I prefer it that way

I came in and found her staring straight at some paper on the table so I walked towards it and couldn't believe what I found.

- A flight ticket to...! What have you done now? He told you to stay away! What in the world have you done now? I asked extremely irritated, I was simply done with her irrational behaviors about this matter, I was done fighting with her and trying to convince her to pursue what's better for her, what's better for him! For their own's sake, they should remain separated. She started crying while sitting down and looking at the floor.

- You're not going anywhere! I said and broke that ticket in tons of pieces just reminding myself that it was a piece of paper she could print as many times as she wanted.

I walked out the run annoyed with the whole situation, but entering the bedroom only made things worse... There was a bag already done on the bed, I opened it and there was nothing. An empty bag! She was taking with her an empty bag! I walked out of the run profoundly desperate, thinking whether I should truly lock her in a mental institution or keep on trying but actually I couldn't handle such insanity anymore.

- If he meets you he's going to be so mad! He'll shut the door on your very face! What if you don't meet one person but two? I said anxious and she just looked straight at me like wanting to kill me with her eyes.

- At this rhythm you're going to kill all of us, we can't bear it anymore... I said softly now expecting for some reminders of humanity inside of her but she only covered her eyes like admitting she was ashamed but at the same refusing to give up on the idea. I couldn't take it anymore, this state of passivity was taking me nowhere. I started hitting her uncontrollably, her arms, her head, her legs, her hands, I wanted to destroy her with my own hands! I wanted to destroy her myself before than allowing her to destroy herself, before than allowing him to destroy her in such despicable way! 

- You are not! You're not going after him anymore! You better pull yourself together because I am not rescuing you not even one more time from the hole you fall in whenever you exchange words with him! He doesn't want you in his life anymore! Do you understand that? I said and I stopped myself when I saw the mirror and I saw her nose bleeding... and all those scratches all over her body... What was I doing? What was left for her if I'd leave her? My tears started falling and I let myself fell down on the couch.

- I am sorry... I am so sorry... I said over and over again extremely surprised and embarrassed of such reproachable behavior but at the same time overwhelmed. How could I made her understand he destructed us by leaving but she was damaging us by coming back over and over again to him when she knew his answers in advance.

- I believe there's someone else... but I prefer to die with the uncertainty than ever get to know he's actually holding someone else in his heart, I prefer to bury myself over and over again fantasizing him sharing his life with someone else than ever getting to see such image, I prefer to be murdered every night by the jealousy going through my veins than he admitting someone else is going to refugee herself in the warmness of his arms, I prefer the lack of oxygen than ever truly accepting all the words he said to me mean nothing to him today, I prefer eternal loneliness that ever gives myself to someone else by acknowledging that man doesn't belong in my life anymore. I may be sick, but I prefer to die slowly with this sickness inside myself than ever letting go all we had. You're not allowed to follow him anymore, you're not allowed to call him, you're not allowed to contact him, you're not allowed to appear in front of him because if you do, it'll be the very end of the last piece that has been left for us of him. I said while looking at my harm hands and thought how right he was about the "self-destructive" word, I just stayed there... looking at the tiny pieces of paper of my flight on the floor, I'd have to cancel it.

Photo by Madelaine Bustamante

“Prayer: 'Oh God! May I be alive when I die.'” 

(Winnicott, C. 1989)

