August 15, 2013

My fingers hover over my keyboard as I try to pinpoint what I need to write about. Writing is something that frees me, but it doesn’t always naturally come out. It takes some searching and thinking to get to a point where I know what thread to follow.

A few days ago, my partner and I broke up. Or rather, I broke up with him. The lie had gone too far, the extent of the illusion was too great for my love to peer through. If I hadn’t put a stop to it, it would have put a stop to my very heartbeat. But I am left with a huge hole inside, a gaping wound that hasn’t started bleeding yet.
It’s like when you burn yourself. You pull away before the pain arrives. But you know it’s coming, and that nothing will prevent that. You try to get ready for it, but you never are.

Back in October, I broke up with him the first time. What still feels to me as forcefully, he got me to talk to him again, and twisted himself back into place. By my side. Instead of accepting his wrongs and letting me go through whatever steps necessary, he took what he thought was his rightful spot. Instead of honestly respecting my stance on our relationship, he dug up whatever feelings remained and used them against me. Not for my own good, not to make me happy, but for his own gain. And after that, he had me right where he wanted me. Where he could lie to me again, make himself look good, flatter his shattered ego with my naive adoration.

Now, that is over. I can forgive, and I can move on, but trust is a very slow thing to recover. It’s a fragile thing that has a mind of its own. Likely that is an important lesson for me; I’m too gullible, I cave too easily and I sometimes want things so badly that I actually forgo what my rational mind tells me. My emotions overrule my knowledge, and I shouldn’t let that happen.

The anger has subsided now, and it feels really nice. It’s the first time I’ve been able to relax in weeks. Today, all I have done is watch movies, and sleep. Sleep, sleep, more sleep. I had never realized how tired I was, until I was away from him, from the whole situation, and could start distancing myself from the whole mess that was our relationship. What a mess it was. A disgusting mix of his lies, my anger, his mistakes, my spite and horrific misunderstanding. When the basis of truth falls away, the whole couple becomes a farce. All the energy that should go into loving each other better, goes into saving the crumbling ruins of a dream.
I’ll have to be at home to fully grasp what it is I have lost, and what I have gained. My freedom, carelessness and integrity are gained, but the loss is still unclear. It’s difficult to see what he gave me, when what he took was so vast and fresh. Right now I still mostly feel robbed of some innocent part of me. But maybe that part really did need to be gone.

We’ll see how I feel tomorrow.



April 20, 2013

Apparently it’s going to be one of those nights. I haven’t stopped crying since I let myself feel, after publishing the last post. It’s still the weirdest thing, realizing that feeling is something I need to actively let happen.

Well, scratch that. I sent my friend from last night an e-mail, explaining that what he said hurt me. It was a ridiculously long thing, but hopefully he’ll understand. Because last night he kept saying how I’m such a strong and confident young woman, and I’m not bad looking, and he couldn’t understand why I was with a man from the other side of the world who fucked things up pretty badly over here. In the e-mail I explained that the reason I was confident and blossoming, was because of that particular man on the other side of the world.


April 12, 2013

Ok ok ok. There is a snoring cat drooling on my leg, and I’m home after a night out with a very, very close friend. Who of course, told me “you need to call your classmate if it bothers you that much“. Well. Shit. When did she get insightful, all of a sudden? No, seriously, she was never insightful when I was still drinking/using and I was the smart one.

When I texted her earlier that I’d drop by around 7PM, she answered that she was thrilled, and was gonna get a bottle of wine. I didn’t reply, and hadn’t completely decided yet what I was gonna do with that. Would I be able to resist? Would it be fair to tell her that I’d rather not drink, or would that make her uncomfortable? I almost accepted a glass, only because I was afraid to put her on the spot. People always feel so guilty when you decline alcohol, like they did something wrong by offering it, even though nothing in the material world could ever have given them an inkling that you’d rather not drink. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, do you want something else? Here let’s just quickly get rid of this wine with big gestures and resolute movements. Juice? Water? Soda? Are you comfortable? Is everything perfectly okay?’ I’M JUST TEMPORARILY CUTTING DOWN ON THE BOOZE TAKE A DEEP BREATH.
Anyway; the sentiment was very sweet.

So no, I didn’t drink, and it wasn’t hard. I had absolutely no reason to get drunk, and no reason to stall my quitting any longer. And I had an awesome time, she was very happy to see me and I was too. It had been a while, something always came up whenever we made plans. Often she’d end up too hungover to go anywhere, and I’d just roll with it and leave it at that. I was never mad at her for that stuff, I was like that too and worse.
Besides drinking her and her boyfriend also use a lot of drugs, mostly cocaine. They have been talking about quitting a lot, but never really get around to it. She told me, when he left to go to a bar, that she often wanted him to stop using because she’d mostly use along with him. I think I got through to her in saying the only thing she can change is herself, and that’s where it all starts. She needs to quit for herself, on her own terms and independently from the world around her. Shit’s gonna happen, and keep happening. I can tell she’s not “there” yet, but every little step counts.

