Broken
I don’t know who I am anymore.
I stopped talking with myself a few months ago. I seek out things to do to kill time, to kill thoughts. To live with myself. To go on.
You think that everything will be ok and that you’ll never love anyone else again, because you’re happy. Or you should be happy. And then, suddenly you’re in love again, with all the passionate thoughts I can’t really describe, but my stomach flips when I think about it. And you find yourself loving one person and being in love with another…
Don’t ask me how it’s possible.
Feeling nothing
I look at my love… and I feel nothing. None of that usual warm and comforting feeling inside me. I look at my cats… I should have missed them when I was away… and I feel nothing. I think about my family… and I feel nothing.
Just empty sadness. Or sad emptiness. Whatever.
I’ve kind of broken my own heart. I wanted to feel something. And I felt something for a little while, now it’s just nothing.
I wonder if it’s temporary. Is it just because I’ve returned to normal life after four weeks and I need to adjust again? Or have I shut all the emotions and I have to start all over again? Do I have to spend another few months (years?) regaining them?
It was nice to feel something, even if it hurt. It gave me energy. It made me creative. I loved. Now – I don’t know. Maybe it’s just today. Or this week. Maybe I’ll be better tomorrow.
Heart
Sometimes… one little heart… can bear more love… than one regular brain can handle…
Sanity
I suspect having negative sanity since about two weeks ago. Two things actually happened that caused that, and only my big sense of humour and finding funny stuff in everything keeps me from massive depression and going berserk.
I hadn’t spoken with my mother for more than a week before yesterday. It was one of the most quiet weeks ever. She had phoned me last week only to create more panic, and to inform me that my cats will die in a plane.
Since I’m panicked enough already and the relocation stuff has been occupying 100% of my time and thoughts, with my sanity already hanging on a thread, you can see how this wasn’t the kind of information I needed to hear right then, so I ended the call and cried for half an hour. At least I found out I can cry again. Sort of.
Anyway, she felt offended. Big time. And haven’t called me for over a week. Instead my father came over and went on how I treat my mother badly and now she’s unhappy and also that I won’t be able to do anything without help (sanity faded slightly).
The second thing was another phonecall from a so-called friend, who needed some sympathy, empathy or whatever, because he had a big unsolvable problem: his girlfriend had to go away. For two days. For two fucking days.
I quietly reminded him how long I’ve been forced to live away from my love and since when I hadn’t seen him. I found no understanding, or at least no real understanding.
After this incident I decided not to invite this person to my farewell party. Neither I need to hear pointless rantings of selfish people, nor take care of them and be their “good aunt” to cry their problems to.
I’m going to Dublin in less than two weeks. I’m afraid, panicked, tired of packing stuff and throwing stuff out, tired of living alone, having to listen to what my mother has to say.
Fortunately my love is coming over this Friday and the party is on Saturday, so it’s peace and fun and positive sanity again before me. But until then I have to be strong and finish everything that I have started.
Quick update
I haven’t written anything for a while, I know. I wish I have. I’ve been very busy, very tired and quite lonely too.
My relations with my parents have improved a little bit since I moved out about two months ago. My flat is still in mess, but the whole renovating is over, I just have to clean the mess, sort the stuff and pack the boxes that I’ll need when I finally move to my love: clothes, books, blankets, pillows, all the stuff we have gathered during all those years.
I also have to throw out a lot, which is somewhat difficult, but makes me a little bit happier every time I actually make a decision to throw something out. As I had written before – cleaning the physical mess makes it easier to make my emotions less chaotic. Maybe when this is over I’ll finally be able to concentrate on real work, reading etc. If only I wasn’t so lazy, it’d be over already.
Yesterday a friend told me that he envied my husband; he says he never knew a love could be so strong in a person, and he wishes his wife would love him as much as I love my husband. I don’t know how he knew it, I don’t talk about these things at all, but it made me cry. And I haven’t cried in a very long time. Maybe my eyes will finally stop hurting from keeping the tears inside.
Sleep
When a beloved one dies, one should probably feel sad.
I feel lightly.
I had to shut down my empathy for the last few days. If I hadn’t, I’d probably fall apart more than my father and my uncle, looking at them both. To feel such sadness from a loved person isn’t easy and I’m not brave enough to face that.
When a beloved one dies, you should feel more empty.
But I’ve been feeling emptiness after her for the last few years. I’ve started even before she stopped recognizing me. I was probably too impatient, I don’t know. I still feel empty, but I’m somehow not more sad than before.
Sleep well, grandma. <3
A quick update
I’ve been in Dublin since yesterday noon. It’s been sleepy, rainy, sexy and comfy. I kinda pamper myself here, getting bubble baths, taking care of my hair and nails and stuff. I’m here with my love and we’ve been doing everything together since yesterday: cooking, shopping, reading… I wonder how long it will last until we get bored… I hope long. It’s sweet.
