Hope (359)

I find it really hard to hope for things, to admit what I want and acknowledge to other people that actually I do hope for things.

Lately I told pocketcanadian of one of my biggest hopes, that I really want to move to Canada and away from my parents and family for 6 months, two years, maybe forever. Its a big thing admitting that. I told my therapist once and then the following week I came back to her, so full of anger at myself, saying it was impossible, it would never happen for a whole load of reasons, and that she shouldn’t have ever led me into believing it was actually possible. Safe to say I was punishing myself for daring to hope, and worse, for expressing those hopes to somebody else.

Lately, 9 to 10 months later, I’m beginning to express those hopes again. To look into it a bit more, to tell pocketcanadian, to put more attention on what I really want and to just give it space. So here i go, I’m going to put it out there a little bit more. Put it here, and think about all the logistics of it.

So im from the uk, and i love being by the sea, love water, and feel connected listening to waves, diving into them, feeling the water all around me. So, id like to go to the coast, ideally the east coast, Nova Scotia.

That might not be an immediate thing though, because pocketcanadian is somewhere else in Canada, and I think if I’m going to make this huge move, it might be better to start out near her, so that I have a safe space, someone I can turn to and see and hug on those bad lonely days.

Here are the things i need to work out (this list will get bigger, but here’s where I’m at right now) :

Rent. How much a month? Bills included? How much for bills? Council tax?

Working visa. Cost? How easy?

Student loan. Normally comes out of wages, what happens if I move abroad?

When? Before I’m 30, as soon as I’ve saved enough money.

Cat? If 6 months, i could leave him here and he would be looked after, but I would feel so guilty, and I would miss him like crazy. If longer, take him? Can I find somewhere to rent that will take pets?

Business? Can I get my craft business going here? Can I get it to make money? Can I move that abroad? Would it make sense to? Would I be able to take my equipment?

Job. This is a big one. I would need to ideally have a place to rent and a job lined up. Needs to be enough to live off and slightly save (ideally).

Money. I want to go there with all of my basic expenses for 6 months in savings. 6 months rent, bills, food etc. Or , alternatively, 4 months and enough for the flight back. That’s probably more realistic. And of course will need the cost of the flight there.

Transport. Won’t have a car, so get a car out there? Car cooperative? Public transport?

Travel insurance. Or will it just be medical insurance once I’m out there ? How will I pay for my sertraline? Will it be easy to get? Will it be expensive? Doctors, dentists etc? How do you go about that stuff?

 

That’s where I’m at right now, thinking of these things, with lots of questions, things to find out.

I don’t know what it is, but hoping and expressing it and telling people makes me incredibly anxious. The nightmares and dreams, and just constant noise in my head of “you can’t do this”, “you never should have said anything”, “you’ll fail”, “you’ll hate it”, “you’ll get too lonely”, “you can’t leave the cat and your family and the dogs”, “someone will die and you won’t be here and you won’t ever see them again”, you will screw it up, you’ll run out of money, you won’t make any friends, you won’t get a job, you’ll fuck it all up”. Etc etc etc.

So this post is a fuck you to that anxiety. Time to start the couple of years of planning and saving and working it all out.

 

All the (fucking) feelings

I don’t even know tonight, what it is. I don’t know if it would even help to pinpoint it, but it just feels like all kinds of things, everything.

Hurting and hurting. Like physically, in my chest and in my legs and my head. A heaviness, a sadness, a thick inarticulable aching sort of blanket tucked around me. Things feeling fuzzy yet poignant, tears rising and falling, rising and falling.

*

There is someone i knew, not very well, a young, very kind person. With a really beautiful singing voice, with an energy that I could feel when I was around them. A person I was drawn to, a person with an intrinsic sadness yet so much openness also. A person born in the wrong body who did so so much work to make it right for them, so they could feel at home. They finally furnished themselves, with all the right parts, and then they died. Suddenly, during Pride week, in this pandemic. I have no right to feel so sad about it but I do, I feel bereft, i feel robbed, it was not their time, they weren’t finished yet.

*

Earlier I did that thing where you’re just doing something normal and ordinary and then you find your vision blurry and your cheeks wet and it’s a surprise, almost, to be crying because there was no real preamble, no conscious thought or swell of discernible feeling. It’s a bit silly honestly, and i got self conscious about it and mumbled an apology to my wife (“sorry for being a baby”) and with great tenderness, she smoothed back my hair and said, “It’s okay. You’re *my* baby” and she meant it.

