Legends of the Fall

I just noticed my last post was in September, so maybe a little update won't hurt. Dark times, during autumn. You could say the attacking things were attacking me pretty bad.
A few days after my last blog entry, I was informed that my boss, who also happens to be my aunt who also happens to have told everyone I was the daughter she never had, was letting me go while I was on sick leave. Coincidentally, this happened immediately after I wrote her I was hoping to return to work very soon.
Now, if ya think during all those months of me being sick with depression, my loving auntie checked on me even once - via phone, e-mail or even in person, you're wrong. She chose to be pissed at me.
I took it pretty hard. At the time, things weren't looking too good - my mom's husband wasn't replying, I was running out of money and perspective plus suddenly, I was out of a job and fucked over harshly by a family member and one of the few people I still let myself remain close to. On top of that, my antidepressants still weren't working.
Desperate, I bid my time. Then I got some money from my mom's husband, enrolled in an animal psychology course and started concentrating on the changes ahead, especially the positive opportunities they presented. Change scares the shit out of me.
But currently, I've absolved three of my twelve monthly dog psychology weekend-seminars. I've applied for unemployment money and if everything goes right, they'll put me in this nine month entrepreneureal programm teaching everything essential for self-employment. As soon as winter break ends, I am contacting the veterinary university because next fall, it will offer anthrozoology as a BA-study. Since that would be right up my ally, I would spend the spring semester getting a college-license (sorta like a GED, but only sorta), taking my business-classes and my monthly weekend-seminars. By September, I could study while being self-employed. Awesomeness. Keep your fingers crossed for me. Please.
I could really need a few things going my way.

regrets, 2010-edition

A while back, my friend A. blogged about self-doubts and regrets, asking about others' experiences. She talks about jealousy as she watches other people living her dreams of going places (both figuratively and literally) - something I could relate to so well that I have put off contemplating my own regrets 2010-edition.
Where A. looks at the big picture of her life, I try not to. I do have a regret-list that doesn't change much, therefore, concentrating solely on 2010 would be the more sensible thing. But since this blog is about sharing my struggle and doing the "easy" thing is boring, I'ma startcha off by sharing the Top 3 regrets of my lifetime. (As a huge High Fidelity-Fan, I attempted a Top 5 only to find there's only three I can successfully castigate myself with. Works like a charm, every time.)

#1
Leaving Austria at fourteen.
Yeah, adult-me knows there's not much teen-me could have done other than running away and hiding long enough to miss the flight. Regrets are never rational, though. If they were, we wouldn't waste time hurting ourselves contemplating them.

#2
Leaving Austria again at fifteen.

#3
Losing Balu.
This could also read: letting my best friend's feelings for me fuck up any possibility of us ever being friends again. Long story. Lots of petty little regrets rolled up into one big one that's probably gonna ache forever. And I believe it should.

There are a few Could-Haves after returning to Austria, that would have taken me somewhere more respectable or whatever you wanna call it. Shoulda, woulda, coulda. Ultimately, back when I was at those crossroads, I didn't want to go any other way than the one I chose. And if I found myself there again, I still wouldn't want to go anywhere else.
Yeah, back when I gratuated High School, everybody thought I was gonna be some big shot reporter. If you judge me by my yearbook entries, I'm a failor because I am not well on my way to becoming a news anchor. Then again, that was my chosen profession back in the States. Yeah, journalism was my thing then - and for the past six years, I have been making my money writing. Sure, it was for a bullshit technical speciality-magazine, but I flew to quite a few press conferences in Germany, slept in nice hotels and, again, made my money writing. Awesomeness.
Sure, my boss was a pain for a whole lot of reasons, the least of them her unability to filter before speaking. (Seriously, at one point or another, I'ma hold a seminar on the importance of Filtering. It's almost never ever overrated.) But my dog came to work with me every day.
Since my High School Diploma wasn't recognized here in Austria, I attempted to get my Austrian GED. Very half-heartedly. Never wanted it, but I let people talk me into signing up at that school I never ended up going to. 'cause I didn't want to. And my boyfriend lived next door and fucking seemed a lot more exciting than being taught English as a foreign language when you've basically become a native speaker.
So I could have a GED, and if I had it, I could have gone to college. But, there really weren't any majors I was interested in. I found something now though and hopefully, I shall start my studies next fall (knock on wood again, please!). And if I'd gone to college to study something I didn't particularly care for, by now I'd have a degree and therefore, maybe my father would love me. But, other than my starting salary at any new firm, that's really the only thing that would be better, had I gotten my GED and studied something.

No, I'm glad I made the choices I made since I've come back. Because I can say that I have stayed true to myself. Sadly, at 27 I don't know a whole lot of people anymore who can honestly say that about themselves.

