I write letters to myself

Dear Zed!

I am happy for your sense of humor and your endless sense of irony in all life situations. I know you use them against yourself just as much as you use them against other and I know that you hide behind a combination of them and that mouth-stained smile because you think they will prepare you for everything. I'd like to point out from behind the wall, that - in my opinion, because who the hell am I, you ask, and you have all the right to, so let me stress once again: in my opinion - this whole thing you're doing is totally useless, it's bullshit.
Darling, why don't you take the time to look deep into all of your dens, your pits, but make sure you don't miss any of the dark and dirty corners: see? there is no fucking way you can be prepared for every single scenario. And by every single scenario I mean EVERYTHING: life, death, sudden movements, long awaited actions, love, disillusionment, smells, tastes, leaving and coming back, mum and dad, son and holy spirit, all of the variations and dislikings. You get it, right? EVERYTHING. And my point is still this: you cannot be prepared. I mean, sure, you can make yourself believe that if you have your fingers crossed real tight behind your back, holding on to the multi-colored strings of your life and placing your thighs in just the right way, that if you do all this, then people will realize what a jackpot you are. Dear Zed, forgive me for throwing my truth in your sour face in this way, but: bullshit. In my opinion. You are not a jackpot. No, let me put it in another way: you are not a jackpot because of your crossed fingers and rightly put thighs. No no, I'll rephrase: there is no such thing as a jackpot. Zed, don't you get it? It's just you and Pablo Neruda and the butterfly, and Leonard Cohen, and the girls and the guys, and Melina, and desire and stupidity, and the smell of garlic, heartburn, your stuffed animals, radio in the early morning, pigeons on the square, you are just this way and just that way, and you have your faults, too, and you can be too loud, and you can also provoke people to get offended because of breast-sized handful of facts, and someone else can also stroke you with good intentions, but with their foot by mistake, which you take as a kick in the back, everyone can be momentarily stupid and sweet at the same time, it is possible to be happy because of nothing and unhappy because of something, even when you think you have your shit all together. Zed. Don't worry, it's all good. How can I make you understand that you cannot break anything, and if you do, then that's just the way it should be? It's OK to kill yourself over anything you feel is worth it, all right? But when you do, be so kind as to get right back up and make me some of that stuffed pepper in salted oil, you know, the one you had at that amazing little grocery store, and if it's OK with you, please cry your tears in it, too, while laughing, I really don't mind, because there are a lot of wonderful things in life, but let's be honest, there is nothing more wonderful than the stuffed pepper in salted oil. In my opinion.

(Bullshit. There is. You'll see.)

Here we go again

Confused is the word I'd use. I'm confused.
Tuesday was the third time I was told I have cancer. It was the third time my world fell apart. This time it took just a few hours to recover from the initial shock. This time I told people. This time something's different, because this time my doctors seem more worried than I do. I am confused because it used to be the other way around.
They are playing Beatles in the hospital waiting room and as I go in for my bone marrow biopsy, I can hardly believe that the music doesn't stop in the operating room. And then I kind of hate the person who decided to have music play in there because I will never be able to listen to Lucy in the sky with diamonds again without remembering the pain of the needle searing through my bones. I'm not one to complain about pain, but when it brings tears to my eyes, that I do not like at all.
My hospital roomate had a mastectomy yesterday, and all she talks about is how she hates it when there are homeless people on the street because they disgust her. So do the people on the bus, but thankfully she hardly ever takes the bus, her driver takes her everywhere. I'm just sitting there listening to her and I wish I was brave enough to go up to her and shake her, tell her to be grateful she is still here to witness the world around her. But I'm not brave enough, I just sit there and I am furious in silence.
My friends are amazing. I feel horrible for the worry I put them through, but I'm working through that. People have surfaced, because rumors travel fast. I get phone calls and messages telling me they are there whenever I need them. People I thought I would never hear from again are calling me to let me know they are thinking about me, praying for me.
This has always been a silent time for me. This has always been a time to reflect and to realize all the wonders around me.
I'm not scared at all. I'm ready to go if it's time and I'm ready to survive and keep living. I'm ready for anything right now, I'm ready for the fight. And if I happen to fall into the other 50%, well then so be it. It's been amazing.

3 ... 2 ... 1 ...

