Sometimes late at night, when He comes to bed, I don’t move, if He puts his hand on me. I take it’s warmth. And sometimes, if He falls asleep before I do, I reach out and touch Him. Just to feel a body. Sometimes I miss human touch too much.

I’m told that even as a baby I always wanted more – more attention, more love, more affection. I never had enough. I felt ashamed when listening to that. I felt as if it is a fault, as if I did something wrong.

I am still the same. And I still feel the same. Ashamed of how much I crave to be loved. Feeling guilty of wanting to be someone important and valued. I try to hide my need to be the one someone devotes their time to.

Every time I want to say “I need you” I feel like I’m too needy. Every time I feel sad and lonely and desperate, I feel almost disgusted by myself – for being weak, for wanting someone, for missing affection, for… For wanting love.

And yet, a part deep in me, a part I want to silence, wonders if it really is such a fault, if it really is wrong, if I am damaged. A part of me feels like it’s right to want and need. A part of me cries.

The part of me that wants to be adult and grown up and reasonable says I should accept what is. A part of me that wants to feel safe and sheltered wants to learn not to want and feel. A part of me wants to die.

That part I buried and hide wonders: if I need to kill a part of myself to be as I should be, is it really right?

I’m not that naïve. I do not expect anything anymore. That’s ok. It’s not a nice thing to know, it’s not easy to accept, but it is what it is. Wanting is not the same as expecting. The hard part is to convince myself, convince to change my heart. That tiny part of me wonders, if by changing it I won’t kill all that I am.

If I stop wanting to be loved, will I kill the love in me?

Alenka H., 2022

There are people that will never honestly tell you what they think. There are people that will say nice words to your face and hurtful ones behind your back. And there are people that say they are “just honest”, even if brutally. People who will say what they think, even if their words cut and crush you, and do it in the name of “truth”.

I don’t believe in that kind of honesty.

I don’t believe in lies. I don’t believe it’s good to deceive others. I especially do not believe it’s ok to say one thing to a person when you think the opposite (and then even say that when that person is not around). But I believe in being nice more than in being brutally honest.

It’s a thin line between lying and just not being hurtfully honest. When does omitting something become deceiving? I do not know. But if the opposite is hurting someone, then at least I have to consider if saying it all, the truth, whole truth and nothing but truth, does anyone any good. I have to consider others more than my need to say what I think is true. (Yes, what I think is true. Not what is true. Because my truth may not the the other’s truth.)

And when being honest, I have to consider one other thing. Am I so honest about myself?

Sometimes it’s hard to be honest even TO yourself. There are parts of us we don’t really want to see. Acknowledge. Accept. Admit. Own. Some things are embarrassing. Some make us look bad. Some we are ashamed of. Some make us vulnerable or make us look weak. Can you honestly say to yourself that there are no things that you don’t want to admit even to you? I cannot. Yes, eventually I have to face it all. But some thoughts I avoid and look away and pretend they are not there. In the end, I have no other option but to be honest to myself. But it is not easy, no. Sometimes it hurts like hell.

It’s even harder to be honest ABOUT yourself to others. How much of myself do I reveal? How much do I tell? Share? Do I show my ugly side? My insecurities? Oh no, modesty has nothing to do with that. Modesty is not honesty. Downplaying has nothing to do with it either. Talking ill of myself neither (oh, yes, we know the game: we say something bad about ourselves and hope, even expect, that others will tell us how wonderful we really are). None of that is being honest. The true honesty is not that simple, not that plain, not shallow, not easy.

Only when I can honestly say I’m honest to and about myself have I any right to consider being “brutally honest” to others, about others. And then I have to say the truth with my heart, not my mind – kindly, gently and lovingly. Only when brutal honesty looses brutality.

Love is the only truth. Anything else is an opinion.

Alenka H., 2022

It’s almost springtime. Almost. Some days it’s here, some days not yet. Some mornings are too cold, but some afternoons are warm and sunny and smell like growth.

I like this time, pre-spring. Early flowers bloom, others are still sleeping. You can see the buds on trees waking up, slowly, not yet ready to show, but you know they are there.

You can sense the restless life that is just below surface.

And the world is so full of options, chances, all that could be. You know what is to come, you can almost see the richness that will be in a few week’s time.