As for jealousy or envy - quite an interesting subject, actually. What makes me bitter isn't watching others succeed professionally or societally while I myself am struggling with whatever it is I struggle with at the time. 'cause I know I'm not failing, not doing nothing. I'm just doing something else. Because I think different. Because I am different. And I wouldn't really want it any other way.
I am, however, envious of those people who have screwed me over not getting their money's worth from Karma. Turns my stomach learning that certain people are having good things happen to them or simply getting away with their shit unharmed while I'm hurting because of their deeds. But, this world ain't just - and if it is, it likes to take its sweet time, occasionally.

On to current regrets, as this post's title refers to the year 2010.
I wish I had spoken up about my unbearable work situation sooner. Even though everything is well on its way to turning out okay for me (knock on wood!), it woulda saved me a whole lot of throwing up as well as quite a bit of emotional stress. You live, you learn though.
Next up on my list of contemporary regrets is that there's a whole lot of shit I shoulda worked through in the past. It caught up with me this summer, but at least now I'm dealing with it.

I dunno. A. did this whole positive-outlook-thing.
Me, I always wanted to live without regrets. And other than my Top 3, I've managed pretty well. I'm not as big on self-doubt as A. is. Which, of course, is easily explained by the fact, that all my life, everyone around me has given me plenty of cause to doubt pretty much everything around me. If you're moving around so much, you don't remember which cupboard the coffee mugs are kept in, you quickly learn not to take anything too basic for granted. Growing up with a crazy mother, I needed to become my own compass. For the most part, I think I've managed pretty well.
I have inherited her paranoia to some extent, sure. But I only take it out on myself, constantly assuring myself of the fact that I am not becoming insane like her. But self-doubt? What good would that do?

At any rate, a lot of shit has happened this year. I don't really regret any of it though, especially since none of it was really my doing. In a way, I now believe everything happened the way it did, so I can kick off 2011 without a whole lot of baggage but with a lot of opportunities I want to pursue, instead.

Running from the dark place

I watch Grey's Anatomy. Almost religiously. Mostly, because I love the Meredith-Christina-relationship and their way of communicating. They use this analogy when they're feeling a certain way that's difficult to put in other words: "I'm in the dark place."
In the time since my last post, that's where I was. Hard to explain how it feels. Makes me look for answers to unaskable questions. Needless to say, this time around, I didn't find any, either. I did, however, find confirmation: things change and sometimes, when you see what they've become, you regret that change happened. Goes for people, too. Sometimes it's circumstantial, sometimes it just appears to be the natural flow of life. Circumstances can be changed. Not always, but often. I believe we must try. I believe, that's all there is. (That's why I cry every time I hear Nelly Furtado's Try.) What annoys me, however, is that the trying never ceases. And I know I'm rightfully annoyed. Ugh, self-righteousness is so unattractive, I know. So what though? I earned it. Battle scars. They ain't pretty but at one point or another, covering everything up pretty got real tiresome.
Anyway.
So I'm running from the dark place. I feel it lurking all around me, creeping in when I don't keep the defenses up but I'm trying to think suggestively positive.

Moping.

My sick leave from work has taken well over 8 weeks and there's no difference to how I'm feeling. So I been moping. Or maybe not moping so much as generally being very, very atrabilious (nice word, huh? I like nice words. Like like-like). Anyway. I'm straight out evil and highly flammable. I seriously need to learn how to spit fire, that would make for awesome special effects.

Having jumped off of death's shovel - or whatever the correct english phrase for having escaped death may be - once or twice, I know life is a gift. Not in the stereotypical, esoteric we-are-all-part-of-one-happy-colorfl-equation-and-must-cherish-what-mother-earth-gives-us kinda way one hears so often, but physically. My body reminds my every day that there is a piece of it missing, but only a piece of it. It's still running, kicking, breathing. But because my body and I, respectively, are only missing a piece instead of being dead, we're lucky. I'm lucky. Thankyaverymuch.
Being a good person means, besides other things, knowing that acting ungratefully is just as wrong as being ungrateful. Which is where the guilt and the guilty conscience come in. I'm miserable and even more miserable for feeling miserable. I could be awesome instead. Well. I am awesome. But that's in a different story, I'm afraid.
See, I got my life saved. For some reason, there's a dead girl with a missing leg who had a grade point average of 4.0 and plans for her future. And then there's me, moping.

