Harts are dying alone

Today I decided to write about something different.

Something very worth of talking and thinking of happened to me.

As I wrote in my pervious posts I tend to suffer a lot due to new surrounding issues; although after year and a half I’m not quite sure how can it be named “new”. Yesterday I attended one six-year-old birthday party and I expected for it to be dull. Bunch of kids and some grown ups watching over them. I’d be sitting with my cousins and chit chatting. At some point one of my cousins whispered to me: “There’s Hart”.

And there I saw her holding her phone and making that I-m-overseeing-you face. That’s my aunt Hart. We’re not so close related but we see each other during some family reunions. “I was about to type you a message”, she told me.

Hart’s a silent rebel. Even during her childhood or even toddler years she tend to be different. During her life in Mostar when she was about 4 years old she got bored in kindergarten so she asked her teacher to let her go home. The teacher said: “yeah right, of course you can go ha-ha”. So my aunt got out and took a bus back home. It was a mess later but taking a closer look everything was legit: she asked, they gave her permission to leave, so she left. So my aunt accepted the pattern she made by herself and still uses it. She’s successful, she has a kid, she’s divorced. She’s doing what she likes, no one is getting hurt. Except herself sometimes.

Yesterday we talked a lot about life. We started as chatting about her trip to Belize, but soon we concluded a lot about ourselves. I like her because she talks about things freely and openly. She’s a complete free spirit. There are no taboos or forbidden subjects and everything is logical and has a purpose. We talked about pole dance, how she was thrilled when she saw my videos, when tried it. That’s  what I call a pole dance filter for people. And we discussed some relationship topics, I told her how bad I feel after all those fails, how I can’t find a suitable partner, or better said a partner at all. Like they’re just running away from me. And then she told me to stop and pointed out my good sides and things I’m good at. And that’s what I haven’t heard for so long from anyone. Someone who sees me as a good and pretty and successful and unlike others. And it meant to me after all those tries of the people who are my closest to lure me into some things I don’t like, things which would compress my qualities and make me less worthy and less happy. Finally someone in this town who sees me.

She’s divorced, she does what she wants, she’s successful. But she is very sad. What kind of touched me yesterday was when she told me that she’d like to see a therapist. I don’t see it as a bad thing, but contrary. But somehow in her voice I could hear like she’s got sick of it all. I don’t actually know what that “all” is, but somehow I can understand her.  The rest of our family doesn’t actually appreciate her a lot. My mother and her sisters first. She’s their cousin. They like her because she’s good, but mainly they like to point at her “bad” sides. That bad is the fact she lives with no limitations. The first bad thing is that she’s divorced. You know, it is a disgrace to live alone with a child. Even more disgraceful than living a life with a molester for example, because if you’re living with any man in any house, neglecting your children, that means it is good because you fulfilled some idiotic pattern and it is even better if others see it. Basically you do have a family. You did it. You might suffer but, keep it quiet, because who knows what other people would say about it… The second thing they hate about her is that she travels a lot. Who’d be traveling a lot and being divorced at the same time plus having a child?! Rubbish. She’s unleashed! It is such a shame! Such a, such a shame.

There are many things that people are resenting her, but the thing is that while doing all that stuff she actually doesn’t hurt anyone. So I can’t really understand why is she such a bad person. She’s the rare one who appreciate other people’s good characteristics. She sees quality instead of flaws in everyone, although we have it all. And that is what I need to hear sometimes, that not everyone is bad.

She’s suppressed so much. She suffers. I can see myself in her. I’m growing up into her.

Summing all of this I can only conclude that the world is one wrong place, where it is alright to push yourself down in order to fit in some life pattern made by average people. Also it is acceptable to do harm to others in order to succeed and be jelaous of others who are better than you are; to point out flaws and make people feel miserable because of it; to lessen other people’s success and most of all to exclude all those who are different.

Finding yourself is so hard. In the end it can break you.

