The story of how I died
Just like the Doctor Who episode that inspired the title, this isn’t about an actual death, but a metaphorical one. It all started in 2013.
Rose Tyler got her happy ending,
Mine hasn’t arrived yet.
The month was November and I could not be happier. Being that young, I didn’t quite understand the nature of sad feelings. Rationally, I had nothing to be sad about: I was on the verge of finishing my first year of college, and the very fact of being in a university was already a reason to be excited. To be the best of my class was just a plus, which worked fine to feed my ego.
Also, the “grown-up feeling” of college and being 18 years old, came with new amazing people. I didn’t keep any of my high school friends, so it was nice to make new ones. Everything was new and everything was great. The thing is, depression had already started to show its claws, but I could barely feel it at the time. It was just an itch inside of me, to which I paid no attention to.
As you can assume by now, I’m a whovian. Doctor who brought me a lot of things throughout the years, and the first of them came on November 23rd, 2013. It was the series’ 50th anniversary and it was broadcast in the cinema.
It was my mother’s birthday,
It was the Doctor Who Anniversary,
It was the beginning of my end.
Oh, how I loved going to the movies! I spent my first fifteen years living in a small town, where shopping centers and Oscar winning films were nonexistent, so I enjoyed every bit of the big city. Add that to the fact that the show had already installed itself into my heart, and maybe you can start to envision how excited I was for that day. Excited and anxious.
Anxiety is a constant part of my life. It’s embedded into who I am and which decisions I make. It takes hold of me every time I have to wait for something, and it creeps inside my blood vessels, until it finds my heart and, eventually, my brain. It’s such a frequent feeling, that some people get used to it. I never did.
In one of my favorite books, Susanna Kaysen says that “Insanity comes in two basic varieties: slow and fast”. As an over-thinker, I suffer from the latter.
“Velocity endows every platelet and muscle fibre with a mind of its own, a means of knowing and commenting on its own behaviour. There is too much perception, and beyond the plethora of perceptions, a plethora of thoughts about the perceptions and about the fact of having perceptions. Digestion could kill you! What I mean is the unceasing awareness of the processes of digestion could exhaust you to death”.
– Susanna Kaysen, Girl, Interrupted
I had been anxious for that day during two months. In that period, I did everything I could to distract myself. Silly things; like watching a new series, reading a book or cleaning up the dog shit; were enough keep my mind off of the special. Then, when it was getting closer, I started to show my fanboy behavior.
I bought a red bow tie and made a blue t-shirt with the TARDIS imprinted on it. Under the TARDIS I wrote the word “Sexy”, and I do hope you get the reference. For those who didn’t get it, the t-shirt was a big joke, as I was anything but sexy. I have that shirt till this day, it just doesn’t fit anymore.
One of my crafty new college friends volunteered to make me a red fez. So I bought the materials and showed her some pictures of how it should look. She found it absurd to wear something like that on your head, but the fez was made anyway. And I loved it.
It looked ridiculous on my head.
See, I’m being too prolix, but I won’t apologize for telling my story in full length. In fact, a warning is overdue.
This is going to be a very long story,
It’s also sad and depressing.
Proceed at your own peril.
The day finally came, and so I went to the cinema. My mom was pissed that I wouldn’t spend her birthday with her. “Are you really trading me for the movies?”. How outrageous! But I went anyway.
I felt too silly on the way there, so I took the fez and bow-tie off, as I was afraid of being mocked on the streets. When I got there, it was full of people wearing scarves, brown suits and 3D glasses. Some of them were holding all kinds of replicas of the sonic screwdriver, and there was also a collection of different fezzes.
Seeing all those people excited about the same thing as me, made me relax quite instantly, and I put the accessories back on. They were all very receptive and friendly, and I felt like a part of something bigger, like a part of a community. It was one of the first times I felt like I belonged, and it was priceless. I’ve kept this feeling very close to my heart ever since.
Photos were taken, friendships were made and then the doors opened. We all ran to the line, and I wondered how many of those people shared my anxiety. How many of them were longing for their seat at, what we considered, the greatest event of the year? I’d guess, all of them.
Sitting by my side, was a hysterical girl. In that moment I understood that some people were even more excited than me. She was screaming, shaking and I couldn’t help staring at her. Even in that state, she was gorgeous.
Wherever the heart-wrecker was,
She wasn’t sitting by my side,
And she definitely wasn’t this girl.
In fact, I only met her a few weeks later.
The special started and it was amazing. I loved every bit of it, every hidden reference, every emotional moment. It was so good that when it ended, it seemed like it was only a few minutes long. It ended too quickly and I wanted more. We all did.
Outside, still dazzled by the masterpiece we just witnessed, we all gathered and talked for one hour or two. It’s one of the best days of my life, and I’ve had great ones.
Now, this is the part where I disappoint you. I built your expectations for this specific day, and told you that it’s when my end started. And now I have the guts to come and tell you that it was one of the best days of my life? How dare I to be so pretentious?
Well, I lied.
