The catharsis of last October

This story is a look over through the last week I’ve spent with my family in 2020. It’s a catharsis to let go of the memories. If you are having your good days, your good times, it will sound like nothing but a pathetic description of someone else’s life. If you’re feeling as bad as I did when I was living it or as bad as I do writing it now, you could find some of yourself in the glimpses of a story, as I started finding myself in the cries for help of a strangers I couldn’t relate to in my better times.

11th October 2020, Saturday, I remember exactly where I was on that day. Home at my grandparent’s. I woke up in the middle of the night, hunted by all the bad thoughts and experiences that accumulated over the past year and started way before we knew anything about pandemics and corona. I was crying my heart out in a pillow, trying to block out noise from piercing through the thin walls. I fell asleep again after the dawn was already breaking outside, and by the time I had to wake up I was sleep deprived and generally feeling like utter shit, so I didn't force myself out of bed till the breakfast was already over.

We were putting away the apples that day- Collecting them, washing them, mincing them and then cold pressing into fresh apple juice. But more than that, it was also a birthday of a close relative, who invited everybody to a little celebration. Although not in my best mood, I was truly looking forward to seeing my family gathered together one last time before I set out to ‘’a journey’’, start my work abroad, after which I wasn’t sure when I’ll have a chance to see them again. It was certain to be over six months and this would just meant so much to me.

But if I thought I know how that day will be going, it turned out it wasn’t so by everyone else involved. A simple invitation isn’t enough to move those closest to me and get them to come over, even on your special day. It was more than 30 minutes drive, which is just SO much where I come from. I couldn’t even believe that it went under discussion, and even less when they’ve decided ‘’There’s still so much to do’’ that we are not attending the occasion. But in my whole fainted heart I couldn’t find energy to fight for what I wished for, to fight to see my family gathered together one last time. The apples were more important than celebration of someone so close to you. No wonder I started vegetating, you are worth so much more to this family as a plant.


It wasn’t until next day, Sunday, the 12th October that we learnt the little party was put up just for us to attend. It wasn’t until then that we learnt my three year old niece was waiting for us to come, so excited all afternoon, and so disappointed when even after night fell we weren’t there. It was the next day that we went to congratulate the birthday-person, on our way when we were already almost passing by. Without my grandparents who now didn’t have ride back home. I was crying showers during the whole ride, already soaked by the moment we left the house and feeling worse and worse and worse once we entered the car. I wondered when (and if) there will be another chance for all of us to sit together. I cried for what I was leaving behind. I even cried because I forgot taking bag of crisps grandfather brought for me, the ones that reminded me of so much more to be just a snack.

We’ve spent a short hectic evening with our relatives, staffing with the food that was left for us from the day before. Not much have changed, but I felt so much better than during the drive. My sister was there and she just has this magical power to make me feel better even when I’m at my worst by nothing else than being herself. I remember playing with my niece, putting together puzzles and using that as an excuse that we cannot leave yet. But we had to, it was Sunday evening, everyone but me had to go to work next day and most of them also needed another hour to get home.


Monday the 13th I’ve spent at home, in my parents’ basement among excess of my belongings, and all those broken and worn things that were of no use to anyone anymore. Somehow they belonged there and weren’t disposed of, yet. Just like me I suppose. 

We were supposed to do one last fun thing that week with my parents, one last memorable time before I go. The little outing followed by a fine dinner I’ve already chose a nice gown for. I liked it, so I decided to try it on before packing it, when I was walked in on just to be told the dress is way to fine for that occasion and I would look nothing but funny in it. After all I come from the world where ‘’You can never be overdresses’’ just doesn’t exist, and something I would previously wore for far less nobel occasions was suddenly to fancy for the wreck of me that I became. I was already picturing myself in this beautiful blue dress with a velvet corset and wavy skirt that always reminded me of a 20th century Cinderella, with a bombshell styled hair I wanted to try for so long. I planned to wake up early just to get them done, to walk through the city for one last time feeling more than just nothing and no one. But with the dress gone, so was my spirit that I lacked most of the summer anyway.


