If I ever feel better
you won’t say “never”
you will mean “forever”
I will say “whatever”.

If I ever feel better
I will pray
you will stay
our hair will turn grey.

If I ever feel better
I will leave you here
you will disappear
there won’t be any fear.

You can’t live on a fairy tale
it’s just another male
it doesn’t matter if it’s not fair
you can’t breath without air.

You have to move on
it’s an obligation
because life goes on
accept the confrontation.

This has to be fast
it comes from the past
I won’t let it last.

You never understand why they laugh.
When is it going to happen…?
Unexpected laughs bring you into a confusing funny moment.
Funny confusion.

You say something.
They laugh.
You don’t understand why.
You make a funny face.
They laugh at the funny face.
You didn’t notice you made a funny face.
You become lost.
You make an ‘I’m lost face’.
They laugh at the funny face.
Funny vicious spiral.

It’s just funny.

Nobody can touch my toes. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know why.
It has been like that since I remember. Actually since I don’t remember. I have been told I cried in my cradle first time my mum cut my toe nails… I still find it quite shocking, even though I can’t remember me not having trouble with my toes, specially my toe nails… After 29 years of ‘toes-existence’ it still shocking to me.
I just don’t know why! I would love to know why… Do you know anyone having that exactly same issue?
What would provoke a baby crying because of someone touching her toes? My baby condition didn’t let me have the wisdom to acknowledge toes were my little enemies. I didn’t know back then that they would limit my life routine somewhat. Oh well, I might have sounded a bit dramatic there, but it’s limiting me in some specific areas… I don’t even like the view of other people touching their toes. Yes, it’s bad like that.
I’m just thankful it’s not my fingers. Oh dear, I’m convinced that would be much worse. So thanks, whoever/whatever gave me this ‘gift’, I prefer my toes instead of my fingers. Let’s stay positive.
I used to think everyone had the same issue. In my childhood I thought it was a common thing, I didn’t even think about it like a ‘problem’. Then I just started to observe people was acting absolutely normal about their toes. I got confused, I thought I was weak… It took me a while to accept the fact that I was different on that sense. I couldn’t fight it, I couldn’t explain why. Nobody would really understand why my toes were so sensitive little creatures. Sensitive in a bad way. They give me this bad feeling inside. I could define it like a cold shiver, mixed with pain and anxiety. I try to hide it, but I still feel it inside.
I used to have some kind of nightmares about bad men touching my toes when I was a kid. Was that intended to prepare me for the future? Was it a sign to let me know I would have to confront bad men or just men trying to touch my toes? Oh well.
Because of the proximity I consider my feet the war zone. If you let everyone know they can’t get close to your feet, then your toes are more safe.
My limitations include:

• Not being able to go to crowded places on my sandals, flip-flops or anything that would expose my toes to the danger on someone stepping on them.
• Suffering in a way I can’t really explain every time I cut my toe nails (it never gets better, I still can feel ‘something have been disturbing my toes’ after half an hour). Although I do it every week, I promise! Pedicure is a crime, it just shouldn’t exist as a word.
• Foot massage is not a possibility. Don’t even think about it.
• I can’t sleep without socks. I hate the feeling of my toe nails in contact with bed sheets. And yes, I can’t sleep -literally sleep- with anyone without socks. If they like and accept who I’m, they accept my socks! By the way I have a sock-fetish, I love them, specific ones. That might be what you become after socks being so needed on a daily life. I more or less have socks for every thing, depending on what I’m going to do while I wear them.

Despite these inconveniences, and some others I can’t remember or just don’t think about them  -as far as they became normal in my life- I have managed to accomplish one of my dreams. Might be one of the things that include more toe-suffer from all the toe-suffer possibilities: Ballet.