I think I’ve gained a new friend recently… he told me that I’m a people person and connect with people easily… so that is what it looks like from the outside… I make a lot of effort to connect with people and for it to have a meaning. I love people, but I’m shy. I always have this feeling that they don’t want to hear what I’m saying and I don’t want to force myself upon them, really, so I usually stay quiet. Unless there’s someone I really get along with well, like that one person, it feels like I’d known him forever and each talk with him regains my lost Sanity points (if you excuse my use of RPG terminology)…
My good wizard has been away recently, celebrating a holiday, being with his girl etc. I miss him a lot, and I sort of feel our special energical connection fading away. I don’t feel his presence so strongly, although I feel a little bit of it all the time. We’re in touch, we exchange text messages at least once a day. But this doesn’t feel enough. I know he’s busy and again, I don’t want to force myself upon him. I’ll make updates once a day and that’s it, if he wants to talk he knows where to find me.
If it hasn’t been for my friends and all the great people I’ve recently met, I’d probably lose my Sanity long ago.
A touch that made me hurt
I had a very weird experience a few days ago.
One of my colleagues, not even a friend, just a person whom I meet at parties at our friends’ or in a pub somtimes, has shown certain feelings towards me. Nothing clear. It was a simple touch. He was getting out of a pub and wanted to say goodbye, and he touched my back for two seconds. But it wasn’t a kind of touch that you usually grace your pub colleagues with, it was something that you reserve for a lover.
I felt a surge of weird energy through my body, going right to my fingers and toes, feeling like they’d explode, and I’m not sure it was his energy or mine. I couldn’t ground that energy at the time and I couldn’t save it for later, so I simply had too keep it the way it was and it almost hurt. I didn’t know what to say, and he left very quickly.
Yeah, I had noticed his glances, but I wasn’t sure what they meant. After all I’m married and he knows that perfectly well. And besides, guys simply don’t feel that way about me, because I’m the person they like to have a few beers and talk about movies or photography with, not one of the slender and beautiful women they usually fancy in black laces and high heels.
I feel really weird and don’t know what to do with the fact in order to not hurt that man (no, of course I don’t want to go to bed with him, I’m married, for crying out loud.)
A few hours after this event I had a nightmare about our dog dying, and there was a lot of blood and guts involved; I really want to remember prettier dreams, but somehow I remember the ones like this. This is the way the painful energy gets out or makes itself known.
Communication
Talking about my feelings is an enormous effort for me. I always have the feeling that the person that I’m talking to doesn’t give a crap. So I don’t. I close up. Even to my love. But in spite of that, I have a distant feeling that people should talk about their feelings to their spouses, right? Right.
So sometimes I try. I try to cry to feel a relief, but I can’t. And when I try he changes the subjects, starts talking about irrelevant silly little things that make me mad at the moment. Or he tries to make me laugh, when all I need is someone to take my pain and ground it, because I don’t have a lightning rod in a form of God or gods.
And he has that stupid little habit of interpreting all problems as medical cases.
So I accused him of that all.
He accused me of closing up. He said that I should talk to him more. Because he isn’t a telepath (which he probably isn’t, true) and he has no way of knowing what brews inside my head. And that the more he’s trying to listen to me, the more I close up. Which is also true.
And we started talking. I told him that I have a problem with talking about certain stuff, especially to him. How can I talk about my problems with religious identity to someone who sacrificed a normal religious life to be with me, right? This wouldn’t be fair. So I didn’t. But he asked me to start talking, so I did. And I managed to tell him all the things.
That I don’t deny existence of any gods or a single God. They may all be there, for all I know. I just don’t give a damn. I refuse to worship them.
That the Bible or any other “holy” book is for me merely a set of legends, written to keep people together, because when they are unhappy, they should have a tradition and religion to make them feel more safe, and it should be treated as a legend, not as the only truth, because if you think logically it just can’t be.
That I simply hate people who think that their way of thinking is the only right one and I think that because their beliefs simply aren’t verifiable (is that even a word? O_o), so they might be right, wrong or both, for all I know.
That I think that bringing up a child in any religion (especially the one like his, which doesn’t tolerate any signs of thinking differently, or maybe I’m too harsh?) is brainwashing them from the beginning and making them believe things that aren’t verifiable (O_o) as they were real and true.
That he doesn’t talk about himself much and after all those years I barely know anything about his emotions, his spiritual life. I only know his opinions about various stuff and his brilliant sense of humour, which helped us through many difficult times.
He didn’t say much. He wasn’t too happy with what I said (I probably hurt his religious feelings more than once, and I realize that too painfully), and he had probably suspected such an opinion from me all this time, but he was glad that I started talking. And promised he wouldn’t send me to another shrink, and acknowledged my problems as something to be solved by some serious work from me, not by medications and talking about irrelevant stuff to a strange person, which I hate with all my heart.
I also asked him if he really wanted to be with me and why, I don’t really know why I did, because I feel that he does. Maybe I needed to hear it again to feel wanted.
I know it’s not much. We didn’t solve anything, only opened some old and new wounds. But we began communicating and it’s a good start.
Five days of pure happiness
I’m trying to take as much energy from his presence, as I can. We make love, talk, walk, hug, make love again, talk again, and so on. I wish it was for more than just five days. I know the pain will come back when he’s gone. I try not to think about it and savour every moment, every word, every breath.