What was weird, was being sober as a judge around everyone getting drunk. Come to think of it, everyone else thought it was weird too, because I’m usually the drunkest one. I got a lot of compliments for looking nice and hot, I’m not sure if it was actually my looks or just the fact that for once I looked gathered and approachable. I also really enjoyed being in a position to take care of my friend when she was dropping things or started to get very emotional (they’re in the process of saying goodbye to a friend who chose palliative sedation, long story (it’s cancer)). I could legitimately respond in a thoughtful and responsible way to people’s pain, it felt really good. They patted me on the shoulder several times, I really think I was a comfort for once. So success story number one is in the bag.


February 12, 2013

That was a weird night. My boyfriend is apparently pretty much losing himself in the fear of me not being happy once we’re living together. Which has the precise effect he’s afraid of, of course, ’cause it makes him angry, grumpy and confusing, and thus makes me sad. Stupid, but not so easily countered. He sees it happening, but there’s nothing he can do, much like me and my impulsive blabbers.

He usually sleeps restlessly, and has dreams about memories he’d rather not have. When I try to imagine what that must be like, I’m at a loss. Every night, he lives through a terrible event, and wakes up convinced he’s right there all over again. That sounds paralyzing, not to mention demoralizing. How do you cope with the past, when it feels like the present for a good ten minutes every day when you wake up?
Guilt is well known to be one of the worst emotions a human can bear. He used to drink so much he was hallucinating in some kind of alcohol-related psychosis. It’s not an excuse, or anything, but I’m sure his personality had thoroughly changed by the time he was in his early twenties. According to his own (drunk) plan (that wasn’t really a plan) at the time, he was probably going to die and none of it would matter anyway. He was an asshole, because he had nothing more to lose, and certainly didn’t believe anything could be gained.

He got sober accidentally. He walked out with the idea that he would die. One morning, having the usual shakes, instead of drinking, he walked and never stopped walking. He was certain that at some point he would get so sick due to lack of alcohol in his system he would collapse in an alley and life would slowly seep out of him. More accurately, he was counting on that fact. It was a waiting game for his heart to give up pumping blood, for his brain to have detoxification epilepsy.
None of it happened. He lived. He had been ready to leave this dreadful place for a good while, but he survived. I’m happy he’s here, but I can see how those first days of sobriety and consequent realizations of everything he had done, were probably absolute torture. It must be confusing beyond all comprehension to be the biggest of sinners, and to be chosen to face yourself despite your absolutely rotten interior. Maybe that’s actually an even worse punishment than to come to pass. But god deemed him capable of doing it, so there.

Trying to avoid doing more harm, he lived tucked away in a boring routine for a few years after that. Working at night, disappearing into his room during the day. That, or he was somewhere, protected from his own whip, on some AA activity helping out.
Then one day, he met me. This disturbed his understanding of the world thoroughly. He had come to peace with the shithole he was living in, he had accepted that his life would be empty, long and a drag. It felt right, like he was repaying some kind of universal karma system. Suddenly he experienced excitement, love and he was loved back. It didn’t fit into his plan of repent and contrite. His guilt caught up to him, he must’ve been incredibly imprisoned. I never realized I was doing it, but by being all “oh you’re so awesome” he probably didn’t feel any better.

What he sees, because of what he’s done, and what I see, are very different things. I met him after all these facts, in fact it’s only recently that I’ve really come to hear the scope of his past. He wouldn’t easily talk about his mishaps, which is understandable, and so I never really realized what I was dealing with. Well, that’s not the right way of putting it, I know exactly what I’m dealing with. But I mean I never realized what he used to be.
I’m a strong believer of leaving the past for what it is. Judging people based on something you heard, but never witnessed or endured, is unfair and just low. So I don’t; it’s easy for me to keep to what I know and form an opinion on someone based on that, because it’s how I’ve always done it and it’s how I want to be treated myself. Anything he tells me, slowly but surely, doesn’t come close to shaping my image of him. That was before, it holds no water.
It’s different for him, forgiving oneself is a really hard thing to do when hearts have been broken ruthlessly, friends have been betrayed and lives have been lost.