Deer (hart) is an endangered specie here, although it doesn’t maybe seem like it. People are killing them because of their hornets and fur which is used to be bragged about. From this perspective deer is loosing his fight against man which he’s been made to join in order to survive. Deer doesn’t want to fight. He lives in the nature, far away from people. He hurts no one. And still he’s being killed… Often people like to take pictures of dead animal after killing it and posting it on facebook or other sites. It looks like they’ve done one great thing. Even if they have, is it really necessary?

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Partying party

Once I wrote about politics I thought this is it, there’s nothing more that I’d say regarding the subject, but somehow now it seems to me like an inexhaustible topic.

I hate poverty. It makes people with no criteria even more desperate and even less hesitating.

My aunt (my mother’s sister) and her husband, my uncle are in the same political party. One day last week I got an invitation from their daughter to come to a closed type party at a local club. I don’t know the exact square surface, but it is on two levels. It is quite big. There’d be some famous band singing, but I’m not quite a fan so I told her that I’ll think about it. In the meantime I’ve met my uncle who told me: “Listen, I’ve got two tickets for Friday night party, it’s for our people only.”

So I got it right, the party is partying. So they tried to trick me, to come there, have some “good” time and then they’d start bugging me until one of us dies to join them.

They do what they do, but what I hate is that fact that one of my closest relatives looks at me as I’m some kind of a score. She’d probably get some good points for me, besides she thinks it is the right decision and besides she asked me nothing about it.

I remember why she joined. By her story, they blackmailed her to join or otherwise she’d loose her job. But it seems like she forgot it. Or simply it never happened as she told us. She believes that people who are willing to do anything, who are less educated and less successful, who can harm other people because they have no limits and they’d do anything for money are good for me, the one who spent 6 years studying how to help others, who speaks three languages and appreciates good will, effort and equality above all. I have flaws but those people disguise me. And what hurts me is how my closest relatives underrate me. She wants to push me in it, without asking me anything. She wants me to do the job for the party which includes lies, scams and blackmails; sharing leaflets on the streets and convincing people that it is good to join it. In return I’d get three months of paid job under contract in local health center. This is what I mean when I say that young people are humiliated in this country. They left us nothing and it is not enough still, they want us to be even more degraded. But my aunt thinks it looks like it should. And that it is the right thing.

In her position, I’d keep my children and my closest relative’s children aside, they don’t have to step in politics if they don’t want to; I’d care for their qualities and remind them every day how good they are. Instead, I got silent condemnations how I shouldn’t be that enthusiastic about leaving this country.

I don’t want to. Can’t you see? Do you think that I’d be happy in some foreign country where there’s none of my closest people? Where there’s no one I could rely on to? Why do you do this to us, why?  We are all your children. You force us to leave. You leave us unfair options. I don’t want some molesting, uneducated bully to tell me what to do, but if it is what you offer me, I’d better leave. Elsewhere I might not know anyone but they’d probably appreciate me more objectively. I hate this people. We are the country, the government, the institutions. There’s no need to blame some illusive term such as one of these I mentioned because the people are those to blame. Our adults are those to blame. Why do you do this to us?

The greatest

I’m so afraid. I’m facing the worst fear I’ve ever felt in my life. I’m so terrified that I could be life threatened. These are the thoughts in my mind while thinking about a problem I’ve been going through. This is the greatest. The greatest, bad thing happening to me right now. It is huge, and again – I’m so afraid of it.

While studying dentistry and some medical subjects, especially forensics, which I’m in particular fond to; at some point I started thinking about death. Law and medicine are often confronted, but forensics is the part of both medical and law sciences which questions, besides some other things – death. When the person is dead and there’s no one who’d speak in their name, forensics listen to body signs left there, the signs which’d tell the real story about it. I like the truth, especially the hidden one which can’t be just told, but the one you must seek for and look and listen carefully, and if you’re clever enough, you’ll find it and spread it.

Last week I was clumsy. As I said in my recent post, I got stabbed on an used needle. It was an irrigation needle in contact with saliva of three, for me unknown patients. All these years I thought that it can’t happen to me and it will never happen. I’m careful.

But my worst nightmare came true.

