#tezapsidis

There is a certain beauty in personal disappointment, that is the disappointment we feel liable for ourselves. Knowing that if you miss a goal you at least tried for it ought to be a recognition of at least trying, or attempting it. There are also two ways in which you can deal with failure, and most of my therapists so far in life think that the healthier one is to accept the pain or hurt of the temporary pain posed by this disappointment. Be active, create an alternative and consider the reasons why the goal mattered to you. The alternative route of dealing with the disappointment is, of course, much more short-term pleasurable: eat garbage food and watch hours of the Wendy Williams show, or daytime television in general.

While writing directly about being deceived, humiliated and abused, both emotionally and physically may be a healthy way to address the past, I still cannot do it. I am noticing the pattern expanding into my literary persona: the voice of authoritative conviction I held when I felt comfortable saying I am a writer, has been replaced by fragility. Uncertainty and silence are not powerful literary traits. But listening carefully and taking note of what occurs in a way that digests a system of order so flawed is powerful. Our system—economic, political, social—where people who have good intentions and kindness at the core of their wishes are fools or naive is infuriating. Hilariously, I had a directly opposite view in my early twenties. Is that what it means to be in your early twenties at large: to be certain of your convictions, fall prey to fucked-up situations and circumstances and then realize you were naive and taken advantage of, all the while believing you had agency and made the wrong choices.

The key difference between my perception of the pain I was victim to was “agency.” The perpetrator says:

“You saw what you saw. You took what you wanted. It was your choice.”

By that s/he means:

“You are to blame for your demise. You really thought that all the drugs you took for free were free? Why would that ever be? Just because our purveyors made you think so? Ha! Fool.”

To which I respond: Fuck you, cunt. Fuck you.

In 2018, amidst a lot of personal crises, I had watched all the garbage I had not consumed in my entire life until then. I became aware of the names of all of the hosts of The View. I watched two franchises of Love and Hip Hop, Atlanta and New York. I also watched two franchises of the Bravo Housewives, the renditions of New York and Beverly Hills. This would be funny if did not include me spending hours trying to numb things I was feeling and certain emotions I felt were unjust.[1]

The best things that happened to me in 2018 can be summed down to four and a half events.

1) Athenian Getaway

2) Completion of debt: combo of start-up money & J’s help

3) Darra: Skiathos and Skopelos, but also Thessaloniki

4) Africa: Kituntu Village, but more importantly meeting Z