Ik heb de permissie van mijn dochter om de prachtige tekst die ze heeft geschreven, weliswaar in het Engels, te delen op mijn blog. Wat heeft ze een talent. Me very proud mammie

The hardest about today is keeping my damned head up. Keep looking up, keep them eyes focused, don’t look down, don’t fall back. Looking back is looking into the darkness, into a dark hole where the pain keeps rushing out. I curse myself for not have written this earlier. I could have done this last weekend, when everything still seemed like a perfect illusion. A perfect lie, that comes trembling down in front of me, and there is no where left to run. I just take the pain, scrape the pieces that were my heart only a day ago and walk to the side, where I pant, I gasp for air and there is nothing coming in. The weight on my chest feels like tons, and I don’t know when I started falling, but I realize now that I do. There is nowhere to grasp, nowhere to hold, and nowhere to reach for help. I can hear them screaming, screaming my name, but it doesn’t matter anymore. There’s only one voice missing, the one that should be there, screaming at me, right now.
The other voices don’t mean nothing to me now. They are hollow and cold, just as I feel on the inside. I try to scream, but there are no words coming out of my mouth. My dry, hollow mouth, filled with promises broken by the other. The pain of a broken heart.

Everything had been so well, he was the only person on the surface of this earth who could make her feel extraordinary like him. He didn’t think highly of himself, he thought he was worthless and stupid, he didn’t understand why anybody would love him. But I did, I do, with everything I can understand. Yet he walked away today, and now I’m here, miserable, trying to ease a pain that cannot be eased, not until I have worn it out completely. Here I stand, helpless and left for dead. He dumped me in such a tender way, he knew how much my heart still yearns for him. He wiped the tears of my face as his tears ran down his cheek. I was convinced, so overly sure that this man, this one right here, would never leave me, his love would continue over a thousand years, and even if we died, our love would stand. Yet here I stand, alone, and there is nothing worth calling to him that would make him love me again, that would turn around his feet and let him walk to me again, with a smile, that heartbreaking smile right there on the face I thought I knew so well yet seems like a stranger now. Who are you that you can hurt me like this? Who are you that you can take my heart and crush it underneath the sole of your feet?

Even if he did not intend to hurt me, even if he said he was so sorry, and he was hurt to see me cry, all I longed for was for him to kiss me awake and tell me what a horrible nightmare it had been. To run towards each other again, crying because we know we love, and there will never again be doubt about that. I hope, as I close the door behind his fading back, that he will turn around, throw away the cigarette, hugs me, holds me and all my pieces would be one again as he whispers he would never let me go. But I stand all alone in the hallway, waiting for anything to change, waiting for the tears to fall, they come anyway. I’m searching for a way to ease the pain, the pain that will never be eased by myself.

I walk into the room, the floor seems to fall away from under my feet. The walls collapse, my world with them, and my mom races towards me, holding me as I fall down, crying with me. But crying doesn’t stop the heaviness of the weight that pushes me down, deep down into the darkness. Crying doesn’t help at all, it doesn’t even release me for a moment, yet I can’t stop the tears from falling. The darkness doesn’t comfort me, the arms around me don’t hold my pieces together, and the arms that could do this magic have disappeared forever. God, why can’t I stop hoping, why can’t I stop begging for his return? Why couldn’t he just love me, just as much as I loved him? Of course we had bad times, every couple does, but the good ones were a enormous larger number. Why couldn’t he remember them, as he looked at me?

He held my face as the first tears fell, and as I watched his eyes I couldn’t stop the flood anymore. I’m already wondering when the flood will stop. I don’t think it will before my heart drowns in it. I can’t help but think that if it drowned I might be better off. You see, for the darkness that sleeps bring, there is no hurt, no sorrow and no anger. There is peacefulness, and I’m reaching out to that peacefulness before the darkness takes me over.

All the memories we had rush through my head now, banging against the walls of my consciousness, screaming because they don’t know what is happening to them. They don’t know I just want to bury them, never look at them again, because they are the reason the pain doesn’t fade. I lay down and try not to think about his touch, his kisses, and how none of those will ever be mine again. I close my eyes and they stay closed because my tears work as some kind of glue. A heavy tears burst, and I’m really thinking that ripping out my heart would hurt less than what is happening to me now. I’ve been through this already a few times, and it feels like every time is getting worse. I fall asleep, but my body knows that when I wake up, everything will be the same.


37 gedachten over “TEENAGE DIRTBAG

  1. Engels lezen vind ik een makkie, maar zelf in die taal een blog schrijven: ik geef het je te doen!
    Je dochter is er uitstekend in geslaagd haar gevoel te beschrijven en over te brengen. Zeker een talent. De appel valt niet ver van de boom 😉

    Liked by 1 persoon

  2. Hè. In geval van harteloos dumpen en drie tellen later *tralala* met een stomme snol aan de arm voorbij komen kunnen we nog lelijke dingen zeggen, ‘m motherfucker noemen stil bij onszelf denken dat ’t maar goed is dat je van ‘m af bent. Maar nu? Jee, sterkte.

    Liked by 1 persoon

  3. Ach lieverd, als je maar heel goed in je oren knoopt dat dát wat nu kapot is, nooit meer heel zal worden. Klinkt misschien even niet leuk, maar ik meen het echt. Je wil hem het liefste platknuffelen en deze nachtmerrie vergeten. Al zou hij ineens voor je staan, zeggen dat hij van jou houdt… het werkt niet meer. Trap er alsjeblieft, als dat moment komt, niet in. Echt niet doen. Je komt er bovenop, je vind een vent die je wereld zal rocken en geloof me… de tijd die je gehad hebt zal altijd een plek in je hart hebben. Maar, laat nooit iemand die je brak, weer aan elkaar plakken.
    Je dochter heeft het prachtig geschreven, maar dat wil ze niet horen. De wereld is even zwart, het zal wachten worden op de zon die ooit weer opkomt. En dan, dan kickt ze ass! XXX

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Wat een schreeuw uit haar hart! Wat prachtig geschreven. Ben er stil van en in tranen. Ik voel zo met haar mee, al gaat het met mij nu heel goed en had deze gebeurtenis in mijn leven veel eerder moeten gebeuren. Hoe jong of hoe oud je ook bent, een garantie voor een leven lang samenzijn krijg je nooit.

    En Cassilda heeft helemaal gelijk.. lief kuikentje van Myriam…
    Je wilt misschien heel graag proberen opnieuw te beginnen, maar dat werkt echt niet meer. De maanden of jaren die je misschien weer samen bent zullen later verloren jaren kunnen blijken…
    Ik kan het weten! Sterkte, je komt er doorheen hoor!
    Dikke smuffel!

    Liked by 1 persoon

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