Love stories. Writers fill it with sparkles and characters with good hair. Citizens read them, trying to live up to those standards of perfection. Me, on the other hand… I am kinda messed up.

Besides family and God, there are two other things I love for different, but, simultaneously, the same reason: books and writing. I believe we are the people in the books. We are the characters we read about, laugh and cry with and spend nights talking to. We cherish the idea of wishing they were real and they turn out to give us more than just an imaginative influence. We are the people of our books and that is feels like free falling.  The same way, writing works as cathartic therapy. Cards, pieces of paper, laptop, cell phone and even toilet paper. As some other humans, I regularly find myself having an hard time expressing my feelings and thoughts when around other people. When those moments hit me like a heavy rock, I write. And, suddenly, everything that once gave me nothing but pain comes out. In such a simple way that you wonder why have you been struggling with the rock for such a long time.

In my twenty years of experience on the third planet from the sun, I’ve come to the conclusion that life is not perfect. And, oh, how many times I’ve wished I could just run away and go to a place where no one knows me, nor expects anything from me. But life also gave me the opportunity to realize that there is nothing good about wishing for a clean slate and pushing the “start me up” button. Because we are nothing but humans. And we have both “I am not capable of dealing with life” and “Let’s fight to survive” thoughts. So I am in the middle. And I am learning how to deal with it, how to fight for it.

One time, I read a quote that I felt like describe me in the most correct and trivial way I could thought. There are only three places I feel absolutely safe when I am alone. The first one is in bed, with fresh and cozy sheets and tons of pillows. The white sheets and the cotton on the pillows protect my mind from any dragon that wants to destroy my dreams. The second one is a quiet, calm and green place, reading a book. That gives me the opportunity to step back from my own problems and be one other person for a while. And, last but not least, in water, in a swimming pool. “Alone. Weightless. Peaceful. Nobody talking. Nobody pretending. Just being. Those are the only places. Everywhere else I get smacked in the face with arrogance, ignorance, shallowness. They knock me down and leave me bleeding on the floor”.

For long as I am indecisive, I am also positive that I want to be a psychologist and help people. And, if you ask me, I can’t think of a single reason why I should become one, but there are thousands  of reasons that popped in my head for why I should quit. And I think this happens on purpose.  I am scared I won’t be able to fully understand people and help them finding a way out. But there comes a moment in your life when it all stops being just a game. A moment when someone tells you “thank you” after you giving a two-words advice, and you don’t feel like walking away from the fear. A smile stops you right there and makes you know that you won’t screw up as long as you believe.

So, this is my story. Or, if you want it in a more formal way, a story about a girl that dreams way too much. And this is probably the only resemblance you will find to a love story. Because the perfect and sparkly things… They are only in the books I have on my shelf. My life, well, I still haven’t figured out a good title. But I am happy with it.

Oh, and my name is Catarina. It wonderful to meet you.

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