His death was like Therapy.. May he rest in peace

It was the most shocking news I have ever received. He rides motorcycles, but no not an accident, did drugs, but no not an overdose, he wasn’t even sick nor overly stressed. Athletic, positive, family person, loved by all…

Last year like today a good friend of mine passed away at 39 years old. He woke up, went to the gym, came back for a shower and breakfast with his three kids, his normal daily routine, and as he was going down the stairs he got heart failure and died on the spot.

As I was driving to the funeral, with tears of anger running down my face and through all the disbelief; my life, for a minute there, became clear… My marriage is defiantly over; I have spent 12 years in apparent abuse, that I have been trying hard to deny, and that I have truly given it my all and no matter how much I have tried to salvage it, us and the situation is not going to ever change dramatically enough for it to be worth the save. So no matter who’s to blame, it is time. I also have to stop taking shit from people and I need to be more true to myself and take leaps of faith. Most importantly and ironically, I need to stop being overly responsible all the fucking time and allegedly having control of situations in my life, I don’t and claiming it is a complete myth I have been taught to believe.

So where have I gone since then… on the face of it, nothing much! Still in my bloody fucked up drama rollercoaster… drama in and of my marriage, drama with family issues I am still trying to resolve, not having the time to get a job and not being financially independent because of my fucked up logistics of motherhood with an absent support system.

Nevertheless, I myself have evolved. I became more self-conscious and self-confident, aware of where and who I am in this life… aware of my imperfections and accepting them… aware of my strengths and appreciating them. My friendships are also stronger with the people who actually deserve it. I know what I want to do with my life even if I haven’t taken that leap yet. And for the most part, I am not tolerant to shit anymore.

I have over and above, given up on calculating consequences, which in addition to the much relief it brought me on so many levels, it led me to opening myself up to a someone, even if it is not defined. I would have never, in the life of me, have allowed anyone to even come close to flirting with me, near or far, I’m a respectable women who people need to take seriously.. I’m not just an air-head piece of meat.. I am married with kids.. I’d tell myself and it fucking showed on every line and tone on my face and all energy I gave out. But, now I have, I let go of that persona, at least with someone, I allowed him to tell me he wants me… allowed myself to be desired… allowed myself to carve and lust and feel. I would have never even dared to think about someone else touching me… kissing me… being inside of me… holding me. Yes, it’s fucked up that we’re both married, however, I feel more real when I’m with him, than reality itself. I feel more alive when I give myself, true self, up to him, than whomever I pretend otherwise. That alone made me less scared from the unknown, people’s judgments, how I’m perceived, where being my true being… allowing someone to see right through my soul, with all the craziness, the insecurities, the sexuality, the darkest desires, was the most feared part of the unknown for me.

Thus, strangely, that death had a way of making me stop trying to hold on to life, to the image of me that I was conditioned to show, to stop trying to feel in control and risk analyse all the possible fucked up what-if scenarios if I was myself with the world and with everything else. I try not to  doubt myself too much… slowly starting to be honest about who I am both to myself and others… and “fuck-it” is surly making itself into my daily thoughts.

May he rest in peace…

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