On being alive

24 feb. 2025

I've been wanting to get back into this whole website thing. I like it here but I've been drowning. You know the meds can only help you so far, then it's up to you and sometimes I don't have it in me. I'm disappointed. I used to think I would do so much and now here I am, somehow an adult and alive and I still struggle to shower, to cook for myself, to wake up. All I want is to be outside, in the world. Feel the air, swim and scream when a seaweed brushes against me. I want to feel connected with what is, with people, but it's too far away. Maybe I am not alive enough yet. I used to think I would be dead and now I am not. I don't want to be. I'm surprised it feels worse. I want to live and it feels worse. I will forgive myself for wanting to die and leaving me as helpless as I am now. I did what I could and I was a child. I often think of this painting the lady in the river surrounded by leaves and flowers. I envy her, I think.

On Loving the Unreal

9 sep. 2025

I don't really know where this is going. All I know is that I need to write something down right now because I feel too much.

I woke up this morning with the urge to listen to One Day from the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack and it's been on repeat for an hour. That's the kind of mood I am in right now. I mean I know I have Robin Hobb to blame (I finished the Farseer Trilogy last night). I think I woke up in the middle on the night thinking I HAD to write something down because I'd been dreaming about the Farseers and it felt important. I still fell right back asleep, though. I can't remember what it was.

I don't talk to people enough to know if this is a universal experience. Does everyone fall into fictional worlds like that ? I feel consumed by my own imagination (with the help of someone else's) and it's so... painfully nice ? If that's a thing. It feels like a thing. Yearning for something you know isn't real. And not for it to be real but to just be present in your mind. All the time. How crazy is that ? How great are humans that we can feel that ? Love so much something someone made up.

I wish I had a second mind I could talk to about these things. Another mind to obsess with me over all those fake people, and fake places. My boyfriend has been nice enough to let me talk and talk about Fitz and Verity and all that was happening in the books but it's not the same. He's not so "in love" (for a lack of a better word) with all of it.

I know it's some kind of coping mechanism. Because I'm not too fond of real life and I am prone to melancholy. And I suppose I always bestow this kind of love on fictionnal men because I knew few of them as a child and I guess I was filling a void. I mean it all started when I was two with Phoebus from The Hunchback of Notre-Dame musical (the french one from the nineties), so it's not like this is all new to me. Actually, Fitz and Verity are anomalies in my long list of scarlet red flags (cough cough kylo ren at the top of it) so that's nice. What I'm trying to say is that I don't think I should mind. I'm trying to make myself feel bad because I believe it's not a very feminist thing to do and I'm used to not letting myself enjoy things. But why do I do that ?

Anyway, this all had very little point, but I feel a bit better. I'm going to keep listening to Hans Zimmer and try to do something with my day. I hope yours is nice, whenever (and if-ever) you are reading this.