Building on ruins

This is a piece I’ve deeply thought about writing, as I can’t tell myself that I’m a fan of cheesy writings. However, this is about me, about you, and everything in-between, a little longer Thank You note.

 I can recall starting this column in November 2019. It was a gloomy, cold day, and I was feeling low. I was trying to find something to do that would actually make sense, something that would help both me and others. So I thought that it would be a good time to actually put my Psychology knowledge and my personal background to good use. This is how Tuesday Conversations started: from the mix of the thought that I’m not able to write consistently, the need of finding meaning in my life, and the wish to tell my story.

This is how the blog column got to cover all kinds of topics, talking about feminism, suicide, eating disorders, anxiety, saying no, or creating boundaries for the interaction with other people. And I’ve been up for a pretty big surprise, have to say. Not only I have found that I actually can write about various topics consistently, but I have also discovered that there were people that needed these topics to be addressed.

It seemed like those were not just parts of my story, but parts of a whole bunch of other stories which have, by now, found their voice. It was like the tribe I didn’t know I was belonging to found me without me asking for it to happen.

And this brought me to one of the most surprising conclusions so far: something can be built from scratch, even if the foundation is a ruin. Ruins are not dead. Even if what you build is a narrative, a story having her focus on aspects that have been rather hidden than put on display your building has meaning and a purpose to serve.

I can’t help but remember a thing a friend told me when we were talking about writing, drawing, and letting our writings and drawings roam free on the internet: I have always wondered how it feels to write about things so intimate and to share them with the world. It was that moment when I understood that I don’t see the things I’ve faced or the things that hurt me in the past as a private area of my life. Not anymore. Once they stopped hurting, they turned into stories to be told about passing through dark places, as I believe that no one should ever pass through dark times alone.

For me, life means stories to be told, as they are the best way to actually put together a group. Because a problem that no one talks about is a problem that doesn’t actually exist. And mental health has been for too long an invisible problem to keep being ashamed of it, especially when that shame affects us all.

Obviously, it was and still is a process that leaves me speechless every now and then. I write, I post, and it happens to look at those materials and tell myself Did I really write that? Whoa. as my 16 years old self would rather have died than admit there’s something wrong with her. This column helped me not just bring some issues to light or help other people recover, but it has also given me a measure of my evolution. I’ve read the writings and seen how far I’ve come, sometimes without even noticing the evolution,  the direction of the process.

In the end, this is how we learn, by doing things and looking behind us every now and then. And this is how one gets to understand that healing is, indeed, a process. Something beautiful, something spectacular, something deep, unique, and extremely personal. At the end of the day, there is no actual recipe for fast healing and even the thought of a universal recipe to heal one’s wounds sounds like a fantasy plot.

Just like our traumas and our life history, our ways of healing are unique. There are no two individuals with the same way of healing their wounds or the same way of living through their suffering. Actually, the mere idea of it sounds absurd as one is reading this. But this doesn’t involve that there are no common points, as they certainly do. The beauty of it though is the fact that you can’t find those common points without being brave enough to step in the lights and tell your story. You don’t even have to tell the world all of it, or to use words. You can sing, dance, paint, act, sculpt, run, draw, photograph, even film your story, your way out of the hurting. You have total freedom when it comes to how much you’re feeling to express about your journey, and you have total freedom when it comes to the way you choose to do it.

Tuesday Conversations, my mental health column, will go on. I’m deeply thankful for all the wonderful people I’ve met along the way, for their support and critics that helped me make it better, and I hope that more and more people will become brave enough to start telling their stories. Your stories matter, your feelings are valid, and your healing process is worth it. You, as individuals, are worth love, appreciation, respect, support, and help. Go into the world and allow yourself to get them.

#re

I have everything and I will lose everything,
It happened once and it will happen again,
Says the thought that unravels like smoke
With every deep breath taken, every
Moment of pain that I count as disappearing.
Poof.

I have everything and I will lose everything.
Every single thing that I have upon myself
As dear, beautiful, meaningful, it will,
One day, be gone. A memory
Haunting the nights without the light
And asking me again: What if…?

I have everything and I will lose everything.
This is the curse written deep inside,
On the roots of the soul, where the sun goes to die,
In the cells of my muscles, where life
Throws daily parties, without having a Why?.

I have lost everything after getting to have
Everything.
And I have been rebuilding myself ever since
Don’t promise me everything, or anything at all
If you know, if you do know that
You’re gonna take away from me your gift,
Leave me cold hearted, empty,
I have no heart to rebuild anymore…

I have everything and I will lose everything
This is an obsession dressed as a mantra,
The history of the losses cutting deep into
My skin, my soul and my ambition,
Stealing the start of the story in the sunny day
When I have lost myself for the first time..
Since then,
Everything and anyone else I’m losing
Is just a pale reflection of that breaking point.
Another wound in the cemetery of the unfinished stories
For when the personal history’s just too Heavy to be carried on.

I’ve lost everything and all I have
Are the memories that haunt my mind,
Minute after minute, until the point
Of making my head become a dead place,
Undressed of dreams and colors,
An empty field where nothing ever grows
Anymore. Spinning
Day after day around the same
Three or four sequences that left
Fire traces on the soul
And opened the door to emotions I can’t control

I have everything and I will lose everything,
That’s the only life cycle that I know
And the faithful shadow following everywhere I go.
I am the one who counts losses
Instead of sheep when I try to sleep,
While imagining and recalling all
The ways and the times that I was forced to rebuild,
Just me and that handful of emotions,
Everything left that could be called a life,
Still keeping an eye on the horizon
While remembering now stranger hands
Touching my body and even stranger eyes
Leaving scars on my soul.

Yes, I have everything, but what if
Everything that made life feel alive
Was left in a past where I can not go back anymore?
Does this still count as death, or is it
How everyone else says, just a passenger phase?
How do you know what living from leftovers
Could feel like, when all you have is now?

Yes, I’ve lost everything again,
Trapped in the spiral of the three re:
Remember, relive, relapse
But above all the losses that I count
The ones keeping me up at night
Are just my mind and way to feel
I miss the way they made life real
And hate you for taking away
The little good of every day.