20/07/25
It was all an illusion. I fooled myself into believing there was a connection between us, but now I see there wasn’t. The ship is about to dock, and what happens on the ship stays on the ship.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. If I feel the slightest emotional connection with anyone, I get hooked and start imagining things. Why would I ever think she’d talk to me after what happened two days ago? She didn’t say a single word to me.
I don’t know why I can’t read people—I’m completely incapable. So many others can talk to someone and understand their intentions. Not me. Especially if there’s even a tiny connection. It’s like my heart is an addict, and emotional bonds are its drug.
I think it’s time for a season of rest. I’ve let myself get carried away and ended up hurt. I’ve shown too much vulnerability. Or at least that’s how it feels. I’m closing off my heart for a while. No more connecting with anyone. Or at least I’ll try. What my heart does later is its own business. Time to focus on myself: the gym and personal growth. I need to develop more emotional maturity. I want to become the best version of myself.
Truth is, I’ve been alone for a long time and I’m getting used to it. Before this trip, I said I was ready for a relationship again—but that was a lie. I’m nowhere near ready. For many reasons, but the biggest is my lack of emotional maturity. Show my heart a sliver of interest, and it starts leaping; it doesn’t know how to wait. I want to learn to keep expectations low and be content with that. I’ve always believed you should live with high expectations—that they’re the key to having fun or staying in a good mood. The problem? Those expectations get shattered over and over. And damn, that hurts.
Right now, I’m not thinking about her. She hooked up with someone else last night, and I couldn’t give a damn. What stings is that she didn’t even speak to me. I know that’s selfish—she can do whatever she wants—but that’s the curse of emotional immaturity. Honestly, I don’t know what to think or do. That’s why I need time alone. And you might ask, "Weren’t you already alone?" I’d say yes, but now I want total solitude—no friends, no one. Just me.
But if I do that, I might end up killing myself. Because as we’ve said before, humans are social creatures. By nature, we’re meant to socialize, make friends—and I do want to see my friends. So no, I won’t be completely alone. Now I sound like a hypocrite: I complain about being lonely all the time, about no one listening or caring, yet solitude is what I crave most. Alone, with my music, my notes, and my thoughts. I really think I need therapy. Or maybe they should lock me in an asylum—I’m genuinely going crazy.
Scarface (1983) said it best: "The eyes, Chico. They never lie." That’s my favorite movie quote. It captures what I love most: eyes. Beautiful eyes completely unravel me. If I’m attracted to someone, I’ll glance; but if I like them, I’ll stare into their eyes. That’s what I want—someone I could lose myself in for hours. That quote pairs perfectly with the old saying: "A look (or an image) speaks louder than a thousand words."
I’m a liar. I say I want to be alone, but what I really want is someone. Yet because I’m emotionally immature, I can’t handle a relationship—so I hide behind solitude.
Truth is, emotions are a thousand times more attractive than appearance. Someone who makes you feel like a kid again. Someone you can tell everything to, holding nothing back—who understands and empathizes. That’s the dream. I don’t care about looks; they fade. I want someone I can be me with—no masks, no hiding.
I don’t know what I want from life. Actually, I do: I want to go to some random beach, sit on the sand, write endlessly, watch sunsets and sunrises until I’m healed. But to fix what’s broken, I need help—and I’m incapable of asking for it (I’ve explained why before; won’t repeat it). I’m getting angry again—at the world, people, God, everything. Do I really deserve all this? Why? What did I do? I try not to hurt anyone. Am I a bad person?
I hadn’t had suicidal thoughts in a long time, but they’re creeping back. That’s a serious problem. Sometimes it seems like the easy way out—because it is. Ironically, my hands usually tremble, but they’re steady as I write this. But I won’t do it. For two reasons: First, I want to see the best version of myself, and I need to be alive for that. Second, it would hurt so many people—more now than ever.
When we were leaving the airport, C started crying. Nothing breaks me more than seeing my cousin cry. Both times I’ve seen him cry, it shattered me. I calmed him down a bit and said things to him I wish someone would say to me. But it’s okay—we bonded deeply on this cruise, and he’s been through so many emotions. An emotional hangover is normal.
I want to matter to someone. I want someone who cares about every little detail that matters to me. I want to lose myself in someone’s eyes. Is that too much to ask?
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