Because my life is shit, because I am the Shit Of God.
My religion is Reason, but my mind is tired and troubled and I loose the Faith so often.
Sono lo feci dal Signore, I said that to Maria once and she was shocked and asked me (her being fluent in Italian as well) if I knew what I have said. Yes, I do, I was quoting Diamanda Galas from her song, Sono l'Antichristo. She is religious, and for her these words carried extra punch, like her words, "My life is ruined", and "I gave up" were a shock for me to hear, because... Because. I felt that to be true of my life and me, but I did not dare to admit it to myself, because the reason would then propell me to do something to end it.
I don't have a telephone again, and I haven't checked my e-mail in weeks (until yesterday). This is how I press the crack in my glass. I know I am lonely and that most of my friends are not in Rotterdam but elsewhere. They have normal lives and I am sick and disgusted of myself to being so much needy of them, that I rather push it to the extreme.
And then I come here, on my blog, to Cry Out. The more I cry out, the less reason I have to cry. So, this is my therapy.
I have no life and my world is empty. I hate my apartment because the remnants of my former life are everywhere for me to remind me how much my life is full of promise and how little of that promise it has delivered. I run away from it all the time, spend my money and time in bars, seeking a temporary relief from my loneliness. And then... I have to come back to my "home" and witness the scorched land of the life I once liked.
I need Maria or somebody to give me a real or metaphorical slap in the face every day, as a reality check to keep myself focused on the future (because the prospects are very good!) and not dwell on all the shit that came my way in recent year or two.
I am going back to Croatia, to recover, to surround myself with my neglected friends and family, to get to know my son and try to make amends of him growing up without ever meeting his real father. From what I hear of him from his mother, I already know he is really my son.
"You're life is going to be difficult", said my father to me after my first day in Croatian school, "because you are too good and trusting" (something to that effect). I remember the words even though I have not understood the meaning then. I will never repeat them to my son, I should try to teach him what I have never learned, that you do not need to always to give or prove the goodness (because it is evident) before you receive some. To teach him to be selfish enough.
Really, I only need to find the strenght to tie the loose ends here, to let out (rent out) my apartment. With that, I keep more or less my present income even though my salary is cut to half next month. We have good foreign languages schools in Croatia, I will busy myself polishing my Dutch and learning Turkish, then come back and start from a clean slate. Start again, get a job -- then my income is going to be even higher. With such prospects, with such a self-unacknowledged priviledged life that I have really had, I need a slap in the face to bring back a painful but well-intended stimulus to keep the little faith I have.
My life IS ruined here. I have given up. Everyday, a Devil in my proposes a rational but ill-intended solution to it. Yesterday, a heartfelt letter in an e-mail my brother sent me in February brought tears to my eyes. That's why I don't check my e-mail and have no phone. I know, I am aware that I CANNOT do anything to hurt myself without hurting so many people that care about me, and I do not want to hurt anyone.
Please forgive my moments of weakness. My new blog may be called De Zuider Ster, A star of the South.
Odbrana i posljednji dani, prije konacne konsolidacije i uvjerljive pobjede. I am one tough motherfucker, really. Wait and see for yourself.
Post je objavljen 09.03.2008. u 12:27 sati.