Find me!
If my life was not complicated enough, and if it wasn’t already leading me headlong towards a nervous breakdown…this morning I resigned from my job.
I don’t really feel like going into the details of what my boss’s wife and I said in the meeting room, and all my tears, because I am in a very emotional time and everything ignites my eyes and the tears flow down. It was like she was reading in my mind, every single word: I know I am a bit of an open book, but I didn’t think I was that much. Then again, what did I expect? That people wouldn’t see my red eyes after I had been crying in the bathroom?
After that, I had to go around the offices and say goodbye, with lots more tears with everybody; the Epg even took me to the coffee room and tried to make me change my mind, and I must say she was very sweet and concerned, ok, I take my hat off to that. I don’t know what went erong with us, because the last ten minutes together were good, and it made me think that we hadn’t given each other a chance to understand the situation from both sides. Oh, well. But she was nice to me, especially since all I remember was me crying and crying and crying, almost breathless, and repeating that everything was wrong, that every thing I have ever done is wrong. Writing these words here make me cry again.
Crying has been the main activity of the day, from some time before 9 am till now, when it’s almost 10.30 pm. In between I managed to do some chores, help mum with the wardrobes (change of the season, more than spring it feels like summer), mindlessly watch “Law & Order – SVU”, and do some work for our second (or should I say, mum’s second and now my main) job.
My eyes are sore, and my eyelids are even more sore; I’ve used a thousand tissues to wipe the tears away, and I now that I will need more.
Things feel terrible. I came home at 11.30 am this morning, somehow relieved, because I am convinced that this is the best thing I could do, yet it felt so bad on me that I cried all the way home, and more as I was laying the table, and washing the breakfast dishes, bent on the kitchen sink with my hands covered in coffee powder and soap, and I cried so much when mum came back home: I couldn’t stop. All in all, I don’t think I am exaggerating when I say that I cried for more than 6 hours. And when I think of how I feel, the tears are back; and that is why I am doing lots of physical things like the chores, and tomorrow I have filled my morning with activities, so that I can take my mind off this awful feeling of emptiness.
I am in a cage and I want to get out: I think this is just my first, tiny, scary step to do what is needed to be free.
Mum understood and helped me again. Jesus, all I do is giving worries to people, especially to my mum. I must stop thinking depressed thoughts or I will start crying again. Still, when I look at the past 10 years, all I see is a twisted line of mistakes and pathetic ways to make myself believe that things could be fixed. Oh, god, ten years wasted, and here I am crying on the remains. I feel so old.
Mum held me and caressed me when all I could do was cry and feel desperate; she said that now I will take some time off, and think of myself, and get better. My mind is breaking into pieces, and I am allowed to take this time to heal and be myself again.
Because the person who is writing these lines, who has been writing for the past 9 months, who has lived and breathed and talked and thought, this is not me.
This is not me, understand? And I want my old me back. My old me, the cheerful, sunny, noisy girl, who sings and jumps around, who is a helpless optimistic, who sees the bright side of things, who likes everything and is generally serene, peaceful.
This is not me. Let me work on it and dig, until I can find again the person that I used to be. Then watch out.
…………………………………………….
Before this (huge and tiny) revolution in my life, I managed to spend a beautiful weekend, with a whole morning and half afternoon walking and walking up an island to a sanctuary, looking down at the lake all around, eating a delicious sandwich once on the top (which is the best feeling, to sit down after two hours of continuous walk and have a ham sandwich with long sips of cool water, and the silence of the trees and the far, far sound of the lake down under). I love walking. I love walking in the mountain and along the lake. I love this weather and the freedom I can feel when the sun wraps me with the wind from the lake, and all I can hear is the sound of water and leaves.
