In the bookshop

When I was a teen girl I couldn’t imagine it was possible to existsuch a bookstore – a part of the premises was a café where the visitors din’t read books but did other kinds of activities, maybe more interesting than browsingamong pages. A man in a violet pullover was trying to explain to a woman in a pink cardigan that contemporary life was unthinkable without PC. She didn’t believe him. Besides, she knew that his mother had chosen that pullover. If he wasn’t able to buy clothes by himself, it wasn’t strange he couldn’t live without the network. On the next table a mother with a gorgeous body in a tight dress was rewriting secretly a recipe from a cookbook when her toddler screamed fell unexpectedly in the legs of the woman with the pink cardigan who in a moment saw the opportunity it could be her child and his father wore stupid clothes, etc., so made the unconditional decision she would never go out with him again. Her eyes emanated a picture, painted with a blaze never used by a m…

Talk with my fear

The emotions during our dream are sometimes more intense than those we feel in the reality – this fatal conception which plays with us ruthlessly. They are for real because we can’t suppress them as we do it when believe we are awake. It wasn’t necessary to study Freud’s theories, nor someone to lie to me that all parents loved their children to understand that what I met those night was my subconsciousness. And so many times before it. In the same dream I have had since I don’t see you. Almost six years went by, dear father.

Finally I figured out that her rejection hasn’t hurt me as deeply as the fact you have abandoned me. I felt so unprotected throughout my life and absolutely lonely in the world which she has pressed on me. There nobody needs of me, I am an obstacle and a drag, and my existence is meaningless. There wasn’t another world for me. But you should have prevented me from her, from my own mother-psychopath, you should have stopped her, you should have saved me and took in…

Show your mistakes

About seven years ago I saw a homeopath. She was an old lady and when I rang the doorbell of her consulting room, the door was opened after a few minutes. Looking at her face I realized she had slept inside. The sleep leaves insolent traces on our faces. The doctor started interviewing me and asked me if I loved to write. ‘Yes, I have written for my  childhood – I had a diary.’ I also questioned her: ‘Why do I love writing so much?’. She answered that I wanted to rewrite the story of my life because I didn’t like it. Did I feel good in my own company? Actually, I was the sleeping person. I had put my real core to sleep in my invented study of a woman with a healthy business and fake friendships, pretending to have a wonderful life.

Before about two years I heard about the book ‘Show your work’ by Austin Kleon. Since I had stopped writing for some time, I was curious to know how this author would persuade me to start it again. My husband who had seen this interesting title in a bookstor…

I didn’t want to eat, there was no God to pray to, there was nobody to love

While I was reading the memoir ‘Eat pray love’ by Elizabeth Gilbert I didn’t know how deep emotional pain would experience. I was thinking she was one of the many women who was married to the wrong man, just like me. She left him at age of 31. Since I was interested in eastern teachings I was impressed by her journey to India, although the Italian part was very intriguing as well.

When the movie, based on the book, released I was 33 years old woman who didn’t see any option but the suicide. My grandmother said it could fall to me an alcoholic man, and I laughed at her words. However, men fall to women in Bulgaria. It fell to me a narcissistic person with psychopathological traits. As my mother did’t want me, when I graduated from high school immediately started an affair with him in order to escape from her brutal treatment of me and from my ignoring father. Of course, what I tried to avoid increased. I didn’t think my destiny would be different than that one of the most Bulgarian girl…

The 'happiness' to be a dog in Bulgaria

I’m a dog. I was told that they loved me. Sometimes. When I sit on the terrace all day long and bark and howl because I am cold or hot I can hear strangers yelling at me: Stop! But my owner said he bought a pet in order to disturb the neighbours. Some of them have more expensive cars, and others look happy and have better jobs. But he only has me. He revenges himself on them in this way. I can’t understand if I am a revenge.
When I’m locked up in the flat, usually in the corridor, I‘m too bored and because of that I bark at least three hours without ceasing. When I’m tired I fall asleep for a while and then bark again. Nobody explained to me I could do other things as well. I gather that the dogs in Los Angeles and Germany are not allowed to bark more than ten minutes, in Switzerland barking is totally forbidden, and in Canada a doctor helps dogs to stop barking. Seemingly, I can do what I want. If there are so many persons who are stopped from sleeping by me, especially the ill, it me…