Or maybe not. Cold can still come. Buds can freeze. You can never tell. But right there is an abundance of possibilities, the joy of life and birth and growth and fruit to come. Everything is still there to almost see, almost touch, almost feel.

All the possibilities. Just as the last moment of dreams before you wake up. The first smell of food before you taste it. The last inch before the first kiss. The brush of air before the touch. Everything can still be ok.

Yes, I love this time, with the joy, the optimism, the open doors, the invitation and the anticipation.

Alenka H., 2022

Some people sing under the shower. It is my place to cry. Warm water relaxes my body and allows my heart to feel. And my heart feels the only thing it can, allowing the water to wash my tears. Some people sing, I cry. Water drops and tears make love on me.

Alenka H., 2022

If I were my friend, I’d tell me I’m ok as I am. I’d say I might not be perfect – and I don’t need to be. As long as I try to be what I can be, I’m ok.

If I were my friend, I’d say I’m forgiven. I’d tell me I’ve always done what I knew, what I could at that moment. And that is it.

If I were my friend, I’d tell me it’s ok to make mistakes. And I’m not a bad person because of them. I’m not less. I’m not stupid. I did what I did. I’ve learned what I have, and it’s time to go on. Even if I make more mistakes, I’ll still be lovable.

If I were my friend, I’d tell me I, as everyone else, deserve love. Even more, I’d tell me I’m loved. And if I crave yet more love, that’s ok too. Because that’s me.

If I were my friend, I’d tell me I’m not a failure. I’m not damaged goods. I’m not nobody. I’m not trash. I’m a wonderful being. Valuable. Treasured. Special.

If I were my friend, I’d remind me we all have ups and downs, bad days and good days, successes and challenges… We all make good and not-so-good choices. We are all human.

If I were my friend, I’d tell me I understand… I get lost sometimes. And that is ok. I just have to find my way back.

If I were my friend, I’d tell me… I’d tell me all the things I would tell someone I love, care for. And I’d hope I would listen. Believe.

Why do we tell others, with all honesty, love and faith, the things we do not believe for ourselves? Better: why don’t we believe for ourselves the things we, honestly, lovingly, tell our friends?

Alenka H., 2022

I am many things, many roles, many aspects. One of them is – I am brain tumour patient.

I was first diagnosed more than 8 years ago. Since then I had different treatments, remissions, recurrences, getting worse and getting better… And now, facing the third time, I’m more tired than ever. And more lonely.

Having such an illness is hard. Maybe the hardest part is that it is a damn lonely thing to face. Even if you have people near you.

People close to patients with severe illnesses face it in their own way. It is the truth: such conditions do not affect just the patient, they affect their families as well, just in a slightly different way. I am a mother, a daughter, a wife, a sister too, and I can understand that their pain is different, but in no way less signifiant than mine. Just different.

People face difficult situations in different ways. Some close. Some yell. Some fight. Some deny. Some research. Some lay down. Some get up and do whatever they can. In my eyes ther is no right or wrong way – everyone does what they can. And it is all right. It is all right to give up, and it is all right not to give up. It is all right to cry, and it is all right to stay positive and believe all will be well. The reality is how we perceive it.

However, when it becomes hard, understanding it does not make it easier to (not) feel what you do. Either you cannot burden those who face their own pain with yours too (how could you?!), or there is no-one who would listen at all. Because the reality of the one who is sick, who is in pain, who faces it all, is not the reality anyone would want to know. Some people don’t want to hear it. Some say it’s not bad. Some say you only have to stay positive. Some want to share their story. All you need is someone to listen.

Yes, it is lonely. There are days when all you feel is the need to share, to tell, to say it, to let it out.

You must face yet another pain alone.

Alenka H., 2022

I’m guilty.

I’m guilty of loving. Of loving too fast. Of loving too much. Of loving too little. Of not loving any more.

I’m guilty of wanting to be loved. Too much. Too often. Again and again.

I’m guilty of asking. Of wanting. Of needing.

I’m guilty of giving. Of giving it all. Of not giving enough. Of wanting to give. Of refusing to give.

I’m guilty of trying. Trying too long. Not trying hard enough.

I’m guilty of giving up.

I’m guilty of hoping.

I’m guilty of being tired.

I’m guilty of wanting it all to end.

I’m guilty of feeling guilty.

And in the end the guilt is the one thing keeping me chained here. I wish, I wish it would be something else. But I’m guilty of being just – guilty.

Alenka H., 2021