Every decision is a mistake
My first reaction was to protect myself. To avoid getting caught up in something that would keep hurting me. Again.
That seemed the right decision at the time. A clean cut. Endure the pain and it will heal. It will feel better this time. You are strong, you have been there before. You will be there again.
It makes sense.
But then why does it feel like a mistake?
Because, honestly, it is not what I really want.
I want the mess of a thousand cuts. I want to put my heart and my mind through trials and trials, to see how far they go without being completely smashed. I want to look into your eyes again, I want to laugh and I want to cry. I don’t want to give into the rational facade of myself that is dealing with it oh so well.
I am not doing well at all.
So what, if I want to take the risky path?
What if I don’t want to be safe?
Isn’t it worth it?
My mind tries to convince me that no. Think about what your friends told you, think about all your therapist tries to explain. They will spin in your head all the times it went wrong before. And you will nod and agree.
But not that deep down I am rolling my eyes.
This is just another mistake.
Good thing I am in charge of this mess. What now?
I play with my own mind, I disagree with my thoughts, I disregard my own rules.
Fuck this, let’s make another mistake, this one is not the one I wanted anyway.
Playing it safe is not my kind of mistake.
My kind of mistake is crying on the way home, sending long text messages, annoying the ass out of people, getting too drunk, messing up my makeup, laughing too loud, forgetting the words in English, changing my mind and changing it again. My kind of mistake is what leads me to break my own heart over and over and still convinces myself to go and do it again. My kind of mistake is believing the fucking impossible, expecting too much out of people, thinking I can make the right choice.
Honey, we can agree I can’t.
I am only good at making mistakes.
But you know, I feel in the end that my first decision was not a mistake. It was alright, but not for the reasons I initially thought.
I had in mind this decision was the right one because it was the best way of protecting myself.
But I don’t want to be protected.
Instead, I see now it was not a mistake. It gave me time and space to reasess all of it, to process my feelings and thoughts. To make me realise that, hey, I don’t want this to end.
I am overdramatic, yes.
Sorry you have to put up with me.
29.03.2022 — Barcelona