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Passe-Temps. Story of One Life. V

Yana Malysheva-Jones


The difficulty is to stay properly alive. Not that I want to die, but because the pain and suffering is too strong — not only of the pain itself but also of not living the life as I think I want. And again, I don’t know how I got here.

After giving birth to Max I entered the darkest period of my life, and there were many in my life though back at the time I didn’t comprehend them as that. My drive to live and faith in the world has always been way too strong to dwell on the bad and I have never contemplated the idea of arriving in such a strange place. I didn’t realise such places exist. My problem is that I try to explain my experiences both with deep philosophical thinking and really basic reasoning like lack of sleep, or poor diet, for example.

The sun is shining now and it feels so much better than when it doesn’t. That day of giving birth I got broken. They broke me and something cracked inside. At least my wrists did.

It is very difficult to explain to anyone what it feels like — to have wrist pains somehow weirdly connected to the thoughts of cutting them — it is like the thought initiates the sensation, or sensation initiates the thought, but it is always one way or another. Why is that? I remember one of the first times it happened — we returned back home from the hospital and I went to Max’s crib to pick him up and when I did, I felt it — a burning, painful sensation in my wrists like I was scared to touch and hold my son. Like I was so scared because I knew — I am not good enough to do this and I will have to pretend that I am. That was three years ago or over 1200 days. How can I share this experience with anyone who is not me and tell them what it feels like to live with this every single day?

How much energy and strength it takes, how much stamina not to follow this obsessive thought to react to my brain games. I hope one day I will be free from this. Free again, though I didn’t realise I was until I got imprisoned. How much sympathy for everyone around this experience brought to me is hard to measure. Sympathy but also ruthlessness — in fact these things are of the same nature. I can’t really explain how now, but I will get back to this later.

I am falling into the depths of the universe, and you might think I am off my rails and well I might as well be. But being on my rails is far more liberating than being on yours no matter how much you want me to be there so we can be friends, and here I am thinking of Nitzsche and his ‘those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who couldn’t hear the music’. What music do you hear every day? Is that the same as music you’d choose to dance to? What is life, really. What is it.

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