A very productive Sunday

 We are still very far from each other. The initiative is there, but it's not real. You say you're less sure than other times (good to know, now, that you weren't that sure before) about breaking up being the right choice, but you don't give me alternatives. You don't give me valid reasons. And I don't know if I have the strength to carry on trying given the past experiences. I breathe once or twice strongly and I do my best to remember why I want to have a life with you. It was easy to see it with the others, professional routes were taking us to different paths but things and a culture in common kept us together. We don't have that but we talked about having a professional project together. The idea of making an NGO with you sounded like a dream, specially with the disenchanment of the masters. But it doesn't seem like something you actually want to do, since you haven't done anything about it. And the masters and the cinema completely drained my energy and I promised myself that the moment I finish the semester I would join and work alongside with whatever you had created by that time. But you haven't done anything in all these months, how do you expect me to trust you if the pillar that is supposed to support our life hasn't even begun to be planned? We could apply this question to almost any aspect of this weird and dysfunctional common life we have created. I opened to you since the moment you let me and I vomited to you all the emotional charge I was carrying for months and I know it wasn't right. But there were tremendously important stuff for a relationship that you didn't tell for months. You should have told me a lot of things a lot before. And now all you say it's reduced to a lie because I can't know when you will surprise me again with some exclusive news you should have told me almost a year ago.

You have been lying to me since we met. Sometimes by omission, sometimes openly, but you never told me the whole truth. Our relationship is based on you telling me half-truths despite the fact that I only asked honesty from you from the first moment, and me forgiving you because by the time I found out about the first lie I was already so in love with you that the idea of being in Croatia without being able to talk to you, touch you or kiss you simply terrified me. On the other hand, I know we could be more that this fear. I know the intention is there, but I'm not sure we have enough will and resources. I love you like I have never loved anyone before, I have seen you grow as a person and a partner without losing your essence, but there's too much at risk. And I took off the ring. I read myself and remember all the bad, I read about attachments and the resources to build a healthy relationship and I trust there is still hope, but not too much. Because, after all, all I can think about is you flirting with (or rather being flirted by) all the girls on the exchange, getting drunk, having sex with someone at the hotel, we know you have experience on that. And everything goes to shit again.

It's Sunday and the body knows it

 Last night I was not sleepy. Today I am not sleepy. I woke up at 7:30 like I used to do when we were in Daruvar, after only five or six hours of rest. I remembered the day we went for a walk, it was still the first month, you wanted to go to Lidl and you didn't want me to go with you. "Maybe I want to call some friends". Honestly, I thought you were the most social guy in the world, I was jealous of it, of the thought of having friends that actually keep in contact with you several times a week, I thought you must've been really special if you had friends like that. I never considered the concept as an eufemism. It never crossed my mind that friend could mean girlfriend, specially given that, seeing my sadness for not letting me go with you, you kissed me on the spot before leaving.

I have always tended to think the best of people, that they are true, they are good, they don't hide on purpose because that's what I want people to think of me. Of course I knew you weren't telling me the truth (I'm not that naive) but I didn't think you were lying to me. But you lied so much that, after all this time, now I can't believe anything you say. And it hurts because I really want to. I want to build something beautiful with you, but the foundations have never been strong enough. Maybe we could, with a lot of effort, work, time and money we don't have.

It was stupid and reckless since the first moment. You coming to my house as a friend, without a return ticket, putting my world upside down. And me letting you in, opening completely to you without receiving anything in return beyond some sex. It's raining today. I can't concentrate. I have to start doing things. But I just want to go back to bed and lie down. I want to hurt myself a bit, just enough to feel something different from this emptiness. I'm gonna clean instead.

I had pasta and I didn't finish it

 Sebas wanted me to watch this film we laughed about for years. I remember when it came out, six years ago, when it was still weird if a non-Ghibli anime film arrived to the cinema. "I want to eat your pancreas" and we just couldn't believe that was the real title. Critics were nice but just the name was so stupid we couldn't go. He watched and said to me today it's probably one of his top 10 films (he didn't specify if general films or anime), that he had only cried more with Coco. That's worth watching, then, and there I went, downloaded it and put it. I don't like anime anymore, it only has four or five types of stories repeating themselves over and over. This one, after all, was another slice of life. With an interesting plot-twist, yes, but nothing more. I was there crying, of course, when you replied to my text. Almost at the same time the girl who is gonna die (spoiler alert) was giving a speech about what living meant to her. Connection. Interaction with people. A lot of very nice drawings of people loving eachother. And there I was, pretending I was not falling apart while replying to you. Debating about answering to the good night. Thinking what to do next, the subtitles desyncronized, it lost a bit of the magic but I wasn't liking it that much anyway. I'm becoming a potato little by little, hiding in the ground, not even wanting to cry anymore, wondering if you will ever ask about the cold I was having but probably you won't even remember so I hide a bit more. I don't want to cry, I don't want to make a project plan, I want a bit of sun and a coffee place open after five and I want you to ask about my cold and to bring me some stupid souvenir that reminded you of me. But I can't expect you to love me like that. I don't. But it is what I need. After all we will all die from pancreas stuff and I don't want to eat your pancreas, eugh, I don't want your soul to live inside me but deep down a little piece is already with me.

