Amazing weekend, amazing two days. My characters spoke to me and led the way on The Manicheans, and I must say, I’m impressed. The direction it’s taking is terrific and I can’t wait to see more of it happening. This story is truly awesome.
Love being a writer. Want to make it my day job so bad.
I look up and see no stars. New York City, the hooker of my wildest dreams, hid them all from me. I seek her light while strolling down her avenues, feeling the blood of her crowd pumping through my veins like a heroin rush. It does not calm me down, but excites me more, and I want a fix of solitude to forget about it all.
New York City made me stronger, as much as it weakened me, day by day, night by night, leaving me with no rest and no hope that things will improve. I love her so much, it’s hard to define our relationship because I also hate her a lot. I disagree with her rules, and despise her popularity, but as much as I loathe her success, I still bathe in her fame when she gives me the attention I deserve. I feel like a queen on a dirty street corner, under the flashing neon of a strip club, next to the bar where I finish my cigarette and exchange a few friendly words with strangers I will never meet again.
It’s all so fast, in that city that never sleeps. I hear a million different languages when I run to my destination, the music in my ear buds almost deafening me while I try to ignore the car honks and the tourists walking nonchalantly down the block, not really knowing where to go next. I panic and become rude, dodging all the obstacles put in my way, moving faster than the wind, and always looking straight ahead. If I actually took the time to slow down, I would have noticed the beautiful architecture of a building, or that store where they sell ridiculous garments that are too expensive for my taste.
This is New York. I could tattoo her on my skin and become a zombie crawling in her underground. She repulses me and makes me want to leave her forever, but I always come back after a while. I miss her like an angry lover, and I make it up to her by giving her my soul, late until dawn, feeling invincible and beautiful, drunk and high, begging her to take me back.
How did I fall in love with her eleven years ago? Love knows no boundaries and offers no rational explanation. It just happened. I loved her from the start, as soon as I got off the plane and carried my heavy suitcases to the car. It was late at night and the city lights were on. When I saw the skyline from Queens, I let out a gasp. It felt magical, like in a dream. I visited the popular places, and admired her beauty, inside and out, always desiring her more, never wanting to go back home. I was 17 and I promised myself I would live here someday. I would work in a tall building and have an apartment in Manhattan. Every morning, I would wake up and greet the concrete jungle.
Today, when I think back and realize how much I wanted to be here, I know why I worked so hard for it. I made my dream come true. I made it all happen, the job, the apartment and now this. Writing. My biggest reason to live and breathe, to exist and to think, and to aspire to be more than I could ever imagine.
I came to New York out of love, and I stayed because I could not be anywhere else. I want to dedicate my success to this city, who gave me everything and allowed me to find myself, the true tormented and insatiable writer that I progressively became out of the endless struggle of always being the underdog. I offer her my talent and she reciprocates by giving me inspiration.
To this day and to my last, she will always be my soul mate. She defines me and reinvents me, over and over again, like a cycle of life. This is all to you, New York City. And I thank you for it.
I just remembered that about one year ago, I started writing The Manicheans. I was working on the second chapter of the book, not really sure where the story was going, but I felt deep inside my characters were calling for my attention and wanted me to give them as much depth as possible. So I let them speak to me. I listened to their story, and I grew with them. I still don’t really know how it all happened; what I know for a fact however, is that they led me to where I am now. Their struggles, their infatuations, their sorrows, their thoughts, their hesitations, their anger, and their happiness, they were all mine. I projected myself in each and everyone of them, and I started digging into my memories, recalling all the times I felt good or bad, and putting it down in writing. It was not difficult to use my personal experiences to give more richness to my story. It actually felt very natural.
Now one year later, I’m at the beginning of the second volume of The Manicheans, and my characters need to evolve. The changes they’re going through are going to reflect the same changes I’m going through myself. I’m in the middle of the road right now, and I don’t really know exactly where I’m going to take them all, whether I’m going to let them live or die, make them heroes or cowards. All I know is that they will show me the way. I read somewhere that writing was a sociably accepted form of schizophrenia…. You get my point.
I like to be that crazy though. It makes my life interesting.