*

Like many people, i watched a black man be murdered in front of the world by a white police officer two weeks ago. Watched that man beg and call his mama and fight for breath, his cheek grinding the pavement, his neck under a uniformed knee. Watched him go unconscious while that huge white ugly face loomed above him, expressionless. I have been to births but I have never been there when someone’s life left their body. Yet, we all were. Strangers, millions of us. We all were there, and i don’t think I’ll ever be the same.

*

I wrote my parents a note this weekend, advocating for my daughter, to whom we still permit them occasional internet and phone contact. They’ve been pressing her for details about us, about our lives. Passing on kisses and hugs to us, as though everything is okay. Making her feel guilty and like she is betraying us. In my email i told them that I want them to think of her first, their granddaughter, and put her back at the centre of things – but not in the middle. Told them i hope she never has to reconcile the grandparents she has with the parents they’ve been to me. I also told them i threw their cards and cheques in the garbage, that they should keep their professations of love and money solely to her, coz i didn’t want them.

And that is true but it also isn’t true, because I do want it. The love, I mean. I won’t ever get it, I know that now, but I do want it. I do want parents who love me, who show it and profess it. I hate that it still hurts me that I don’t.

*

Someone i didn’t know very well read me today, in a way that was both unnerving and comforting. She saw me, somehow, with very little effort and called attention to a part of me i usually hide, with something that felt like love. I don’t know why she did that, it was brief like a cloud passing over the sun and then we reverted back to our usual roles. But I’ve found myself folding around that moment, hands cupped in to myself, holding close how she reflected me, with gratitude and also grief.

*

Father’s Day is coming up. I actually forgot about it this year until i was reminded, and then a realization slammed into my diaphragm, that i didn’t remember coz it’s not actually relevant to me. I don’t have a dad I can celebrate.

*

Our daughter made slime tonight, a new recipe. I saved the day from ruin with cheap hair gel from the grocery store – the internet lied, it was not the “Best Slime EVER,” and there was much crying, googling of rescue measures, and frantic phone calling. Though to be honest, after nearly every drop of that three dollar, priceless magical goo was dribbled in, as her eyes shone, as her small hands kneaded the fragrant sticky formula with the kind of bliss i can hardly recall, i would have bought three thousand more bottles, just to sustain that moment.

*

Today was a bad missing day, we each have those sometimes, even on the same day now and again. Because of travel limitations i don’t know when I’ll see her again, and she’s my best friend. She lives across the sea from me and things have been really hard lately but our love, in its intensity and magnitude and longevity, also takes my breath away. Tonight I just wanted her to be for-real close, not just imagining like we have to do behind our closed eyelids all the time, but like in the same room on the same couch feet tucked under us and i could reach out and grab her hand, close.

Squeeze it once, twice. Our signal that we’re right there, not leaving, through all of it. The breathing, the grieving, the minutiae of the seconds making up a day and the gains and losses and feelings.

All the fucking feelings.

Child (364)

It’s funny, I came backĀ  here today for the first time in quite a long time (those declarations of returning to this blog and finishing these words are always meant with conviction and renewed determination to do it, however every single time I try that determination seems to die down relatively quick – so no declarations today, just here because I felt like it, because I wanted to be), and when I clicked on the drafts of all of those words that I have yet to write about, this one was at the very top, and I didn’t even look any further, because I feel like a have enough thoughts to get down about this one.

So to do a little background of where I am right now, during these crazy times; I am furloughed from work (currently in the UK the government is paying 80% of a number of workers wages to keep them from being made redundant during covid-19, when lots of businesses are closed), and I am back at my parents house, which is a short drive from where I live, as they wanted me there. I am doing lots of gardening, general helping out, cleaning, cooking etc, and hopefully will be able to work on my own business concept that I want to give a go soon, as well hopefully being able to some back office improvements to the business where I currently work. The thing is, its utterly shit. It was bearable for the first couple of weeks, but it is now into week 11 and its just shit. No other way to say it. Despite the fact that I am in my mid 20s, and that I’m home helping out because they wanted it, I am back to being a child. The lack of privacy, the inability to do what I want or need to do, the way my day is often scheduled and dictated by them, it’s enough to drive me insane.

I started this post several weeks ago, and never finished it, only coming back to it now. I’m sure I had a whole lot more to say about this back then, but its gone from my mind now. I think I mostly just needed to rant about it. To say how mad it made me that despite being a grown up, being back in my parents house I am back to being treated like a child, just one with a whole lot more jobs to do. I seriously hope this lockdown ends soon.