Today I am tossing and turning in bed, while waiting in my thoughts for the year to end soon, as if the end of the year were the starting point for rewriting the life I dream of.
Of all the pack, I am the weakest wolf, the one who walks around crestfallen in fear of hurting someone. Many times the rest wait for me to arrive at my destination because I am delayed by the agony caused by the anxiety of thinking so much about the future.
Impulsive, as if it were an endless wave of the sea, or perhaps a coffee maker without a filter where all the unpleasant lumps pass into your cup. I fear then the answers of the world and I do not ask because I do not want to listen.
And when I portray myself, I still see myself as the weakest wolf in the pack, afraid to walk the streets alone.
When I observe my behaviors from the outside, I am nothing more than a fishbowl loaded with rain, someone who expects reason from the outside, an external calm instead of an internal one, but I never get it from the outside.
That's when my partner looks at me and whispers the word nobility in a smile. Between a small buzz of the air I reflect myself in this exterior, where an image of my like a rock-solid strength is built, attentive, listening.
I have spent most of my life telling as my story the repressive pains that I created for myself, conditioning my abilities by fear of the answers, when it came to looking for some villain in a story I was the one who raised my hand, alleging that I could serve the role by being impulsive, by feeling irritated, by fearing and lowering my face.
Because that's how I felt, that the world was pointing at me, that I had to excuse and apologize because something in me was wrong: Oh, excuse me sir, I am a very clumsy person and you have paid for that. Unknowing my rights to have limits, just because I was afraid of rejection.
That's when I ask my partner: What story would you tell about me?
And he laughs because he is aware that it is a question to which I do not seek an answer for fear of what may be said, the story I have always told of my life is dark, a place where the sun no longer exists with the phrases floating around me: ''I'm a bitter, bad person''. Am I?
Then he answers: empathetic and loving, you are noble because despite the damage you have received you continue to help people, if I could compare your character with a texture it would be velvet, soft. You laugh and sing in excess, transmitting the joy of your soul, you never stop helping or fighting.
And with a heart full of magic I understand that the story I tell about myself is nothing more than the processes I have had to go through to reach the love I express today, which after all, my brain still takes care of underlining all that as if it were still true. When others come to me the first thing I say is: Hey! No, stop judging yourself. Why do I do it with me then?
What is the story that builds me now to start a new life? And the answer is to live it, without holding it, without squeezing it, simply to love it. I have already descended into the warmth of emotional disaster and even if I forge a statue of that self, it doesn't mean that it is still there even if I want to believe it, I just dance around it feeling free from the chains that conditioned my soul, loving, laughing, learning, without letting myself fall again.
The story that builds my new life is to let me live it as in my fantasies: coffee, meditate, laugh, love and embrace them all, accepting my mistakes, without judging me and letting go of the desire to control.
My presentation card was always: ''I am a bitter, impulsive, irritable, lonely person''. Well, it's been a long time since I've been not, my dearest, so it's time to let go of that card and start rewriting another one: "I'm a dreamy person, who wants to learn from her mistakes, I like coffee and laugh too, plants are my therapy and I've learned to love the days with all my soul''.
Sounds better, doesn't it?