English below

 Es que no falla. Lucía está triste, Lucía escribe. En este caso es más necesario que otras en las que solo vengo a quejarme, intento dejar clara mi postura, hacer una declaración de intenciones, de principios (y si no te gustan, no tengo otros, como Marx...) y hacer en la medida de lo posible un juramento católico, apostólico y romano de mantenerme fiel a lo que aquí diga, que por otro lado viene a ser de lo más sencillo: quiero dejarte. Es una jodienda, si yo lo sé, estamos perdidamente, no, asquerosamente enamorados el uno del otro, nunca las hormonas me habían durado tanto de forma tan constante, es verte y que el cerebro se me derrita. Y precisamente por eso necesito escribirlo, recordarme de alguna forma que no todo es eso (porque no lo es) y cuando no estás conmigo me acuerdo de por qué no deberíamos estar juntos. 

Voy a empezar por lo más sencillo: dices que una relación a distancia no funcionaría y yo te doy la razón. Te la doy tanto que me parece extrapolable a una relación sin distancia. Quiero decir, estoy bastante convencida de que para que una relación normal funcione también debería funcionar a distancia, al menos durante un cierto período de tiempo. Y está claro que nosotros no funcionamos y, seamos realistas, no sabemos cuánto va a durar este ir y venir ni si en algún momento después de esta semana tendrás que volver a irte y yo no quiero estar así mucho más tiempo.

No tenemos nada en común. Y esto ha sido así desde que nos conocimos, el problema es que al principio tampoco importaba tanto, la prioridad no era conocerse a fondo, no fuera a ser que nos pillásemos (ejem, ejem...). Pero ahora estamos aquí, un año y pico después y yo no sé qué hacer contigo en el sentido más literal de la palabra. No sé de qué hablar, no sé qué música poner, no sé qué película enseñarte, no sé qué libro regalarte. Nuestros temas de conversación se reducen al Erasmus y a las comparaciones entre países y me aburro. Tu falta de iniciativa me agota y me molesta terriblemente que estés dispuesto a salir y a socializar como si no hubiera un mañana cuando estás por ahí y conmigo no quieras hacer nada más que salir a dar un paseo.

No consigo entender el por qué de tus acciones. Me he pasado la última semana leyendo artículos sobre neurodiversidad en un intento desesperado de entenderte, pero simplemente no te encuentro en las definiciones y no sé qué puedo aplicar a tú siendo tú y qué es parte de esa cultura báltica a la que no consigo encontrarle sentido. 

Eres un manipulador de órdago. Lo volviste a hacer en Jerez, llorando y diciendo que tú también te merecías algo de amor. Oh, cómo sabes cómo pierdo los papeles cuando lloras. Cómo se me va todo el razonamiento a la mierda cada vez que siento que te puedo estar haciendo daño de verdad. Y lo sabes y lo usas en mi contra, confío en que no eres totalmente consciente de ello pero eso no impide que esté mal.

Estoy harta de sentirme insegura a tu lado. Y soy plenamente consciente de que esto no es culpa tuya, pero tampoco me había pasado antes. Mi autoestima nunca ha estado para tirar cohetes pero ahora mismo me soplan y me caigo y es, inevitablemente, culpa tuya. Porque yo te dejé tratarme así de mal en pos de un futuro imposible y dijiste que me tratarías mejor si pudieras pero el daño ya está hecho, lo que estaría bien es que me trataras bien ahora y tampoco lo haces. Decirme que me echas de menos cuando te amenazo no es tratarme bien, es puro miedo.

¿Pero miedo a qué, exactamente?¿Qué te estoy dando que tienes tanto miedo a perderme? No soy tan especial, nunca lo he sido, siempre he sido una intensa y una llorona pero poco más. No entiendo por qué no me dejas seguir con mi vida después de este parón imprevisto, por qué no vuelves a tus youth exchanges completando la pokedex cuando es claramente lo que te hace feliz, no yo. Usa tus nuevos conocimientos sabiamente y deja que esté sola un tiempo prudencial, que bien me hace falta también. Volveré a mis playlists de cortar, a Manel, Mika, La Oreja de Van Gogh, Keane, los Red Hot y Dire Straits, a ver Amélie, Enredados y Las Chicas Gilmore (#TeamJess) por millonésima vez y se nos terminará pasando, como todo.

(Translated with Deepl because I'm lazy)

It doesn't fail. Lucía is sad, Lucía writes. In this case it's more necessary than others in which I only come to complain, I'm trying to make my position clear, to make a declaration of intentions, of principles (and if you don't like them, I have no others, like Marx...) and to make as far as possible a catholic, apostolic and roman oath to remain faithful to what I say here, which on the other hand comes to be as simple as possible: I want to leave you. It's a fuck-up, I know, we're madly... no, disgustingly in love with each other, my hormones have never lasted so long in such a constant way, it's seeing you and my brain melts. And that's precisely why I need to write it down, to remind me somehow that it's not all that (because it's not) and when you're not with me I remember why we shouldn't be together.