It was a suffer to get out of bed on October 14th. I made it to the bathroom and washed my hair and I still dreamt of a voluminous crown to wear around. But I also knew it’s going to be a pain to make it through the day, without shaking and breaking and especially sober. I’ve done this before, got a little tipsy whenever I felt the worse and once my feelings were slightly numbed the life got a little more bearable. There was supposed to be almost full bottle of rum I bought for the baking but when I was rummaging under the sink for it, I just couldn’t locate it. Still I found something else to pure in my coffee while I was drying my hair, but the thought of brown sweet spirit couldn’t leave my mind. I guess rum has always been one of my favourites, ever since I was munching on those liquored chocolate candies as a little girl. I found it at last and I wasn’t holding back adding it to another cup of coffee. The hair didn’t work out the best. I wasn’t trying my best either. I was supposed to meet with my mother in city centre. I planned to arrive early and stop by the bank to deposit some money. It is a 20 minutes bus ride to get there, a little more than door to door. It took me more than two hours.


Loud ringing of the phone woke me up from a delirium, when I was passed out lying on the floor, grabbing to a pile of clothes I tried to choose from for my overnight stay. I’ve already been behindhand, but for the sake of my life I couldn’t imagine pulling myself from that refreshingly cold floor, stuffing few things in a bag and leave the house. I missed another bus, and another, and another, till I’ve been severely late. I finally made it to the exit, leaving behind a mess and desolation by all the things I dropped on the floor while grabbing on them, trying to walk my way. I ran into full yard of neighbours who were so happy to see me after a long long time, but I fast excused myself on catching the bus or whatever they could understand from my blabbering before I was gone. I made it to the bus stop that is just by the end of our yard and like a truly lost person sat on the floor by the post representing it till the bus’s arrival. I don’t remember much of the journey, I’ve done it times and times before to find it memorable, but as I exited and fully lost started walking towards our hotel, I ran into my mother coming my way after hours of waiting for me. I hanged on her with the whole weight of the world I was carrying, sobbing into her shoulder, don’t know if from relief or knowing that worst is yet to come.

I have no idea how I looked by the time I’ve made it to the reception, luckily all that was left to do was for me to sign the paper and we were already given keys to our room. The hotel was located inside an old building of the town centre, but done in a modern way, with dimmed lights, concrete walls, and silver sparkles on the celling. Our accommodation was a spacious modern room with glassed bathroom and shiny mirrored details everywhere. We grabbed bottle of red wine waiting for us there and headed to the roof top where small infinity pool was joined by beautiful views over the river. We emptied the bottle, my mother telling me things I needed to hear and me listening with one ear while being lost in my own world.

We were later joined by my father so all three of us could attend this fine dinner I was already dreaming about for a week. We were set in a corner by the window, me squeezed on a bench behind the table, facing the restaurant. We talked about all the heavy things that came to the surface in weeks before, getting over and over the same problem to which only solution for me was to run away. I was sobbing, tears rolling down my cheeks like there’s no one else in the world, no one else in that restaurant who could see my feeling of misery, only hidden by dimmed lights of a small space. I can’t imagine what the servers must have thought when bringing us plates if they ever looked at me. The courses were small and creative, all joined with more wine and martini to finish. As we were done we went out for a walk, the nights much warmer than this year, or it was just me having so much to drink or so much I didn’t want to feel that I couldn’t noticed the cold. But it must have been warmer for sure as we got ourselves ice cream on the way. The heavy dark chocolate with raspberry for me. We climbed up the hill to catch the night panorama of the city. I was doing fine, fresh air doing me good, until we reached the top and I sat on a small pole from which I could barely move again. But I managed to, much easier than getting off the floor earlier that day, finally having a sufficient meal after days of depriving myself of food and only swallowing my thoughts. Still, I think the panorama was beautiful from as much as I could see with my half blind eyes, since I was way to disabled to insert the contact lenses for that day.

At the foothill we sat goodbye to my father, who took a bus back home, going by the same route that took me so long earlier. My mother and I returned to the hotel and after a long warm shower I was tucked in bed, the one thing I’ve needed all day.


I woke up in the middle of the night that Wednesday, October the 15th. I got out of bed and sneaked behind a curtain covering the window and some space between the thick walls. It was a perfect view over the sleeping street and the abandoned promenade, yet all so enlightened that there must be someone coming to walk them. There was a person who was up though, my mother, who noticed I wasn’t in the bed and got worried I got sick from that yesterday heavy drinking. Little did she know it started way before that bottle of red wine on a rooftop. I returned under warm fuzzy sheets and slept all the way till the morning when a plentiful breakfast was waiting for us, in the same corner where we dined last night. 

I was feeling better that day, so we took a stroll around small old town streets, across the market and to a textile shop since my mum noticed some of my pieces were torn and decided there’s no way I could go out in the world like that.

