A week later

It’s been busy times.

Today I go to the second lesson of my Introduction to Counselling course. I don’t know whether I mentioned it earlier, but a while back my dear friend gave me this course as a present. He thinks it’ll do me good but he also thinks I am a “natural”, and I would make a good counsellor.
Considering how much language is leaving me (it’s happening, but it always brings me back to this wonderful Annie Lennox song), it is probably not “a bad idea”, as my dad says, to change professions. A girl at my course, hearing I was a translator, when I said I couldn’t find the words to describe something, looked surprised and said “Oh I would have thought being a translator you were all about the words”. Despite that being a common misconception (a translator is not a dictionary), she did touch a nerve.
Growing up all over the world, no language is my own. Until I was five, the only language I ever spoke was English. Then I had to learn Spanish in South America and so I spoke both, deciding I preferred the latter. Then moving to Italy and being mercilessly teased for my non-existent social-language skills I had to quickly perfect my Italian. Then it happened in reverse. I left the Italian University I had started proud of my fantastic beautiful perfect Italian, moved to London and quickly replaced it with a perfect proud beautiful English. Spanish remains in my heart but not speaking it or working with it since Uni meant it is great just for reading and speaking but nothing more.
I never stopped thinking and dreaming in English, dreading any conversation in Italian (Italian has always for me been the language my parents would scold me in the rare times they spoke to me, the language of scorn and judgement later), and feeling happy and soulful whenever I could speak Spanish. Oh yes and I still swear in Spanish when I hurt myself.
In any case, I derail.
The first Intro to Counselling lesson was actually great. Interesting and very very diverse people.
I also love getting the train down to London, it gives me a chance to read and I always loved trains.
I was so nervous up until I went inside, walking all light headed. The pints and the walk with my friend helped. Then once inside the class I texted my friend and we giggled and then finally the teacher came and I relaxed. About how to listen. Easy peasy, natural, yes. Though my friend has warned me the first couple of lessons would feel easy peasy.
I came out at the end and had to have a fag [I don’t really smoke anymore unless I am with smokers, but I do like to have the tobacco on me just in case.. I’m being brave today (also ’cause we have no money to spend) and not even going to buy it].
I feel that my brain is progressively coping with less and less. I have cut down on stressful situations, stressful people, stressful activities and even jobs. My brain was never able to cope with maths, and now, it seems, even language is starting to be an issue. So, just in case, I am keen to explore this new avenue.
In the meantime, I haven’t forgotten, I look forward to my appointment with my GP tomorrow, where I will present her with my amateur diagnosis, and ask her please to help me either confirm it or rule it out but to give me something to take when I am beginning to feel anxious.
That’s all the help I think I need right now, provided I can continue to customise my life to my nerves.
So, that’s it, lesson two, and I go all by my lonesome. I can do this.

This is me, totally breathing.
This is me, totally breathing.

One thought on “A week later

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s