i can and i will

last time i wrote love letters to him,
begging to be loved, fighting for a future.
i was sad, yes, heartbroken, probably, but still full of love and hope.
and now there's just the overwhelming feeling of loss,
an emptyness in my chest thats pressing down on my heart.
a lost cause, a lost love, a lost life i had planned out in my head.
it's like i accidentally dropped a glass of water
and now the floor is wet and there a shards of glass everywhere
and i try to undo it, i just had it in my hand,
i need this glass of water to live, i need to drink it to survive -
but no matter what i do, ill never be able to put the fragents back together,
i'm unable to repair this glass, no matter what i do,
i cant get it back the way it was before, or the water back into it,
ill just stare at the floor almost surprised
that everything i had in my hand is just gone in a second and
i feel my socks getting wet and my face too.

 atürlich kann ich auf dich zählen, das hast du mir immer wieder versichert, natürlich liebst du mich -
    doch frei nach dem Unvollständigkeitssatz würde ich sagen dass beides weder bewiesen noch belegt worden ist.
    Ich konnte immer darauf zählen, dass du mir nach jeder Trennung deine Liebe beteuerst,
    mich aber nicht darauf verlassen, dass du sie während der Beziehung zeigst.
 
    Kurt Gödel hatte jahrelang Depressionen und später auch eine zwanghafte Essstörung,
    er hungerte sich schließlich zu Tode.
    Ein Schicksal dass mir auch geblüht hätte, hätte ich mich weiterhin von abgelaufenen Erinnerungen
    und verdorbenen Zukunftsträumen ernährt.

    Giuseppe Peano und seine Frau Carola sprachen vermutlich selten über die Axiomatik natürlicher Zahlen,
    doch die leere Menge zwischen uns nahm in unseren Gesprächen ironischerweise den ganzen Platz ein.
    Je mehr wir darüber sprachen, desto mehr potenzierte sie sich -
    und doch blieb nur die leere Menge selbst, nie mehr, nie weniger.


um zweiten Jahr folgte die Erweiterung der bislang gekannten Variablen
   und wir bewegten uns erstmals im negativen Bereich.
   wir hatten viele große gemeinsame Teiler, jeder größere Streit trennte uns etwas mehr voneinander
   und es wurde immer schwieriger ein gemeinsames Vielfaches zu finden.

   Wie auch über Euklids leben kaum etwas bekannt ist,
    warst auch du zurückhaltend mit Informationen über deine Vergangenheit.
    Nach fast 1000 gemeinsamen Tagen könnte ich alles was ich über dich weiß in 1000 Wörtern zusammenfassen.
    Aber Worte waren sowieso nie dein bevorzugtes Kommunikationsmittel.

    Dennoch versprachst mir die Unendlichkeit, die Aufhebnung der Endlichkeit, einen Vorgang ohne ende
    aber mit Beginn. Und das bekam ich auch: endlose Diskussionen, nie geschlichtete Streitereien,
    ein offenes Ende ohne Lösung, gleichzeitig mit unendlichen.
    Dieses Leben, ein paar Jahrzehnte, nur noch einmal weinige Minuten, das hätte mir schon gereicht.

 uälend waren die letzten Wochen, unsere Beziehung nur noch eine Ansammlung schlecht addierter Brüche.
     Wie Leonhard Euler wurden wir im ersten Jahr auf einem Auge blind für die Fehler des anderen,
      versuchten sie nicht wahrzunehmen
      bis wir schlußendlich auch alles Gute übersahen.

      Durch die aufgestaute Frustration, das fehlende Verständnis füreinander, den gekränkten Stolz
      fielen wir in den finsteren Abgrund verletzter Gefühle
      und blind vor Wut verloren wir einander aus den Augen.
      Wir haben uns nie wieder gefunden.


 ${\displaystyle \mathbb {R} }$eelle Zahlen, so Wikipedia, bieten für jedes „stetige Problem“, das in einem gewissen Sinne beliebig gute,
    nahe beieinander liegende näherungsweise Lösungen hat, auch eine reelle Zahl als exakte Lösung.    
    wir müssen also wohl jenseits der reellen Zahlen sein, sonst hätte ich ein Lösung gefunden,
    die nicht Trennung lautet.

    Denn das ist keine Lösung, sondern ein Abbrechen der unvollendeten Rechnung, ein Aufgeben der Aufgabe.
    Doch ich habe in unserer Formel nicht mit unerwarteten Faktoren gerechnet,
    deiner hemmenden Zukunftsangst, deiner unkontrollierbaren Gefühlsausbrüche,
    deiner Mutter.
   
