I realize it's been a while I don't drop by to say a word, it is not one of those cases where words went missing from my head, they are still there aplenty, it is just that I cannot usually get out of my state of complete apathy in order to have any sort of clarity and write things down. On the other hand, the longer I stay away, the better I realize that I might never achieve such state of lucidity, so why not stream a bit of my consciousness here anyway?
This is not a post about anything. I don't want to rant, I don't feel like complaining about stuff, I am not really willing to be self-indulgent and pity myself and then give a tap on my own back and say Girl, you are super cool and awesome and beautiful and great. No, I am past that, I promise. Today I just want to write about nothing special. Like the day I have behind me.
I've just shared with himself that I spent a good deal of my day plotting the best, cleanest way to end my own life. He gasped in horror and retired to his room, feeling extremely disappointed that I would ever ponder on such baffling topic but it is what it is: I was wondering how I could possibly die without getting too graphic, shocking too much, leaving scars on people. As I was not able to give those three questions a proper answer, I did what I always do whenever such thoughts cross my mind - I muffled them.
I think what separates me from people who actually let go of themselves is that I lack the courage to hurt myself. In short, the what ifs prevent me from being gutsy enough to say enough is enough and just go away. I know I am perturbed, I have always been like this, but the very fact that I am now able to talk about it feels a bit liberating. I want to talk about death.
The other day I had a brief conversation with a guy at a sauna. I love saunas, they sort of remind me of the heated place I come from, and I am not joking. So there I was, enjoying some heat and thinking about life when this guy starts small talking to me and the conversation was soon to become philosophical. He's probably in his late twenties and has never had a job in his life. You don't miss what you never had, he said. I was mulling over that for a few days and I must confess I have nothing conclusive to say, but I do tend to disagree with his statement, and I am not sure if I will be able to explain myself as I have this maddening ear pain which prevents me from thinking clearly now and I do think the pain is also one of the reasons why I so earnestly wish I ceased to exist.
But why do I disagree with that statement? In short, I think I've never been really free in my life. I need a parenthesis here, I don't blame anyone. Maybe it's the whole system I was born into. Or maybe it's me. We could even say it's an amalgamation of both. The thing is, I really wanted to be free. I would love to have a life of my own and not have to give anyone any explanation about my actions whatsoever. It's as if I secretly wished the people I love the most did not really exist in my life, and I know it's a rather daunting thing to say, but it's true, and again, they are not at fault. When I look back in time I sort of realize that saying yes to India was actually an attempt at freedom, which did not happen de facto. You cannot be free when your only option in life is to move from the hearth of your parents to that of your husband. Even if they are the nicest and most loving and awesome people alive. This is not about love, it is about independence.
And that's pretty much what I've been thinking about since I traveled to Portugal in the end of October. I've been contemplating on my ineptitude to be independent, I've been wishing I had the courage to say to myself, loud and clear, that I am enough, instead of being so vulnerable and in need of care. Somehow I got convinced along the way that I am the one people should look after. At some point in my life I was made to believe, not only by others but most importantly, by myself, that striving for a secondary career would be enough. I thought I really did not need a career, because somehow in my mind I would be occupied minding my children (they never came, I am childless, and although English is not my mother tongue I do understand the difference between being childfree and being childless, so I did use the correct term here) and the main income should be that of the man, and what a pathetic human being I used to be.
There is no point in being consumed by regret, I suppose. My mantra is It could have been worse, after all. I guarantee that I've grown in ways I could have never predicted. The only thing that still keeps my flame flickering is knowing that I am able to empower myself through writing, even though I completely abhor most of what I do, but that's because I am not really keen on myself, so I would obviously hate anything that comes from me, perhaps being infertile is not a bad thing after all. Nature knows I wouldn't be able to cope with a mini-me anyway. What I did not know, until very recently, is that I would probably be happier if I had some sort of independence.
Do I regret having become a feminist? Not even a tinge. These things happen to shake things up a little. There is a lot I need to deconstruct inside of me. For the time being, I am a bit paralyzed, but I feel I will be able to get to a more lighter state, and it will probably feel unbearable, but I do want to try it anyway. No, I've never had it. But I do know I need it. I want to appreciate people for what they really are, not for what they can provide me with. I think I might be getting to that stage where I finally learn that relationships do not necessarily need to occur in capitalist terms. Although I am pretty much a stray cat who got adopted and now has food and a roof over its head, I am confident I will be able to provide for myself, soon. Perhaps that's the only hope that prevents me from going ahead with the project of killing myself.
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