She says she is ready for her new heart, and that it will suit her well, and once again, she writes not just for herself, but for me too.
I'm not in love with him anymore, but my throat still closes up when I see him. I go to sleep thinking of another boy now, but I know my heart is still broken.
I also know that the new Boy is a special one and that I am the luckiest girl alive. I couldn't have asked for a better person to tell me that it's OK to feel sad after 7 years of nothing but the Ex. And while I know he's right, I also know that I've been sad so many times and for so long because of the Ex, that I'm done with that. I choose to remember why I wouldn't trade those 7 years for all the money in the world. Coz I wouldn't, that's for sure. But I also wouldn't go back there. I am ready to understand myself without him, to understand myself by myself and to understand myself with someone else.
Ready, steady, go!

5 years clean

I encourage people to talk about it. I'm an anti-drug activist. I talk to addicts, I volunteer for clean-needle organizations. I do everything I can, and I just realized, I never really talk about my story. I never share what it was like to be on it, to depend on a substance. I never talk about the disgusting shit I would do to make sure I got my next dose. I don't tell the tale of how I got clean.
It's an ugly story, as are all stories about addiction.
I got into it because "everyone else was doing it". In reality, the guy I liked was doing it, so what better way to get close to him than to try whatever he was into? I got what I wanted. I got the guy, and I got wonderful years of feeling like the world was mine. I lost a lot of weight, which was pretty cool for a girl like me, who has always been way bigger than her peers. When I snorted, I was invincible. When I looked in the mirror, a hot chick was smiling back at me. The dark circles around my eyes disappeared as soon as I got my hands on the first few grams of the day. We were a family, we spent most of our time together. We helped each other out, but really, we were all self-obsessed and very very protective of our belongings. I had it easy, to be honest. My guy was the dealer, I never had to pay for anything. Well, not in money, anyway.
People died around me. They overdosed or their body got tired of the harrasment it was going through. I remember thinking this could never happen to me, I'm a smart user.
It was the 1st of February, 2009. We were hanging out by the bridge behind our apartment. By that time nosebleeds were a very frequent visitor in my life. Days, sometimes even weeks would just drop out of my head, I would have no idea of what I did a few hours ago. I thought I was happy and great. Our usual provider got caught, so we got our daily dose from a woman we had never even heard of. I clearly remember taking the first snort of the day, which would be the last in my life. It took about a minute for me to pass out. The next thing I remember is waking up on a hospital bed with my hands tied to the rails. I was so.fucking.scared.
What followed was hell on earth. It's not pretty when after days and nights of screaming from pain, sweating your heart out, pissing yourself, scratching the skin off your bones, shaking in misery, you finally give up, your muscles release themselves, and you just collapse and surrender. Rehab, missing your friends, a few months in Kuala Lumpur in a correction facility for privileged youngsters, regaining the weight, depression, losing all faith in yourself, loathing the world, your family, but mostly yourself. So many lessons to learn!
Today I am celebrating five years of not using. In those five years I bought cocaine twice, was offered pot and cocaine a number of times, thought about snorting millions of times, but I never did it. And for that, I thank myself every day. Every day I don't use is one more day I get to be proud of myself, and that's pretty cool.
So that's my story, there you go. No, I wouldn't change it even if I could, but I do want to make people understand that you shouldn't necessarily try everything. You should first know yourself to be able to decide whether you will just be trying it, or whether you will get hooked for life. Because once you become an addict, you are always an addict.

Guidelines

You have to know that sometimes I'll act like a 5 year old, I'll throw tantrums, I'll be insufferable. Mostly because I like you so much, I'll be frightened of the possibility of you leaving me. You have to know that sometimes I need my space, my alone time, my quiet time. I also need quiet time together with you. I need to be able to feel comfortable not saying anything, sometimes for hours. You have to know that when I'm wearing closed fancy shoes with long pants, I will be wearing ugly, goofy socks with them - just my way of rebelling against dressing up. I hate dressing up. Don't get me wrong, I'll do it if I have to, I'll even feel comfortable, but I will never ever actually like it. You have to know that I eat my side dish before anything else. No reason, I just do. OCD, perhaps. My routines are untouchable. I don't go to sleep without brushing my teeth. I can skip the shower if I'm really tired or drunk or there is no way for me to shower, but I will find a way to brush my teeth, no questions asked. In the morning I will listen to at least two songs of my choice, and if I'm running late and don't have the time to, I'll be crabby all day. You have to know that I love flowers. Yes, even if they were cut and killed. I just love them. Roses and lilies and those yellow ones I always forget the English name of. You'll have to let me go running alone at times. I love sharing the miles with you, but running is when I think, when I let all my stress out, when the world is mine and I dictate the rules. You have to know that I will go through fire and lightning for you, but one bad word about my family, and we are over. You need to support and encourage me when I find it hard to even look at them. You have to know that there are certain food types I don't eat. It's a texture thing, not a taste thing.You need to make me write when I'm in a slump. I am proudest when I write something I am satisfied with. You have to know that I need to go offline at times. I love the Internet, I love Facebook, I love Instagram, I love Whatsapp, I love texting, I love my cell, but there will be times when I need to switch it all off and enjoy the peace. A throwback-day of some sorts. Oh, and I need to go out into nature at least once every two weeks. If I don't by myself, you have to kick me - believe me, it will be better for both of us. Give me grand surprises any day! I don't need them to be public, I just need them to be well thought out and really meaningful. And grand does not mean expensive, remember that. I need you to know me inside out, I need you to be the person I will let in.