Seriously though. Every day I wake up and check for pain before getting up. And I feel like every day is like entering your local blockbuster and seeing there's a new movie out with ninjas on the cover that promises ninja wars and awesome kaboom and you get happy 'cause ninjas are fucking awesome and the title sounds sick. But in the next second, you remember that ninja movies are hardly ever really any good and therefore, decide not to take it home but to pick something else instead. That way, you don't get disappointed 'cause the ninjas stay awesome in your mind. God, I wish I were a ninja. *sigh*
Back to the point I believe I had before I got sidetracked by ninjas... Here I sit, restless, anxious, angry. Moping. I don't know what to change. I don't know how. But nahmean 2.0 would definitely know what to with herself. And be free of guilt. And know how to spit fire.

Man's Search For Meaning. Or something like that.

I just finished a letter and sent it. A letter of unloading on my mom's husband, daring him to make amends.
Been thinking of blogging for days - I've had these thoughts in my head for a while now, and they need to be written, 'cause that's how I get places - I write myself there. Haven't been writing them though, 'cause it's a bit of an iffy subject. Touchy, even. Mostly, because I need to watch my mouth - my sarcasm tends to miss people who don't know me well. Which is the very beauty of it, according to me - which doesn't keep it from getting me into trouble though. Just like the thing with my letter - in it, I am asking for reparations.
My friend A., who screened it before I sent it off, found that particular piece of vocabulary ill-chosen, stating "my grandma [who survived the holocaust] gets reparations". Yeah, reparations are a way of making amends after an act of war, of immense injustice. Just ride the metaphor with me, let's not make it about the suffering of the Jewish people...
So what I've been thinking about is this book I recently read, Man's Search For Meaning by the psychologist Viktor E. Frankl, who himself was a holocaust survivor. The book's German title translates to something like "Saying yes to life despite everything" - it's a book I've had lying around forever without ever even considering reading it. The title just always made me go "Yeah, sure." A friend recently gave me another copy of it as a Thank You-gift (a plant or something woulda done it, too). I told my therapist about it, saying I still felt no desire to read it. Then I got bored.
To make a long story short, I saw my therapist last week, told her I read it, summarizing my opinion with two words: "Yeah, sure."

'cause here's the thing, this is where my thoughts come in. And where I need to watch how I say things because people always get so touchy when it comes to concentration camps. So let me say this once, beforehand, so that I shall hopefully not have to clarify it again: I do think the holocaust was a horrible, horrible thing to happen. Yet, I still see this particular book as a description of what happens to humans when they suffer immense trauma - basically, humans under extreme psychological conditions of suffering and traumatization. Under no circumstance would I compare my youth to spending time in a concentration camp, it does, however make me able relate to certain extreme conditions. I hope we can work with that.

Back to sharing my thoughts. There were a lot of things in that book I could relate to, really well. Mostly, it was Frankl's way of describing what freedom felt like, how he didn't quite know what to do with it. Frankl emphasizes quite a bit how when put under extreme conditions of suffering, in order to survive, one must pick a reason for surviving, something to live for, something to live towards. I can relate to that, totally. For me, that reason was coming back home, for five years during which my crazy witch of a mother had my passport on lockdown and forbade all contact to my friends and relatives here in Europe. So you pick a why, and then the how becomes a little more bearable, Frankl states. True that, true that. I don't know if I'd survive half the things I've seen, had I not lived for coming back here. While enduring, one finds that suddenly, how one goes about doing things, differentiating between right and wrong becomes the last resort. A flight into a noble heroism, if you will. Once one is released, Frankl goes on to say, freedom can become a problem and pose many a challenge: for if, after enduring so much for so long, those survivors are met with indifference or disappointed by finding what they fought for exists no longer, they become a serious challenge for their respective therapists. And that's pretty much were he leaves it, for those who endured for nothing, so to say, life pretty much sucks.
Yeah. Sure.

It's not a bad book, it's quite an important piece of literature - both from a historic as well as from a psychological point of view. If I may abuse the English title though: where is the meaning for those who fall through the cracks? 'cause, seriously, I would like to know. I picked a new why, 'cause the how wasn't all that awesome here either, at first anyway. I can't tell if it's getting better 'cause I'm still all caught up, attacking the attacking things back. And though I do, always, attempt to pick the high road, I am not seeing how it pays off. I'm not.
Here's what I've learned, here's what I have known for so long, I can't even put a date on it: everyone is expendable. It's sad. You do miss people. But the sad thing is, even those who you thought you could never take another breath without, even without them you can make do. It ain't much more than making do, though. You find new people, new interests. But there's always the knowledge that they are expendable. Knowing that, you live differently. You love differently. And the thing is: all the therapy in the world can't make you forget that. And none of the pills, either.
So: where is the meaning? I do think there is a limit to "despite everything". I mean, there's not much more life can bring that I ain't seen already, feeling-wise. Like Frankl says, we can endure basically anything, one can't even imagine the things that can be endured as long as there is a reason. And I have said yes despite everything, many a time. I think of my new borrowed why, my dog. I watched Hachiko recently, a sad Richard Gere movie that had me bawling my eyes out for a straight half hour, about a dog that waits on his deceased owner for ten years. (True story.) (I love saying "True Story.") I do think even my dog would be fine without me though. That's why I call him my borrowed why. No worries though, I'm big on the responisbility. I ain't going nowhere, I'd just like to know why to stay.