    Über vieles könnte ich hinweg sehen, ich halte deine Hand und nehme mir alle Zeit der Welt,
    die Zukunft anzugehen, denn Zeit hätten wir gehabt, ich ertrage deine Wut und halte deine Frustration aus,
    Doch gegen die Liebe und den Beschützerinstinkt einer alleinerziehenden Mutter hat niemand eine Chance.
    Ich weiß nicht was oder wen sie sich gewünscht hätte, aber ich hoffe dass deine nächste Freundin es sein kann.

haos herrscht in meinem Kopf und doch kann ich nicht anders als mir auszumalen,
   wie unsere Gleichung geendet hätte, wären wir nicht so verschieden gewesen.
   Mit dem Altbau im 3. Stock, den zwei Zimmern, der Küche, Bad und dem kleinen Balkon.
   Mit einem kleinen gemeinsamen Nenner, vielleicht auch zwei oder drei.

   Mit imaginären Zahlen hätten vielleicht sogar wir eine Lösung für alle Probleme gefunden.
   Das was Descartes vermutlich am 7. September 1640 fühlte, empfinde ich jetzt.   
   Doch abgesehen von dem allgegenwärtigen Gefühl des unersetzlichen Verlusts, weiß ich auch,
   dass ich alles mir mögliche getan habe, und mir keine Vorwürfe machen muss. Es lag in deiner Hand.


Was sind und was sollen die Zahlen?    
   Frage ich mich seit dem ersten mal Mathematikunterricht in der Schule,
   und das werde ich vermutlich auch nie herausfinden,
   doch nun weiß ich was Dedekind noch nicht wusste:

   Die Liebe ist eine freie Schöpfungen des menschlichen Geistes, sie dient als Mittel,
   um die Verschiedenheit der  Menschen leichter und schärfer aufzufassen.
   Durch den unlogischen Aufbau der zwischenmenschlichen Beziehung und durch die in ihr
   gewonnene stetige Angst des Verlusts,  sind wir erst in den Stand gesetzt,             
   unsere Vorstellungen von Raum und Zeit genau zu untersuchen,
   indem wir dieselben auf dieses in unserem Geiste geschaffene Bild unserer Selbst beziehen.

Because it's almost new year's eve, i'm obligated to reflect on this year and everything i did or everything it did to me.
Actually with this beeing the end of this decade i'll have to dive deeper and review more than just 2019.

its been a long time
since i wrote this story

but now i found the words again
to continue my path

through the new chapter
of this typed out life

i wish i would invest the hours that i spent with googling beauty doctors in learning to fix my soul, rather than my face.
i wish i could invest the days i spent laying in bed and feeling as shitty as i look, reading books and finding out more about the world instead of more imperfections on my body.
Instead of opening parcels with new clothes, i should open up my mind.

i spent way too much time trying to impress men, that are not even worth my attention.
i don't understand why i'm searching for recognition in strangers, longing after being wanted by fuckboys, in being objectived and loved for just a few minutes.
i dont know why, because afterwards all i do is shower for hours, trying to get their poisen out of my system.

i'm scared of grwoing older and of wrinkles and bigger eyebags and not being whistled at by creepy men.  
and i'm aware that i'm stupid for being more afraid of being rejected than of being molested and killed.

i'm naive for thinking that i would be happier if i was just pretty - as if the darkness in my heart  and all my worries would disappear and the cloud over my head would lighten up, if my hair was blond, my teeth less yellow and my eyes brighter.
i wish i could dye my thoughts like i dye my hair.

i wish i would be happy with being full of food, instead i'm fed up with my own needs.
i should be happy for not starving like so many people are, instead i wish i could just rip off my fat and feel my bones again.

imagine i didn't have to hide all my mirrors behind black scarfs like i hide my selfhatred behind arrogance.
i guess not supposed to mourn the lost of my self-confidence, when sectretly i'd celebrate my own death.

i tell myself to be more grateful and less demanding, i want to force myself to be happy with what i got, with the genes my parents gave me, but i find myself too often desiring to shrink my nose and grow my boobs, and even then i would find new things to hate.

i need to replace my insecurity with determination and my self-loathing with self-loving but i could as well scream into the void, it would have the same effect.

i should demand respect and love from myself, but that's impossible if i dont know how i feels to be appreciated by other people. and it's a lot to ask someone to be with you, i you can't even stand yourself.

i try to spent more time being happy and less time being fat and self-critical, but that's hard when chocolate is the only thing that's there for me at 3 am.
But sugar doesn't fill the hole, neither do dicks.

