6 months later

February 16th, 2014

New country, new life. Sitting on the couch in my new apartment, watching TV. Feeling ok.

It’s been hell of a struggle, it’s been very hard leaving all behind and start from zero. I found myself in the airport, with one one suitcase, waiting for the plane that would take me away to change my life. Storm outside and a very difficult taking off, with the plane balancing from one side to the other, shaking violently. A stranger across the isle was holding my hand. The road to a new beginning. I promised myself I won’t be back, only once, to bring my cats here.

5 months later, I live in a beautiful big apartment that I love, by the sea. I have a wonderful bus drivers that takes me to work and puts a smile on my face every morning. I have a therapist that fixes me. I’m trying, step by step, to build a life that matters. I still have a lot of issues to fix but I’m working on that. Every day, a small step. To a better life, to a better me. I need her to be proud of me!

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August 4th, 2013

I opened the notebook and found the “bad” list nicely unfolded on the first page. I smiled. Bitter. I thought he took it and read it. But no, the list is back where it was ripped out from, unread. And I keep pretending that everything is ok, that all my worries and sorrow have gone and I’m a happy kid again. But only I know how much the tears hurt and how much I want to get my chest open and rip out everything that kills me inside. I need a hug, I need a little bit of love, I need someone to tell me that it’s going to be ok. I sit alone, in my bed, staring at the screen, trying not to listen to my intuition, which I know is right. I only survive on brain inhibitors and alcohol these days…..those pills are probably the only ones that stop me from killing myself.

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Miss D.

July 7th, 2013

Sometimes you feel that you are actually winning this game that you are meant to lose. It’s a continuous fight with yourself, with your brain that stops cooperating and with your heart that stops feeling. You can’t smile, you can’t feel happy. It’s like a black veil that covers you and barely lets you breathe. The truth is that you become a living dead. Because you just give up. There’s no more power to fight, there’s no more will to get it through and above all you are alone, because nobody understands how it feels to have it! And because of that you refuse any social interaction, you estrange from people and you close into yourself. It’s not like they would know how to help. Most likely they will tell you that you’re joking and that are problems worse than yours. But what they don’t know is that when you give up fighting, you give up life. Because that’s the end of it. And you find yourself alone, in the kitchen, with a knife in your hand.

Imagine that one day your happy life turns around and from total sunshine you find yourself in the worse thunder storm you’ve ever seen. Imagine that you can’t feel anything but a tremendous fear and anger. You are losing patience, you are losing control of your own actions. Everybody starts to hate you, everybody starts to disappoint you, everybody is going away. You are alone and your brain is playing tricks on you. You can’t get up from the bed anymore and you can’t eat. Everything that you loved to do becomes a burden. You fall asleep crying every night and you see how your life has no point anymore. You are going down deeper and deeper, day by day. The only thing you still have is the burning hope that someone is going to save you, is going to pull you out. But nobody will save you!

You are alone and nobody’s giving a shit on you! You become a junkie, drinking your sadness, smoking away your pain and blocking your brain with pills. You couldn’t care less about the damage you’re doing to yourself. You’re in trance, with a background of old jazz tickling your years. More and more and more. You want it all to go away. You can’t bare the pain, it’s more than you could ever take. It’s too late for you. You’re dead!

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April 4th, 2013

Arrived home (home… what is that?) wet to the bones, after walking an hour and a half in the pouring rain. Threw away in a corner the backpack and crashed on the bed. I haven’t stopped not even for a second on my way. All I wished was for the rain to stop, at least for a little bit. It didn’t. I could barely feel anything else but cold. All the way to my bones. Alone, in the middle of the night, on empty streets. Tears, rain drops, who could tell?

And I realized one thing. Nobody wants to hear your crap or be your friend. They get scared and run away. They judge. “Why can’t you be happy, there are others worse than you”, they say. But what do I care that there are others worse then me when I feel what I feel deep inside my soul? I grew up having dreams, fighting for them with every atom of my body, believing that I can make a difference. Going one step of a time, always forward. I actually believe that for some time I managed to actually matter and be someone. Someone good. And then I failed miserably! And that was the point when I realized that when I can’t help my friends they will go away and don’t give a shit on me! Suddenly everyone was too busy… So what’s the point when you live together but die alone?

And I might be quiet, I might not talk at all but that’s my way of protecting myself. I have so many things to say, but to whom, when there’s nobody to listen? And you judge me for that… and you laugh, not knowing that I am fucking way smarter than you! And I would be able to answer most of the questions you would think of asking me! And you would be surprised how fast I would figure out the mechanism of a machine or how fast I would pick up any new information. Or language. But you won’t have from where to know that. For you I am just that girl from the corner, not talking.

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March 19th, 2013

…and this is how, every time, in moments of despair, when the world is falling apart, I come back here, to write. I managed to disappear again, like in the beginning, when nobody knew who Dennda was. Hidden under an invented username that became somehow my alter ego. Because you see, Dennda Simoni was powerful, strong and indestructible. Was someone I created to be what I will never be. And there was no face, no identity, just a nickname and a journal full with stories. And those were the days when I could actually write, when i didn’t had a piece of paper in front of my eyes but tons of images moving around faster than the speed of light. It wasn’t me anymore, I was transcendent rays of light. There were no emotions… there were strong feelings, dilated pupils and almost no breathing at all. It was a drug running through my veins, giving me power to write a word, and another one, and another one…

I ran away from that… I chose the “real” life and left my magic behind. Left hours of hard work, left my soul… and now, when everything falls apart, I want to go back. I want to find somehow that power that Dennda had. I want to use it to pull me out. I want her to tell me that everything will be ok, now. Not tomorrow, cause I can hardly live with this fear inside.

Lost…. lost, with a fucked up mind that I can’t seem to control anymore. Scared to talk with the only person that would listen to me. Taking anti-depressives with wine, to get some sleep. Listening to the same song on repeat. Losing myself in my mind’s own world, boundless. Just wish I could have the power to tell you how much you mean to me…

And people say that suicides are cowards. But they have no idea what hell of a courage it takes to do it.

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