On endless returning and going
… or live-blogging starts and stutters is tricky business.
I never imagined the leaving, or even just packing, to be easy. But I also never expected it to be so damn lonely.
Put simply, the last few days have been hell. I don’t know how else to describe it.
First of all, don’t get me wrong; meetings with friends and family have been incredibly nice, and usually really thoughtful. Most friends have prepared a small gift that doubles as an early birthday gift and a parting memento, and I’ve fallen in love with each of them. Particularly this busted up radio beauty — I’m looking forward to searching some sweet foreign waves with it. Some of my relatives have pushed a modest envelope in my hand with a sly wink, telling me to think of them when I spend this on coffee or whatever.
Where is the issue?
In literally everything else. I run out of words to explain the tightness in my chest as I pack and look at the suitcase filling up. Slowly, too — I never had problems packing, found it sort of fun to go through things and lists, and yet, as I do it now, I’m biting back tears that seem to both want and not to come out. Frankly, I believe it would be a relief if they did; a good, strong, uncontrollable sob-fest would probably clean me up nice.
Then there’s the fucking teeth, that both hurt and don’t, make me think it’s just nothing and then not again. Though I did go check with an on-call dentist this morning, he told me it doesn’t seem like anything much is happening at all. Talk about feeling stupid. It took me about an hour to hype myself up enough to be able to sit into the car and drive off too see him in the first place.
Whatever it is, it’s still a load I’m carrying extra heavily. While yes, I have my insurance going, it’s still … It fucks you up, simply. It is absolutely, definitely one more issue that I don’t need right now. My teeth have been fine for ten years, why the hell can’t they revert to that up until I return home? On the other hand, not leaving because of what’s happening is just not an option at all — there’s too much at stake. The job waiting for me, for one, then the shitload of money the program and plane ticket cost. Everything has been leading up to this. And it definitely can’t be called off last minute for what may or may not be happening.
Simply put, what I’m facing and trying to make sense of now is something I haven’t foreseen. Yeah, I imagined I’d have difficulties coping and leaving the nest. I did not imagine my literal body, of everything, would be the one to turn on me.
To circle back — the question might be naive, but I want to know why I feel such tightness at the thought of going — a do not want, even, like a rebellion of all senses.
It takes a lot to admit that. So much so I’m convinced I couldn’t ever say it out loud. I know what I’d tell anybody else in my position: I’d say that sometimes, you want something so much that when it starts happening, the shift is so big you start panicking. I’d say that, even when you don’t consciously feel like you’re worrying, your subconscious could be starting up a goddamn revolution that you can’t stop. And if you’re in it alone, as it were? Yeah, definitely worse.
Can it be that simple?
Perhaps. I’m in a constant state of choked-up, rational thought (and physical feeling, apparently) is as far away as anything to me, no matter how many dissertation posts I write on the subject. My jaw could very well hurt because of tightness and nerves. Do I grit my teeth? Not that I would notice, but I definitely have to keep stopping myself from doing something.
In a more general sense, sometimes all you can do is sit and wait until the waves of sickness pass and you remember once again why you’re doing what you are. Kind of what happened here. Maybe the only way to keep a clear head is just trying to remember it all works in circles, in the endless returning and going, in loops.
Good god. I just want to be able to revel in it without but. That’s all.
*
Three hours since beginning this post and coming back to it in starts and stutters, my suitcase looks a lot better fed than it did.
The other thing in starts and stutters is anxiety — the new normal. Every time I’m ready to declare myself fine, something happens. In an hour, some of our closer relatives are coming over for a picnic of sorts, to “celebrate” my leaving. With the state that I’m in, I feel like a complete fraud. The only thing I actually do want right now is to curl up and disappear — no more hows and whys and are you scared to gos. I don’t have the answers, unless someone is offering a complete anaesthesia for about a week. Then my answer is a resounding yes.
Two days and fifteen hours to go. Think of me, if you can. My batteries are running a bit low.
