong because it’d mean something dangerous, though my heart said, “try again, this one’s worth it.” Fear appeared, after three years. One night of wine and burgers (weird combo), I confessed it’d be hard to believe his words of never leaving me and that the last thing I wanted was to get hurt because of me. He looked at me with those dazzling eyes, like crystal. He held my hands and spoke to my soul, connecting with me and tying our threads. He thanked me constantly for being with him. It sounded sincere. And one day, the damn day of my birthday, he entered without being there, and miles from where I was, there was someone else too, sharing his threads and those laughs I thought were only mine. And from the horror I felt, I pushed him away, said goodbye in silence, far from my being. But that didn’t last long. That Friday, that week, he went from being naive to a friend again, who’d extend his hand, protect me from all harm, and help me get up. Yes, I was on the ground again, defeated, asking for help, for someone to give me that support and not let go of what had once disappointed me. I trusted the process, and he started to brighten everything with calls and messages, which was what I always wanted instead of gifts or secret outings that only made me feel worse for not being able to say no. And I decided; with doors down, with fear inside and defeated, I said, “you can come in again.” He accepted, and it only took a few hours for him to reach me and take my body. One early morning where there was once darkness, now it was shared pleasure. I was grateful because, with no one in so little time, had I felt protected. Though he had his flaws, he put his hand on me, in this small space that holds thousands of disappointments and senseless nonsense. But those same things, and he too, did their work in the long run. Talks, fixes, lies, apologies for various reasons, silence, a break, our personalities, each one’s personal problems. Everything went to hell. I fought, desperately, not wanting to say goodbye, I tried, and yet, I only managed to keep him for a while. My mind knew what terror was again. It whispered in my ear, “you’ll never have what you’re looking for, you must be alone, because no one can handle what you are,” “see, you’re an idiot after all.”

My mind was my enemy, the main one, I’d say. I’d reached a point where talking wasn’t enough, there were no words, just a song I never explained, which was taken in another sense, maybe my fault for not clarifying, and with the decision already made, he gave up, and let me go. I was alone again. Lost, anguished, not knowing what to do. I stayed there for a long time, in that place where he no longer was, in the same place where he made me understand I didn’t know many things and now I was trying to hold onto, no matter the pieces falling on me, the only thing left of a broken home. I was still hopeful he’d come back like before. He disappeared for a year, and my promise stood, I’d be there. Because maybe what I gave him before didn’t seem entirely sincere, now at least I’d make him see it as such, whether it’s in his life’s pages or not. Over the months, my fear grew, and I started to hold hate and resentment for leaving me here. I didn’t recognize myself for my stance. I did what I had to and moved on, even with his bitter taste on my skin.

It kept costing me my inner self. They didn’t hurt me physically, far from it, but the wound I carried was permanent in my soul. I knew God was with me, and He was my support in it. I wondered if He still had me on His list, and though I didn’t want it to look more pathetic, I missed him so much… I didn’t want to let him go. My friends didn’t compare to him, he was everything I always wanted, not feeling like a burden and that he’d respond with laughter, keeping up with me. I cared little about the rest because I had him. It was beautiful when something you took as a joke that’d happen again, did. I’ll never understand what he wanted from me. My hand was extended, but he was no longer there to hold it. It didn’t matter years later because a call interrupted my plans. My mother came, phone in hand, with a face that showed something had thrown her off. He had passed away. That took me by surprise. I didn’t know how many fingers I had or how cloudy the day was. Was this some test from God? Was He looking for something from me?

Again, I paused. I needed to rest and think. In him, I left the last of my strength. He was a symbol of a stage. A crazy relationship that, even today, makes me let out one of those ugly laughs I have, where I sound like a vacuum cleaner or like I’m dying. Later, I just wanted to sleep. “He’s gone” was an echo in my mind. I was waiting like before, looking for something to verify he’s still there, but no. It really happened. It hurts, so much that I want anyone out there to tell me, “he’s at home, don’t worry.” I hoped so. That way, everything would be less difficult.

Christmas came, and I drank what I could. I was supposed to do it with him, but I doubt I can now. There was a moment when I sat on the sidewalk outside my house and thought about everything that happened. Maybe it was time to change the course of things.

I’ll remember my being, and him, who left. I envy him because, wherever he is, he was the best I could have, far from all these problems, far from my past, and it’s funny because I partly have my peace now, but sadness became unconditional and mutual with him. No one will ever know what it’s like to walk the streets and feel those foreign heartbeats, those pains that settle on your back, and there’s no one. To look someone in the eyes and not be able to say goodbye before knowing the future. They’ll never understand, and when they want to, it’ll be too late. So, hate them for it? Hold a grudge? None of that is a solution. I never fully learned to be strong, but the plain truth is that when I went to my late ex-love’s funeral, I only knew everything feels like a moment. And I realized. All that’s left is to dedicate myself to me, find my passion, and reach my golden years, be happy. Still, I can’t stop wondering, why, God? Why did you put him in my path if he was going to leave? Or did he stay? Because he always showed me that; him, his image.

In the end, I came to write to you for nothing and ended up putting down all sorts of things, typical of me. But well, I guess I’ll have to keep this too...