I'll start with the simplest thing: you say that a long-distance relationship wouldn't work and I agree with you. I agree with you so much that I think it can be extrapolated to a non-distance relationship. I mean, I am quite convinced that for a normal relationship to work, it should also work at a distance, at least for a certain period of time. And it's clear that we don't work and, let's face it, we don't know how long this back and forth is going to last or if at some point after this week you'll have to leave again and I don't want to be like this for much longer.

We have nothing in common. And this has been the case since we met, the problem is that at the beginning it didn't matter so much either, the priority wasn't to get to know each other in depth, lest we get a thing for eachother (ahem, ahem...). But now here we are, a year and a bit later and I don't know what to do with you in the most literal sense of the word. I don't know what to talk about, I don't know what music to play, I don't know what movie to show you, I don't know what book to give you. Our topics of conversation are reduced to Erasmus and comparisons between countries and I get bored. Your lack of initiative wears me out and it annoys me terribly that you're willing to go out and socialise like there's no tomorrow when you're out and about and with me you don't want to do anything more than go for a walk.

I can't understand why you do what you do. I have spent the last week reading articles on neurodiversity in a desperate attempt to understand you, but I just can't find you in the definitions and I don't know what I can apply to you being you and what is part of this Baltic culture that I can't make sense of.

You are a manipulator of the highest order. You did it again in Jerez, crying and saying that you too deserved some love. Oh, how you know how I lose my temper when you cry. How all my reasoning goes to shit every time I feel I might be really hurting you. And you know it and you use it against me, I trust you're not fully aware of it but that doesn't stop it from being wrong.

I'm sick of feeling insecure around you. And I am fully aware that this is not your fault, but it hasn't happened to me before either. My self-esteem has never been in a state to throw rockets but right now someone can blow on me and I will fall down and that's actually, inevitably, your fault. Because I let you treat me this badly in pursuit of an impossible future and you said you'd treat me better if you could but the damage has already been done, what would be nice is if you treated me well now and you're not doing that either. Telling me that you miss me when I threaten you is not treating me well, it's pure fear.

But fear of what, exactly? what am I giving you that you're so afraid of losing me? I'm not that special, I never have been, I've always been intense and a crybaby but little more. I don't understand why you won't let me get on with my life after this unplanned hiatus, why you won't go back to your youth exchanges completing the pokedex when it's clearly what makes you happy, not me. Use your new knowledge wisely and let me be on my own for a while, which I need too. I'll go back to my break-up playlists, to Manel, Mika, La Oreja de Van Gogh, Keane, the Red Hot and Dire Straits, watch Amélie, Tangled and Gilmore Girls (#TeamJess) for the millionth time and it'll wear off, like everything else.

I'm sick of...

 Estoy harta de tener que seguir conociéndote, de sentir que he pasado estos últimos meses junto a un completo extraño. ¿Cuentan a estas alturas las mentiras por omisión? I said the other day that I am missing you in a very mature way and I am, but it's more than that. It's me talking to him for an hour and not being able to talk to you for ten minutes straight. It's me not knowing what to tell you, and you not knowing what to tell me. It's us boring each other to death. Because you pretend to be interested and I try to be but we're not. The only thing in common that we have is the life we were trying to build together and that's taken away. And I just can't wait to see you but if I don't it's gonna be okay. This studio was never yours, it was never ours. It was just mine with sparkles of your presence, like a traveller passing by. I don't miss you. Echo de menos alguien con quien hablar, con quien hacer el amor, con quien compartir la comida porque no sé cocinar para uno. Pero no echo de menos tus conversaciones, tus ideas, mi absoluta inseguridad a tu alrededor. Me siento mejor ahora, siendo ajena a todo, sabiendo que puedes ponerme los cuernos cualquier noche, me da igual. Me da igual si hablas con ellas, si les dices baby por la noche o si les mandas fotos eróticas, me da igual. Tenía la intención de intentarlo pero teniendo en cuenta el éxito de la última vez creo que me puedo quedar con mis fotos. O del simple "what are you wearing?". I'm just not in the mood anymore. It is actually quite sad, quite naive. I really thought you could teach me something new, but you are so lost in yourself that you will never see anything beyond your nose. The thing that you like about me the most is the effort that I put in making you fall in love with me? In fucking seducing you? You have no idea, and after all this time you just don't get it. I didn't make you fall in love with me, you fell in love with me because I was in love with you and I was giving you all my attention, because I just wanted to know you. And I deserve more than that. And you deserve to love someone for who they are, not the attention they pay to you, like the ones you've told me about. You know, deep down, why it bothers me so much that you talk about them? It took you so little time, just hours even to feel something for them, to love them. How can you expect me to not compare when there's this group of people that you fell for in a matter of days whilst it took you over a month to just start noticing me?¿Cómo pretendes que me de igual? Y ahora otro campamento con muchachas guapas de Europa del Este a tu disposición. Simplemente estoy un poco harta de esperar a que me pongas los cuernos.