I've been thinking about running to the mountains

pre and post reality striking me like a bullet

Hello and welcome everybody! It’s 7:42am! Tuesday 17th! Closer to Doomsday™ more than ever before!

The weather channel says that there will be a storm coming soon. I only see the big bright sun for now but there are heavy clouds in the distance. In Shadow of the Valley is playing softly in the background. My roomate is awake and drawing. I can hear the silent retreat. Yesterday my roomate and I cried most of the night because this might be the end of it all. The first person I came to live alone with at eighteen and the last I will live in here too. I think he is secretly in love. He confessed it once, years ago, I thought it had disappeared. He is the type of guy that will never tell. I’m a liability to our own love as friends. He hasn’t said a word yet.

The seven year stay overseas over the bright and mighty city. My friend group slowly disappearing until each went away and promised to come back and never did. Some are trying to still find a job back home. Two became accidental fathers. One got married. Two died. Everything ends at one point. And I’m not against change. If anything, this is the most excited I’ve been about it for a while. Can you see that it’s not that the sourness, the sadness, is not there. Of course it is. I can feel this city creeping under my skin and at the same time its saying: “Hey little lover, won’t you miss me?”, with big, beautiful eyes. But this day was written in the stars. I always knew that around this time in my life, past 25, I needed to go away, somewhere, anywhere, relocate and explore all the different colors and shapes of human experience while my senses still soak it all in.

It’s almost thirteen years later. A complete, haunting, thrilling, and beautiful life all over again. Its sad. Very sad. I will cry ferociously when I leave. But I dream of cocoa and fresh guava and plantains and strawberry fields. The mountains. They are calling me, I say once again. “What would your life look like in the mountains? I will ask you this in our next session.”— my therapist asked me over our last meeting less than a week ago.

I dare to dream.

1! 2! 123 GO!….

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four days later…

Saturday 21st. 12p.m.

Reality struck in my head like a bullet and made the tears flow and I let the gates open and the carefully ritualized day has become a day full of doubts. I am not making enough to make my dream possible.

I dream of living in the mountains…

But how?

I am frantically moving, my mind is moving fast and fast, but my body is still. My vision is a bit blurred, I hear JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure play in the background where my roomate smokes weed and I sit on my computer with numbers and bills and a long list of things I need, including therapy, that exceed my possibilities, while preparing lessons for later in the day.

“Like, in what do you spend money on?”— he dared to ask in a sarcastic and hurtful manner three days ago, realizing little after that he makes double of what I do. I exploded on him. He said sorry eventually. He was mad himself and did not wanted me to leave. The look in his eyes seems to be more understanding this last few days, at least. My only friend. Who also wants to possess me. And I hate it. I stopped going to therapy for two weeks because our electricity bill was over seventy dollars of what was expected. I broke down yesterday on the street because I could not afford to buy coffee.

I know what I need to do. It is not nice, it is not easy.

I wanted to avoid this at all costs, but my mind finds it easy to dissociate when needed. I star playing this character, this seducing little doe eye’s persona that slashes herself with Dior and uses her little Mary Jane shoes and little black dress with a choker that screams: “You could fuck me raw and hard”.

The idea of having dinner with a man and him paying me a full month’s worth of rent just because I make him laugh for two hours seems like the only option in my life right now. But I want you to know this:

I do not feel ashamed.

I do not feel morally wrong.

I know them well.

I can protect myself.

I have a goal.

What hurts is not the act. It’s how much I didn’t want it to come to this. I believed hard work would be enough. And now I understand. I am always one unexpected bill,
one cavity, one mistake away, from losing even a decent life.

It’s not so poetic anymore, is it?

I made you uncomfortable.

Didn’t I?

Coming with more soon,

-mia