anxiety, depression, happiness, life, mind, psychology

Moving Somewhere or Feeling Stuck

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Big city. Modern fairy-tale, neon nights, and highway tie-ups.

Early mornings with over-roasted coffee on an empty stomach. Fast paced work hours, puffy eyed rainmakers, and slow service in crowded cafeterias.

Bouts of depression are combined with heavy air, traffic noise, and collar stains on designer shirts. Loneliness comes along with whiskey on water and futile attempts to feel comfortable at private parties. Before-the-alarm wake ups and ever-lasting Monday fatigue.

He moved from a small town leaving old childhood traumas for new megapolis experiences.  – Don’t you understand Vixen? I need opportunities, right people, career, entertainment. I need money.

I understand.

His life in a big city was the constant go-go of aggressive self-promotion, goal-setting, and struggles to fit in. The more he made the more he pushed for, snorting cocaine and squeezing the maximum from the chest press machine. He was the winner who hid his insecurity behind the sparkling white smile and a seemingly sunny mood.

You gotta move forward, always move forward or you will lose.

Who told you this crap? – I shivered wrapping myself in a shawl. The AC in his office was constantly running causing goose bumps and nasal congestions.

You are crazy to say that.

His fear to become a loser mercilessly pushed him towards endless rat racing, which added more and more to his nervousness, impulsivity, and hopelessness. He cherished the illusion that he keeps moving up closing his eyes to the truth that he stays still.

You can go forward, backward, up and down. It really does not matter, luv. The truth of it is you never move no matter how fast you run.

 – What do you mean?  – years of living in a big city shaped his skill of hiding true emotions, but I could still feel the growing irritation behind his nonchalant politeness and trendy perfume.

 – You are an inferior boy who tries to show this world that you are someone big and important. You failed to prove it to your parents, nowadays, you are failing to prove it to your big bosses since no one cares. As you see, nothing has changed. You are still staying still. You are stuck, and your soul feels it.

He did not respond, and we never talked about it again.

 

crazy, health, life, love, mind, psychology, relationships

Falling for an Addict

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 – Wrong guys are after me, they keep breaking my heart, I do not know what to do.

 – No honey, you fall for messed up people.

 – You can’t say that, Vixen. You are my friend. – My girlfriend had that enticingly-vulnerable look; huge deer eyes, pale skin, and alluring gestures.

 – You love suffering my dear. Attracting alcoholics, drug addicts, liars, and other mentally sick dudes and losers is your passion. – I had no time for her tearful helplessness that morning. I was busy and ready to go.

 – What shall I do?

 – Go back to work, unless you want to get fired and share the misery of your unemployed dates.

 – I was hoping for your support

 – I love you dear. But I am not supporting your love for freaks and losers.

 – You are cruel, Vixen.

 – Go back to work, honey.

Her mannerism was hypnotic, her appearance was anorexically sex-appealing. She was the magnet for troubled guys, and she enjoyed them. Her classically messed up boyfriends knew how to hug, how to kiss, how to fuck, and how to empathize. Each relationship started with expensive presents, mind-blowing sex, and endless horrid stories of their heart-breaking childhood experiences. Her each date had a perfect excuse for being miserable, misunderstood, discriminated against, unaccepted by the society, and exceptionally vulnerable. She kept being dragged into the bullshit of her boyfriends’ uniqueness, swamped by myriads of reasons for losing money and for their inability to stop mixing anti-depressants with liquor and get their lazy asses back to work.

She loved the feeling of euphoria coming home and seeing her partner sober on the couch watching old French movies or analyzing stock markets. All her dates were intelligent and highly educated. Adding lofty attitudes, alcohol, and psych medications to their ivy-league diplomas and family possessions was very charming to her. She felt mesmerized and ready to fall in love ardently defending the guys’ instability and furiously denying any attempts to get her to common sense.

Her pain of discovering her dates passed out due to overdosing on benzos or alcohol blackouts was very real. She would call 911 and spend sleepless nights in a local emergency room blaming herself for everything. Deep in her heart she would crave for the moment of their hospital discharge. She knew they would come back with buckets of roses, diamond necklaces, and heart-warming words of gratitude: “you are exceptional honey, I feel so lucky I have you, I would have died without you, you have saved my life again”. She loved that, enabling their addiction and the unwillingness to seek professional help.

She suffered a lot blaming them for being unable to keep the job, to maintain sobriety, and to stabilize their manic and depressive episodes. But the pleasures from the “I neither do drugs nor drink, I am way too spiritual/educated/intelligent, blah-blah-blah” lies were much more gratifying than the reality check. Their pretended empathy and awesome sex kept her around adding spice to the toxicity of the relationships.

