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.
Catching the sun and a ghost dream
I spent three hours walking and sitting in a park today, catching the sun, recharging my inner battery. I realized, that there are some things that I enjoy, after all. Pink, kitschy flowers, a sunny day, a long walk.
But the feeling isn’t right, like I should be enjoying it more. Like I’m telling myself to enjoy the stuff, making myself actually do it.
I spend more energy to feel something than usually.
I also haven’t been remembering my dreams for a very long while now. I remember only one, which I had a few days ago.
It was about my grandma’s flat. It is not there anymore, because it belongs to the company that used to employ my grandfather, so all the stuff isn’t there anymore, and someone else has likely moved in.
In the dream, I was supposed to stay in the flat overnight, alone, after my grandma was already dead, but I really, really didn’t want to. The flat was haunted. The piano played by itself randomly, and the cooker was split in halves.
So I went to sleep at my friend’s (who lives in another town in reality), and I came to a haunted house, which had weeping white ghosts, or half ghosts, everywhere except the living room. The problem was that I was supposed to get from the living room to another part of the house (or rather a pretty big mansion), and I couldn’t get past the ghosts without touching them. And they were so sad and wanted to be touched and hugged very badly. They were going through the halls, rooms and the yard, all covered with a silvery dusty substance. And when a living person touched them, he or she changed into one of them – half undead, and became covered with the same substance. There was only one solution to that: one had to jump through the floor in one certain place in the house, into the living room through it’s ceiling, and became living again, only covered with ash – a regular ash. So getting anywhere from the living room was really difficult.
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.
Random thoughts
I have hurt someone I care about, by being selfish, lost and sad.
I don’t know how to live with myself and with that dark, lonely feeling.
I just wanted to feel desired, attractive. And I still don’t.
I crave attention from both of them. Everyday I want to make myself sexy, but it only makes me more vulnerable, so I end up wearing combat boots, combat trousers and black lipstick again, because I feel more secure in it.
I kill myself over and over with Pink Floyd and my sanity is dropping.
Random thoughts
I don’t really know what to write.
I’ve been blocking my feelings again, so I could function normally. If I weren’t, I’d be crying in bed all the time and wouldn’t leave my bed.
I’m trying to go on: the job hunt, a small contract, video games, some art or photos from time to time, getting familiar with the city, with another country. There are many things I love about living here, but there are times when I just see the reality clearly and I can’t get myself together again. I see that I’m missing the life.
I’ve stopped practicing the things my Good Wizard had taught me. I don’t see a point in all this. I miss him. I haven’t seen him in eight months and I miss him.
Now my good friend T has come over to visit for the holidays, and instead of being happy, I feel even more lonely and lost, because I see what I’m missing all the time.
And on the top of all of this I’m having serious doubts about myself, my self esteem is going down, I’m not certain about my feelings, and my libido is playing tricks on me.
Emotional painting
When I had depression, I had a constant feeling of swimming blindly in a black liquid, as thick as cotton.
Since I experience synesthetic feelings, every emotion on this black and thick background had shape, colour, size, texture and opacity.
When I tried to paint this, I synthesized all shapes to basic figures, squares and rectangles mostly, but the rest of the features stayed as I had seen them in my head. First I would start a composition. My subconsciousness was looking for some kind of symmetry and order, so after a while the whole composition would change into a set of squares.
I would paint with emotions, with my brain only controlling technical stuff, and without a major involvment of my will. Sometimes I would spend half a year on one picture because the colour or the texture weren’t right. The effect was never exactly as I’d anticipate it. It was the only way I could express emotions, and nobody knew this until now (I told a friend).
And when most people see my paintings, they usually say that they’d paint something like this in half an hour and it’s not real art because it doesn’t show people or objects.
I stopped painting a few years ago, because the feedback I was getting was depressing. I’d like to start again, I think.
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.
