A Little Romance ... part two

The second part of the story is more difficult to put in words. It's too fresh and to me still unknown in its core. A perfect love story turned terribly wrong.

Now that I’m looking back to what happened last summer and later on, it all seems to make sense, every day I find a new piece of puzzle that makes the picture clearer. However these nine months of my life seems to appear blurred, it feels as if I got stuck in mist, and all around me was blocked by thick fog.

The evening I returned home that summer, dad was drunk, stinking like those old, disgusting red faced men that freaked me out since my early childhood. I was so traumatized to realize that nothing changed at home; I was so depressed that I didn’t even contact my closest friends to tell them I’m back. I guess it’s also called culture shock upon the return home. For a week I was like numb, walking around with no reason of existence. I was glad to be back with my family, but I knew I won’t hold on for long like this.

My only light of hope was love that I planned to return to in France as soon as I’d do everything I promised to my friends and family. I got an apartment to be on my own, started working to save at least some money for possible months of unemployment, and hoped with all my heart that what the story we’ve had so far wasn’t just a summer crush. He came for a visit, the spark was still there and we started planning my return.

Since I was so sure of my feelings, I started packing everything and at the same time spend as much time as possible with friends and family, in fear of the time that might pass before I see them again. However, I didn’t have time to overthink this and other fears until I got back to France. To my prince, my savior. With unemployment, lack of friends in new environment, another culture shock hit me hard.

How, why, when did it happen, I don’t know. Soon we started having those no reason arguments, I’ve turned completely unsocial, I felt like I’m just not good enough – not for him, not to get a job, not to make new friends. Maybe it was the same numbness I felt in the summer that came back creeping over me. I still loved him like I never loved anyone before, but I had almost no positive emotions or thoughts about myself. There probably were good moments; I remember we sometimes laughed a lot, discussed passionately, drove in pleasant silence …

Yet I walked through days not as numb as I wanted to show, just deeply hurt. By everything and anything at the same time. Realized in one moment that I’m thinking about suicide more and more often, I’ve written my first will, I’ve juggled with the ideas of how to do it, how to get into an accident, where to get pills, tried if I have courage to cut myself to flash. I didn’t. Yet I tried again and hoped I’d had it this time.

I found no reason to live – and I’ve been trying to find one for months! Already before he broke up with me apparently for not having any feelings for me. I fought with him, I was sure I knew better, I tried to prove him how he shows that he does have feelings for me. I called him a looser, a coward, and many other things, he gave me all that back in French. However, since I had no job, and I was terrified to go back home, I was never so afraid of anything before, so he lent me a room and supported me so that I’d put myself back on my feet.

I had no control of my life – I felt I was driven around by unknown forces and that, if I had so far the choices to run away or stay, try harder or break up, I should have at least the right to choose life or the end of it. I thought about it for weeks, on the outside still searching for a job, hanging out more with people, trying desperately to find at least one reason to live, and I failed. I was ready to make my choice and told a little part of it to those who’d be concerned when finding my body.

The moment came and I started saying goodbye I guess, last small talks, writing letters, preparing the “tools”. Trying if I got enough guts. A bruise today, a little scar the next day, the bathtub was ready.

Then, almost as graceful as Jesus, I got up on the third day of my plan and I was awakened!