...some time later...

...I have moved... here.

Long time no see - and bad news

(Our last photo together)

Maybe this will be my last post.
It's been a while since I last posted something, and it's the end of a year, almost, and the end of a cycle, and the end of a chapter of my life.
For the past two weeks and more I have not been sleeping or eating (properly, that is), and tears have been the constant theme of my days. Not one day has gone by without crying, even just a few minutes.
I'm so tired.

Ian has decided for another break up, and this time there is no going back. So much so that he doesn't want to see again, lest we start again, and he has removed me from Facebook, and all that.

I am so hurt and desperate, I cannot sleep.

So I'm going back home, where I hope to heal my wounds in a more comfortable atmosphere than the 5-bedroom house I am living in at the moment, and which I hate to bits. I hate everything in Brighton, right now, much more than I used to. Every stupid thing is a pain; even the beach, which used to be my only likeable place, now is a part of the city I cannot bear to see, just thinking of it makes me think of painful things.
I cannot sleep. I can only cry and pray that the day I leave comes soon.

God, I love him so much. I miss talking to him, and I miss that last hug that he wouldn't allow us to exchange, for he told me of his decision on the phone, not coming to my place the day after, even though we had agreed to meet quickly, so that he could take a box back, and his jumper ("throw away the jumper, I don't need it").

I miss him so much. And it hurts like crazy, I cannot think. I go to class, and concentrate hard on what I am teaching, on a proper board work, on good comprehension questions and all that. And then I give an exercise, and I think I will check my mobile to see if I have any text. But no, he was the only one who texted me in the afternoon, during the week, before our evening call, so sweet and nice.

God, I'm hurting so much I'm afraid it will never end.

So this is probably the last time I will write here. I thought...I don't know. I clearly imagined a happy ending to this story, but I was wrong. Maybe I should focus my imagination on fictional stories, rather than on my life. My life is not worth it.

For my piccolino only

..who read my posts labelled under "depression" and clearly wondered (and worried) about my mental health...

So tonight, out of curiosity, I did read my own posts labelled "depression", and suddenly remembered. I feel lucky, because I sort of saw what it was like when I was at the office, how awful, depressing, hopeless it was. I remembered the night spent without sleeping, the self-induced coma brought on by watching dvd's, the useless daydreaming, so different from my productive daydreaming, the one that gives me strength and passion for life, the one that pushes me through, and fills me with hope.

So here I am, feeling low after reading all those terrible memories, and feeling ok for reading them, because I know that writing about them was the best thing to do to avoid madness, and even the useless daydreaming of the time helped, and I know it made me hold on longer than I would have, otherwise.
So here I am, feeling a lot better, compared to that time, which feels a lifetime ago, when it is only a bit more than a year ago. And so much has happened, and I am MUCH HAPPIER. I really am, and feel lucky, blessed, grateful, hopeful.

I know my depression can strike again: it usually does in January, when the days are so short, and also being the time right after New Year's - I have never appreciated or liked the change to a new year, for all the thoughts it brings with it (what has been accomplished and all that...).
I also know that there will be bad times, as always, but this is what my life has always been, just like, I suppose, everybody's life is: ups and downs, good moments, problems, high times and low days, and so on. But seriously, I am much happier now: in spite of my usual worries, and I can't avoid those, only trust that things will work out, in spite of my usual worries, then, I feel well, and look forward to many things in a day, so much more than it used to be.
And my piccolino, who makes my life... more interesting, shall I say, my piccolino gives me happiness, and we talk and laugh and walk and share beautiful moments together, and I can only be grateful for this, and smile whenever I think of him.
We are a funny, complicated, introspective couple, and I like it, with all that comes with it, from the difficulty to meet during the week to the pleasure of being together for a quick couple of hours, from an unexpected evening where the hours stretch with the sound of the rain on the window, to the plans of the weekend ruined by the rain, from the clash, sometimes, between his tiredness and my hyperactive me, or the other way around (see today: a late afternoon walk was his idea vs. my idea of some more cuddling and relaxing. Oh, well), to the beauty of a word, a text, a gesture that leaves me breathless.

Words fail me, because happiness is wrapping me too tight, and I can only smile.

Pensieri negativi e un tenue raggio luminoso

Che dire.
Intanto scrivo in italiano, perchè mi accorgo che ne sono sempre meno capace. Mi sfugge, mi scivola dalle dita, le parole si nascondono in angoli bui, non le riesco a trovare. E allora, una nervosa ricerca tra lo scaffale di libri in italiano, in biblioteca, e la lettura quotidiana del Corriere, e poi aggiornare il mio diario, quasi quotidianamente. E' tempo di ricominciare a tenere un diario cartaceo, vecchio stile, sempre con me. Lo facevo a Hull, e a Swansea, perchè non qui, dunque?