Like Guilt with a Guilty Conscience Pt. 1

2.19 am. Got my Laptop in bed with me and I'm wide awake. As wide awake as you can be, if you're not feeling yourself. Now I like the ambivalence in that second part of that last sentence 'cause it sums everything up so perfectly: not in touch with myself, not having any self-perception, seemig like a stranger to myself, not really feeling my body except for this weird anxious fluttering in the general area of my diaphragm and the occasional pain.
So I'm not really like guilt with a guilty conscience, because I don't feel anything right now. But this is where the attack of the attacking things comes in: for the most part of my life, I've been shit on by the people around me. Quite badly, too; no neatness about it. When I look at my life, beyond the official version, anyway, it looks as messy as a frat house Sunday morning. Minus the party. Or maybe, not minus the party, but the party wasn't all that fun to begin with and you would have preferred not to go, at all. Nahmean?
Back to topic though: people have screwed me over. Badly. And I hold a grudge, a completely justified, appropriate grudge. I think it's my right to.

(2.41 am. I just went to the bathroom and stepped on my dog. Bad mommy.)

I believe in Karma. Or rather: I want to believe in Karma. That doing good things somehow pays off and that if you cause suffering, you end up hurting yourself, eventually. That there is some kind of numinous justice, no matter the jurisdiction. Not that anyone would consider me a very religious person, but for some years now, I find myself in a crisis of faith. Because what I want to believe and what life is showing me about itself are very, very different things: the former vs. a nameless terror that contradicts my aboriginal belief in the existence of humanity.
Controversely, I am holding a grudge while claiming to believe in Karma and wondering why good things haven't happened to me. Yes, there have been good things in my life. Like coming back to Vienna, finding my apartment. But these things didn't happen, I made them occur. The "bad things" that happened weren't the self-inflicted kind, though I do keep conveying a responsibility for them to myself. Because I am like guilt with a guilty conscience. I'm in therapy, but I have known for a long, long time what the problem is. Because if I weren't making myself accountable for the bad things that happened, I'd be very angry at a lot of people and life itself. Which I have been, in a way. But only for the past year or so. And anger, even if it's justified, ain't healthy. On the other hand, you do need to feel it at some point, just like the denial and the depression.
Basically, I consider myself a martyrred superhero. Because I know for a fact that certain issues can neither become resolved or acceptable and that being angry about it and admitting that this world is a shitty place and we're all better off just looking out for ourselves, I choose to ignore it and go about doing as much good as I can. Mostly, anyway.
Then I got tired of it and took a sick leave from work. And I guess, that's where I am now, at 3.08 am in the morning, glad I'm not feeling my conscience or anything else, for that matter.


(to be continued)

Let's blog, shall we?

I've never been good about blogging. I tried it on myspace - but myspace sucks, so blogging on myspace sucked. Tonight, I was looking through demotivation-pics 'cause some of those actually make me laugh out loud sometimes - which I rarely do, just not my kinda thing - and I found one about blogging: Needless to say, I giggled 'cause I already knew I'd be picking my blog design later. Which I'm done with now - and I did my bestest to keep away from all my beloved turquoise-ness.
I do know I'm rambling and I do know my lead sucks, but truly, this post just serves as an appetizer for me. Not for you, dear reader, just for myself. So that maybe, being on sick leave and having time on my hands, I will actually give the writing thing another shot. Besides, I guess mostly, blogging is supposed to entertain yourself anyway. If someone else gets pleasure from your words, that's nice but it shouldn't be the purpose of keeping a blog, at least in my opinion it shouldn't be. My opinion isn't very humble, by the way, it's got a big ego. Because my opinion and I, we do take immense pleasure in the fact that I am the kind of person who usually doesn't say anything unless she knows she's right. A pain in the ass at times, yes.
The alternative title I had in mind for this blog was "Until I Find You" - which is the title of an awesome book by John Irving that touched me significantly in many ways. In the end, my initial title idea, taken from my favorite Rapper Jean Grae's first solo album, prevailed. Because there's been so much to suck up in the past I-don't-even-know-how-many years of my life, it's time to attack them attacking things back now. Let's see how I do and if writing about it helps.