In the evening we were at the theatre, for a long yet much enjoyable comedy of art (Italian work of the 18th century, one of my very favourite genres): very very funny, I wish they did these things more often. Although possibly not on the evening after a super long walking trip to a sanctuary on the top of a mountain (600 m on sea level) and before a wake-up call set at 7 o’clock…
Because on Sunday, instead of staying at home as planned, I embarked with some friends on a musical journey to the last day of a music contest for wind and brass bands, in a beautiful town quite far from here; the journey there and back was in a friend’s car, a quiet guy I have always liked and with whom I spent a nice day, together with Chorus Friend and some other people of the band: we listened to these incredible bands and orchestras, we had a fab lunch together, a walk by the lake, we listened to more bands and then went back home, only to stop one more time for a lovely dinner and more chatting over music and culture and food and cinema. I came home definitely tired and only a little relaxed, going to nervous: I had spent the day talking to Chorus Friend about my situation at work, and trying to understand what the best move would be, which has been the main topic of most of my conversations for these months (quite clearly).
Sometimes I think that the worst part of this new chapter of my life will be the repeated question that will come from all the people who will know my situation: “so what are you doing/going to do now?”. And it makes me nervous to think of an answer, because I don’t have any: I want to work on my shattered and tired mind (and soul, if I were a believer), and find my old me, be a normal cheerful person again. Top priority.
Then I will have a lot of time to study a new action plan, without the anxiety of where I am and the things that I have to do and that I don’t like doing, without having my mind wandering out of the window and into another dimension, a dimension where I am happier and more free and more satisfied.
I don’t know. Some of what I am writing is nonsense, but what I mean is: I have the chance to find my way with a little peace of mind, and the support of my family.
Which leads me to the very last subject of the day: father and I are back to talking, and although I haven’t forgiven a single thing of what he’s done, for the good of the family I have decided that it’s the best thing to do. We haven’t told him of my news yet, and I was thinking of how to tell him and when. Tomorrow, I guess, when I am calmer and have already sorted a few things out. I am not hopeless, after all, and I am confident that this is the best choice I could take.
My music player is playing random music, which is what I love, because it is a continuous surprise; more over, my computer seems to know what I need, so I have listened to the right songs all the way to the end of this page. Now to conclude, the main title from “Everwood”, which makes me think of the beautiful last episode: a happy end is what I need.
I don’t really feel like going into the details of what my boss’s wife and I said in the meeting room, and all my tears, because I am in a very emotional time and everything ignites my eyes and the tears flow down. It was like she was reading in my mind, every single word: I know I am a bit of an open book, but I didn’t think I was that much. Then again, what did I expect? That people wouldn’t see my red eyes after I had been crying in the bathroom?
After that, I had to go around the offices and say goodbye, with lots more tears with everybody; the Epg even took me to the coffee room and tried to make me change my mind, and I must say she was very sweet and concerned, ok, I take my hat off to that. I don’t know what went erong with us, because the last ten minutes together were good, and it made me think that we hadn’t given each other a chance to understand the situation from both sides. Oh, well. But she was nice to me, especially since all I remember was me crying and crying and crying, almost breathless, and repeating that everything was wrong, that every thing I have ever done is wrong. Writing these words here make me cry again.
Crying has been the main activity of the day, from some time before 9 am till now, when it’s almost 10.30 pm. In between I managed to do some chores, help mum with the wardrobes (change of the season, more than spring it feels like summer), mindlessly watch “Law & Order – SVU”, and do some work for our second (or should I say, mum’s second and now my main) job.
My eyes are sore, and my eyelids are even more sore; I’ve used a thousand tissues to wipe the tears away, and I now that I will need more.
Things feel terrible. I came home at 11.30 am this morning, somehow relieved, because I am convinced that this is the best thing I could do, yet it felt so bad on me that I cried all the way home, and more as I was laying the table, and washing the breakfast dishes, bent on the kitchen sink with my hands covered in coffee powder and soap, and I cried so much when mum came back home: I couldn’t stop. All in all, I don’t think I am exaggerating when I say that I cried for more than 6 hours. And when I think of how I feel, the tears are back; and that is why I am doing lots of physical things like the chores, and tomorrow I have filled my morning with activities, so that I can take my mind off this awful feeling of emptiness.