I need you to know that there is a lot of baggage I am carrying, but I am not that baggage anymore. I am OK now and I can promise you that I will give you my all, my everything, all of the minutes of my days, one at a time.

I am so fucking lucky

His sad eyes make me happy. His goofy smile cracks me up. His questions challenge me. His answers delight me. The way our eyes lock together makes everythin OK.

I have so much to be thankful for. I have this fairytale I am living, with the most wonderful friends, amazing flings, so much love. Conversations that make me think, that make me reconsider, that make me a better person. I have these truly mesmerizing people around me, people who I know could change the world, and I actually know that some of them will. I have friends all over the world, friends who are there for me no matter what.

I am so fucking lucky. I am so fucking lucky to be the person that I am.

c'est parfait

This. This is what I consider a perfect Friday night. My head resting on his shoulders, he's working on his laptop, I'm writing on my phone. In the background, some movie is on, but neither of us are really paying any attention to it. Pomelo and wine on the floor by the bed, occasional glances at each other. Quiet time, his deep brown eyes, the feeling of not needing anything else but this very moment. No worries about what happens when he goes back to New Zealand, no unnecessary sentences, no fake smiles.

It's been a confusing week. I've been happy (even when I was sad), I've been crying a lot (but I didn't mind at all), I've been having the most amazing conversations (with the most random people), I've been falling madly in love (with a guy who is home for a very short two weeks and lives about 18000 kms away).

But yeah. To be honest, I feel fine. Open, silly, calm, happy, relaxed. And loved by quite a few amazing people.

C.H.A.O.S.

The strangest thing happened at work today. For the first time in my life, I panicked because of work stuff. I became tense, I felt like crying, I was quite sure that there was no way I could complete the tasks. It was a sucky, sucky feeling and I don't ever want to experience it again!
I started thinking - why? why now? why am I stressing about all of this, when I have finally made the decision to leave? Why is this audit any different from all the other times when I had to prove myself? Why am I taking this so hard?
What the fuck is going on in my head?
I go to the opera, I cry. I watch About Time, I sob. I see my friend for the first time in five years, I hug him and my tears pour into his neck as the cold wind blows my hat half off my head. He holds my head, kisses my forehead and looks at me baffled. "Hey" - he says - "What the fuck? This is not you!" And he is so right, this is NOT me. This is a very weird version of me which I do not like at all. I'm vulnerable, I let myself fall off the track, I give my thoughts away, I drink myself into oblivion, I talk to strangers but don't really say anything. I want help, but I don't accept when someone offers. I curl my hair and then wash it out right away. I'm annoyed by everything, by the clothes on my body. I look at photos of myself and I see nothing.
It's like the best part of me has disappeared.
Or maybe, as someone told me a few hours ago, it has gone on vacation because it needed a little rest.
I'll take the latter option.
Whenever you're ready, dear best part of me ... whenever you're ready!

cannot find it

I want to write something that has
no man, no woman,
there isn't that damned
sexuality, covered/uncovered want to be liked,
no fears, legs in tights stretched out next to coffee tables in a bar,
no anger, no cynical facts that spring from hopelessness,
no humor without reason, and
no avoided, but barely scraped self-pity,
something where the disgusting, conceited, manipulative word, tights, isn't written down,
where my mum isn't there and neither is anyone else's mum,
there is no word of orphans and depression,
there is no contemporary literature and all its glory, no nail-bitten desire to be a hunter,
no free wine poured from one glass to the other, no snobs, no married people,
and none of all this shame,
no dancing, no chat window, no emotional smileys and stickers to substitue
words and feelings,
where I don't have to describe the Oh, passion, Oh, sex, Oh, you godlike female attractions,
where there is no tenosynovitis countable by text messages, no cardiovascular activity and heartburn,
no broken insulin pump, glass-windowed office fear,
no philosophical depth, no two-month notice period, no money problems,
no veiled love of life, no hatred of life with a side of cotton candy,
no dogs covered in huge blankets, no feelings covered in huge blankets,
there are no repetitions, no allusions, no hints,
there is no text,
there is
just
me
without music
until I'm bored.

