Throwback

I just stumbled over this… I wrote it last October and I think, it feels real and intense and maybe even powerful. I can’t remember that I wrote it, but it is definitely my writing and my fictional character in this. Can I be blunt? I read this and I teared up and I don’t know why. It’s the sole reason why I share this link and hope that you will be touched by this too.

https://micqu.wordpress.com/2016/10/26/next-november/

Thank you.

Positivity

My grandfather was Italian. He lived during WWII. He was sent to a concentration camp because he was missing a finger and was no use to the Italian military. In said camp, he learned to speak and understand German. I never learned to speak Italian but grew up with German. My Nono (Italian word for grandpa) spoke to me in German. He once told me that he hated the reason why he knew the language but loved that he knew it to be able to talk to me and my sister.

In my book, that’s positivity. The old man could have refused to speak the language he associated with so much misery, but he chose to speak it. And I am forever grateful for that.

Another memory I have about him is that he couldn’t pronounce my name. My Italian family calls me Katie. My Luxembourgish family calls me Cathy (which sounds like Cutty). He said Kettey 🙂 Also makes me smile.

Not sure where this thought came from but, there it is. x

PS: if I had been born as a boy, I would have been named after him: Giuseppe.

It’s okay

Recently, I read on the mighty interwebs that “it is okay to not be okay”. Usually, I would agree. But life taught me differently. Sadly, I might add.

I have not been a good friend to my oldest (best?) friend for the last months. There are a couple of reasons. One of the most important ones is her constant negativity not being compatible with my depression. It took me a long time to admit that I have indeed depression and to seek help. And yet, I haven’t told anyone in my close circle of friends and family about it. I did however confide in someone who probably couldn’t care less… But that’s not the point.

I pushed my friends away more and more. And her too. Whenever we met and I tried to talk to her about me and that I am not well and that I don’t know how to deal with it; she made everything about her. And there came a moment when I couldn’t deal with it anymore and began to keep our contact to the barest minimum.

Yesterday I sought contact, writing a message and apologising for the last months. What I got was an accusation of creating a “wall of rejection”. Again, I apologised – and I probably said the lamest thing ever. “It’s me, not you.”

She didn’t even ask “why?” And it gives me the feeling that it is not okay to not be okay.

The thing is, if we honestly want to know and have answers, the question to ask is “why?” We don’t ask though – most often out of fear to hear the answer and not liking it.

If she had asked “why?” I would have dared to open up. I would have dared to say “I am not okay and I am trying to get out of this emotional dark hole.” Yesterday, I would have talked and explained. But she was not interested. And maybe that says a lot about our friendship. Too much?

Why is it not okay to not be okay? Why is it still a taboo to say when you’re not alright?

Why do we never ask that one-word question and why do so many people don’t want to hear an honest answer?

Everything is okay. But I am not. I am well enough to fonction and I am well enough to be passionate about this or that. But I am not well enough to pretend, and I am not well enough to spend time with negative people (not even those who I appreciated dearly once)

I am a giver, a feeder. But once in a while I have to take and get something in return. It is hard to ask for it. It is hard to admit that I am struggling.

Life could be perfect and maybe on the outside it is… But on the inside it is not. And that’s okay.

It is okay to not be okay!

Did you know…?

I am just an ordinary woman doing ordinary things. I don’t wear lots of make-up, and I don’t wear high heels. I work for a living, and scrub toilets and kitchen floors when I am done with work. I live for my kids and have a husband too. Nothing about me is extraordinary in the least. I am not tall (in fact I am quite short), I am chubby and I don’t take extra care of my hair. (Which is long and has gray streaks that I dye myself). I say goodnight to online acquaintances and begin to read until I am too pumped to sleep and that makes me feel guilty when I read or write something online. I read a lot and whenever I have a moment on my own. I listen to lots and lots and lots of music. I write poetry and flash fictions daily. I eat and drink and shit. I drive a car and cook and clean and curse and fold laundry. Sometimes, I want to be more – more of everything. But in the end I am content with what I have. I am not striving for success, but I would lie if I would pretend that likes and votes didn’t boost my ego. I like words and react to them in an intense way. I am moody and I can be quite rude too. I don’t believe in regrets, which makes me have to stand up for my own mistakes quite a bit. But if I make a decision based on this fact and that emotion, then I can’t regret it later when it went wrong. So… I make mistakes and have bad judgment all the time. I dream myself away and fantasise about a different life. But I am too scared to act on my impulses. Though I wouldn’t consider myself to be a coward. I am, however, shy and self-conscious. I am funny too. But I can’t tell any jokes. I laugh a lot and adore subtle humour. I like eyes and passion and compliments. I am honest and polite and kind. A little submissive at times too, but that doesn’t mean that I am not opinionated. Most often I stay silent when I am not informed in a matter. But I am not afraid to ask for more information. I love my job, even if it is very exhausting and it is emotionally and physically draining to manage the family, the house, the job, the writing, the virtual and real friends, me, and my moods.

