Writing for the voice inside me
For no one and interesting for no one. Still, the voice inside of me starting a dialogue over and over again.
What happened the last summer. It was only a couple of weeks, but still those weeks come back haunting me, and I cannot get rid of the shadows of the sun of the little town in Italy.
I feel ashamed, and I feel sorry. But sorry for whom and for what? Did I do something? Everytime I engage in a deeper dialogue with the voice inside of me, we cannot find anything I actually should be sorry for. For hoping to find a friend in a person who was so nice to me (but then the voice in me says that he might have been nice, because, as he said about another dude who was nice to me, I was "a pretty girl")? The only thing I can be sorry for - and this feels bad, because I hate myself for this - is that I agreed to kiss him when we were drunk of the marvelous local sparkling wine the last week. It's like my mom who married the wrong person just because she felt so lonely. And I even didn't feel lonely because I wouldn't have anyone, but I missed my friends and family, and the most I missed my partner. It was like a burning ice cold flame in my chest, and I needed to forget the pain in me for a moment in order to stay sane.
And I am sorry for agreeing to stay in the same room with him in Rome. That was so stupid of me. I should have thought about the fact that "having a room" means something else in the US than in somewhere else. Maybe that's why another person, M, apologised for "saying something stupid", when he had said that we should go to another city for the weekend, which would have included having a hotel room. But staying somewhere overnight necessarily includes having a hotel/hostel room there...? We were staying in double hotel rooms already for three weeks, and it had nothing sexual in it. Maybe I am just explaining away my stupidity. Of course he didn't understand, when I tried delicately tell him that we were going to book a room as friends. He knew that I was getting married and actually missed my partner very much.
Although, I cannot say that I wouldn't somehow enjoyed the feeling of someone liking me. Even if, at the same time, it felt uncomfortable. And probably he wasn't the only one, but he was the only one who didn't care about my ring.
Being in Rome was like a drem, a bad one. It didn't feel real, because suddenly I was in the places I had been with my friends and classmates when we were 18 and where we then had been with my partner. We promised to go back there when we would be 50, to celebrate our relationship. We met another Finnish couple, who were in their 50's. It was like we had met ourselves from the future. And now I was there with the wrong person, who wanted to be there with me and whose touch I despised. The streets and parks of Rome felt unreal, I somehow didn't feel them. I tried to escape him, but I just couldn't. I still feel anxious when I'm thinking of that day.
I guess my anxious dreams about someone liking me and me trying to survive in the situation without making the other person feel terribly bad are all about the last summer. And all those dreams have a bad end: I do not succeed in not making the other person feel bad. Just like the real situation: I secretly bought a bus ticket away from Rome and left the hotel room with him having tears in his eyes.
I guess everyone else understood what was going on. I hope they didn't.
That's why I feel ashamed. Maybe I should feel sorry for not telling him harder that I am not going to hurt my partner, and that I am not going to hurt myself. But, I had told him that he had fallen in love with the most wrong person in the small town in Italy, but he ddin't care. He still couldn't see that we weren't a couple, and were never going to be one.
I could write a book about this. The anxiety is not going to leave me alone.
What happened the last summer. It was only a couple of weeks, but still those weeks come back haunting me, and I cannot get rid of the shadows of the sun of the little town in Italy.
I feel ashamed, and I feel sorry. But sorry for whom and for what? Did I do something? Everytime I engage in a deeper dialogue with the voice inside of me, we cannot find anything I actually should be sorry for. For hoping to find a friend in a person who was so nice to me (but then the voice in me says that he might have been nice, because, as he said about another dude who was nice to me, I was "a pretty girl")? The only thing I can be sorry for - and this feels bad, because I hate myself for this - is that I agreed to kiss him when we were drunk of the marvelous local sparkling wine the last week. It's like my mom who married the wrong person just because she felt so lonely. And I even didn't feel lonely because I wouldn't have anyone, but I missed my friends and family, and the most I missed my partner. It was like a burning ice cold flame in my chest, and I needed to forget the pain in me for a moment in order to stay sane.
And I am sorry for agreeing to stay in the same room with him in Rome. That was so stupid of me. I should have thought about the fact that "having a room" means something else in the US than in somewhere else. Maybe that's why another person, M, apologised for "saying something stupid", when he had said that we should go to another city for the weekend, which would have included having a hotel room. But staying somewhere overnight necessarily includes having a hotel/hostel room there...? We were staying in double hotel rooms already for three weeks, and it had nothing sexual in it. Maybe I am just explaining away my stupidity. Of course he didn't understand, when I tried delicately tell him that we were going to book a room as friends. He knew that I was getting married and actually missed my partner very much.
Although, I cannot say that I wouldn't somehow enjoyed the feeling of someone liking me. Even if, at the same time, it felt uncomfortable. And probably he wasn't the only one, but he was the only one who didn't care about my ring.
Being in Rome was like a drem, a bad one. It didn't feel real, because suddenly I was in the places I had been with my friends and classmates when we were 18 and where we then had been with my partner. We promised to go back there when we would be 50, to celebrate our relationship. We met another Finnish couple, who were in their 50's. It was like we had met ourselves from the future. And now I was there with the wrong person, who wanted to be there with me and whose touch I despised. The streets and parks of Rome felt unreal, I somehow didn't feel them. I tried to escape him, but I just couldn't. I still feel anxious when I'm thinking of that day.
I guess my anxious dreams about someone liking me and me trying to survive in the situation without making the other person feel terribly bad are all about the last summer. And all those dreams have a bad end: I do not succeed in not making the other person feel bad. Just like the real situation: I secretly bought a bus ticket away from Rome and left the hotel room with him having tears in his eyes.
I guess everyone else understood what was going on. I hope they didn't.
That's why I feel ashamed. Maybe I should feel sorry for not telling him harder that I am not going to hurt my partner, and that I am not going to hurt myself. But, I had told him that he had fallen in love with the most wrong person in the small town in Italy, but he ddin't care. He still couldn't see that we weren't a couple, and were never going to be one.
I could write a book about this. The anxiety is not going to leave me alone.
Comments
Post a Comment