That’s funny. It just occurred to me that at the exact same time last year, I was still in a relationship. I actually canceled a girls’ night out to go to the Catskills with my ex, thinking that we would spend three days in paradise, which we obviously did not. We had a violent argument, so dreadful I still remember crying in the car, wanting my life to end because I felt so miserable. I’m shivering just at the idea of it. I cried so much that weekend. I lost track of who I was, what led us down that awful road and why I could not find any solution to remedy our problems. I thought I had the key to fix every little issue between us, and like most people before me, I was simply overconfident and too ambitious. Our marriage was doomed and I wanted to be the one who could fix it all. I never considered compromising, not with somebody who did not want to compromise anyway. I felt trapped in a life where I did not belong. It hurts me to remember all the love we shared, but it makes my heart bleed to remember all the pain we forced on each other. That relationship was ill, and it could not heal, not without a miracle at least. Maybe drastic changes on both parts could have salvaged it. I’m not even sure. I think that in the end we just lost track of who we were as individuals, and we defined ourselves solely through that sick relationship we shared.
It’s past. I got out of it alive, not totally recovered from all the psychological effects a separation and an impending divorce could have on me but I’m getting there. Today I didn’t think I would feel sad about that. I guess my wounds are still too fresh.
Everybody tells me, time heals all wounds. My life felt like an empty void and my heart bled every second of every minute of every hour. I was wondering whether I had made the right choice, and whether it was better to go back to my old life.
Now I know, everything happened for a reason. When I look at the sky and see the limitless universe above me, I feel inspired. I keep moving forward without ever looking back, and as I make progress on my journey, the boulder I was carrying on my shoulders becomes progressively lighter. I long for the day where it will completely disappear and I will stand, straight and free from the pain that made me cry so much, ready to conquer the world and embrace its beauty with my whole being.
So I guess I did it. I found the secret. It feels incredible to finally be in control again. I got rid of everything I did not need in my life, the bad, the negative, the difficult and oppressing, and I replaced it with, well, I’m trying to replace it with lots of positive and good, of course. But it takes time. Lots of it. So I maybe don’t see the effects of my actions paying off yet, but I can tell, I can sense, that it’s working out. I mean, I am not worse than I was yesterday. I actually am better, even if I bitch sometimes and feel lonely… I got a solution to cure my loneliness… I got cats.
For the rest, well only time will tell. I can’t make things go faster just because I’m impatient.
If I continue like this, I’ll be just fine. Just you watch.
Fuck. I did something I was not supposed to do. And now what? It’s not like I can go back in time and undo everything. I have to face the stupid consequences of being an adult in a world of sharks, used and abused until I’m tossed away like a dirty rag… This is something I should know by now. I’m old enough to see the signs but I’m oblivious to them. This is ridiculous. I have enough to deal with already, and I don’t need more drama in my life. I hate those moments of weakness because they remind me how fragile I really am. I should not open up so easily, and be nice to people. Every time it’s the same story.
Should I become jaded and shield myself behind an impenetrable wall – but what if somebody manages to break trough the wall and hurt me anyway? Or maybe I should move away to a place where nobody knows me… Disappear until enough time passes and my memories fade to become distant blurbs of my life, mistakes I never want to repeat again.
I miss my life the way it was. Happy, full, simple. Instead everything turned against me to make it miserable, empty and complicated.
I’ve reached a bottom I did not know existed. I drown myself into my work and stay late at the office so I don’t have to deal with coming to an empty home. The solitude I experience is new to me. I never lived alone until now. When I wake up in the morning, I drag myself to the subway station thinking that this day is going to be better than the next. Is it really? I don’t think so. I still cry myself to sleep every night. I pretended until now that everything was ok, that I would not feel that way, and that the transition from married life to single life would be easy. Well, I fooled myself. It’s not. Living by myself feels horrible. I hate the silence, the stillness of things in the apartment, and the smell of emptiness. When I open my apartment door, it’s dark inside. Nobody comes to welcome me. In the end, however, I don’t regret being alone. It’s the best decision I’ve made.
I really think I need a cat.
I feel hopeless and empty. I cry myself to sleep because I can’t ignore my heartache. I think and remember all the good and bad things of my past, and when I do, tears come to my eyes. I don’t want to feel that way, but what can I do to change the state of mind I’m in right now? It’s not simple to just forget. Too much has happened. Maybe I should start writing notes to myself every day so I can finally heal from all of this and move on.
I love you, you know that, and I’m confident you’ll stay strong. Be patient. The pain you experience will slowly decrease. I promise you’ll be fine.
I feel like I want things I can’t get because I think they’ll make me happy. I know it’s just an illusion and nothing will really change in the end. I’m a tortured soul with a hungry heart. I sometimes wish I were not so demanding and so impatient because I dream of growing old with love. Love will never satisfy me unless it’s unconditional. I think I need a new cat.
Never doubt yourself. You know what you’re worth. Freedom is your best asset. Don’t let it go to waste.
Love you.
The Manicheans 