Humpty Dumpty
I usually have a good intuition for people. There are people whom I like instantly we meet, and there are ones that I resent without any reasonable cause.
I usually stick to the impression.
Except that one time, when I met that sociopath about twelve years ago, told my intuition to fuck off because I knew better, fell in love, got my heart broken repeatedly and got my already weak self esteem shattered into tiny pieces, that I’ve been trying to glue back together since then.
I know he is a sociopath, I know he manipulates people to feel better, because he likes it when people are emotionally dependant on him. I know I shouldn’t worry about anything he had said, but anyway I can’t get it out of my system. And it’s been so many years. He made me feel worthless, so I feel worthless. Even though I have a partner who says otherwise. Even though I’ve got friends who make me feel otherwise. They all make the little shattered pieces glue themselves back a little bit. But not enough, apparently. How do I get rid of this feeling? How do I get to like myself again?
Liquid cotton
I had thought that when I get things done at home and finally go to Dublin to my husband, I’d be calm, happy, productive and everything would be fine.
It’s not.
Instead I’m showing more and more signs of depression. Not the silly one, that you can treat with a movie and a chocolate bar. It’s the one that’s made of liquid black cotton.
I’m still doing stuff and I want to create things, which means it’s not a major breakdown, and everything will probably go back to normal when I find a job, but most of the day I sit in front of my computer and do stuff online, chat to people or mostly wait for my friend T to appear online; also sending some resumes and seeking job. And I lost my appetite.
My job search is quite chaotic; I can’t get myself to start a proper search, I just send a CV to anything that has a “graphic designer” and “Dublin” in it, I don’t even check all the requirements.
I like Dublin, it’s a very beautiful place really. I wish I liked going out alone, I’d spend more time outdoors, photographing maybe or just walking, but I get bored without company way too soon.
And everyone I love and like but one person is so far away. I miss them very much.
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.
My Mother III
Apparently I don’t communicate, because I don’t say much. Everything needs a comment. Or two. Or ten. Or at least five minutes of a monologue.
I made a mistake of admitting to having drunk two beers tonight, and I immediately was informed of how beer is fattening and how many calories it contains. Ok, whatever, what’s your point of saying that? No point at all. So why did you say that? And then there was the monologue of how I treat her badly and she’s afraid to say anything because I might get upset, and how she is a victim (oh, she can play the victim very professionally) and how she cares and how I don’t care and how I don’t communicate at all, and how she communicates with the whole world, and everyone tolerates her except me (“because they’re not assertive enough, mom”), and how I only think of my own needs and I don’t at all think about my family’s needs.
Mom, I only said that I didn’t like what you said and how I don’t like such comments, and you go on about how I am selfish. Look where your monologue is heading.
Silence.
Offended expression.
Every time I would like to say something important to her, I feel that if I tried, only a long scream would come out. I feel like screaming, very loudly and for quite a while. So I don’t say anything important. When I sometimes force myself to, She Feels Offended.
Helping friends isn’t easy
One of my good friends doesn’t handle well being lonely. He usually is a wonderfully cheerful person, who makes everyone happy, laugh and have fun, until the great sadness takes over. He gets drunk and sadness pours out of him with every pore. And I can’t possibly help him in other way than just being there for him, online mostly, because it’s usually late night hours, letting him talk. And I can’t even hug him because I’m away. And besides, I seriously suppose that a hug from an attractive woman, which I very probably am, could even make it worse.
I feel so much sympathy for him, or even empathy, I feel his pain, I’d like to help and I’m not sure how. I know, everybody needs someone to take away their pain and ground it. I’ve been thinking about it for most of the time lately.
We talked online this morning; he hadn’t slept the whole night and I had just woken up. We talked about a lot of stuff, like tolerance, religions, life, etc. I like such talks. Each one makes me a little bit wiser. Talking online is sometimes easier. People don’t see you cry. You don’t see them cry, and after what he was saying yesterday I’m almost sure he did cry.
I only hate one thing. I’m there for a person that I very much like, I like hearing them out, I even talk to them first to check if they’re online, I don’t grab any breakfast for three hours because I’m busy with the talk, I’m something between a shrink, an elder sister and an Aunt Good Advice for them and then they say that they’d soon be away from the computer because they think that I dislike them or their ranting. Wtf? What did I do wrong?
My mother II
My mother talks.
But she doesn’t communicate.
My agression control and sanity are balancing on the edge of explosion.
My mother
My mother talks.
She doesn’t stop, unless she is asleep.
She simply won’t shut up.
She talks about irrelevant crap, and about stuff that is so obvious that it doesn’t need to be talked about, and about things that are painful for others to even think about.
She will comment every fat girl on the street she sees, she’ll go on about how our family was murdered during war, she’ll worry about my each meal (both its content and amount), she’ll lavishly express her feelings about every stupid movie she watches, and when she doesn’t have a person to talk to, she emits words to the air or to the poor dog. She’ll keep talking about how she sacrifices herself to help others. Whenever she doesn’t feel appreciated enough, which happens strangely often, she keeps ranting about it, until she thinks she’s created enough guilt in every person present. And she just won’t stop.
And then she’s so astonished when I get aggressive.
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.
I miss him, he misses me
…and despite that we miss each other every moment, we never talk about it online. We talk about everyday stuff, about our day, what happened, who said what, but we never describe our feelings. I confronted him about that and he says that he keeps saying that he misses and adores me, and that he’s unable to express more over the Internet.
Sometimes I think that it’s impossible that anyone in this world could love me. I’m unlovable. And I’m grumpy. And nevertheless, he does. He claims so and I’m sure he wouldn’t stand being with me for so long if he didn’t. It’s a miracle, that he does. And nevertheless, I feel… lonely. Somewhat empty. I need constant adoration to reassure me that I’m loved. I need him to tell me that he misses my presence, my love, my body. Because I forget that too easily.
It’s good that he comes for a visit so soon.
This just isn’t enough.
When I dig deeper in my feelings, I discover things I never realized existed.
I’d very much now need my Good Wizard to reach to me over distance and stroke my head for a little while.
