Stupid

I probably made more mistakes today than I ever thought I'd make in my entire life. Oh no. That's just how I work. Making mistakes every single moment and then ending up living with all those mistakes. Maybe it's implanted into my brain in some kind of way, that I have to fuck up continously to grow stronger. I had a friend who once told me she fucked up to have some stories to tell her grandchildren.

I don't know the reason I fuck up. I just do.

I got my heat broken today. Maybe it was my own choice, or maybe it was meant to happen, but I didn't help. Did I handle myself correctly? Should I have said this or done that?

I always thought that of all the capital sins, I'd be Lust, because I looked only for pleasure. But now I know I'd just be Envy. I wanted something other people had and ended up with nothing in my hand.
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Right now, the store is closed, Samuel's with his lover at his home, and I'm all alone, with the goldfish. Bloody goldfish. By this point, I've spent the last twenty minutes laughing. Here you Gossip Guy and hooray for the Deltons, you bravely tried to conceal it, but what the hell. I tried to kill myself. Yes... I took a razor and cut myself. Of course, as things might be, we evil spirits don't go so easily, and let's face it, I could've cut myself vertically and ended it much sooner. Now, I did so horizontally, because I knew Eric had been calling and he would arrive any minute. And I left it to my supposed fate. If I died, then I didn't have anything else to do and I'd go to hell. If I lived, I'd get another chance to redeem myself. What? It's just like throwing a coin. It wasn't the big deal.

So. I didn't die, I mean, right now I'm willing to believe that you could shoot me in the head and the bullet would probably not do sufficient damage to fuck me up. Oh no. I'm special that way. Nathan wanted me substituted, I wanted myself dead, and a bunch of people just thing I'm useless, yet here I am. Still here. Hi! Okay. So, not only did I not die, but I prove just how big of a deal am I, I run to Italy, change my name and start a new life. And of course, I have talent, immediately I get clients. So, I'm here, and I'm here to stay. You can't kill me or, well, I'd like to see you try, if you're successful I'm sure I'll come back as some sort of evil spirit and have my way with all of you.

By this point, I know that anyone who's reading my blog is thinking: what is wrong with Lucia? Well, here's what's wrong. NO matter what I do, I can't seem to get things right. I can't even kill myself properly. But no, scratch that, I make some things right: I'm a great sex idol AND a great designer. There you go, I have a career and fucking skills. I AM a whore after all.

But then, I'm being harsh on myself. I'm not all that bad. I'm a kind person, and generous, and I try to make the best of my surroundings, and yet, I don't understand people. I don't. I don't understand how they work, how they should work. Oh, I know how to pleasure people, but not how to create a bond? What is this? What the hell is wrong?

I admit it. I ran for it. I ran because I wanted a new life, a second chance. Yet he appears again, and I'm still idiotly hopeful. And he says he likes me. My God. Am I dellusional? I'm having a break down and you tell me you like me now? But you've never showed me...! I mean... you don't desire me at all. You look at me, but you don't connect with me, you think you are, but you don't even try.

And I give up. This time I'm not cutting horizontally, but vertically and with a kitchen knife. I don't want this anymore at all. How long has it been? Enough! I give up. I'm sorry, I do. I don't have it in me, to take any more cruel remarks and misunderstandings. Don't you get it? I don't feel it. You're not trying. I genuinely detest what you've made me feel.

The rain is pouring outside and I've just finished doing 159 new designs, out of the blue, I just got home and started painting, dress after dress after dress, until I couldn't feel my hands, and let go of the pen. I feel like such a coward. I feel like such an idiot. I feel stupid.

Blame Disney and they're happily ever after. Blame the lovers who walk about the street holding hands and smiling. Blame the world because apparently, unrequited love is the only one that teaches us how to be stronger, until we might find something inside this whole chaos. Right now, I feel my heart beating, goose bumps in my skin and I wish, just wish, I could find the slipper that would lead me to the castle. I've thought about deleting these words a hundred times, but it wouldn't be fair. It wouldn't be fair to the things I wanted to say.

It is all so very complicated. We love and we get hurt, we desire and forget, yet we still must make way through life. I wanted to be special to someone other than me. Desperate desire, desperate need for the other, being so close that we might break. Stop. Maybe I'm never moving forward as to not create a past. But I am moving forward, and I do want a past I can grow safely upon.

I begged God to make me stronger. Maybe he listened incorrectly and made me stupid instead. Here, amongst the darkness and the pouring rain, I found myself with just me, and my goldfish. There's no one to share with. This time, I'm not running, though. I'm becoming stronger. I'm doing something for myself, and if someone should chose me as they're special person, then let it be. I want to live, desperately, entirely, not missing one single moment... I want to fall in love, and God, make it so that I might receive what I give in return. But if it should not be so, then let him give me patience for the things I cannot change and the wisdom to change those that I can.

I'm going to walk about the streets of Italy now. Yes, sweet Milan, beautiful and quiet, listening to my pleas and dreams, but before I go, I leave with a poem, one of my favorites "Una Cancion Desesperada", by Pablo Neruda. No words could better define my actual state of mind.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Escribir, por ejemplo: "La noche está estrellada,y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos."
El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.
En las noches como esta la tuve entre mis brazos.La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.
Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.
Oir la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella.Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.
Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.La noche esta estrellada y ella no está conmigo.
Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.
Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.
La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles.Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.
Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise.Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.
De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.
Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.
Porque en noches como esta la tuve entre mis brazos,mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.
Aunque este sea el ultimo dolor que ella me causa,y estos sean los ultimos versos que yo le escribo.

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