As I tried to put a cap on a syringe the needle broke through it and stabbed me. I felt the stab and saw the drop of blood. I washed and disinfected the wound. And now I pray.

That was the pressure I’ve never felt before, as if I’m going to explode. I came home and was quiet for tree days. Although I checked up patients’ records and saw no infective diseases recorded I can’t let that burdening feeling go.

The thing about specific virus hepatitis is that it often gives no symptoms although a person is the carrier. Some people never even feel sickness or any kind of discomfort.

In order to detect antibodies in my system, if an infection occurred, it needs to pass between 6 weeks and 3 months, at least. This will be the time I’ll fly above it. And keep thinking what if.

During last week I kept thinking about what my life would look like if the tests I’m about to take would be positive. I’m ill. Like I’m dirty. In my blood there is something bad, taken from another person by mistake while trying to help and do my job. I’m young. I’ll have no family, no children. People will be afraid of me. My family will feel unpleasant around me, so as my friends. I’ll be rejected once again. I cried. I cried so much. I missed myself. No one saw that; my mother kept talking me about some idiotic problems that are bothered by other people from my surrounding, such as my cousin’s bad grades. I though: “If you’d only knew…” I’ll die alone. I’m going to be a threat to anyone who’d approach me. No one would step out and help me if I were in trouble, bleeding, because I could easily infect them… and so on.

I felt so restless. I’ve been having a problem about which I couldn’t speak to anyone. If I’d tell someone in my closest family, for example my mother, she’d call her sister (my aunt) in despair and tell her about that and then it’d spread to my granny and my other aunt and then they’d contact me in horror to remind me once again how bad my current position is and how that happened, why weren’t I more careful, which are the last words I should listen about in that very moment.

I couldn’t keep it for myself and yet again, I couldn’t just yell about it either. Two days ago I was sitting in the living room with my parents. I told them: “I don’t want to do dentistry anymore”. On their question why’s that I answered partially with my problem which was bothering me so hard. I told them that I’m terrified of deadly, severe and life changing infections to which we are, as medical workers, exposed day by day.

Unexpected, I got the best comfort from my dad. I’m not sure if he figured out that my fear is quite real or not, but he comforted me with the right words. His action somehow released me from two things that were struggling inside of me. The first one was, of course, the actual problem I faced. The second one is the fear that he abandoned me long time ago. He didn’t. He was the one who felt. He didn’t tell me some irrelevant tales about others or overwhelmed me with some marginal everyday issues. He gave me some kind of logical explanation about the situation that could be mine… That was all I needed to hear at that moment. During this week I bumped to many people who just kept talking about themselves, their problems, other people problems… I had to listen to all of that and I couldn’t talk about my very own tragedy.

He reminded me that, once again, 2 + 2 in medicine is not necessarily always 4.

It may not be a strong theory. It may not be true. But my mind needs some explanation and someone to tell me that everything will be alright.

I’ll find out my equation in a month.

Thanks, dad.

Restless

I’ve been reading some posts recently about family and relationships and how complex and related these two can be while shaping one’s personality. Family dictates relationships. Family is the place where we learn how to treat others, how to behave and how to form social patterns. You represent your family.

It is not only about the spoken and directed instructions, but also about imposed role models. There are things that we inherit and the things that we look at or listen everyday, so those become our behavioral models. We adopt them wanted or not and represent them in our adolescence and later in adulthood.

When the models are bad, you’re bad even if you’re not being aware of it. But you try your best still because someone explained and rooted into you that a certain thing is a good thing.

Looking inside myself I can name all the bad things I have adopted from both of my parents. Some characteristics are disgusting for me and I believe that others can see them very well. I’m afraid of it.

I think that in my family we’re all living in an illusion. On one side there’s my mother who’s so transparent. She affects only a little. There’s my father on the other who neglects us. A lot.

Talking about role models what I could adopt from him was poor behavior and relation to others, not appreciating anyone in current surrounding or doing it in a very rough way, selfishness as an usual act, no tolerance and underestimating other people, alcohol issues. That’s what he offered to me.

