A Post With No Point.

Dear Lucia,

I am currently on break from work. I get an hour and a half of paid break a day- one hour of lunch and one hour for a coffee later on. You know Icelanders and their coffee. I usually take my first hour at 13-14 for lunch, go home since I live close, and then my half hour at 18-18:30 and sit in the basement of the store (where the lights don’t work) and read. You don’t need any of this information. No one does, except maybe my coworker, Szymon, who takes his hour and half hour after I take mine, unless he has errands to run.

I’ve been writing a lot of poems lately. I told my therapist I would try to journal but the thought of writing sentences was overwhelming, so I took to stanzas. As you can see I am now writing sentences, but they are to you, whether or not you actually read them doesn’t matter I just want to sort of shout into the void and I know you care and so it doesn’t feel like useless complaining if I tel myself I am writing a letter to you. Or a bletter, as this is. Part of me wants to put some of my poems on here, but part of me is scared that someone is actually reading this blog. As much as I would like for us to become rich and famous from this fun side project, I think we both know that this is for us, and maybe a few friends if they decide it’s worth their while.

The part of me that wants to put the poems on here is the same part of me that wants to scream at the top of my lungs in public, just so a stranger will ask if I am ok. The same part of me that purposefully takes the more dangerous path while hiking, secretly hoping to fall so I can wear shorts and show off the damage. I want to occupy a part of someones brain. I want to be heard and held and remembered. Not remembered like in the history books, I think I prefer a quiet existence, but remembered in the sense of when you hear a song you think of me. There is no way for me to know if I occupy a part of someone’s brain, but still, I crave the validation of my existence. I need to know I have made an impact somewhere. I hope it has been a positive one.

On the other hand, I am scared to be seen. I feel like I am asking for too much. You know I have been struggling with my mental health for most of my life; this is no different. Please don’t read this is a suicide letter or something like that– it’s not. I am just hoping that writing my feelings out again and again will stop them from spinning around in my head. The poems are one way, but they are stuck in my phone. This letter is another, and maybe someone will find it and relate a bit too much and write their own letter.

I recently saw this again:

and it struck me. I feel like we are all dealing with things that we don’t want the world to see, but in order to get better, we need those things out in the open.

One reason I am really struggling these past few days is because one of my biggest supports here in Iceland has also really been struggling. I feel like my emotional state is making her worse. I told her this, and being the blunt French she is, she said of course it wasn’t helping but it wasn’t the whole reason. I think I needed to hear that, but it does indeed suck that, in this case, we make each other worse.

Cool. So, my break is coming to an end. (I had costco pizza for lunch). I should go back, and I suppose I do feel a little bit lighter having written this to you. Sorry you have to read my ramblings, but isn’t that what this site is for? Stay tuned, I might put some poems on here afterall.

Miss you loads,

Alex