Three little words

He is kind and caring. He is funny and smart. He is talented and amazing. He is gorgeous. He is a wonderful friend, a magnificent lover. He listens to every word I say as if he was drinking from my lips. He has eyes that tell stories you get lost in for days on end. He sings while washing the dishes. He dances like noone else. He reads poems to me and then talks about what they mean to him. He writes letters and devours books one after the other. He comes to the city center in the middle of the night so I don't walk home alone. He says it like he sees it, doesn't hold back.

And just when I would say this whole thing is too perfect to be true, three little words come to my mind.

He. Is. Married.

West Village and the rest

So he says he can see me in West Village. Because he has seen me there and he liked what he saw. He says he saw me be happy and free for the last time over there. Thing is, he has no idea what the reason was. And then this whole sentence just goes to show that he doesn't know me at all. Which I had suspected before, but still. My words are all over the place, I go to concerts and dance with my eyes closed. I smile, I listen to what everyone has to say, and I don't remember any of it later on. I roam the streets of Budapest until the sun comes up, and I meet so many people along the way, that by next day, I have no idea where the night had started. I sleep three to four hours a night, I discover weird things on my body. I fall in love every single day, sometimes for just a minute, other times for hours. My principles are probably planning a war against me because I have pretty much been ignoring them. Surprisingly, I can still look at myself in the mirror every morning. I have nothing to be ashamed of, to be sorry about, to keep a secret.

I can also see myself living in West Village, by the way.

A few of my favorite things

- That one moment when he looks at you and you believe that there is noone more wonderful than you.
- Talking in movie quotes and actually meaning the words.
- French fries! You can never have enough fries!
- The fact that there are at least three people I can call if I lock myself out of the apartment (which is more often than I like to admit), because copies of my keys are basically all over the city.
- The pictures on my phone. They are true testiment to my amazing life, which I tend to forget about way too often.
- Angels. In all shapes and sizes. Made of clay or plastic, in the form of people, or even invisible, I love them always.
- My new glasses. I feel like a new person.
- Ice cream. Full stop.
- Kisses in the middle of the night.
- Acqua di Gioia by Giorgio Armani.
- Happy days.
- Walking into a theater and still feeling like I am home.
- Standing in the front line at a concert, seeing them feel their music, giving and receiving.
- Falling in love with the most random beautiful people, even if just for a minute.

Saturday mood

At 11am I wake to him playing with my hair. I open my eyes, he's smiling. I don't care about what I look like, it doesn't matter what I say so I don't say anything. He opens his mouth: "Let's watch something. Do you want to choose?" I shake my head, he throws the blanket off of his body, stumbles over me and plants a kiss on my back. I turn my head, run my eyes over his muscles, the line of his back. The world's most beautiful male butt is standing right here in front of my writing desk, choosing a movie to watch. He turns, climbs back into bed, pulls me closer to him. The movie is called Last night, I see it starting, I grab my pillow, wipe off that single tear before it is even born, and I think to myself, I should be feeling a lot worse than I actually do right now.

In 2014 I need ...

Redirection, restart. Freedom.
To let go of the 2-3 things I haven't been able to so far.
To hug my oldest and dearest friends in July.
To watch where my money goes. To save up. To spend only on things I need.
To eat a lot more fruits and vegetables. I miss them.
To read, to read and to read.
To go out into the nature, spend more time hiking and chilling on the lawn.
To stand up straight, to dance more, to do a lot more of yoga and to stretch all the time.
To get up a half hour before I really need to at least three times a week, to spend time with myself, to find my center.
To get rid of all the bits and bobs that are holding me back without me even realizing it.

It's going to be a good year!

2013

A year of contradictions. I closed myself, but I told my oldest secrets to people I thought would never find out about them. I communicate a minimal amount of information about myself and my life, but I speak loudly and openly about the things that don't really matter. I laughed a lot, but I think I've only ever been this sad once before. I took the first step towards getting back into the arts, andhalf a year later I realized it was the last thing I wanted to do. I let go of a lot of things, but I have never felt this attached to others.
And Melina turned 14. This is unbelieable.