As nothing is black and white, I can only thank him for giving me the money with which I used to live one fine life here, paid my university and vacations, gave me home to live in. But there’s a gap that I can feel between us and it is so dark.

I’ll explain this as a girl. As a feminine confronted by other man, the close one. When I was about eight years old some of the girls in the class had their hair done by lightening hair strands. I asked my mother to do the same for me, so she took one strand and made it lighter. It was nice and I was so happy and proud to have that strand, but my father called me a slut, although I was only eight. That happened in front of my mother so I asked what does that mean and she started an argue. If you ask me that was a mild reaction of my mother since it ended soon and affected my father 0%. Later on I learned the meaning of the word so I can call this my first unfair defeat.

When I was about 12 he got home drunk and beaten me up with a cable for no reason. He broke my glasses. I told that to my mother and then again she made an argue about it. So when he got sober he made one quiet apologize to me and continued to whistle.  Basically, nothing happened to me in a physical manner, although it looks a bit dramatic, but I felt jeopardized inside. I learnt that he can do that just because he want to and it is ok, and it will pass, but I can’t feel free in my own home. Again I lacked mother’s support.

When I was 15 he took my dog away from me because he wanted to. It was a big one, Dalmatiner. The dog was sad and melancholic in our home because no one would walk him. I wanted but he was too strong so I needed help. Besides, he wasn’t vaccinated. Whenever I asked for money for vaccine he’d answer ironically: “well pay it with your own money”. The dog was always locked in his fenced place in the back yard. He was howling and that bothered neighbors. Twice, he managed to get away. Both times we found him, but my father wouldn’t let go of his idea of how the dog should be kept so he put him in a trailer and drove him to countryside and let him go. I was so depressed. He never listened to me and he never wanted us to take care about the dog although he brought him… Month and a half after that the dogcathers found him. They called father first because he’s a vet. They asked if he’d maybe like to take the dog back since it is a quality breed etc. He told them to kill the dog… This makes me sad even today for various reasons. Not only that he didn’t care about my emotions at all but he didn’t care for that dog either, so he just killed him. If he thought he’d never manage to take care of him, he shouldn’t has bought him at first place.

At 21 we shopped together by chance in a local drug market, when he molested a female marketeer in front of me. I was sad and humiliated and felt bad in front of all the people who heard it and saw it. I tried to ask him what was he doing, what is wrong with him when we got out but he just laughed. Later, he made fun of it, of myself and my reaction when we got home…

At the age of 24 I’ve met a boy who I liked at first. But at some point of dating he called me a “gold digger“. I didn’t take it to my heart because I believe you must be quite of an idiot if you call a person you date like that. Soon after that ended I took my Swedish course that autumn, because I wanted to convince myself, beside I liked the language,  that I also have a purpose, that I’m progressing and that I’m good and hard working and that I have a merit. My father’s comment was: ” You’re throwing our money away, it won’t use you, why are you doing it?”. Never mind. I continued doing it for almost two years. At some point in the autumn I was about to go on a friend’s birthday party. It wasn’t that cold although it was October so I wore jeans and jacket and heels. When my father saw me like that he called me “a gold digger”. I’m not sure did he know what that means actually, but  again I felt bad. It is the second time that someone calls me like that, no more no less, but a person who brought me up, who should be my protector and who should teach me how to deal with all those rude comments made by other unknown men, but no, he stepped on their side to call me less worthy, a slut, a person who f***s for money… I felt bad. I was sad and unprotected. My mother drove me to my friend’s house from where we should be heading to a local bar or something like that. I was crying in the front seat. But her reaction again, was indefinite, even awkward. She asked me why am I crying when he meant nothing bad, it’s nothing, he wasn’t serious, those words weren’t as they sound… That wasn’t the only time he called me like that. He did it before. And my other parent never actually acknowledged that and protected me, but she silently accepted it as true…

I’m full of bad experiences in relationships with other men. I’ve never been pretty to anyone, attractive, accepted or smart. Maybe it is true that we seek for our fathers in other men we date. We seek for those characteristics of others that broke us into pieces when we were younger; we want to prove that we are different, that they are wrong, that we are not as they perceive us, that we are good and worthy, we want to heal.

