There are so many reasons I haven’t been posting. Then again, there is only one main reason: sometimes I go quiet, I need quiet.
For so many years I had been torn from my reality by the obsessive wish to return to my dog, my long walks in the Peruvian countryside alone with him, and the Peruvian deserts, with its wonderful characteristic of allowing you to scream at the top of your lungs without anybody hearing you. Something that invasive and overpopulated Italy didn’t really allow.
Can you love someone deeply and not want to spend time with them? That has been happening to me more and more. Actually, come to think of it, it happens to me on a regular basis, perhaps if I bothered to look, even cyclically.
Is it being depressed? I’m not sure.
Lately I’ve been feeling very … quiet. After a few weeks of trying to shut down my brain from thoughts, I guess sometimes it just works, and achieving lack of thoughts means I tend to stay away from people… people spark off thoughts.
It is more than that. There are many people I am thinking of that I love, but don’t want to spend time with. My mind starts thinking up excuses at first… then it just confronts me with the truth.
I had my last (and first for some time) burst of enthusiasm when I asked my daughter whether she’d mind very much if we moved somewhere warm and uncomplicated in a couple of years’ time. My heart jumped in unexpected relief when she said yeah why not! (my daughter has always hated change). Of course, speaking about it with a good friend and my husband and second oldest son, there was an appeal to let us stay, in this lovely house in this lovely countryside with its lovely people, for a while. Uh-hum I responded, but it did nothing to take my quiet desire away.
It’s an old friend, that desire to be somewhere else. Somewhere without people I know, or without people who know me.
I have been to see the doctor for a repeat prescription of my Propranolol, and asked her if I could take more, or something on top, because I felt it just wasn’t enough. Driving out, walking out, meeting people, having a car come up to me on the few times I take the motorway, start off a quantity of panic, heartbeat and constant irrational fear that I can’t control with constructive thoughts or breathing techniques. It has even stopped making me angry with myself, I just want it to stop. She told me Propranolol isn’t really good at being preventive, it is just good for the on-the-spot symptoms, so she said we could try Citalopram. Sure, I said, give me whatever.
It was fluoxetine I was taking before, I kept forgetting its name. That one gave me a soft fuzzy happy buzz, which then I realised was covering up a lot of pent up rage. So I stopped it before that rage exploded.
She said Citalopram at low doses is used for social anxiety. It is also an antidepressive and I am happy to see whether or not it increases the generalised level of indifference and calm I was starting to feel. Is it good is it bad? Who knows anymore.
I think tonight I am quietly going vegetarian. I have always had the tendency and the wish, as I do love animals very much. Come to think of it, it is quite rare that I have ever really eaten meat that I liked. Why did I carry on eating it? For the same reason I do everything: lack of willpower, I guess, not wanting trouble, wanting to fit in.
Last night may well have been my last meat related meal, it makes me sick and I just have no desire to kill mammals to feed me when it’s unnecessary. But, of course, I may change my mind and feel entirely different a few days/hours from now.
I honestly don’t think I can translate anymore. Language has been leaving me for a while. I used to be fully trilingual. I hand-wrote my dissertation in Spanish at Uni and got myself an A, but during the years I stopped translating into Spanish, then into Italian, and now I must drop English. My friend’s rolling of eyes when he realised I normally translate into English only cemented that idea.
However, considering the increased difficulty I have interacting with people, looking for a part-time job to make some money of my own, to give my contribution to the household but also to have my say of what money is spent on, is looking grim. So what do I do? Who knows.
As language leaves me, editing my novel is becoming difficult. I am ok with cutting out bits, not so good with modifying or adding.
“I’m really good with people”. Yes that remains true, but at what cost? The easiest, less complicated interactions drain me, and I work full time in my head to avoid all others.
So what now, as I’ve asked myself a million times? I wait and see. Or I slowly make my way towards re-building my own identity: I want to be a vegetarian, I do not like to live in Western society, though I will tolerate it for as long as it is needed for my kids. But if my youngest is willing to move away, what is there to hold me here once my second oldest is out on his own path too? My husband’s work and happiness, and my dog’s old age and need for quiet and routine.
Ever since I was 12, I have been waiting. Waiting for the time to come where I could do what I wanted. Go back to Peru, for many years. Back to Andalucia, for some others. Anywhere but in this kind of society, for many more. At first I thought I just had to become an adult. But then I realised that people will bend over backwards to help you sometimes, to help you get what they think you should get. With two small children, you take whatever help you can get. With an increasing inability to work in this environment, you take what is given to you, and you are grateful.
I am now 44. 44. I look at the number and all I feel is “Is it time yet? Time when I get to do what I want and nobody tells me otherwise?”.
But I have no means of independent subsistence, though I know I’d manage if I were to go: I am a good survivor. Wilful though I have been called, I don’t have the willpower to impose my will on anybody else. So I wait. I wait for the chance, the opportunity, the right words that will set something in motion.
In the meantime, I am fine here. The house is nice, I can see people more rarely, I’m sure they will understand, and when I see them try to be there for them. I signed up for the Neighbourhood Watch thing, in my effort to be a good neighbour… I just hope I won’t regret it. Perhaps it’s precisely how nice people are and how much I am interacting with them despite barely leaving the house that makes me want to go away, very quietly though, unobtrusively, no ranting.