Well, this is definitely not how I thought my weekend would be ending. In fact, I was so sure it would be a different outcome, that I had a text practically ready to post here on the blog, as a way of trying to get some kind of closure on something that had been causing me lots of anxiety. So much so that I had to walk away from it, at least for a while. In a way, my text was me trying to process that goodbye. And then life happened, as it always does.
At first I was surprised and euphoric. Once again I was proven wrong, which meant that I was right to trust my gut, and I was right to resist doubting myself. But that happiness didn’t last - as it often doesn't, and I was back at being sad. Now that Monday has settled in, I don't know how I feel. Against all odds, against all I know about myself, not knowing how I feel feels strangely familiar. I am lost, my heart is lost, my brain is lost. The unexpected showed me how much I am lost.
So I came back to my text, initially with the intention of changing the parts that don’t apply anymore. Maybe I also came back to it in the hopes of getting some clarity, some reassurance. And I was surprised again, this time to see that it is still pretty much spot on, despite how everything turned out this weekend. Which tells me that no matter what would have happened, I would be in the same place. Some call it fate, I call it being stuck. And I have been stuck for a while now.
A little more than three years ago I wrote about a trip to Berlin in three parts, each part focusing on a boy I met whilst I was there. I didn’t add a name to that series then, but I always envisioned it being called the Tales of Berlin. I have been reading some of my old blogs recently, again probably in an attempt to find logic and reassurance - which in my brain are very co-dependent on each other. I read the Tales of Berlin, and some things surprised me. Side note, I also think that Part 3 is one of the best posts I ever wrote, and I may have a chance to go full circle on it soon. But I digress.
Berlin is my second hometown, even though I didn’t grow up there, in the strict sense of it. In addition, I lived there for a little more than five years, which is not really an eternity. But it was there that I felt home for the first time in a long time. There I became the person I am to this day, there I learned to accept myself, there I saw and felt part of a world which had always been foreign to me, there I found my dream job, I met the person I decided to spend the rest of my life with, and it’s there where I go when I need to feel great again. I often feel more at home there than I feel in Belo Horizonte, where I actually grew up. I often say that I was born and raised in Brazil, but I grew up in Berlin. With all that in mind, reducing my days in Berlin to three guys seems a bit unfair, but it also says a lot about me, my relationship with men and how I deal with the things that I haven’t managed to fix.
For instance, I still find myself to this day going through the same insecurities that I did back then, when I wrote the tales. I still doubt myself, and I still value my worth in how a boy will see me. And even though I probably knew this deep inside for a while, seeing it out in the open makes me truly sad. Years pass and I am still here, stuck in the same place, going through the same issues. I had opportunities to learn and become a better person, but somehow I didn’t.
It is also unfair to myself, after all I am not the person who gets to decide what my worth will be valued at. I give that power to someone else, someone who will very likely assign that worth based on something that has almost entirely to do with them, not with me. I could be offering my best or my worst, and it would probably make little to no difference to their final valuation. Still, that value becomes my guidance, and it can influence how I go through life, decisions I make, paths I take… On paper, it makes absolutely no sense. Yet, here I am. Doing it again.
There is another element to this, one that I have discussed multiple times in multiple blogs: I am quite often proven wrong, and that always comes as a surprise to me. Even though it has happened many times before, every time I am proven wrong, I am again surprised that someone thinks I am worth their time, love, lust. But as I have talked about this so many times, there is no point in rambling about it again.
The truth is: I am broken. My mind is broken. My heart is broken. My soul is broken. I need to be sent back to the shop for repair. But that’s also old news.
Instead, let me tell you about something new. Something I noticed recently, because of a situation that is going on with, you will be shocked to learn, a boy I recently met who had stopped talking to me. I won’t go into many more details here because I have written about it before, but I am also not sure if he will ever read this (the link is on my instagram, after all), and this blog is about my feelings, not a way to get others to do or don't do things. So the focus is not the situation, but how it has been affecting me. And here again I am surprised, but not in the way I expected to be.
First I was surprised that I wasn’t proven wrong, which in itself doesn’t make any sense either. If I am expecting with certainty that things will hit their inevitable end, how can I be shocked when they do? Yet in this instance I felt it, but I don’t understand why I felt it. Normally I am shocked that someone does think I am worth it, but I think that after all these years, I got used to this “game”: I meet a boy, I expect them not to be interested, they are, I am shocked, my confidence is validated, everyone is happy and we have a happy ending, until the next boy comes along.
This is a film I’ve seen before. In fact, just in my previous post, I talked about a certain cycle, one that fits in here perfectly once again: Obsession that causes me anxiety, which leads to a compulsion, and that compulsion gives me the shot of validation I need to shut up the anxiety. We are just changing the names of the actors, but the script is the same, the characters are the same, and the ending will be the same.
And just like in the other versions of this movie, I have been proven wrong. Things are back to normal, in this specific situation. We are talking again. My anxiety has been calmed down, I have been validated. It's a happy ending. But just like in the movies, it’s a fake one. One that was created by some writers in a room full of junk food and sweets. And maybe most importantly, one that will fade away as soon as someone else decides to pursue a remake.
Normally, this is the part of the post where I talk about what I need to do. Where do I go from here. What the next step is. Or at least I will write something hopeful, something that shows I am on some kind of path. Not this time. This time, I am lost. Broken. I don’t know how to leave this cycle. Actually, that is not entirely correct. I do know how to break the cycle, I have been practicing this on my CBT with my therapist. What I don’t know is how to avoid getting into the cycle to start with. I have a feeling that this will be a much deeper conversation, and that I will need to go much further down myself to address something so rooted inside me. I just don’t know what. Or even where to start.
The Optimist in me won’t give up that easily, though. And here is my first step: trust my gut. This first step doesn’t come out of thin air though, there is a reason why I think this is a solid one: being proven wrong so many times means that I am doing something right. Furthermore, expecting that it will go wrong is probably a way of protecting me from getting hurt in case it does go wrong. But here is where the disconnect happens: it rarely goes wrong, in real life. Because I am not careless in my choices, so I won’t be reckless in making them. I make safe bets, exactly so I can avoid things going wrong later.
It’s too much protection, and whilst I am spending time padding myself against every sharp corner, life is passing by me in different angles. Something has got to give. I probably won’t start making erratic choices, so I can let loose on the other side of things. I might end up with a bruise or two, but that should be something I am willing to accept as part of the process. I might also risk falling into the realm of overconfidence, but that’s another risk. I don’t think it will happen, but again I cannot be entirely certain. Maybe it’s my fate to be like that. Only that I don’t believe in fate.
I never believed in fate, actually. Partially because I believe in choice, but mostly because of accountability and ownership. Fate is, for me, a way of exempting oneself from the responsibility of one’s choices, and of the consequences of said choices. It’s a way of blaming things on something bigger. And it carries the risk of leaving one stuck, without learning from their mistakes. It doesn’t allow one to mend what’s broken. And that’s not good enough.
How can you mend a broken heart - Al Green
PS: In case you're interested, you can find the Tales of Berlin here: Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3. In addition, the original version is by the Bee Gees, but the Al Green one is the only one worth listening to.
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