These days I feel so relieved. I don’t owe anybody anything any more, except for gratitude to the ones who remained my friends and family until the end. I don’t have a mortgage anymore, nor do I have to take into account my ex husband’s finances, whom I still care for very much, but who is no longer my responsibility. In fact nobody is (in that way) and I’m nobody else’s responsibility than my own. And that’s so liberating I want to climb on a mountain top and scream: Yuhuuu!
So I’ve booked a weekend in Rome for me and F to celebrate his birthday, I’ve walked Sammy in the woods and around my lush neighbourhood, I’ve worked until I felt the need to hide away from people for a month or so, gone to the dentist- a filling had fallen recently making me feel like a true Eastern European (no disrespect to most of you who don’t relate ;-))- and to the doctor’s with these pigment changes I’ve got on my face (this one saw them at least!) and discovered the pain in my left arm is called a “tennis elbow” and no, it’s not that kind of tennis elbow, for the ones of you who have seen Irina Palm! haha! So that’s a start. I’m also considering joining the local gym, although not the same one as the bf, since it doesn’t have as many yoga and pilates hours and this is the only physical effort I can bother to make, except for walking Sam.
Otherwise I’m saddened by the news about Barcelona and it only makes me feel even more alienated and less safe in this psycho world of ours, but then again, it was never better, one should remind oneself of that, or else we succumb to fear and the bastards win.
Another thing that saddens me is the news about a mother with three small children who allegedly took her own life and that of her children, by crossing the railway and getting run down by the train. This happened in Romania and in connection with this, I’ve read a couple of entries on depression. And since I suffer from depression myself, I thought it was about time I let you in on what a normal day looks like for a person like me. Now you need to know that I’m on medication and I have been for over 7 years and that seems to be working ok. I’m often tired, I hardly have energy for the things expected of me and I can come across as both blunt and insensitive, but I don’t use my diagnosis as an excuse for anything. I’m just trying to live with it, the way my mom lives with her diabetes, by doing what’s good for me.
A regular day looks like this:
Wake up at 7:30. Usually tired, the promise of a coffee and fresh news makes me get out of bed. If the news is horrid at least I feel something, so I often read about murders and rape. No kidding. Sometimes I wonder why we bother, why do we do this to ourselves (waking up early), most times I feel sorry for the ones who have to be at work between 8 and 16, with colleagues like Helene from the time I worked at the bank, whom I still have nightmares about from time to time.
I make coffee, put on some clothes, say hi to Sammy, if he’s with me that week. Not hungry, don’t feel like showering, usually I do that in the evenings, so I can be lazy in the mornings, since I often find them pointless anyways. If I need to be somewhere it’s good, if not I often end up in bed again, after kissing F good bye. If Sam is with me I need to walk him for at least 20 min. before going to work or else sometime before 11.
If I have work, I go to work in my office clothes, now that I have everything here and I know where to find my stuff again. Clothes have been my one true passion and I hope I’m going to be one of those graceful old ladies who die in their 90s with painted toe nails and the little black dress. 😉 haha!
On my way to work I grab a take-away coffee, another of my harmless, if a bit expensive habit, that makes me clap my hands with joy. Sometimes I work alone and on a really bad day I feel I’m battling dragons, with clients who seldom shower or brush their teeth and on top of that are rude and ignorant and many professionals who think that going to law school is the one true goal and achievement people have in their life (not mine!).
On a good day we’re two interpreters, I often work with either of two colleagues whom I’m fond of and whom I get along with, too. On a super duper day we also work with cool professionals from the law side, so that we can spend our breaks giggling and talking nonsense and maybe spy for handsome police officers. (they’re getting younger and younger and it’s not that fun anymore!) haha!
At 3 or 4 pm I’m dead. The only thing I manage to think is how to get home and fall sleep to block the world out. When interpreting in cases involving violence (murder, domestic violence, rape and attempted murder), my head ofte spins for days with morbid details. I feel relieved I have never experienced something like that myself and yet I feel apprehensive when learning how many deranged people there are out there. Or that it doesn’t take much for somebody to explode.
When I come home, I often wrestle with my will to surrender to my bed as it gives me Jimmy legs and poor sleep at night. I try to find some sort of inner peace in walking Sam and that I do. I stop for raspberries, he stops to sniff or take a bath, we laugh and whistle and we wait for each other. Back home, I start on dinner, although I often feel like lying down and losing myself in a stupid series.
When F comes home, I’m happy. He brings back sense into my world. Finally I have a reason to breathe. I don’t know what to do first, what to talk about first. I ofte grow tired of myself and end up on the couch.
Let’s brush our teeth and go to bed. I sometimes love this sweet surrender, but more often than not I feel “was this it?” “am I supposed to be happy with a day like this?” and so on. Growing up with my grandma, she only knew one story, about some sort of zombies (moroi), and so going to sleep was not easy after that. I often laugh reminiscing with my brother, but it’s made me hate going to sleep.
Yup. Never considered taking my own life and hopefully I never will. Never been sectioned and hopefully I can take care of myself so that it doesn’t have to happen, either. But I understand the feeling of futility. And it makes me really angry to read stupid mass entries like “happiness depends on you”, “you are as happy as you decide to be” and so on. I’m an optimist, I’m an easy-goer in many aspects, but I’m also chronically depressed. I didn’t chose to be that. It’s not because I don’t try harder. It’s like having a limping foot. You’d never tell these people to get their act together. Show some respect.