I suppose even if he went at it again, I’d still not doubt who I know he is. He is friendly, inherently good. He has dreams, and he is afraid of seeing them shattered. He can be a complete ass, but he apologizes after. He’s very angry, his rage is always just slightly beneath the surface, despite his placid, serene exterior (I told him to get a punching bag). He’s proud, he sticks to his own ideas and gets grey hair from my own, unpredictable back flips.
I love him. I always will love him. I never knew what unconditional love meant until he showed me. I didn’t even know what forgiveness without reservations was, until he showed me that too. The resentment that’s always been a part of me, is melting. My life has changed for the better since he’s been in it, but I don’t know how to show him that. I want him to be happy, but that’s not for me to want. I want him to find peace, to forgive himself so we can be together unimpeded, but that’s not my right to claim. I’ll just have to wait for it to get a little better. Waiting isn’t a thing I do well.


February 11, 2013

It’s all ending, soon. The new life might actually be incredibly shitty. It’s really pretty scary, when you think of it -but I haven’t much, because it’s scary.
A few months from now, I’m going to receive a nice little piece of paper that is my degree, and I’m going to have to grab every ounce of courage I have, and find a job. In a country I’ve never lived in, in a therapeutic setting I probably don’t know or entirely grasp. What if I do it all wrong, you know? What if everything they taught me here, is not at all what I’m supposed to be doing over there.

I’ll worry about that when I’m there.

Will I miss home? Will I even think back on it? Will it feel like I left something, or will it feel like new found freedom? It’s hard to tell. Many, many aspects will be shaken off, not left behind. But others, that I may not even notice now, I might actually end up missing.
Knowing people when I come into a bar; recognizing their faces, knowing who they usually go out with. Knowing their parents, knowing what school they went to. Having that broad background of familiar education, life story and future. Although obviously now my future thoroughly digresses.
Will they visit? They say they mean to, but will they?

Should it matter? Or should I turn my head and not look back. What is the most efficient way to start over somewhere else, without feeling the sorrow of leaving a whole life behind? I have no idea.
But this is a dream. A lifelong dream. It’s happening.

My posts are getting shorter.


February 4, 2013

Been a while since I’d been this tired.

But I’m working with addicts and it makes my heart sing.

Also he has diabetes, it’s not cancer.

Sleep now.


January 29, 2013

Before & after

Like I said in a previous post; it was time for something new. In yet another post, I dared share a picture of some of the inconceivable clutter I allowed to build up in my room. Listen, when I get depressed, my room turns into the chaos my mind is. It’s not my fault. I’m more and more convinced the winter and maybe a vitamin shortage made me burn out. That’s a thing, right?
I could see lack of sunlight causing a lack of vitamin D, and thus lack of everything else. Our body is so complicated, it’s all an intertwined machinery where one influences the other.

Supposedly, my boyfriend is off to hunt for a car as I type this. He’ll call me to discuss the different models for a bit, and we’ll make a decision then. When he told me he would call me, I was superflattered. He wants my opinion, on a car. I know about as much about cars as the worst caricature of a peabrain bimbo you can think of. If asked to change the oil, I might very well go look for some magic button saying “OIL” on the back seat.
But I’m also excited, because any new purchase fills me up with some kind of childish butterfly feeling. I am doing adult things, look at me buying a car with my partner. Give me a paper bag, I think I’m hyperventilating.

The reason I cleaned up my room, was also because I have this vague notion of sleep hygiene. If left to my own devices, which is the case at the moment, I spend entire days in bed. When I get hungry, or thirsty, I’ll get up briefly to take care of these formalities, but other than that I’ll shamelessly hibernate like the best of the unemployed lot. It gets to a point where I hold in my pee because I’m too lazy to go the bathroom, which is across the hall. That was my rock bottom.
I started with this, and slowly retrieved a visible floor:

Before & after

By installing a little “personal corner” in my room, that isn’t my bed, I’m hoping to clean up my act some. I hope to take the trouble to put on real-people-clothes and not some pyjama-ish junk, to start wearing a bra again (I forget how the clasps behind my back work, how does that happen?) and to brush my teeth. The mouthwash was making my gums sting, and that was an ideal excuse to abandon dental care altogether. I’m serious, this has been a bad case of the winter blues.
I had all but given up on reading, which is usually one of my favorite activities, and I hope to pick that one back up now that I have a cozy corner to snuggle in with my cat. It would be even better if I could snuggle with my BOYFRIEND but. In a moment of clarity I chose to take a break from his relapsing everything, about 4 months back now.
So far so good, our relationship hasn’t ever been better, I don’t think. Apart from the lack of sex, that’s never fun.

A bed is for sleeping and screwing, and shouldn’t be there for anything else. Spending entire days in that same environment is not only gross, it’s also very bad for the quality of your sleep. This is why we’re not doing that anymore. And by we, I mean my laptop, my cat and myself. We’re like the holy trinity.

I’m growing more and more fond of wheels on furniture. I want everything on wheels. Every day, rearrange your living room with no trouble at all, in some kind of absurd Mary Poppins-like scenario of singing, smiling and dancing, with maybe a whiff of Lewis Carroll.

I think I’m back.