Kinda of. You see, some rotten things may taste sweet at first, and the bitterness is in the aftertaste. The day itself was wonderful, but it caused an avalanche of bad events, that led me to call it the landmark of disgraces to come.
The internet is an incredible tool. Through it, I met my best friend. Neither of us can remember the exact date, but it was sometime around April, 2011. I was an Avril Lavigne fan and had just discovered an online forum, where I met some fascinating people and learned how to use Photoshop. One day, in a group chat, I noticed this smart girl, that went by the nickname Bubaloo, and out of nowhere I decided to ask for her IM.
Like the gum her nickname came from,
She glued herself into who I am,
and I’m forever grateful.
My nickname was D.angel, and it was a funny way I found of saying there was a Devil hidden behind the angel. Anyway, she gave me her IM, and we chatted for the entire afternoon. Since then, we speak almost everyday, and it never gets boring. She’s the only person on this earth that already knows 99% of what’s written here, and she’s become as important to me as the air I breathe. I cannot imagine my days without being able to reach her.
Through the Internet I also kept in touch with my new whovian friends. We talked a lot and we were getting to know each other pretty well. After a few days, it was decided that we’d all gather somewhere to build a TARDIS miniature replica on December 8th, 2013. So, going against all my introvert instincts, I went to a complete stranger’s house, urging for a new experience. Here lays the lesson number one: never go against your instincts.
We were all having fun, and kinda arguing about some shenanigans, when the heart-wrecker walked in. It wasn’t that iconic slow-motion entrance that movies give us when introducing two lovers and, to be honest, I paid little to no attention to her at that moment. I know, I must stop stalling, so let’s talk about the viper.
She was 5'3" and thin as twig,
Nothing really remarkable about her,
Besides her smile and her boyfriend.
She came in with her brother, who I definitely thought was gay. He had dreamy eyes, a funny wit, and was beautiful enough to get me immediately interested. Only an hour later I found out that the boy was, in fact, her boyfriend, and not her brother. What a shock! How rude of him to be straight, after I had already started my fantasy process.
This newly discovered information led me to look at his girlfriend-not-sister, and they actually made a cute couple. She was not as pretty, but really sweet, and I caught myself wondering with whom would I ever be that happy together. Little did I know, her black hole eyes were already drawing me in.
In the subsequent months, the group chat was noisy with all those people talking at the same time. But we had loads of topics to discuss, and that’s one of the perks of new friends: There’s too much to discover about them. So, day by day, I got closer to those people, specially her and the boyfriend. We had a lot in common and it was only natural to get along.
By the end of January 2014, I had already nicknamed her Barbs, and she was helping me decide the design of my second tattoo.
It was an anatomical heart,
with the words “Bigger on the inside”.
A DW reference and a reminder to be kind.
Happily, it had nothing to do with her.
I got my first tattoo on July 25th of 2013, a little more than two months after I turned eighteen. It’s the word “ambivalent”, written in phonetic symbols, and it says a lot about my personality, always trying to decide between one option and the other. It’s simple, discreet and still my favorite, but I was ambitious and wanted something bigger and louder. So I got an 8 inches anatomical heart tattooed on my right forearm, with watercolor splashes and all.
The reactions were diverse: My mother couldn’t believe it, my father was disappointed and my friends were surprised. But, most importantly, I was happy with it. Now, when riding the bus, people would look at my arm, reaction I never got from the little written one, and once I stopped being a wallflower and people started to notice me, I never went back to the wall. As I write this, I can count up to 20 inked illustrations on my skin. They all serve the same purpose: to remind me of things I find important.
In the same month, came her birthday, and though we tried to organize a surprise party for her, the idea sunk, and we ended up going to a Burger King. Just like me, she’s a bookworm, and there wasn’t a gift more fitting than a book, so I bought her a copy of “The name of the wind”. This piece has a special place in my heart, and it inspired one of my most emblematic tattoos. We’ll get there, eventually.
She loved it. If you’re not a reader, you won’t understand the pleasure of getting a book for your birthday, specially when it’s a thick one and you know you’ll be entertained for a long time. I like to think the book bought me the first piece of her heart, and I wonder which story would she get me if we hadn’t ended things before my birthday.
I’ll break my linear narrative for a while, going back to December, 2013, when I had just downloaded Tinder. I was beginning to explore this human catalog when, four days before I even started chatting with Barbs, I got a match with this gorgeous boy, that lived in a neighbor city. He was an English teacher and a gym rat. The perfect package was in my hands: smart and hot.
We spoke every day for three months, which was pretty good! The fun fact is that we hadn’t met in person yet, but my fool heart was starting to fall in love with him, or so I thought. They say love is blind, but mine is also forgetful. I keep forgetting that history repeats itself, so I never stop falling for undeserving people.
One day, in March 2014, I decided to go to his town and finally meet him. We arranged the date, I bought the tickets and asked to leave work early. I was really excited, and then he cancels it at the last minute, saying he was sick. I didn’t believe a word he said, but what could I do? Of course, cry.
I cried for the total of three days, and then I was over him, after all, how attached can you get to someone you never even met in person? In this case, not much.
