Notas:
En su habitación, donde nadie la puede ver ni oír, Jenifer se esconde con un sentimiento creciente de angustia en el pecho. Ella está agotada de que todo el tiempo le ocurra la misma situación: decide abrir un pedacito de su corazón a una persona experimentalmente, contándole un proyecto importante para ella, una meta, o un dolor profundo y reprimido por meses y hasta años.
Ella realmente intenta volver a confiar en la gente. Quiere ser una persona normal y funcional, y eso implica hablar y comunicarse con otros seres humanos. Tener… amigos. Pero el concepto de “amigo” para ella está sobrevalorado. La gente llama “amigo” a una persona que sencillamente le cae bien, o con la que tiene intereses en común. Quizá sea más lógico otorgarle ese título a alguien más duradero en la vida de uno, como una persona que conocemos de años y con la que hemos mantenido una relación de ayuda material mutua. Pero eso no contempla el hecho de que, cuando Jenifer está deprimida y su corazón late débilmente, sigue sintiendo exactamente la misma sensación de soledad absoluta, y no sabe con quien contar.
Ella aprieta contra su pecho algo, una almohada -por ejemplo-, y se repite a sí misma entre lágrimas que todo estará bien mientras se imagina cómo sería tener una amiga que se lo dijera.
Está harta de que se interesen por ella hombres cuyas intenciones finales no son otras que las sexuales. Ella ha creído muchas veces que ha encontrado, por fin, un amigo al cuál le interesa cómo ella se siente y lo que piensa. Un amigo con el que no se siente presionada a hablar en el momento en el que él haga silencio porque él no para de hablar constantemente. Un amigo que le de más que entre dos y cinco segundos para expresarse. Un amigo que no la interrumpa. Un amigo que le diga que, aunque no ha vivido lo que ella está pasando porque las circunstancias de ambos son diferentes, quiere poder entenderla al menos un poquito.
Ella ha creído tenerlo, pero entonces descubre que ese supuesto amigo ha estado dándole atención simplemente porque deseaba tener un noviazgo con ella, porque ella le atraía física o sexualmente, y ese era el medio para poder acercársele. Sí, Jenifer está tan cansada.
Así que aplasta la almohada contra su pecho en busca de un alivio y de que su corazón deje de doler dentro de su caja torácica, y imagina cómo sería tener una amiga que la abrazara en estos momentos. Sin temor de que tenga otras intenciones con ella. Se pregunta, incrementando su agitación, si la única manera de conseguir alguien que la apoye emocionalmente será teniendo un novio, aunque en el fondo él lo que realmente quiera sea sexo. La sola idea la repugna.
Se seca las lágrimas y mira a su alrededor tratando de regresar a la realidad desde sus sueños: está en una habitación completamente vacía. Está sola. Observa las paredes azules y opacas debido a la poca iluminación y se pregunta si su vida sería más feliz si tuviera alguien que la acompañara, cuánto duraría esa persona en su vida, y si después de perderla su dolor sería peor que el que tiene actualmente.
Finalmente, decide que es mejor continuar sola. No dejará que se le acerquen y la lastimen.
Notas:
Greetings, dear Hive readers! I
hope you are well, very well. Here I
bring you a fiction story oriented to
reflection about loneliness and the
meaning of friendship. I would like
to know your views on the matter.
(The text was translated at www.deepl.com
and the images were edited or created in
App Lumii and App Photo Editor Pro - Polish).
In her room, where no one can see or hear her, Jenifer hides with a growing feeling of anguish in her chest. She is tired of the same situation happening to her all the time: she decides to open a little piece of her heart to a person experimentally, telling them about a project that is important to her, a goal, or a deep and repressed pain for months or even years.
She really tries to trust people again. She wants to be a normal, functioning person, and that means talking and communicating with other human beings. Having… friends. But the concept of “friend” for her is overrated. People call a person they simply like, or with whom they have common interests, a “friend”. Perhaps it makes more sense to give that title to someone more enduring in one’s life, such as a person we’ve known for years and with whom we’ve had a relationship of mutual material support. But that doesn’t contemplate the fact that, when Jenifer is depressed and her heart is beating weakly, she still feels exactly the same sense of utter loneliness, and she doesn’t know who to count on.
She presses against her chest something, a pillow, for example, and repeats to herself in tears that everything will be all right while imagining what it would be like to have a friend to tell her so.
She is sick and tired of having men interested in her whose ultimate intentions are nothing but sexual. She has often believed that she has finally found a friend who is interested in how she feels and what she thinks. A friend with whom she does not feel pressured to talk when he is silent because he is constantly talking. A friend who gives her more than two to five seconds to express herself. A friend who doesn’t interrupt her. A friend who will tell her that, even though he hasn’t gone through what she is going through because their circumstances are different, he wants to be able to understand her at least a little bit.
She has thought she has, but then discovers that this so-called friend has been giving her attention simply because he wanted to have a courtship with her, because he was attracted to her physically or sexually, and that was the means by which he could get close to her. Yes, Jenifer is so tired.
So she crushes the pillow against her chest in search of relief and for her heart to stop aching inside her rib cage, and imagines what it would be like to have a friend to hold her right now. Without fear that she has other intentions with her. She wonders, increasing her agitation, if the only way to get someone to support her emotionally will be to have a boyfriend, even if deep down he really wants sex. The very idea disgusts her.
She wipes her tears and looks around, trying to return to reality from her dreams: she is in a completely empty room. She is alone. She looks at the opaque blue walls due to the dim lighting and wonders if her life would be happier if she had someone to be with her, how long that person would last in her life, and if after losing that person her pain would be worse than it is now.
Finally, she decides that it is better to go on alone. She will not let them get close to her and hurt her.
