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  • Writer's picturematilde tomat

on not knowing


I am in a period of transition.

And I don't know who I am anymore.

Things happened, one after the other. I react and move on. And then, one day, I do not want to leave my sofa. I do not wash the dishes. I do not wash myself. I decide that having only some pasta for lunch is enough and I spend my time scrolling endlessly or watching back-to-back 10 episodes of a new TV series.


I am here.

Waiting.


I breathe, I know I am. I can hear myself breathing and it is painful.


I feel years and years of neglect piling up... nope, this is even the wrong word.

I simply don't know how I feel.


I am probably scared. Worried? I don't know about that. I am passed jumpy. I just don't seem to care much. I would like to cry but I can't. I feel frozen. This is it. I feel frozen in time and space. Stuck here, incantesemata, like under a spell I cannot break. I get angry easily, I react throwing stuff around: a book falls off my hands, I get angry at myself, I pick it up, I thow it on purpose. I stomp my feet. I would like to punch something. I would like to scream.

I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know who I am anymore.

I have lost a part of me I thought it was the real me. But it wasn't.


All of the actions, words, things I did, paths I have chosen feel as if coming from a me that is not the real me, the true me, but always a me mediated by my parents' neglect. Everything I did and chose was as a reaction or a implementation or a reinforcement of what my parents did to me. I was neglected and now I live alone and I am self employed; my parents did not see me and I constantly define myself as invisible. I craved my parents attention and now I am doing a whole academic journey hoping to be seen, noticed, acknowledged, appreciated, praised: what a good girl, doing all these things at her age...


The reality is that no one cares.

No one gives a shit.

No one is interested.


No one cares what I do or not do.


And the issue is that I care that no one cares.

It hurts that no one cares.


[I know, I know, it's victim mode, craving external validation, yada yada yada... your technical definitions are not helping. They just box me under a label. You don't see me. You see only the label].


And what is the point of doing things if no one cares?

Tell me, what is the point?

Wouldn't it be easier just to give up?


What is the point?

So, if I have been doing all of these things from the perspective of a traumatised girl, who was I before the trauma? Who is the real me? What did I came on this Earth to do? How can I act from the Real Me perspecive and not the traumatised one? Because if I keep on choosing options and a life and relationships and reactions based on the trauma child, I will never be real. It will never be from Me.

What is it that I really liked? That I really wanted to do?

Who am I?


No one cares. Not even the Gods.

What is the whole point?

The whole point of it all?


When at uni, in alchemy and in therapy, they teach you that you can only work with what you have: I have nothing. How does it feel to work with nothing? Overwhelming? Exhausting? I am sitting here, with nothing. The weight of nothing is enormous. I have nothing. I am sitting on a beach, looking at the sea and its waves. And there is nothing else. I do not know what to do with the Nothingness. Do I have to do anything? Why do I think I have to do anything? Maybe this is what I learned as a kid: be productive? Make things? Do things? Don't be lazy, this was a thing. What would I like to do on a beach, alone, with nothing, now? Lie down. And breathe. If I were on a desert island...nope, this is not my vision. I have nothing. Not a desert island.


I know I have to wait for something to arise from the deep within. I have to do nothing and wait for this bubble of truth to rise us. I don't actually have anything to do. But to wait.

Stay and wait.


Ok, then.

I am waiting.


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