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when the “what’s the point” question pops up in your brain and doesn’t get answered for way too long
It goes something like this:
"I had a really good weekend, I think. But really, that’s not proof of anything because, in reality, I’m still not the person I want to be, in the place I want to be at, and with the people I want around. I am still waiting for everything to crumble and leave me unattended, fragile. I’m still waiting for something to expose all my weaknesses as a human being, which will contribute to my will to give up, every time.
Yes, I’m having an amazing time focusing on politics, hanging out with friends and exploring this new territory with a new person in my life. And yes, I am going to Venezuela in two weeks to see my family. But then, at the end of the day, my family is still far away, and this is still the worst time for me to leave.
I have to move out of my house. I’m leaving a 5-year-long relationship for some future promise of “becoming more independent”, but really, what the fuck is the point? Is this really the way I should be making decisions? Does this actually matter? How is it that, if I don’t see an end in sight to my overall lack of happiness, I would choose to change my life entirely to try something new, in the name of independence and a more sustained happiness? I feel like an idiot thinking that things can change. My brain doesn’t change. I still think of the negative before I can ever get to the positive, and sometimes the positive is nowhere to be seen.
Like right now. The positive? The positives exist, but they are fragile. They will leave me to rot with all the negatives, the true essence of how my life works, and will probably work forever. There’s no fucking point to this. Whatever I try will always fail, cause deep inside, I am not meant to succeed.”
FUCK YOU, brain. You should know better. Shit can’t be so bad when you have wonderful friends, an okay income, school, love, politics and books. You should learn to think that you’ll be okay and stop this bullshit spiral of negative thoughts that don’t lead anywhere other than a waste of time and energy. STOP DOING THIS. Shit.
liberalism believes a muslim woman’s biggest oppressor is her hijab and not military intervention, drone strikes, institutionalized sexism/misogyny, capitalism, imperialism, u.n. enforced sanctions, etc.
I was supposed to write a lighthearted, funny essay about dating for radio variety show LiveWire, but then I got sad. So the essay turned sad and sincere. Here’s the piece I read on LiveWire about writing a book about relationships while going through heartbreak.
• • •
I’ve always solved problems with books. Pretty much the only tool in my utility belt is my library card. So when I hit my mid-twenties in a long-term relationship that didn’t feel quite right, I made the choice any rational person would: instead of seeing a therapist, I would write a book. I set off on what turned into two years of interviewing people in all sorts of interesting relationships about what they’ve learned the hard way. Along the way, I realized that five terrible pieces of relationship advice had burrowed deep into my brain.
Number one: “You can transform your sex life by learning 75 ways to please your man.”
If I ever write a memoir—or, let me reframe this: when I do write a memoir—I will title it Displaced or, at the very least, it will have that word in the title. It’s probably the adjective that most describes what my life has always been: a constant displacement from one place to another, from one Eva to the next, and with no solid ground to stand on.
Right now, the ground is the shakiest it’s ever been: my relationship with my life-partner of the last 5 years is over, I don’t know where I’m going to live, I don’t have my family here to help with the transition and my self-esteem fluctuates from being okay to not being anything at all. Because I don’t have a home, I jump around from house to house and bed to bed, and once it’s time to go back to that room that is not going to be my room anymore, it just feels all empty and desperate. As if that room represented all I am at this time, a big, empty container waiting to be filled when, in reality, it is their responsibility to fill themselves.
I am going to this room tonight where I’m being displaced from. Again.
Ya hace tres semanas que mi pareja de 5 años y yo hemos roto. 5 años. Y ya se acabó. Todo es un tanto confuso todavía, realmente. Todo. ¿Será que puedo con esto? ¿Y quién es esta chica sentada en mi cama, pensando, transitando, dejándose llevar? Hoy me siento infinita, aunque terriblemente mortal.
You get a strange feeling when you’re about to leave a place. Like you’ll not only miss the people you love but you’ll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you’ll never be this way ever again.
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