Life is wonderful

d guess its just a pain.    I’m hoping over time it lessens. Its my own desire for control in that aspect.  It’d be nice if he could tell me it would come to an end at some point, but the only certainty of it stopping is his death.  The question I guess I should really be asking myself is if I have it in me to really be here and be happy.

“My husband got involved with a younger woman at work.  I was relaxed about it at first.  He’s thirteen years younger than me, so I thought: ‘Shit happens.’  But then she got pregnant.  Luckily through the divorce process I had the opportunity to take over this shithole place with no heating, which I’ve turned into an art studio. And now I’m living my best life.  Everything is for sale except the pink chandelier and the dog.  Anyone is free to stop by at anytime.  You can eat or drink whatever you want.  All the young people in the neighborhood love me.  I’m the oldest person in our friend group.  Everyone else is in their twenties or thirties.  They call me Queen Mama.  I call them my adopted kids.  I always help them with their school projects and resumes and interviews.  I only ask one thing in return.  Each of them has to teach me one new thing every week: a piece of music, a trend, an idea.  Just so I can stay up to date.  Before you take the photograph, let me go inside and put on some make-up.  We were out until 2 AM last night.” (Amsterdam, The Netherlands)

“When my grandmother died, there was a feeling that I’m all alone in this world.  Her favorite saying was: ‘I’m always here for you, whenever you need me.’  Without asking questions.  Without judging.  My parents were different.  They wanted things from me.  They wanted me to be a good person, and graduate, and get a job, and do well.  But I kept failing.  I questioned everything.  I was bad at school.  I didn’t follow the rules.  I had purple hair.  And a nose ring.  And to make things worse, I had this perfect, beautiful little sister who did everything right.  But every time I messed up, I could go to Oma.  And she’d tell me: ‘Don’t worry so much.  These things aren’t important.’  And ‘I love you darling.’  And ‘You’re not a bad person.’  And ‘You’ll find a way to be happy.’  It could be so hard growing up.  It felt like the world wanted so much from me.  But my grandmother was different.  She just loved me.” (Berlin, Germany)

“My patients tell me about their experiences.  But I can’t tell them about mine.  It’s frustrating.  Like the connection is so close.  Like we could be friends in different circumstances.  But it’s impossible.  I have a role to fill.  The therapist’s role is to hear.  To listen.  To help without asking.  To understand my patients’ problems, but to control my emotional response.  So I can’t tell them what I’ve been through.  I can’t tell them that I have no close relationships.  I can’t tell them that my mother didn’t want me.  That she abused me with hands and words.  That she was never happy that I existed.  As a child I was kept hidden from the outside world.  I couldn’t speak of my experiences.  I couldn’t express my emotions.  If it wasn’t for the church, I would not have survived.  The Bible was the first place I ever heard: ‘It’s good that you are alive.’  These are words that every child needs to hear.  If you go too long without hearing them, things get very dark.  And I didn’t hear them until I was seventeen.  Even today I’m constantly fighting the temptation to be alone.  It’s so difficult for me to form friendships.  I must challenge myself to trust people: that they won’t hurt me, that they won’t make fun of me, that they like spending time with me.  Because if I don’t keep fighting, I’ll spend all my time alone.  It’s so comfortable to be alone.  To become lost.  And to lose the will to live.” (Berlin, Germany)

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