So… I’ve moved. In 10 years I’ve moved twice. That doesn’t sound like a whole lot, but when you have to drag welfare authorities behind your ass, trust me: It is more than any healthy person would tolerate, much less so when you’re dealing with unresolved “issues” – the very term is an insult – from the past that undermine the very existence of who you are or rather: Should have been.
Nonetheless – digging my heals in, leaning in, fighting the good fight, all these nice euphemisms – I think I’m safe to say I’ve lived up to them, issues, unresolved trauma, soul murder or not. And I’ve done so with my latest endeavour: Moving again with the help from only one good friend, whom I did the heavy lifting with. All the rest – packing up, withstanding the pressure from former landlady who all of a sudden wanted me out asap, reeling in three quotes to present with welfare staff for them to decide on, actually preparing for and booking the whole thing, finding the new place after tons of let downs and rejections for reasons of the situation that I’m in – unemployed, 50% disabled, depending on welfare since 2008, which on the other hand is guaranteed money, but which most landlords have a hard time seeing this way – and finding and securing that place last minutewhile putting up with cranky former landlady, I did it all. I think, even a person without burdens to carry from the past would have had a difficult time with this. But “eyes on the prize”, right?
Yes. A prize it was – or so I thought after having checked out the place and upon moving in. Even my helping friend was very kind and said all kinds of nice things about the new place and how he was relieved for me that I was out of this other place with the selfish landlady who took my – or welfare’s – money, but let me freeze in fall, winter and spring, nonetheless. Even took advantage of me for a minor damage so that I’ll have to handle the case with insurance now. But anyway – eyes on the prize, look at the bright side, think positive, be the change you want to see – all of that. I did it. Pulled it off, did the heavy lifting in one afternoon, started to get settled in.
But – the walls are thinner than in any other place I’ve ever lived in. They aren’t technically walls per se, but dry wall installations from plasterboard. In other words: Not only do I get to witness every word from the neighbouring party – that of my landlord’s, who other than that seems to be quite the nice, accommodating guy -, but I also get the full effect of whatever cooking takes place there. And then those smells hang in my compartment for the rest of the day unless I open both windows for at least an hour. Winter’s drawing near now and I don’t think I can keep up that strategy for the coming months.
I have been overwhelmed with life for all my life. Sounds like a joke – but only for those, who never had to live it. I wouldn’t want the nastiest guy I ever knew and whom I hated with a passion to have to trade and walk in my shoes. That bad? That bad. I’m simply spent. Burnt out. I can’t count the many times I’ve pulled myself up by my bootstraps, carried on, regrouped, collected myself, did it again. Every single time felt like it had already been too much. But what was the alternative? For the most part of my life there was none, heck for the most part of my life I wasn’t even aware of what the hell was so different with me and why I never felt like I belonged anywhere…. But knowing about it didn’t solve the problem, in fact: It rather worsened it as it also became apparent to me that for now there is no real cure for this. Maps.org are in their phase III clinical trial for psycholithic therapy – which involves the use of MDMA or LSD combined with psychotherapy for a day while under the influence -, but the earliest they hope to get it approved of by the FDA for introduction into the standard catalog of therapies is 2020 – for the United States, mind you. No mention or idea as to how much longer it will take to get introduced in my country – if ever.
I am sorry. I simply can’t carry on. I’ll move back with family – the place, where much of the abuse happened. Although they’re different people than they were back then, it’s still the least desirable of all places in the world, but unfortunately the only option left. I might choose not to see 51 this year. I don’t know exactly what I’m holding out for any more.
Sorry. I hope, whoever reads this that you’re in a better place. And just so you know: In your country, hope is only a few years away. So for you it’s different, you might want to choose to hold out till then. Ok.? Thank you.