Wednesday, 29 December 2010

Moving... Again

The very first time I moved was when I was only a few years old, when the farm house we were living in burned down. We lived in a temporary building until the new house had been built and we could move into it. We lived there until my father cheated on my mother and dumped her for another woman. That's when we moved to a nearby city. After half a year we moved to the other side of the country, because there was nothing in that city for my mother. I just went along, as I didn't have anything or anyone keeping me there.

Cue 3 years of medical drama, as well as my first sexual experience in the form of getting raped, both leaving huge emotional scars and causing me to want to run away from it all. Hence I moved to Canada. There I discovered that there was nothing for me either, so I moved back to the Netherlands, where I had to stay at an acquaintance's place. There I had to move from again after a month because they were going on vacation. That's when I ended up where I am living now. 7 moves total, 5 of which I remember.

This morning I started packing for my eighth move. With each of the last couple of moves I seem to carry along fewer possessions.

Sitting here amidst open boxes and piles of books and other items, I find myself looking into the mirror affixed to one of the closets in the room. In the eyes I see reflected back at me, I can see many unanswered questions, and more confusion. I knew that my staying here was temporary, and that I have overstayed my welcome by years, but I never suspected that I'd be leaving under these current circumstances, basically craving to get away as soon as possible.

Half a year ago I dreaded leaving, departing from this place, living on my own, never sharing shopping trips with my housemate again. Now that everything has turned sour and daily life has become an abstract play of tears getting away from here seems to provide at least some solutions.

Not all solutions. Not by far. Yesterday I had a friend over, which was fun and interesting, and we talked about lots of things. Yet social contact like this is a definite double-edged sword for me, as it makes me feel accepted and welcome on one side, and on the other side strongly reinforces the raw pain of the emptiness where for a regular person one's physical identity would go.

I look into the mirror and I don't know what I see. Why does this something, this person I see in the mirror do certain things? What motivates this person? All I know for a fact is that this person I see and which I am likes learning and knowledge, as well as being occupied with intellectual pursuits. As for the physical composition of the body I am seeing, it might as well be a black hole. There is nothing there, just a distorted image I can't make heads or tails of.

One of the topics I discussed yesterday with this friend was that of my promise to myself that I will pursue euthanasia if by the end of next year I will have made no progress in obtaining the answers surrounding my physical identity. I think she understood why I desire this, and why those answers are crucial to me.

There's also the very real risk that if I end up moving to a place I really do not like, it might make me feel terrible enough that I decide to end things before that time. I need to be able to worry less at this point, not more. I couldn't use the additional stress of my current living situation either, or false accusations I can not defend myself against which just make me want to punch things in frustration.

It's hard to imagine ending up in a place worse than where I live now, but I once also thought that a single person couldn't get all the misfortune I have had thrown at me throughout my life. When people say that I'm strong, they actually mean that they appreciate it that I haven't found the courage yet to give up on living and hope reincarnation is real so that I can give life another whirl, this time without having the entire deck stacked against me.

Later this week I expect to hear back on an apartment. Just for once I hope things will work out. It would be nice... *laughs bitterly*



Samantha said...

I've pretty much given up on living, even if my problems are completely different, I admire your strength. It's really hard but we've got to do it. There's so many great things we could lose out on and end up missing, even if the hope feels redundant and like it's never going to come our way.. or that its not worth it.

Maya Posch said...

I would never dare to think that I could tell you what you should or shouldn't do with your life; I don't like it when people do that to me either.

All I can offer is any help I can provide to improve your situation :)

In my experience that's the only thing which makes life worth living: when others can selflessly do something to improve your life, although it can be argued that it does make them feel better as well, so it's a mutual thing ^-^