Once one dude passed away, the other one would show up with a big cock, fake promises, claimed bankruptcies, and fancy gifts.

Being up and down was her way of living. I did not have much patience or compassion for it.

 – Have a good day, honey, – I gave her a hug and left the diner feeling the sadness of her almond-shaped eyes on my back.

 

crazy, health, life, love, mind, relationships

Fairy-Tale with Violence

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She had a noble face with high cheekbones and pale complexion. Dark eyes and long black hair in contrast to ideally clean white skin gave that magical look that enchanted everyone. Girls fought for her friendship, guys throw houses, businesses, and families at her feet. She had memberships at almost every elite country club and ski resort. She confidently carried her exceptional status turning the nose up at others who were unlucky enough to work daily to pay the bills.

Once a month she wore professional make up early in the morning. “I had to see my make-up artist prior leaving my house, need to cover up the bruises”, – a light shrug of sculptured shoulders and a stunning laughter. Her glowing skin looked almost snow white under layers of concealers and a make-up foundation.

First two days are the worst for the black eye, hard to hide even for my visagiste, and she is a real professional; I wear dark glasses, – on such days she wore them day and night. Everyone followed the trend after seeing her in brandy sunnies at one of private sports event.  – I had to accompany my husband right after we argued. Sunnies are my saviors when make-up does not help.   – Her voice was melodious; the manners were sweet and slightly condescending.

And you were not even allowed to stay home and heal after he beat the crap out of you,  – she shuddered at my curiosity, my response was too vulgar and direct for her upper-class mindset.

Technically I could, but he would have taken his hooker instead, and I …., – she paused to sip some cappuccino, – I am fighting to save the family. We have kids.

– Good luck,  – I could feel her pain behind thick layers of make-up and seemingly nonchalant IT-girl demeanor.

Her lifestyle was a dream for every struggling girl forced to work to raise kids. She neither killed herself 40 hours a week nor spent sleepless nights when the children got sick. Her husband provided enough, she had money.

I feel safe home. We are rarely by ourselves. Our kids, sitters, cleaners, his mom and friends…. I have enough time and space to do what I want without him around.

 – How do you guys find time to fight?

 – Well, – she took a deep breath and tucked shiny locks of hair behind the ears, – two weeks ago he found out I cheated on him with his friend and got furious.   

But you’ve been in bruises for over 3 years now…

 – And?  – her voice suddenly lost the usual lazy carelessness, – my life is noone’s business. We have a happy marriage, a very happy marriage.    

Her gestures were suggestive of “everything is fine, my life is a life-long dream, unachievable for losers like you”. The whole world was at her feet, her life was a perfect fairy-tale for every poor girl from a low-income community.  The abusive part of the happy-ending story was thoroughly camouflage behind tons of make-up and prescribed anti-depressants and mood-stabilizers.

She went through long and desperate years of jumping from penis to penis prior getting the marital proposal from her husband. The door into the world of signature clubs and luxury resorts opened, she acquired careless demeanor and refined manners sinking her veneer teeth and well-manicured claws into the lifestyle she had been craving for all her life. Domestic violence was never an issue; she would die for the right to keep the place in the niche of wealth and prestige.

Her husband finally left and froze her bank accounts. She was kicked out of the house with nothing; his attorneys filed for the full custody of their children.

 – I do not know what to do, he took everything, I do not even have a vehicle, – her voice was usually calm when she called me from the local crisis center where she was brought by the police after overdosing on her sleep medications.

Do you believe in God? – it was the only response that came to my mind.

I actually do, – her laughter was sweet-sounding. I knew she was feeling better.

Her husband was there with five bodyguards when I came to visit her in the hospital.

How is she doing, is she ok?  – he was worried, I assured him that she was fine. For the first time in my life I met someone surrounded by hired protection services. One of guys looked hot, I gave him a smile and blushed when he smiled back.

She was discharged that day, beautifully pale and sensuously fragile like a China doll, her back was straight, her head was up. I saw him helping her into the car, they left quietly and quickly.

The divorce was cancelled, she went to Switzerland for 6 months to treat the diagnosed depression.

When she came back she was fresh and rested.

You look really good,  – I was glad to see her happy.

I am not sure if I told you, – her smile was stunning, her postures were magnetic, –  I found a new make-up girl, and she does miracles. I finally have someone who knows how to mask all my bruises.