Now, back to the main story. As our first encounter was a success, my whovian friends decided to go to the karaoke together. We scheduled the date, January 25th, but as the day came closer, most people cancelled. At the end, only Barbs, her boyfriend and I were going, so I also called my friend from college (the one who made the fez) and her husband.
I started the night off, singing Zombie, by The Cranberries. I rocked. As the time passed, we noticed Barbs’ boyfriend hadn’t arrived yet, and neither was he going to. She was upset, but not too much, after all, we were having fun.
After a while, came her turn to sing. She chose Man! I Feel Like a Woman!, by Shania Twain, and I vividly remember that moment. She wasn’t a professional singer, nor she had a perfect voice, but man! She was definitely feeling like a woman. Without knowing it, she found the direct rout to my love, through what I call The Siren Effect.
When you are enchanted by someone else’s voice,
so much that, if they sing, the got you in their hand.
By the first verse, she got my attention. By the second, she got the key to my heart, so now she could easily walk in. And I assure you, she did. I’ll give you all the pretty details first, but eventually we’ll get to the wrecking.
She was so amazing up there, that later on that night one girl came to our table and told her how pretty she was, and asked for a kiss. The girl was gently rejected, by the explanation that Barbs had a boyfriend.
My friends from college stayed a little more, but they went home by midnight, leaving me and her alone at the bar. We drank and sang for hours, and then she began to throw herself at me. She gave me a crooked and drunk hug, looking deep into my eyes. Her lips only a few inches away, enough for me to smell the alcohol and the cherries from her drink. Till this day, I don’t know how I resisted those lips. The fact was: She had a boyfriend and my moral standards would’ve never allowed me to kiss a compromised girl.
The night went on, and the fun didn’t stop. By 5 am, when the bar was closing, I sang one last song to an audience of seven people.
An old lady, smoking a cigar at the back,
Barbs and five employees.
We decided to walk to the bus station, and on the way there we stopped at a street fair to buy some Pastéis (Brazilian food. Basically, a fried pastry filled with cheese or meat). Before our buses arrived, we talked about some personal things, like when we lost our virginities and stuff like that, until we said goodbye and took our separate ways.
The next week was an explosion of emotions. I won’t say I was in love, but I was intensely interested in her, and I didn’t know what to do. I considered her boyfriend a friend of mine and, like I said earlier, they made a very cute couple together.
Then, my prayer was heard by some obscure entity, and he broke up with her. For what I know, they were dating for seven months and it came to a point where he couldn’t stand her anymore. Oh Moses, thank you for parting the red sea. I didn’t even flinch at the moral duality of going out with a friend’s ex-girlfriend, after all, I was falling in love, and that only makes us dumb.
On February first I went to her apartment to watch a movie, and you can imagine where this is going, right? So, I bought a few cheap condoms and took the bus. When I got there, she was waiting in a white dotted red dress, and it was the most iconic piece of clothing she had, as every time I find myself thinking about her, she’s wearing it.
The chosen movie was a perfect romantic film to watch alone in the dark with a girl you like: Amelie Poulain. We stood side by side on her couch, as I fed strawberries and chocolates to her lips, to soften the taste of the martini we were drinking. I was willing to keep her waiting for the first kiss, so it only came at the end of the movie.
The kiss. I could write a whole book about it. As Amelie kissed Nino in a way only she could do it, I leaned towards Barbs and tried to create our own whimsical moment.
Hey friend, I’m back! It’s been three and a half years since I wrote the story above, and about five since those events occured. So, from here on, you can expect a more direct and cold narrative, as a lot has changed since then.
First of all, reading everything I’ve wrote, I noticed how innocent I was, thinking that a heartbreak was such a disaster, enough to classify it as a metaphorical death (but I’m keeping the title, consider it nostalgia). Barely did I know, some real tragic shit would go down in the next years. But, at that time, I was really young, naive and self-centered, and it’s great to see how some things evolve: now I’m older and skeptical. Still self-centered though.
I am, and should always be, my first priority.
In the years I was absent from the writing board, I’ve been through some losses and found myself in a big process of self discovery. Getting wiser had its costs, and I’ll get to them, eventually.
I’m still a whovian,
I’m still a hopeless romantic,
I’m still a sarcastic bitch.
Back in 2016, I thought that some good experiences should be avoided in order to live a painless and happy life. I was actually willing to live a dull and boring story, if it meant no pain and heartbreak would occur. What life shoved down my throat was the exact opposite.
Pain is a very small price to pay for happiness.
No matter what you do, there will eventually be pain in your life. We are all made of a turmoil of emotions, and happiness isn’t a constant state, but a collection of good experiences. It also has a lot to do with how you perceive life: If you look at it with your pessimist goggles, noticing the happy moments becomes harder and harder.
What you do with pain is you take the focus away from it and don’t romanticize it. It’s bad, it’s unnavoidable, and you’ll get over it. A lot of great moments can go unnoticed if you focus only on your pain.
Now, enough with the present events. I’ll continue my recollection and try to keep some sort of chronological storytelling here. But I’m not gonna make any promises. I started writing this story with a complete different mindset. Let’s get to it…