Poi, fatica. Tanta fatica, tante lacrime, tanti pensieri. Non è facile.
Sarebbe facile lasciare tutto, tornare a casa, tra il conforto di paesaggi familiari, tranquilli, le mie montagne, il lago, i prati; la mia casa, il mio letto comodo, il pavimento e i tappeti su cui camminare a piedi nudi, la cucina grande e pulita, la doccia comoda, le passeggiate in paese. Parlare senza doversi concentrare troppo, ascoltare e capire senza sforzo, senza dover chiedere di ripetere. Cantare a voce alta, suonare il mio sax, uscire per locali senza sentirsi circondata da stranieri minacciosi, girare per le strade senza paura, senza quest'ansia alla vista di adolescenti, o addirittura bambini, che ti possano chiedere o dire qualcosa a cui non sapra rispondere, confusa da accenti o parole mai sentite. Vivere nella comodità di casa, dove è tutto gratis, e non ci si deve preoccupare di affitti, e bollette, e tutto il resto. Dove la sera è un lento scandire di ore silenziose e tranquille prima di andare a dormire, senza paura che qualcuno arrivi a casa e sbatta le porte, facendo tremare la casa con un passo pesante tra le stanze, chiamandosi l'un l'altro come da un continente all'altro. Arrivare a casa dopo una lunga giornata di lavoro senza dover pregare di non vedere la macchina di qualcuno, o sentire voci in giardino che annunciano battaglie d'acqua in giardino, e casino, e tutto il resto. Vivere tranquillamente, in sostanza, senza tutte queste preoccupazioni. Avere un conto in banca che non scende così vertiginosamente, che permette di uscire a cena, o anche solo di prendere il bus in una giornata piovosa, invece di combattere con gli elementi, camminare controvento, passare mezz'ora in bagno ad asciugarsi e spendere il resto della giornata con i piedi fradici, un grande sorriso con gli studenti, come se nulla fosse.

Sarebbe facile, e a volte mi dico che potrei farlo, davvero. Tornare a casa, dalla mamma, renderla felice, invece che sentirla depressa, lamentarsi al telefono ogni volta che mi chiama, accusarmi di tante cose, di essere finita qui senza un perchè, per un colpo di testa, di aver abbandonato tante cose, tanti progetti, tante idee in cui pensavo di credere e che ho lasciato così, senza pensarci, senza nemmeno pentirmene.
Guardandomi indietro, non rinnego nè mi pento di ciò che ho fatto, pur riconoscendo che è stato frettoloso, e ha fatto tanto male, a tutti. Programmato superficialmente, ed esposto all'imprevedibilità. Ci ripenso spesso, mi tormenta, i ricordi di tutti quei mesi disperati, freddi, bui, senza futuro. Il dramma, restare o tornare, sapendo che in qualunque caso non avrei riavuto il mio cuore, non avrei sentito altro che dolore sordo. A volte lo sento ancora, ripensandoci, rivivendo momenti che vorrei dimenticare.
Vivo nell'angoscia che tutto questo non durerà, che sarò di nuovo abbandonata, e tornare, restare, niente avrà più senso. Già ora la paura mi fa dimenticare la gioia che sto vivendo.
Ironicamente, dovrei farmi lo stesso discorso che faccio al mio piccolino: siamo in due ora, non si può programmare nulla, prevedere nulla, vivere il presente e come va, va. Inutile pensare al futuro, a quando sopraggiungeranno difficoltà e litigi, tanto le difficoltà le stiamo già vivendo, come mancanza di soldi, poco tempo, nervosismo da lavoro e seminari, paura del futuro e dell'ignoto, nuove sensazioni che non riusciamo a catalogare, e che per questo finiscono sullo scaffale dell' "essere in una relazione". Impariamo a gestirle lentamente, abbracciandoci forte, parlando tanto, a volte semplicemente restando sdraiati sull'erba di fronte al Pavilion e tenendoci per mano.
A volte penso che non ne vale la pena: ho troppa paura, e sto vivendo male, preoccupata per il mio magro stipendio e gli affitti troppo alti, per la forzata convivenza con persone nuove quando la mia timidezza, e la mia misantropia mi vorrebbero solitaria e silenziosa, specie alla fine di una giornata caotica in centro, e circondata da studenti, colleghi, macchine, persone.
Poi arriva il suo messaggio di buonanotte, dolce e tenero; un messaggio di prima mattina, pieno di affetto; una telefonata premurosa, per parlare un pò, per sapere come sto, nonostante il reciproco imbarazzo di fronte a conversazioni telefoniche. Poi arriva un incontro non programmato, una serata insieme per non cadere nella routine, un pomeriggio tranquillo di coccole e musica, un pacchetto di biscotti inaspettato, un peluche dopo una settimana di lontananza forzata. Piccole cose che non ho mai avuto in vita mia, e che arrivano da una persona stupenda, complicata, difficile come me, uguale a me, stessi valori, stesse idee, solo ancora più difficile da gestire, che si preoccupa che io sia preoccupata, che si domanda se non sarei più felice con una persona della mia stessa nazionalità, che vorrebbe farmi sentire più sicura, che teme di avermi portato via ai miei amici, alla mia famiglia.
Nulla è facile, in questa vita. Avrei dovuto saperlo, no, considerato tutto quello che ho vissuto finora, in quasi trent'anni. Eppure sono ottimista di natura, anche se ultimamente faccio veramente fatica: non posso fare a meno che insieme siamo felici, stiamo bene, e che stiamo costruendo qualcosa, lentamente, faticosamente dati i nostri caratteri così complicati e seri, ma non posso che essere grata per ogni giorno passato insieme. Per aver trovato questo miracolo, che mi permette finalmente di amare liberamente, e ancora più miracolosamente, di essere amata.
Me lo devo ripetere, che ne vale la pena, che questo dolore e nostalgia sono il prezzo da pagare per il nostro stare insieme, per qualcosa di meraviglioso che stiamo costruendo, e che devo solo aver pazienza.
Mi faranno santa della pazienza, mi sa. Ogni giorno che passa mi rendo conto che ne ho una nuova scorta, pronta e fresca da usare, per sopportare il vento, le lezioni pianificate che vanno a rotoli per mancanza di studenti, i colleghi che cambiano i piani a caso, i dieci chilometri a piedi, i piatti da lavare nel lavandino, le porte che sbattono, la ricerca di un nuovo alloggio, le settimane che mi separano dalla prossima busta paga, la voglia di tornare a casa, la stanchezza, la stanchezza, la stanchezza.
Sono proprio stanca.
Ma si continua.

