Remember when you were young, and all the adults around you would complain that time goes too fast? And remember that saying, "youth is wasted on the young"?
I remember. And it's true. I can't even say they are cliches, because they're just statements of fact.
I am 43 years old. The year is about to end. Other than some nice trips with Craig, this year has been as uneventful as the year before. And, given that our years of marriage have generally been marked eventful because of the birth and death of another child, that is saying something.
It scares me. The appearance and disappearance of time. One minute it is today, then suddenly today is yesterday, and without a trace it slips to last week. And here I am, on the verge of another year.
:::
It is just past 3 a.m. here in Amsterdam. I woke up, and now I can't get back to sleep.
I've been having a lot of problems sleeping. The tablets aren't working any more. Even when I'm tired, as soon as my head hits the pillow, I'm awake.
I've had this issue with insomnia since I was a teenager. Actually, probably since before then. When I was a child I would read a book when I went to bed. Then my mother would come in and turn the light off, and my sister and I would wait until we heard her go downstairs, then we'd turn the light on again, so that we could continue reading. Then my mother would come upstairs again, etc, etc. It would go on until my sister and I would give in.
Now I don't have to battle with my mother. But I still lie awake at night.
I usually think about life. And what should have been. And what is. And my utter dissatisfaction with it all.
I think about how bored I am. With life. With everything.
I think about the job/career I used to have. How I wish I still had it. All the while knowing that I couldn't cope with it any more.
I think about Face.Book. I think about how (nearly) everyone on FB is constantly saying that they don't have enough hours in the day. That their children keep them busy all day and all night. And I think how I wish I had that.
I think about what my life would be like if I didn't have three dead children. I wonder what it would be like if we had never had any children. I wonder if we would be living here in Amsterdam. I wonder if I would be a partner in a law firm somewhere. I wonder.
And I wonder what it would be like if we had only one child, Freyja, who would now be 5 and a half years old. I wonder if she would speak Dutch or English, or whether we would even live here in Amsterdam. I wonder if I would still be working. If maybe I would be working in a law firm part time.
I wonder. And I don't sleep.
:::
About a week ago, someone telephoned on my mobile phone.
I don't use my mobile phone much. Mainly because most of my "friends" are no longer my friends.
And (not surprisingly) this person who called used to be my friend. He probably still thinks he is my friend. Even though I hear nothing from him for years at a time.
He used to be a very good friend. One of my best friends. But that was a long time ago. About 10 years ago. And then he moved out of Australia, and then I moved out of Australia. And we didn't keep in regular touch, but still contacted each other a few times a year. Then I moved back to Australia and went to live in the same city as him and his girlfriend. So we were in touch again. Then I met Craig and he moved in with me. Then we got pregnant. Then we got married. In the meantime my friend had moved out of Australia again. Then Freyja was born and died. And of course, since then, Kees and Jet were born and died. And I didn't really hear from my friend again.
Two years ago, just after Jet died, Craig and I planned a trip to Scandinavia. As far as I knew, my erstwhile friend was still living there. So I contacted him by email, and he responded by saying he and his girlfriend were in the middle of moving to Africa. So, again, I haven't heard from him since then.
Then the other day, he rings my mobile telephone out of the blue. Craig answered (because I have developed an utter dislike of answering my telephone: landline or mobile). And it was my "friend". He spoke to Craig and told him that he was living in the UK to study, and that he wanted our Sk.ype name so that he could Sk.ype us one day. And that was that. He didn't ask to speak with me.
I've found it very difficult to maintain friendships over the last decade. Because my life has changed significantly, and most of my friends have had trouble dealing with that. In fact, most of them didn't deal with it. They acknowledged the terrible things that happened to us, and then they just went back to their lives. But I couldn't do that. My life changed irrevocably. I never understood how they could just do that. That I, their good friend, had my life destroyed, not once, not twice, but three times, and they just stood on the sidelines. Because that's certainly what this erstwhile friend did. And when I confronted him about his lack of apparent interest, he said that he had been quietly and sincerely supportive from the sidelines.
