I have a lot of time to think in the day as the job I’m doing at the moment requires me to sit quietly and listen, and only occasionally do something.
So I have lots of time to live in my own head. This can be a good and a bad thing. It’s a good thing because it means I get to know myself, probe the depth of my crazy, really get acquainted with all the nooks and cranny’s, learn the quirks in the way I’m programmed. It’s bad obviously because it means I can obsess over things and they can grow like a shadow into huge monstrous things, made of some tiny little spec.
And like a child alone in their room, I, alone in my head, fixate on the spec until I’m convinced that the huge shadow has come to eat/kill/torture me and that I will not make it through the night.
But I always seem too. Which is disappointing. Not in the sense that I’m emo and like (boo) I’ve lived to see another dawn and, you know, live in my middle class life with my middle class problems, but because I’ve spent so much time terrified of things that aren’t, or are but not as big a deal.
So, recently, as you would know from my crude cartoon, a boy I love kindof broke my heart. And I haven’t really put anything out there online about it because sometimes I read heartbroken blogs or Facebook status’s and I’m like “REALLY!?!?!?! DON’T YOU HAVE A DIARY?!” because there are things that you just don’t want to know/don’t have enough care/brain space to know.
Think Homer Simpson and his “I learned so much it pushed other things out of my brain.”
And I’ll put it out there, I DO have a journal into which the worst of the rambling goes – it’s pretty schizophrenic as my pride, emotions, heart, ego, hurt, desire, regret and subconscious all vie to take over the pen (sometimes it’s like John Malcovich in there) with one page saying “I love him” and the next “What a douche. Just look at your fine self.” But that is not for the world to see. That is for me to collect myself and present an “I’m GREAT!” image to the world and then re-read it in a year when I’m done with being sad without anyone else having to know how nuts I truly am.
SO, what point am I rambling my way towards? *quickly scrolls up to re-read what has been written* ah yes.
Obsessing over things, seeing a monster in a shadow and being sad about getting my heart crushed.
Last night I confronted a real monster and it put things into perspective. My beautiful street, which I love to live in, in trendy Sheung Wan, is about 40meters long and 10 meters wide. There are probably 100+ people that live in it and it is high density living although the buildings are all low rise.
There isn’t much you could do at night that your neighbors would NOT hear and generally, it is a nice place to live. Except that last night (11.45pm) everyone in the street could hear a woman having the shit beaten out of her, screaming and crying, and a man screaming at her.
It was so loud, and was coming from our side of the street. I looked out my window and saw loads of people looking out of their windows too. I was shaking, it was the most horrible sound. Mum said “I know who it is, i’ve called the police on him before.”
We slipped on shoes, put on coats over our pajamas and grabbed our phones and keys. Mum and I marched into the street and stood outside the building.
Something not a lot of people know about my mum is that in her childhood, she was subjected to intense physical, mental and sexual abuse. Sometimes I think she is a bit of a hardass and a bit too “tough love-y” but when I think back to the first 15 years of her life, I can see that she’s strong because she had to be. She couldn’t give a f*ck and she’s not afraid of anybody.
Anyway she marched into the street last night and screamed up at the building (which is where the abuse-noise was coming from). The guy went quiet and then called down for us to F*ck off. My mum yelled back that she would not and that she was calling the police (which we did) and then we stood outside and waited for them. The horrible thing was, people in our street were yelling at us to shut up and saying even more obscene things like, calling us Sluts and Bitches.
When I looked up in the street there were people in so many windows. And we were the first to do something?
It put into perspective that there are things out there far worse than the fact that your ex changed his facebook status/picture/didn’t write back to your pathetic texts. There are worse things at 22 than feeling rejected or fat or not having anything nice to wear.
I am sad. But last night I also realized that I am lucky. I’m waking up today with a bruised heart, not a bruised face. I can obsess all I want in my head about shit, and try and guess the future (I’m really bad at guessing), but really, my present is extremely good.
I hope that woman is okay.
Picture thieved from: http://pion.pl/cowboys.php?q=homer-simpson-brain-image&page=3