People tell me that my selfworth should be determined by my actions and words and not my weight or the length of my hair, but i'm being more judged by my bad looks than my good intentions.

i know that my body is not as much of a problem as my brain, but i feel like i'd be much happier with out both of them.
instead of being a superficial bitch i should just be a strong bitch, a woman that doesn't give a fuck about what people think, a woman whos not afraid of being judged.

i aim to try less to be beautiful  and more to be better, to be a good person and not a pretty woman, but i'm succeeding at neither one of them.

lonely boy is alone a lot. even though he says he never is. 
he wishes to be more alone. 
he doesn't seem to notice or deny that he's lonely. 
he apparently is around people a lot. 
he's tired of being around so many people, they bore him, they annoy him. they bother him.

lonely boy needs more alone time.
but in his alone time, he's not alone. 
still, he feels lonely. 
maybe he even wishes to be around people, but when he is, he wishes he'd be alone.
maybe those are the wrong people. 
maybe he's wrong. 
about people. 
about himself. 
about who he is, how he acts, how he wants to be seen. 

lonely boy might be happy with just himself.  
maybe he knows himself so well, 
maybe he so content with himself that he doesn't need anybody else. 
maybe no one is able to keep up with his awesomeness. 
maybe he is just perfectly fine on his own.
Some think that lonely boy just hasn't found someone who is able to complete him. 
or is compatible with him.

lonely boy never invites anyone. 
into his life. or his home. 
whatever that might be.
maybe he's so full of himself, that there's not room for others, 
maybe they find him anti-social and dont want to be around him. 
maybe he's so hollow on the inside that nobody wants to stay around in his heart. 
maybe lonely boy is sad.

lonely boy is not able to connect with people. 
maybe he just doesn't want to. 
lonely boy is not interested in friendships or partnerships.
he's not able to connect or establish any relationship, not interested in keeping it alive, 
watering the plant of friendship or let love bloom. 

lonely boy doesnt need sexual intimiacy or long conversations on sunday nights
his body doesn't miss hugs and his mind doesn't starve without love. 
lonely boy might not even know how to love. 
he's a mystery to me.

lonely boy is maybe better than all of us. 
happy to be by himself. 
not dependent on other people's feedback and opinons, not craving human touch.
the human being 2.0.
better than all of us animals, who are only able to survive in packs.

lonely boy might just be an egoistic asshole. 
not caring about anyone but himself. 
so arrgoant and sure of himself that he just can't be bothered with the realities of anyone else.
maybe he just can't. 
maybe he's ill. 

lonely boy seems lonely to me. but he seeks to be alone. 
he can't stand the closeness. 
he doesn't open up.
cant's share his past, won't commuincate about his present and doens't want you in his future.
there is not place in his life for anyone else.
he is not interested in your inner thoughts or feelings. 
he might not even care about his own.

lonely boy is alone a lot, even though he is always around people.
lonely boy feels never lonely, even though he's never with anyone.
lonely boy might not be lonely, but i am when i'm with him.

the skeletons of the naked trees have given up on standing tall and proud.
not one leave is left,
everything has turned into dust and dirt inbetween the cracks of the paving stones.
not a single one is recognizable anymore.
the trees, once proud and majestic, are now broken and bend, just enduring their fate,
trying to withstand the opportunity to drop their branches as well,
letting them break away and fall down on the muddy ground.

you dont know how loneliness feels like, until you watched the trees struggling in the winter
and then grow again in spring, new and fresh, full of potential, leaning towards the sun -
without anybody noticing it.
you dont know how lonliness feels like, until something good happens
and you have no one to talk about it.
you're used to people ignoring the boney, bare-branched plants,
because people dont like to look at unpleasant things.
if it doesnt sparkle healthy and screams out of joy,
we dont notice it, even if it bleeds diamond dust.

you're used to people ignoring bad news or your feelings of sadness or
the waves of depression and crippling self-doubt that come and go,
coming more often and staying longer as time goes on,
but it's a whole new way of rejectment
if nobody gives a fuck when you get better.
being alone while dealing with negative feelings is hard,
enduring a hard, cold winter is a struggle,
exhausting but worth it, a part of the wheel of time.
it's easier to cope with it, because you know at some point it will be over
and summer will always come again.
you will able to participate again in "normal" life,
seeing people, doing chores, suffering the "normal" amount again,
learning how refreshing it is to just be sad about a broken heart
or getting mad at a fuckboy and talking about it with your friends.

but what if there's no such thing like a relief at the end?
if you're forever repeating january,
cold sleet dropping from the dark sky, melted snow mixed with dog poop.
is being better worth anything, if no one notices it?
if no one sees the first rays of sunshine reflecting in the dirty puddle of old rainwater,
if no one celebrates you surviving once more?

right now, nobody cares how i feel.
not in a they-dont-ask-or-worry-way, more in a it-doesnt-matter-how-i-am-way.
because it doesnt. it has no influence on anyones life.
i dont produce oxygen or look beauiful at the sides of a road,
i'm useless.
if i cant leave my bed or eat or sleep or meet them or even just talk to them,
it makes no difference,
because they dont need me to be here.
i have no purpose,
nobody asks me for my opinion or needs my help or just wants to hang out with me.
there are more important things, better ways to waste time.
there's no one fighting with me to stay with them and no one celebrating the win in the end.
it's unimportant where i am, if i'm well or not, if i'm busy or not, if i'm happy or not,
if i'm anything at all.
that's the real, gut-wrenching kind of loneliness. the one where nothing even matters.
i don't know how the trees are able to bear that.