Traveling Blues

I guess I never will want to admit this to myself.

This incurable unhappiness stuck so deep inside me. This cemented, anchored, armoured heaviness in the core of my being which refuses to leave. This feeling of never being satisfied. Eating, but having a hole in your stomach. Running, but not moving. Breathing, but fucking suffocating.

Urgh, the heaviness.

It's as though nothing on this earth could possibly make you happy (unless millions showed up on my bank account, that could make me smile a bit more!), even though you've tried the bullshit meditation and mindfulness exercises and journaling and yoga and read that book your friend's aunt recommended; nothing works. Nothing fills that gap you've got lodged in the pit of your stomach. Not even chips, warm pajamas, and Netflix all combined.

I guess I didn't want, and still don't want, to admit to myself that I’m not fixed. That moving away and running away from myself has not yet worked and I’m still not fixed. That maybe coming here was a bad idea or that maybe I will always be like this, but how can I admit this to myself when I have this illusion in my mind telling me everything is fine.

I want to believe this illusion, my god, do I want to believe it. I want to believe so god damn bad, but I know...I know I’m still unfixed.

But.

Somehow.

In the midst of my mental chaos, in the middle of my existential crisis happening in my Lavapíes apartment on a daily basis, I managed to see some light at the end of the very, very obscure tunnel.

I met someone. (Yeah yeah yeah, get all your judgements out now...)

I met someone that doesn’t make me question my self-worth. I met someone that doesn’t make me ask myself why I do the things I do, and criticize them, but rather, tries to understand my functioning and open his mind to new possibilities on doing and seeing things. I met someone that, as cliche as it sounds, tells me I’m beautiful everyday, even when I have mascara down to my cheeks or my hair is a fluffy mess or I’ve been wearing the same sweatpants for four days in a row—and you know what, it feels fucking amazing. I met someone that chases my happiness as much as his own. I met someone that pushes me so high towards my goals and dreams that sometimes, when I look down, I'm scared to fall, but then I remember he'd never let me fall and then I stop and I think to myself, that with this much support, my crazy dreams could actually be obtainable. That maybe one day, I would have gained enough courage to ACTUALLY do the things I've been dreaming of doing and accomplishing. Maybe.

My journey across the ocean has not been easy for me. Maybe it has been for others reading this, but for me, it’s been sort of, well, kind of shy of a nightmare. I’ve been very homesick. I’ve had nights where I’ve cried wanting to go back home to familiar things. I’ve had days of intense loneliness and nights filled with heartache, but with the support of my special person, I’ve been able to conquer this treacherous adventure.

I've been able to open doors I had promised myself to keep shut. I've been able to finally be myself (what a relief) and just breath. I've had the courage to continue writing and doing things I've once loved and cherished. This person did not change me. This person enabled me to see how the world can be beautiful if we just try a little harder.