I can’t compensate my bad relationship experiences at home. At home those bad experiences get confirmed and by that mean I get defeated. I am bad, worthless, shameful. Relationship experiences, same as all the other experiences. But why I highlight relationships is because it is the sphere of my life which I somehow can’t conquer, which is unclear to me and full of bad and painful emotions which I can’t explain. People are social animals. We always seek acceptance in each other. It is normal and it is in our nature. We need other people’s support. Those who are close to us. We just need them.

The same thing repeated when I started with my Hungarian language lessons. The father said: “it’s pointless, you’re not smart enough to learn it. I can’t actually see that you’re progressing…”

But I do. I will leave once because my inner self is suffering. I need to protect the kid in me. She’s crying because she’s at her best and again called shameful, offending names by others especially, those who should be on her side. I keep comforting her that she is pretty and smart and good; that she has a big heart and that she is better than all those people who tend to trip her. But still, she can’t be fixed completely. There are things that she’ll bring with herself wherever she goes.

What’s interesting was one dream I’ve been dreaming a lot while I was about 4 or 5. It repeated for years and that’s how I remembered it so well. Beside, it was unpleasant. It kept tormenting me and I couldn’t understand it quite right until recently. It was about my dad and I, we were driving in a car. He parked the car in front of a health center in my town, where there was a small parking lot. We got outside the car when he told me: “Wait for me, I’ll come back for you”. Then he came back in the car and left. I saw him leaving, but it was foggy around me. So I got scared and tried to look up for him and come back home. I was wandering that foggy street. There was no one, it was all cloudy and grey, all the doors and windows were closed, as if it was abandoned. I was still wandering. The scenes kept repeating. There was no one and I was going round and round. And then I’d wake up. It was one of the most unpleasant dreams I’ve ever had and I kept dreaming it over and over again for some time. I would be sad every time I’d wake up. That feeling of being abandoned scared me a lot. Once I told him about the dream, but he laughed at it: “I’d never leave you like that.” So my adult self must laugh to this, in return.

Speaking again about the idea of girls seeking father figures in other men they date scares me. I don’t want someone to disrespects me. I have emotions and I can say or do lot of things. I’m not just someone. At least I wouldn’t like to spend my life beside a person who treats me just as “someone”or even worse. Knowing that this pattern could transfer to my partner life with someone scares me. I don’t want to live life that way. It is awful and sad. I don’t need that kind of relationship neither that kind of person.

 

To speak out or to sneak out?

It is almost a year now since I moved back to my cosy, little hometown. I spent six years in a place which gave me full freedom to seek myself, find it and express it in a very own way. That place hugged me, as the lyrics of a famous folk song describe.

I remember stepping on its grounds seven years ago. As an average kid from province I couldn’t believe that there’s a place on Earth like this. Messy, crowded, noisy, with beggers on every corner. I cried for my countryside. I thought this place would never accept me. But the show went on. I was a mess, although I wasn’t quite aware of it and at the same time – bigoted! When you’re a kid, they tell you what’s good and you keep following it.

Anyway, I’ve met all kinds of people: odd, talented, beautiful, sharp, dominant, stupid, regressive, silly, eccentric, different from everything I have ever seen by then. But those six years were also full of love, expectations, understanding, hate, misery, heartbreaks, stresses, exploration, separating and new personal inventions. I knew that city had truly accepted me when I felt free to speak out and present myself as someone different than I used to be before,  loudly and freely without any doubts or fears that I could be abandoned, criticized, marked and rejected. I did whatever I want because it had sense. It had clear sense to me. And the relationship I had with this city was the best I’ve ever had. The city is the one who said to me: “I love what you’ve become.”

And me of course… I love what you gave me.