I travelled a lot. Italy, Belgium, France, Austria, Israel twice, Sweden, Switzerland, Finland, Romania, Holland, Slovenia, Serbia and a lot of plcaes in Hungary. A bunch of cities, a bunch of experiences, people and faces. Smiles and tears. Nights of partying, nights of working in strange countries, making conversations with strangers, dancing with weirdos, unkown hotel rooms, making friends with receptionists. Sea, guitars, cocktails. A huge storm, a lot of Excel sheets, questions, doubts. Knowing that it is physically impossible to perform 100%. Mornings when I had no idea which country I was in. A wonderful fling, hugging old friends - Mike, Angelo, Salpi. You want the truth? It was too much, it was too intense, there was too much to process in too little time.

I don't want to go into detail with family stuff, but when a sister says she doesn't care about her little sister, that's not cool. When a grandmother's Christmas gift is double the amount to one of the grandchildren than to the other two, that's not cool. When a grandmother doesn't look at her non blood-related grandchild as a grandchild after a divorce, that's not cool. When an uncle disowns his niece because she couldn't keep quet any longer, that's not cool. Just. Not. Cool.

Two friendships stayed broken, one was newly broke, another very important one was mended. It was hard work, but we knew that if we stood up from this, there would be no obstacles we wouldn't overcome in the future. My new friends mean a lot and prove that it is never too late to meet people.

Oh, the men! I was finally able to get rid of Mr. Curly Hair, and this time it wasn't with sadness and tears, but with comfort and smiles. Quite a few months were occupied by Mr. Psychopath, who turned out not to be a psycho, but a boy with a lot of bagagge. He gets a golden star for the way he behaved towards the end of the year. The Black Hair Prince turned my world upside down, we spent two amazing weeks together, which seemed more like ten years. His uncomparable eyes burned me forever, his words reassured me, and he clarified a lot of things for me. The Argentinian was a super experience, lengthy conversations and revelations, endless hugs, cheeky smiles, lattes and nose-kisses. Mr. Tel Aviv gave me the best farewell ever with the most gorgeous sunset I have ever seen and his guitar and the sea writing a love song together. I will never forget it!

And the music! Hungry Ghost, Yael Naim, Adele, Emeli Sandé, The Black Keys, The Neighbourhood, Woodkid, Leonard Cohen, a lot of Mastodon, a lot of Volbeat, Metallica, Low, London Grammar, Brian Crain, Norah Jones, Bullet for my Valentine, Lana del Rey, Dub FX, System of a Down and so many more. Lifesavers, that's what they are!

A lot of things happened - a partially broken ligament, a fully broken ligament, a cracked and bruised wrist-bone, vertigo, fainting, problems with my teeth, fever, endless nights at the clinic, scary results, MRI, scans, X-rays, gray spots, question marks question marks question marks. It might never end. It is fucking tiring.

What was 2013 like? Meeehhhh. That's what it was like.

Tragedies of our everyday lives

When your wife has no desire whatsoever to look at you in a sexual way. When there is no common language in which you can communicate with your teenage daughter. When you know just by looking into his eyes, that your friendship is destroyed forever. When your husband hits you and screams at you, and you make yourself believe that there is absolutely nothing you can do about it, so you just don't do anything about it. When you are cheating on your girlfriend who is planning to have kids with you, and you just smile and pretend that it is all good, you sink into the lukewarm shit, because it's just way too comfortable. When you think you are too clever and you don't directly ask for the truth, instead you go behind her back and decide what you think is the truth. When you judge people because there is nothing better you could do with your time, and it is always easier to dig into someone else than to try to fix your own life.

And then all of a sudden, everything came together

I probably had the most wonderful conversation of my life last night. The boy I let lead my life for the past seven - eight years, the one this blog was about so many times, the boy who made me fall in love with theater and then made me fall out of love with it; the boy who got me with just a look any time of the day, the boy who in my eyes is the most beautiful and sexy creature in the world, the boy who made me so excited with his views on the world; this boy came to my apartment, shattered all of his walls and restrictions, and told me everything there was to tell. He told me about the past eight years, the times when we weren't together, he told me what he felt and how he saw it all. He told me that he was sorry about a lot of things and that there are moments he will regret forever. He told me what I meant to him and what he thought he meant to me. He told me what he was afraid of, and what he is afraid of now. He spoke like he never has before, he had eyes like he never had before.

I got to see a completely new side to him when I thought there wasn't anything I didn't know about him already. I think much more of him now than before last night, if that's possible. I regret our story even less now than before last night, if that's possible.