I went to see my grandmother for the last time that day, not sure if it was the last time she saw me, as she was lost in a conciousless sleep, the same sleep she passed away in on Christmas that year. We went to a shopping centre to get me some things for the road, stopped by a chocolate shop to get some autumn treats and finally ascend to the roof of that place where there was a sport park and an obstacle climbing route that I passed all the way from end to front, in a skirt and semi comfort shoes, finally feeling some joy and relief.

My mother prepared a soup out of mushroom basket we’ve picked from the market before, probably my favourite. It was so flavourful, filled with home grown vegetables, warm and revitalising. It was a pain finishing a plate. It must have been even greater pain watching me struggling to do it. The last together time with my parents. My destiny was sat that evening and despite getting what I wanted I felt at my worst again.


The country went into lockdown the next day, Thursday, 16th of October, so I had to drive myself to the airport. My small bag filled with things I later gave away or never needed. I don’t remember my appearance other than that my arms were so scratched I must have looked like a severe case to anyone who noticed. Despite the long sleeves it was hard to hide everything and no, we don’t have tiger at home.

It was the first day of the rest of my life. On 16th October I sat on the plane. That’s when things started going wrong the whole new way.


At my destination I was greeted with another warm soup, this over salted and filled with chunky pieces of meat. I dreamt of my mother’s soup right there and then, and how ungrateful I was about it.

It’s Saturday, 16th October of next year today. I still dream of that mushroom soup. I’d even give anything for that salty one now, that I was eating when there was still hope. I’ve been through past year, past months over and over again, so many times, and still I couldn’t figure out what I would do different to get a better outcome, where I should have started. There’s been some good times, in that 2020’s late fall, and then there’s been bad times and I feel like after New Year’s things were only getting worse and worse and worse. There’s been some good days in between though, and I tried to cling on those. When we weren’t at constant war with those once close to us, when we didn’t have to fight and keep giving others reasons to fight for. When there was hope. For me it’s the third summer-going-on-autumn in the row I spent lost and insecure, with no vision for what is coming next, but coming worse each year. I think that putting it down on paper makes it feel a little less awful now, that it might stop me from going through it in my mind over and over and over again, day by day. This can’t be the end, there must be some better days to come. But also when they do, I shall have a reminder that what goes around comes around again, and that after every rain, there’s, firstly some mud.



Comments

  1. These pictures are so beautiful and I love your writing! Have a great week!
    PerlaGiselle | iamperlita.com
    ♥ | INSTAGRAM

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  2. Beautiful post, dear ♥ Thank you

    I invite you to take a look at my blog
    Shkvo Space | Instagram

    ReplyDelete
  3. Yes, after rain there is bound to be some mood and after tears some puffed eyes. Sadness leaves its traces and so does stress. Difficult periods often take time to get over and we need to collect some energy to be able to move on. Sometimes writing about our emotional states can be therapeutic. It sounds like your last October was a mix of different and at times overwhelming emotions. Sometimes life doesn't go as planned. Well, most of the time it doesn't go as planned. We just have to keep improvising and learning, I guess. Wonderful photography and writing.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Difficulties are part of our life.
    The pictures are beautiful.
    Kisses!

    www.galerafashion.com

    ReplyDelete
  5. At first awesome pictures- I like them so much. At second I read your post and sometimes life is hard, I think everyone here on earth have to came sometimes through really hard period but after always sun will should rise. Wish you all the best, more smile on your lip and less tears in your eyes. Thank you for all this not easy thoughts that you shared with us here .
    Huges
    Karo

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  6. Sadly guess that almost everyone sooner or later has to front an hard period in his life... But I think that sometimes one really needs of it to grow up and mature; and to know that after the rain the sun always rises!
    I'm very sorry for what you've passed through, somehow I can feel you, but I bet that now you are stronger and more confident, isn't it? Sending you a lot of positive vibes, dear!
    Amazng photos!
    XO
    S
    https://s-fashion-avenue.blogspot.com

    ReplyDelete
  7. Yes writing things down really can help. Things will get better the last 18 months have been very rough. I hope you feel better soon. Your photos are beautiful as are you, this should make you feel a bit better : )

    Allie of
    www.allienyc.com

    ReplyDelete
  8. Writing down helps so much! Wonderful Post! Have a great day!
    Rampdiary | Fineartandyou | Beautyandfashionfreaks 

    ReplyDelete
  9. Nice pics.
    A close relative passing is just sad.
    Things will get better soon, and I wish you feel better too.
    Nice post.

    Ann
    https://roomsofinspiration.blogspot.com/

    ReplyDelete

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