In the end, I am just an ordinary girl, living an ordinary life… Nothing special.

Come!

I run and I run. My legs are burning. They are heavy as lead. But I keep running. I run towards the dark alley that is calling my name. An alley I would avoid at all cost every other night. Not now. Not tonight. You are calling me. And I have to find you. I need you.

“Come Cathy!” I hear it loud and clear. And I keep running. And running. Because I want to catch you. You are my safe haven. I need to find you. Your presence will give me peace. And I keep running towards the dark. And the unknown. Edged on by the hope to find you, my love.

“Come Cathy!” And I want to come to you. But I can’t reach you. No matter how fast I run, you are never there.

“Come Cathy!” It beginning to be frustrating. Devastating. Desperation sets in. How can I reach you? And I run and I run. Until I can’t run anymore and I stop. Everything is dark. There is no sound. Claustrophobic. Empty walls are closing in on me.

“Are you there?” I whisper. It sounds like the loudest scream in this absolute silence. I can hear my blood pounding in my ears. And I realise that I am afraid. Fucking scared, actually. Of this silence. Of this void. Of this emptiness. Of you not being there.

“Are you there?” I whisper again. There is something cold and wet on my cheeks. Tears? And I can’t fill my lungs with enough air to breathe properly.

“Are you there?” I turn around several times. Turning in never-ending circles. I don’t know where I am. Lost and confused. And I am so alone. And so cold. Cold and alone. Inside, and outside too. Lost in the dark. In the unknown. Inside my dream.

“Come Cathy!” But I can’t do what you want me to do. I am not there. I am not real. Nothing is.

I wake up drenched in sweat. I remember the voice loud and clear. I know the voice. Your voice. My heart is pounding against my ribs and I can still hear my blood’s flow in my ears. It makes me deaf to every other sound surrounding me. Around me, the bedroom is bathed in a red hue from the sun touching the closed blinds. “Come Cathy!” resonates behind my eyes, and between my ears. I don’t know what it means. I can’t remember a thing. Nothing that matters. And in my agitated state it feels as if someone is watching me. I am at peace. I am safe. Because this is real, and you are not there.

Take away my fear

I wish you were here to take away my fear

Knowing that you are just around the corner

A touch and a swipe on the screen away

Today, I need you to be here in my ear

I need to hear your voice, your words

Just for me and for you; you and me and you

Your guidance would help me through this struggle

Giving away my thoughts and my control

I feel this mind is losing a battle again

But I don’t dare to get in touch with you

I can’t burden you with my egoism

But…

I wish you were here to take away this fear

I haven’t been going out in a while. Tonight I will enjoy myself. Usually, I am wearing black (apart from the shoes). Today, I am wearing red. 🙂

Well that was me going out. I’ve been stood up and I am quite pissed about it. I was looking forward to tonight. Instead, I am sitting at home with the family again. Don’t get me wrong, I am happy to have them… But I was ready to socialise tonight, with the added bonus of music I like… So… As much as I said that I am not mad and that I understand, it doesn’t make me any less disappointed. I could have stayed on my own, but the mood was ruined and maybe I stood in my own way there for a moment… Too late now though…

The truth seeps in

I stand in a corner afraid to fall apart My dress comes undone at its seams And the truth seeps in. Your hands cover my heart They must be feeling the distress. Don’t leave. I look at you the moment I wake I feel as if I am standing in a corner My legs don’t know any way out And the truth seeps in. Your eyes bore into my soul They must feel what I am not saying. Please leave. And the leaves fall from the trees And the rain pours out of the clouds And we don’t know in which direction to go. And the truth seeps in.