Because writing is remembering

Bless long weekends, first of all.

And then, a summary of the past week: from sweet texts to a complicated Wednesday evening that gave me frightening dreams and saw me in tears the morning after, at school, hugged by Tall Teacher and comforted by the words of SA Teacher. And feeling almost angry, when I received his two texts, during the morning, and not feeling like replying, yet, and feeling so silly for feeling so, and then texting, and the unexpected call that followed, and meeting at the bus stop, with a long, squeezing hug as, no words needed, he took his earphones to make me listen to music as he held me tight.
And going for a walk in the fields, talking, talking, talking, and hugging and squeezing my hand, looking at the sunset, at the sea, far and shiny, and planning an evening out, for dinner, on Friday.

Friday night, dressed smart, sitting at the sushi place by the library, eating and chatting and laughing, and then sharing a dessert in an Italian coffee shop, before going home, and spending hours that go like minutes, sharing cuddles on the sofa, the silence around us.

Saturday, an afternoon trip to Rottingdean, and its simple beauty, the church, the windmill, the houses, talking and chatting, as we always do, we always have so much to talk about, even in front of a delicious lunch or cream tea, before a walk by the sea, throwing stones in the waves, and running up the beach to go and catch the bus.

Sunday, we have a christening at the Chapel, and we share some cuddles before the ceremony, which is followed by a delicious lunch; at the peace, as the custom is with this priest, we have to ask someone a question, which is about our plans for the bank holiday, and I happen to have to talk to..him!, so I ask him, and he replies "it depends on my significant other".
When we leave the sun is shining, and the grass looks an attractive place to lie on for a while, cuddling and laughing, before going to his place. "I am really lucky", he says again, adding how of course he doesn't believe in luck, smiling, his beautiful smile, we are so blessed. He corrects himself, and I join him in saying "I am very grateful".
We walk to his place, where we relax, and relax, and sleep, and as he sleeps I caress his head, his face, listening to his breathing, as he holds my hand. We fall asleep together, "I like your head on my arm", we wake up to the sound of rain, outside, and listen in silence, before preparing tea, with biscuits and fruit, and then walking me home, talking and talking and talking. He tries to pick me up, joking, and I say no, you can't, don't. He laughs, as I point my feet to the floor to prevent any picking up.

