The night is full of terrors
monsters creeping around
am full of demons
The night is full of terrors
monsters creeping around
am full of demons
Travelling is a promise of something new and better. It’s a moment of oblivion. It’s a chance to see the light with blue eyes. To touch the sky and get burnt by the sun. To taste the sweetness and bitterness of other, different worlds. To feel the joy of adventures, and at the same time let the tears of weariness after long journey go by. To finally breathe.
I need to feel again. I’ve been drowning in grey waters of numbness for far too long. Antidepressants may save your life but they kill your emotions. You’re like a statue looking around and feeling nothing. Am I ready to face pain, fear, doubts, and sorrow once more? I don’t know. But I want to be. Here. Now. Not somewhere. Not someday. Not someone else.
“I saw the sunrise
sky turning vivid colors
I thought it was the beginning
Perhaps it was but for someone else
For me there was only darkness left”
“The sea was calm that day
soft wind caressing my face
the rays of sun warming my cold heart
But inside my metropolis of ghosts
the storm was coming
burning the leftovers of peace
Leaving only ashes behind”
It was a strange feeling to come back to London after all this time. The city which has so much to offer yet often refuses to share it with you. The city that makes you fall madly in love with him with his beautiful lights, amazing architecture and rich culture. The city that seduces you shamelessly with his intensity of shades and atmosphere only to trample over you in the end. I felt like a burnt candle walking by the Thames and inhaling the sweet scents of promise. And at the same time, I felt alive.
The last day of the year always makes me sad. When I look back I can only see a shit tone of failures and suffering. I shouldn’t be so hard on myself, I know. I’ve been through hell yet I’ve survived. That’s got to count for something, right? I’ve learned that ambition is a killer. Don’t bite off more than you can chew, that should be my new motto. Not some fucking “Per aspera ad astra” which leads to more disappointments and bitterness. I come from nowhere and I have nothing after all so I can’t expect more from life, can I?
But when the new year comes I always think it will get better. It’s a wishful thinking. I don’t care about money (as long as I can live and travel not like a ragamuffin), health (that ship has sailed when I’ve destroyed it after many years of inflicting myself pain), love, family, and home (not for me, I guess). But this time it will be different. No more new year’s resolutions, wishes, and hopes. It’s time for me to act on it not just dream. It’s time for the courage and being grateful for those tiny moments of joy. Sunset on the beach in the Caribbean with a hot guy or cool people around me. Tranquility, appreciation of beauty and simplicity of life instead of feeling like a loser looking back at other “successful” people. I know it won’t be easy, it never has.
So to all of you who have similar experiences or feel the same pain of existence – let’s be brave this year. Let’s not just talk or dream. Let’s do it! I believe we can make it. We never know when the next storm comes, after all.
And for the great beginning of the year here are a few photos taken in my sweetly cruel London this Xmas.
And yet again I’ve put myself at risk. Of losing myself? My dignity? Eventually my life?
I don’t remember what happened. Maybe I just had too much to drink. Maybe someone put something into my beer. Maybe my demons woke up and were too strong to fight them. Who knows. I’m done thinking about it. I’m done analyzing my fuckedupness. It only leads to more suffering. And self-hatred.
I know it was dangerous. I know it could end even worse (because how many times I can put myself through such situations? Where is the limit? Not waking up at all?). And I know I have to stop punishing myself. I have to get my shit together. Because there is a limit. There will be a moment when they will bury my beaten, raped body somewhere in a dump, and no one will ever know where. Is it really how I imagine my future? Is it really something I believe that I deserve?
I thought that a man gets wiser when he’s older. The grown-ups also tell you that when you’re a teenager and they want to shut you up. And even though you don’t want to listen to them you think they might be right. Because there has to be a point in life when you know what to do. When you’re confident and don’t feel like a worthless piece of shit. When people don’t laugh at your ideas. When they listen to you, when they care about your opinion. Right?
Ah, but what a bunch of crap! Sometimes I wish I was naive. I wish I didn’t know all of that. I wish I wasn’t so cynical because of it. I wish I wasn’t so sad and hollow inside. But I can’t change the past. I can’t be someone else. And those thoughts are pointless. I don’t want to do the things that I should do. I want to do beautiful, nice things. That are good for me. I don’t want to hurt myself anymore. Why do I keep doing that anyway? Because of some evil voice from the past? No, I’m an adult and whatever happened to me back then doesn’t matter now. I’ve let it dominate my teen years and 20s. But now it’s over. I am the one in charge of my life. And I will take care of myself. I will be good to myself.
It’s the middle of September and I’m sitting on the beach in Palma de Mallorca (not freezing, homeless Warsaw!). Rays of sun are warming my cold heart. The sound of waves is like a sweet melody calming my soul. I haven’t risked anything by coming here. So, I’m going to enjoy it. And relax. Let it be a fucking yoga retreat!
Because even if nobody cares if you end up dead in a gutter.
Take care of yourself
Because no one else will.
Be good to yourself.
It took me a long time to realize it. it will take even longer to actually live with it.
What’s the point of wandering?
to find a better place?
But the loneliness will always capture me
in its claws
of no tomorrow
Oh, my god. What was I thinking? That I can make it? That my book will finally start selling? Really?!! That I could support myself with teaching/translations/writing articles before this magic moment of success happens?
I thought I did think it all through, I was already freaking out before I came here. But there was always this stupid hope. The motherfucking chance. And what now??
What do I do? I had a lot of job offers lately, but they didn’t turn into any gigs. It’s not like I don’t have any money, that I will be homeless or something.
So breathe. Man, just breathe.
Fuck, I’m having a panic attack. And I’m meeting with my Tinder lover in a couple of hours. He came into Palma from Italy. Oh my god. What the hell is wrong with me. With my life. The more I try, the more I do, the more I work hard it just doesn’t work out in the end.
What am I? A spoiled brat? Come on, I’ve been through hell and I survived it. I can make it now. Right? Sure.
I just have to go take the shower, make myself pretty for the boy and drink something to calm my nerves. It’s going to be all right.
I’ve spent an amazing day at the beach in Mallorca yesterday. Nobody will take that away from me. I can be homeless, poor, get drunk or high under the bridge, but no one will ever take the memories of those beautiful places that I’ve seen.
Yup, that’s how I comfort myself.
Just breathe, damn it!