Poema de Alejandra Pizarnik

En esta noche, en este mundo

Picture taken by Madelaine Bustamante A Martha Isabel Moia

I en esta noche en este mundo las palabras del sueño de la infancia de la muerte nunca es eso lo que uno quiere decir la lengua natal castra la lengua es un órgano de conocimiento del fracaso de todo poema castrado por su propia lengua que es el órgano de la re-creación del re-conocimiento pero no el de la resurrección de algo a modo de negación de mi horizonte de maldoror con su perro y nada es promesa entre lo decible que equivale a mentir (todo lo que se puede decir es mentira) el resto es silencio sólo que el silencio no existe II no las palabras no hacen el amor hacen la ausencia si digo agua ¿beberé? si digo pan ¿comeré? III en esta noche en este mundo extraordinario silencio el de esta noche lo que pasa con el alma es que no se ve lo que pasa con la mente es que no se ve lo que pasa con el espíritu es que no se ve ¿de dónde viene esta conspiración de invisibilidades? ninguna palabra es visible sombras recintos viscosos donde se oculta la piedra de la locura corredores negros los he recorrido todos ¡oh quédate un poco más entre nosotros! mi persona está herida mi primera persona del singular escribo como quien con un cuchillo alzado en la oscuridad escribo como estoy diciendo la sinceridad absoluta continuaría siendo lo imposible ¡oh quédate un poco más entre nosotros! IV los deterioros de las palabras deshabitando el palacio del lenguaje el conocimiento entre las piernas ¿qué hiciste del don del sexo? oh mis muertos me los comí me atraganté no puedo más de no poder más palabras embozadas todo se desliza hacia la negra licuefacción V y el perro de maldoror en esta noche en este mundo donde todo es posible salvo el poema VI hablo en fácil hablo en difícil sabiendo que no se trata de eso siempre no se trata de eso oh ayúdame a escribir el poema más prescindible                el que no sirva ni para                ser inservible ayúdame a escribir palabras en esta noche en este mundo                                                               8 de octubre de 1971 De: Textos de sombra y últimos poemas. ALEJANDRA PIZARNIK. #UnGiornoTreAutunni #CaroRiccino

Unanswer questions

I went into the classroom smoothly, I am always trying my best to do everything as quietly as possible so that any look turn to me, and I saw him... He was playing the piano right in front of me in that small room and for a second I thought I was dreaming and such magical moment couldn't be happening for real, but it was happening and I got to know it because it lasts for a matter of seconds only, until my friend broke up and he realized about he was not alone and stopped playing.

- I am sorry, do we interrupt you? I asked begging him to keep on playing inside of me, but I guess my begs didn't reach him since he didn't continue.

- Not at all. He answered smiling and came back to his seat, leaving that piano crying alone for him to come back; but I guess he didn't listen because he didn't continue playing.

I started wondering myself if I could sit down next to him, after all, there was only one seat separating us and me moving one seat next to him wouldn't be a big deal since all my classmates probably noticed until now how hard is for me to pick a bench. But I stayed right there, I couldn't take the risk because my face is way too obvious and I was trying hard to keep it clean; still deep inside I wish he'd move that one seat removing the space between us, opening a door for us to say hi and break that silence I tend to invite people from the other sex to. I guess he didn't listen to my inner feelings because he didn't move that one seat and I remained there wishing next time he will.

It was funny to think I could even care about his presence, especially considering our classes started short time ago, I barely knew him and the only moments I could actually look at him was when he was saying something to the teacher and the classroom during the class, otherwise my eyes wouldn't meet him no matter what. 

I was wondering if the joke he did to me last class meant anything to him... I would've liked to tell him it meant something to me, even when I was talking about someone that "apparently" means everything to me. I just couldn't, the conflicts inside of me would meet with each other and remind myself that I am thinking about swimming in dangerous waters, so I just stayed there with my bunch of unanswered questions inside of me. Because I wasn't going to take any risk and when you look from afar everything is safer; and when it comes to emotions, I was that kind of girl, the safe-type one, even if in most of the life matters I was as carefree as a bird. 
I am a bird, but I guess he didn't listen to my inner soul because he thought I like the beach when I am most of a sky-girl.

Picture by Madelaine Bustamante

I am not a perfect person.

Drawing and Picture by Madelaine Bustamante

Maybe the reason why I emphasize so much the fact of me continuing working at the hospital after we stopped talking is because of how hard it was for me to keep on doing it. 

Actually, it was so hard that I stopped caring about having patients or not, even when I used to have patients all the time due to my constant advertisement about a psychologist's labour in the health center; it was so hard that my tutor reprimanded me and asked me what was going on and I was so broken that I just let her know the reason for my current mood status; it was so hard that I would obligate myself to get ready to go to work even when I would barely sleep and spend the most of my day crying at home, but I had to go remembering myself that I wouldn't get my degree if I didn't work for it; it was so hard that I'd cry on my way to the hospital and on my way back, in the public transportation, thinking about you...

You may not understand but I was suppose to heal hearts, because that's my work about, more than healing minds it is about healing hearts; but how could I heal a broken heart when my own was broken in thousands of pieces at the very moment? I can't even explain the difficulty to focus and hold in my tears when any patient would mention things that I may relate to you, it was like a real test to my professionalism! And at the same time a life-test in general.

It may result absurd, me mentioning these things just now; but I wanted to clear this point up because I, foolishly, keep on making it appear like if it was so easy for me... when in reality it was one of the most awful times of my whole life.