Today, Monday, day off, it's sunny and hot, and I spend my morning reading in the sun, before opening the door and welcoming him in, preparing lunch, opening a bottle of nice white wine, and eating together, him moving closer to me, more cuddles before we leave for the beach to sunbathe and play. He sits behind me, hugging me, we swap position, we lie and play, he looks at me as I have my eyes closed while sunbathing, and I turn, twice, to catch him while he's looking, "how do you do that?", he says laughing, and when the suns starts hiding behind some clouds we decide to leave. "I want to prove a point", he says, and picks me up, a frightened, shocked me, "put me down, put me down!", I say, and as soon as I touch the floor again I pick him up too, three times, "che scemo", and he laughs and laughs as we walk to the bus stop to go back home for coffee. On the bus I thank him, "what for?", "for all the nice things you do. You make me really, really happy"; and then a power nap for him from the centre to Moulsecoomb, leaning on me, and as soon as we get off the bus, here's a kiss and a big hug for me, "thanks for what you said on the bus: it made me feel good".

After coffee and more cuddles, caressing my hair, kissing my neck ("I like kissing your neck"), it's time to go. We joke some more, never wanting to leave. Now, I have just received his goodnight text. Will meet on Wednesday evening, probably, and sharing texts on the way.

We are so blessed. And grateful.

Yes, we are.

Back from Italy

"Just" (as in, two hours ago) finished unpacking my not so heavy suitcase (and forgot to pack the only important thing I had to take with me back to Brighton..crumbs).
Just back from this lovely, lovely, strange but lovely Italian holiday.

First days at home: enjoying the comfort of my bed, of my silent nice room, of the green field and mountains around me, of the kitchen, clean and tidy, of the bathroom, and the comfortable shower, of everything, really.

Then, Wednesday. Morning shopping with mum, a shower, lunch and getting changed, and at the airport so early, everything so exciting and strange, and waiting for my piccolino at the arrivals, and seeing him, and being in the car, going to Bergamo, holding hands, showing him around, then having a quiet dinner together, and spending some time on the bed in Brother Genius's room, watching tv, talking, cuddling.
Thursday, and a nice walk in a medieval town, taking pictures, and then after lunch, to the national park of rock engravings, more pictures, more talking, more of this beautiful feeling; then going to the lake, a few pictures and an icecream. And in the evening, the band. Wow. Playing, playing so much, and so well, feeling like I have never left, music running through my veins.
On Friday morning we are alone, and we go to the lake in my town, we walk, we talk a real lot, we ask a couple to take a picture of us, time flies and it's the afternoon, and Mantova, and hot and crowded and icecream and pictures and sleeping in the car on the journey to and back, and having a delicious dinner and a super-relaxing evening cuddling in my room, talking, laughing, feeling so well.
Finally, Saturday morning, which was this morning, a quiet walk in my town, just going around, stopping for another icecream, and sharing the last Italian lunch, before a quick packing and leaving almost in a hurry, everyone nervous, and tired, and wondering what awaited us in Brighton.
Nodding off in the plane, his hand holding mine, my head on his shoulder, and then talking on the bus, and finally planning to meet tomorrow morning.

What a wonderful time together. What a lovely holiday. What an incredible need to sleep!
So, I am uploading some pixies on Facebook...see you there.

My piccolino - always

Long time, no update...
So, for the record...

Ian.
Wonderful, beautiful, sweet, unbelievable love of mine.
Hugging on a bench in front of the sea in Eastbourne, whispering in my ear "I love you", and asking me if I am happy, "never been happier"; and later at lunch, looking at me and saying "I'm happy", with such strength, giving me such thrills, all throughout the day.
Texting such sweet, breathtaking texts before leaving for Edinburgh, calling me almost every evening, sending me a beautiful text that put a smile on my face I couldn't wipe for the rest of the day.
In March, reassuring me that no, he won't break up for stupid reasons again.
And being cuddly, sweet, holding me tight, tight, tight.
On his birthday night, dinner in my room, the look on his face, and stopping me on my way to the kitchen to hug me, kiss me, thanking me for making his birthday special.
Spending a Saturday in Oxford, hand in hand, in the thin rain (no wind in Oxford, beautiful).
After the dinner with his parents, a text, to say how lovely I looked.
And telling me that he wants to make me happy, "I want to give you good things".
Texting that he is "thinking of you*". Night texts, "Buonanotte piccolina mia".
And next week, I am leaving for a week's holiday in Italy, on Saturday. On Wednesday, he is coming along. For two and a half days.
I am so happy, so happy, so happy.

And now, a quiet Saturday afternoon, preparing for the week ahead (lots of teaching, hopefully a couple of runs, the sun is shining), my piccolino is back from Scotland tomorrow, and I love him so much.

I love him so much.