I have ‘danced’ (since I can not really dance yet and probably won’t) on pointe shoes. During my first lessons I experienced the most pain I have ever experienced in my entire toe-life. As much as to feel dizzy and about to faint. Horrible. Intense. Insane. Someone dare explaining to the ballet teacher you have some strange problem with your toes? I wanted to avoid it, but I had to.
First ‘teacher’ told me to quit after the first lesson. She was not a teacher, just a student playing the substitute roll, so I didn’t let her win that battle. Not being able to sleep during the nights fearing your next pointe-lesson shouldn’t stop you from doing what you want to do. I didn’t quit.
Second teacher couldn’t stop telling me her fantastic stories, blood-related, from when she was a student. That just made me feel more dizzy and down. But I didn’t quit. After a couple of weeks she noticed my progress, so she stopped the ‘didactic’ therapy.
Third teacher was just lovely, patient and encouraging (by nature). She was told by the second one to be careful with me. Then I understood my second one was not so bad. Thanks.
Forth one was pushing a bit harder, nicely.
Anyway it sounds like a lot of teachers for just 3 months.

The only similarity with all the teachers was that they never had to tell me to try harder. I couldn’t try harder. Consciously accepting that my suffering was out of proportion compared to other students. I did it for 3 months before I had to quit, sadly, for other reasons. During those 3 months I had pain in my feet every single morning, but I knew it was worth it.

I fear my next lesson, whenever it’s going to be.
I can’t wait to feel the floor under my toes again.

I’m a tree.
I’m a flowered tree.
I’m a rained tree.
I’m a snowed tree.
I’m a dry tree.
I’m a dead tree.

I was a tree.

I dream about the time when things can only get better.
I dream about the time when a Beatles song describes my days.
I dream about the time when my dreams become closer to reality.
I dream about a non existing humankind who dare making alive species suffer.

I’m a dreamer, take your pillow.

My soul is in pain.
My heart is broken into pieces.
Those pieces won’t ever be part of the same heart.
That heart won’t ever be the same.

The essence is lost.
Gone.
Forever.

Tears running down my cheeks.
Polluted rivers  joining the darkness in the deepest frozen sea.

I close my eyes.
I try to look for the corner of my soul where the suffering begins.
Try to stop it, please.
I can’t stop it.
I can’t define where it hurts.
The blood running through my veins is stuck, suffering to find its way.
Even the air going through my nose hurts. It hurts while going in, trying to meet the painful parts in my deepest inside.
My throat is tide up, wrapping my heart.

It doesn’t matter what you do, where you go.
It comes with you.

I’m crying more than breathing, suffering more than existing.

09 April 2008 at 21:45

- I was confused before you were confused! shouldn’t you ask for your turn to be confused?

People should make a “confusion queue” so that they wouldn’t all get confused in an unorganized way (I bet in London they have it, in London they have amazingly polite organized queues for everything! lovely!). A bunch of confused people all together not knowing where are they going… sounds a bit… confusing? Having a queue would at least make it look like more organized.
Confused people should have the right to have some holiday in a confusing place where all the confused people would go to handle their own confusion. Obviously people who works there would have to be confused also, so that the confusion would be on the air. All that confused people wouldn’t be there for a confusing therapy, they would be there just to share confusion, to share the confusing air, the confusing atmosphere, just to feel they are as confused as everyone else. Having a confusing holiday would have to be something the state would pay for you, as a relief after some times walking on the street having a confused face, but not seeing any confusion in other people faces… how do they hide it!? That is another thing that makes me confused: how is anyone able to hide confusion from their eyes? (did all they go for a healthy-confusing-holiday? where is it!?)
Breathing confusion must be a step to get rid of your own confusion. Confusion is something that everyone has, at some point, in different levels. There is no one who would dare to say he/she had never ever being confused. In case they did, they would just be confused-arrogant-stupid people? I wish I wasn’t so confused about english language so that I would have some slightly better confused adjectives… or vocabulary, sorry about that.

If someone who is confused is reading this, I send you a warm-confused-honest hug.
If you are not confused, well, I send you the same hug.
In case I’m the only one who is reading this, I send myself the same kind of hug.

–peace– .n.

p.s: unfortunately confusion leaves, stays, comes back… often…

Where is the line dividing the limit where intimacy ends/starts?
What is intimacy nowadays?

Intimacy and freedom must be walking together hand by hand. You are free to decide when, where, how… your intimacy becomes part of everyone else’s life.

Intimacy is what you want it to be.