So he rings, and speaks with Craig, and gets our Sk.ype address, and then nothing. He didn't speak with me on the telephone, and he didn't ask to speak with me. Just like that, he thinks he can just pop up in our lives again, and be our "friend".
And to be quite honest, I don't need "friends" like that.
After Freyja died, and then Kees, and then Jet, I realised that my "friends" weren't really friends at all. They were all like my erstwhile friend who pops in and out, without caring enough, or being too busy, to share the awful moments of our lives.
Sometimes I think back over the years of our marriage, and you know what? There's not one single person who has been continually supportive of us in our grief and in the continued destruction of our lives. Not one. Maybe some of them tried, but they gave up (very quickly). It was all too much for them. So they left. And it still happens.
Just like this friend, who rings after an absence and silence of years, to say he's now in the UK and to get our Sk.ype address.
I wonder how long until he contacts us again ... I wonder if it will be another two years? Probably not. Probably he'll visit the continent and need a place to sleep. That's when we'll hear from him again.
:::
We sent christmas parcels to family in Australia and New Zealand this year. We do every year, and this year was no exception. We were organised enough to send our parcels in early November, so they beat the christmas rush.
But. And I'm sure I say this every year. This is the last time.
I'm not doing it again. I'm sure my family (parents, siblings, etc) appreciate the parcels, but we don't always hear that from them. And it happens that our gift giving is not always reciprocated.
I don't give gifts so that I can receive gifts, but I do believe that giving gifts is a sign of love. And I feel very disappointed and unloved when I send gifts to my siblings, and they don't send gifts to me.
So, I really think this year is the last year. Which is kind of sad, but a relief too.
We put so much care, time and money into those parcels, it's very hurtful when others don't do the same for us.
:::
Have I mentioned that I'm bored? Oh yeah, B.O.R.E.D.
I have so much time on my hands, and nothing to do with it. In fact, all I usually do is surf the internet and buy all sorts of useless and inappropriate things. Which is not good for our bank account, and our apartment is far too small and already too full of useless things to fit much more.
I don't know what to do with myself.
This is quite unique for me. My entire life I've been busy. My entire life I've had a "plan". And now there's nothing. I'm not busy. I have no plan. I have nothing to do.
Our long term plan (which is really also our short term plan) is to drive back to Australia and build our house. We plan to be self-builders, in the truest sense of the word, because we (ie. Craig and I) will be the (wo)man-power who actually build the house itself.
But that's for next year. Hopefully. There's still now. Today. And tomorrow. And next week. And next month.
I have nothing to do.
I try to tidy the apartment a bit. I do a bit of laundry (although Craig does most of it). I try to sort through years of accumulated stuff and see what I can get rid of. I mean to get the sewing machine out and make those repairs that have been waiting for months and months. I read a book. I watch some tv. I surf the internet. But basically, I'm just bored.
I never in my life thought I would be bored with life itself. Yet I am. I always studied, and then I worked. And now I do neither. And I'm bored.
I shan't take up studying again. For various reasons, the primary one being that I have absolutely no desire to take up formal (assessed) study again. I was done with that after my 7 and a half year history-politics-asian studies-law stint. Never again.
And I don't know if I shall ever work again. I doubt that I shall ever work as a lawyer again. I'm not that person any more. I can't be that person any more. And the person I am walks around in a scarred-damaged-traumatised inner (and outer) body. My body and my mind don't cope well with ordinary people and ordinary life, which tends to be an inhibiting factor to employment.
Yet, I crave a purpose. Something to keep my mind and my body active. Something which makes my life and my existence relevant.
:::
Anyway. It's now just after 4 a.m. and I'm still awake. Ferry is still looking for mice, but would probably be happy to go back to sleep if I went back to bed. (Did I mention he caught a mouse a few weeks ago? Now he's continually looking for mice.)
So, maybe having written this post will soothe my mind, and let me go back to sleep.
Goodnight.
