I thought the worst thing in the world is not having money. Although it never bothered me much until there were bills to pay. Why is that, one may wonder?
Because I felt like being part of a family; whenever something happened to me, my first thought was: ”Wait until I tell my work friends hear about it” (I could have never called them ”coworkers”).
But a time came when they weren’t enough anymore: I longed to travel without asking my parents for money or just not being needed to choose between buying books and paying for food, transportation.
So I’ve decided to separate the feelings I had for the people from the prospects for my basic human needs. I was so convinced I would detach myself from everything that kept me back for almost two years. But it took me way to little time to understand that more money can’t buy feelings. It can’t compare to the feeling of belonging. It only gave more comfort – the opportunity to see my favorite band abroad or to plan a 9-days trip to a country that was financially unavailable to me before.
A little extra money also stole the little piece of mind I had. There were many things on my mind already – I am such a Murakami/Kafka/Van Gogh-esque character! But then I found myself at the bottom of a well. And everything gets darker and darker and further and further away.
So I write in order to be able to breathe again. A confession might be a better word for what I’m doing. I guess this is what I’m trying to do here: finding a way out through words.
words they don’t want to hear
words other can’t hear anymore because I chose money over them
words that won’t let themselves out of my mind
words that won’t let me breathe
that won’t let me sleep at night
words I can’t get out of my mind
so many words which are trying to destroy me.
and also words that I hope will set me free.
This is my confession. DAY ONE in the “Journal of Misery”
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