Australia 2011 - entry 2
I need to write. Maybe I need to cry. But I will write first. Maybe writing will start the tears flowing...
So many people write me to thank me. But now I am alone. My partner is upstairs. Maybe she is awake, maybe she is asleep. Maybe she is writing to try to stop her pain. Maybe she is cutting. Maybe she is thinking of leaving me, wondering where she will go and if I will kill myself if she leaves. I am afraid she would kill herself if I left her. But that is not the main reason I stay. If it were, I would agree it would be unhealthy for me. I am not sure if it is unhealthy for her to be with me. Or if it is unhealthy for me for her to be with me. Sometimes she thinks it is because she is depressed so often. Would she be more depressed or less if we broke up? More suicidal or less?
I feel pretty safe here. And pretty dry and not too cold. A bit chilly but I could make some hot chocolate or 3 minute noodles to warm up. I could even put on long pants. And socks. I feel a little delirious. I think that is the word. As in what I am saying doesn't make a lot of sense. I am tired. Drained. I just wrote my plea to the universe, or to anyone in Australia who might read it...
I am so sleepy. I need understanding. More than I need food. Even more than I need a dry place to sleep. I can pay for a dry place to sleep. It is expensive, painfully so, but I can pay for it. Not easily because my credit cards haven't been forwarded to me. They are still in the USA. Moving around takes its toll on a person. So many little things start to add up. Being homeless takes its toll. We want a home. We need a home. But we don't even know what country we want to live in. We know where we don't want to live. But we don't know where we do want to live. And then there are the visa laws - making things so much more complicated. Then there is the problem of winter and short days. We came here mostly because they days were getting too short in Morocco.
Things have been better here than in Morocco overall - but some days/nights have been much worse. And the prices are something like 4 to 5 times as high. We are tired of packing and unpacking, and carrying our backpacks.
I am not making much difference in the world. I don't feel valued. I am almost nobody. Who recognizes me? Who believes I am someone special? Who values me, my ideas, my feelings, my experiences, my knowledge? I am so tired of people telling me what to do when they don't even know me or what I need. The other day someone told my partner that she should go see her grandmother before she died. He didn't understand 99 percent of the situation, yet started giving her an unwanted lecture about the importance of seeing her before she died. I almost wish I would have recorded it. It was such a good example of not understanding someone. It reminds me of the time that someone told me I should go to Korea and teach English there, as if were just that easy. Just do this, just do that. Just, just, just. As if it were that easy. I feel resentful about someone who said that frequently. It reminds me of how little I felt understood. If you tell someone, "Just..." then I'd say chances are very good they won't feel understood, unless you are giving them very simple directions to a shop nearby or something like that. But in one case this person was telling someone who had a problem with a co-worker to "just tell her..."- as if it were that easy.
Back to safe.. I am not afraid of seeing anyone here. I feel cared about by Daniel and Emily. I feel accepted. I feel unstressed about P's physical safety here. Less worried about her emotional safety than in the last place. But there it was mostly me who felt afraid and unsafe when __ was there. I kind of miss that place. It was so much like the kind of place I would live in. This, on the other hand is a regular house. That was an empty warehouse.
Someone is talking about the Philipenes so I will go see who it is....