I am a dancer. As I said in my first post, I always go round. And I’m not just a dancer, I am also a doctor. It is not the title that makes me so proud, really. It appeared that anyone who’s enough stubborn can become one. Without any other qualities. I used to be a lot, but these two I’ll keep as my personal badges, my two selves, one old and one new, different, merged in my present self.

About this time of the year I came back home bringing heaviness in my chests. But no matter what, that’s how it is. I kept carrying out myself the way I liked, the way the city loved me and the way I loved myself. I promised I’ll keep in touch with the city and my favourite people who are still living there. I promised I won’t give up my pole dancing classes. But after a while, I felt what distance feels like and that it is not that easy now to manage all the promises.

My old-new surrounding started pushing me a bit. My parents kept repeating me that I’m a doctor now. Although, I can’t suit in that role completely. I don’t even like when people call me a doctor. Soon I should start seeking for a job right here. I came back to the place where I was born, where everyone I’ve known since I was a kid live, where people I used to see in the streets but never met them personally live, where all my old loves and crushes live, where all my friends and their friends, and friends of their friends live… Somehow everyone knows who I am. At least they’ve heard. They were all around me, but still it happened to me that I began loosing people. Lonely surrounded.

The first shocking act of rejection was made by my very old friend. That rejection started some time earlier, but emerged that night. I came in that place wearing myself as I always do. I was in a company of three people, we’ve had a great time, music was brilliant, vine was tasty … and so was my cigarette! It passed less than a minute when I received a threatening message saying: “leave that cigarette at instant!” At the moment, I was a bit confused, since I’ve never faced a situation like this before. There were several questions that bothered me related to that kind of acting:

  1. I’ve got a message filled with this kind of content from a person who is not here, who was invited to be here, but turned it down as if I was some irrelevant marginal person
  2. Why so heavily writing and so harsh if I’m not doing anything to you, since you’re not here?
  3. How do YOU know, since again, you’re not here?

I didn’t have to look around much since two tables far there was sitting “a friend of friend” – person. I replied politely: “what was going on?” since I had no idea what else to reply. Couple of minutes later a cell-phone-long-distance argument was set up. By the acting of my spy I saw that they two were collaborating (?!) sharing screenshots of a conversation I had with my friend. As the argument progressed many disgusting  stuff unrolled, lies and told secrets. I realized that the person who I’ve known for a decade, almost half of my life, striped my being bare naked in front of an audience who have known not so much about me, until then and represented me as a less worthy.  I felt a cocktail of emotions, but the thing that defeated me the most was my own reaction. I should have just let it go, as if I never received it and end that fellowship in a more suitable way. But no, I told her: “stay away.” And so she did. She never called neither messaged anymore. Not even tried to fix it up, to bring it to some more civilized level where we could at least say: “hi” one to another when we pass by in the street.

I fell into a trap. Like I’m some kind of a badger. I fell into a trap and degraded myself hidden under the idea of integrity defense.

People are people. They will always make idiotic moves. What moved me in this situation is the fact that I’m still growing. I need to tie up my emotions and become a real adult from the inside. I need to learn a lot. I need to conquer a lot. I need to get the communication right. I need to raise. And the thing that scares me the most is that I’ll drown in this place and become same as everyone here, that I’ll fail, that they’ll convince me that I am wrong and that they are right.

In order to protect my personality, my thoughts and believes I signed up for language lessons. Those lessons were the days in the week when I sat down for an hour and a half with people who have had the same goals – to be better and to succeed. That kept my mind and soul together.

And constant suppression, it is not the cigarette, it is also the dance, the hair, the speech I’m using. The words I’m saying, the sentences I’m making, they call me odd, often they don’t understand a single word of my story, but then they freely conclude that I’m offending them. In the politest case they call me different. They don’t appreciate my tolerance and comprehension; it is categorized as something bad, useless and characteristic of the weak.

That night, I was that cigarette. It represented all I was. It’s an ugly habit. But more than a cigarette then was ugly.

I quitted  smoking couple of months ago. Not because of others, it’s just not my vice. But I’ll profoundly cherish the rest of my deviations. Or finally just sneak out…