I am in a cage and I want to get out: I think this is just my first, tiny, scary step to do what is needed to be free.
Mum understood and helped me again. Jesus, all I do is giving worries to people, especially to my mum. I must stop thinking depressed thoughts or I will start crying again. Still, when I look at the past 10 years, all I see is a twisted line of mistakes and pathetic ways to make myself believe that things could be fixed. Oh, god, ten years wasted, and here I am crying on the remains. I feel so old.
Mum held me and caressed me when all I could do was cry and feel desperate; she said that now I will take some time off, and think of myself, and get better. My mind is breaking into pieces, and I am allowed to take this time to heal and be myself again.
Because the person who is writing these lines, who has been writing for the past 9 months, who has lived and breathed and talked and thought, this is not me.
This is not me, understand? And I want my old me back. My old me, the cheerful, sunny, noisy girl, who sings and jumps around, who is a helpless optimistic, who sees the bright side of things, who likes everything and is generally serene, peaceful.
This is not me. Let me work on it and dig, until I can find again the person that I used to be. Then watch out.
…………………………………………….
Before this (huge and tiny) revolution in my life, I managed to spend a beautiful weekend, with a whole morning and half afternoon walking and walking up an island to a sanctuary, looking down at the lake all around, eating a delicious sandwich once on the top (which is the best feeling, to sit down after two hours of continuous walk and have a ham sandwich with long sips of cool water, and the silence of the trees and the far, far sound of the lake down under). I love walking. I love walking in the mountain and along the lake. I love this weather and the freedom I can feel when the sun wraps me with the wind from the lake, and all I can hear is the sound of water and leaves.
In the evening we were at the theatre, for a long yet much enjoyable comedy of art (Italian work of the 18th century, one of my very favourite genres): very very funny, I wish they did these things more often. Although possibly not on the evening after a super long walking trip to a sanctuary on the top of a mountain (600 m on sea level) and before a wake-up call set at 7 o’clock…
Because on Sunday, instead of staying at home as planned, I embarked with some friends on a musical journey to the last day of a music contest for wind and brass bands, in a beautiful town quite far from here; the journey there and back was in a friend’s car, a quiet guy I have always liked and with whom I spent a nice day, together with Chorus Friend and some other people of the band: we listened to these incredible bands and orchestras, we had a fab lunch together, a walk by the lake, we listened to more bands and then went back home, only to stop one more time for a lovely dinner and more chatting over music and culture and food and cinema. I came home definitely tired and only a little relaxed, going to nervous: I had spent the day talking to Chorus Friend about my situation at work, and trying to understand what the best move would be, which has been the main topic of most of my conversations for these months (quite clearly).
Sometimes I think that the worst part of this new chapter of my life will be the repeated question that will come from all the people who will know my situation: “so what are you doing/going to do now?”. And it makes me nervous to think of an answer, because I don’t have any: I want to work on my shattered and tired mind (and soul, if I were a believer), and find my old me, be a normal cheerful person again. Top priority.
Then I will have a lot of time to study a new action plan, without the anxiety of where I am and the things that I have to do and that I don’t like doing, without having my mind wandering out of the window and into another dimension, a dimension where I am happier and more free and more satisfied.
I don’t know. Some of what I am writing is nonsense, but what I mean is: I have the chance to find my way with a little peace of mind, and the support of my family.
Which leads me to the very last subject of the day: father and I are back to talking, and although I haven’t forgiven a single thing of what he’s done, for the good of the family I have decided that it’s the best thing to do. We haven’t told him of my news yet, and I was thinking of how to tell him and when. Tomorrow, I guess, when I am calmer and have already sorted a few things out. I am not hopeless, after all, and I am confident that this is the best choice I could take.
My music player is playing random music, which is what I love, because it is a continuous surprise; more over, my computer seems to know what I need, so I have listened to the right songs all the way to the end of this page. Now to conclude, the main title from “Everwood”, which makes me think of the beautiful last episode: a happy end is what I need.
Labels: changes, dreams and plans
posted by Peggy @ 10:34 PM
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