Sabe, não sei se tenho medo de morrer, mas acho que meu maior medo é ser esquecido depois de morrer.
Não ser lembrado, sabe?
Sou tímido, não quero ser o centro das atenções.
Mas isso não quer dizer que eu quero que não percebam minha existência.
Uma das coisas mais tristes na vida é se sentir sozinho.
E é o que estou sentindo agora.
Why the things are so hard?
Life.
Love.
Forget.
Forgive.
Because if they were easy, they would be meanless?
Life would be wasted?
Love would be emotionless?
Forget won't be painful?
Forgive won't be reliving?
Yeah, maybe.
But it's hard to accept that too.
Life it's just like coasters.
Up.
Down.
Up.
Down.
Twister.
Loop.
You never know what to expect.
You only know when that happens.
You think that you are going up, then a fall.
I don't want to fall anymore.
But I think that I can't go up by myself.
I never did.
I always wrote about my feelings. To be more specific, about my heart and my love (frustrations).
But I never wrote something deeper.
I'm not used to it.
To talk about my life.
About my past.
And I think I shouldn't post here, because I don't know who can read it, but anyway.
My parents never got merried.
Since I remember, in my memories, they were always fighting.
I don't remember how frequently was, but my dad beat my mother.
When I was on pre-primary school, he broke her foot.
Ok, that was her fault.
It was, I don't know, about 9 o'clock, she didn't picked me up at school. 9 fucking o'clock. The class finishes about 6~7pm.
He was around the school, saw her car passing and saw she picking me.
He walked into the car, they argue, he picked my bag and me, and close the door. I heard she yelling "Aiaiaiai".
I knew only the next day that the door closed on her foot.
The foot, I had about 6 years-old. They "divorce" (you can't divorce when you never merried - he moved) when I was 5. Or 4.
My dad is/was an alcoholic.
I don't remember much, only a few flashes of me, behind the living room's door, watching she being hit.
And the calls, every weekend, being called by names. Stupid names for a kid, and I never understood why.
He made so many promises. Gave his word, eluded me, thinking about the great stuffs that I would do with my dad.
95% of those things, never happened.
I don't remember exactly, but I think I lived in both houses, but during weeks, I sleep at my dad's, because the school was 1 block away.
That was when I matriculated at 1st grade.
Then my mom asked for my guard. A 7 years-old-boy very confuse.
Of course my mom won. With the pension.
For a long time, I thought that it was to take care of me.
Sqn.
Between the 1st and the 4th grade, I studied at evening turn, and by the morning turn, I went to pre-school, because she had to work early.
Then, the school driver dropped at my home about 6 pm.
She arrived about 9 pm, amost every night.
When I reached the 5th grade, my school had classes only in the morning. But they had a integral care, and for more 3 or 4 years, I stayed at the school for 10 hours a day.
And my mom still arriving after me.
At school, I always dreamt that she would pick me up at school (remember, I used the school driver services). Before 6/7pm.
Oh, I amost forgot. My mother's house was always a mess.
As the years were passing, I understood that my mother asked my guard only for the money, pq né, she never was there with/for me and never cleaned the house to give a better place to live.
An alcoholic father.
An irresponsible mother.
A dad witch never did the promises.
A mom lazy and digger.
Mom and dad absents and negligents.
I never felt that I was lovd, only indifference and guilty for something I never did.
Maybe that's why I have this necessity to feel loved.
Maybe that's why I'm very closed person.
Maybe that's why I don't know the true meaning of family.
Maybe that's why I'm a very difficult person to deal with.
Maybe that's why I don't know how to deal on some situations.
A few considerations:
I'm a horrible writer
Grammar/vocabulary can be wrong
The facts/memories above happened in my childhood.
Mas nem por isso sei lidar com todas as situações.
A casa da minha mãe continua bagunçada, até piorou depois que saí de lá.
Meu pai continua me culpando por coisas que não fiz.
Continuo tendo a necessidade de me sentir amado. E isso não se trata de carência.
