I Don’t Feel It


Back home. My kont hurts…must have pulled one of the big muscles while swimming. I swapped up ‘kont’ for ‘bil’ in class, but still had fun using the bleeding word. Probably when I learn the Dutch word for ‘fart’ there’ll be no stopping me.

Upside learning Dutch from South Park subtitles: you learn a lot more than you’d think about grammar, sentences structure, and simple word usage. Downside: you get into saying things like kont rather than bil or calling people meisjes as a put down – all potentially offensive things.

Did a short reading in class today, and everyone sighed again. The teacher again pointed out how well I read, how I relax while speaking. Pointed it out to my bro and told him to ‘try and be more like your sister’. OW. Ow for my bro, who’s heard that from teachers ad infinitum all his life. Give him props; he didn’t stand for it at all and asked the teacher to stop comparing us. I pantomimed my anxiety for everyone else, making them laugh. My teacher keeps telling me how far ahead I am over the rest of the class. Doesn’t feel like that. Some of the people in the class have been here years, even married Dutch nationals, so they can prattle on no problem. I can’t do that yet. I still have to ask everyone to speak slowly and repeat things. What I AM fast on is learning the rules of the language; of knowing almost by instinct which article to attach to each noun and how to make nouns plural. My verb usage is getting better, as is my word placement. But I still feel like a 2 year old trying to talk, not knowing half the words and getting frustrated over my lack of communication skills.

Tomorrow is my appointment with the psychiatrist. I have this feeling I’m going to walk into far more Dutch than I want to deal with; I got the impression last week that the resident shrink doesn’t speak much English. Managed to get three or four sentences written down in Dutch for tomorrow. I could write out a whole hour’s worth of material if I let myself. What I have conveys what I need to say – that my first goal is honesty, and smoking is secondary. That I need to talk about things I’ve never talked about before, and I need to hear I’m not wrong or bad for feeling the way I feel. Gonna try to wing the rest – which may make for a short appointment if it’s all in Dutch.

Managed to stick to my planned 5 Js yesterday. Almost didn’t; I rolled at 10 a.m., not 11, and knew I was on a slippery slope. Anything that kept my hands busy was free game. A few paltry dishes were done because it meant 10 minutes I didn’t think about smoking. Another 20 minutes went by just contemplating saying fuck it and rolling again. The clock was checked and checked again. Finally I got into some titchy studio work that demanded ALL of my attention, and a couple of hours flew by. My exhaustion worked in my favor; a late afternoon nap took up more time away from smoking and before I knew it, 8 p.m. came. A final smoke during some comedy programs and then sleep. Or something that should have been sleep.

12:20. 2:45. 4:10. All times I was up and ready to get out of bed. When I wasn’t looking at the clock my eyes were closed. Whether or not I actually slept is another issue. I think I did; I don’t remember being awake the whole night. But sleep and wakefulness were twins for me, and I could barely recognize one from the other.

For some reason, a headache hit me during my morning swim. I’ve never had that happen before. It kept niggling at me, then hit hard – so hard I pulled up at the end of the lane and got out of the pool. Took a couple of paracetamol when I got back home. It’s less, but there’s still a sensation of some sort of head vice squeezing my brains from either side.

I’ll chalk it up to stress. I chalk a lot up to stress.

It’s one in the afternoon and again, if I’m going to make my 5 J limit, I’ve got to hold myself back to one lone J for the next 5 hours because I always – ALWAYS – want two in the evening. Christ on a popsickle stick. This is fucking hard. Technically I’ve already smoked 2 Js, though the first is a distant memory pre-swim. And due to swimming, I’ve burned thru more than I would sitting on my kont. So I want. I want. If I have now, I can’t have later. That’s the deal. Make up your mind, woman.

I’m rolling. May only smoke a bit, but I’m rolling now. If I can chill, I can coast much easier. Keep me this strung out and I’ll never make it.

Yep. Four hits into it and already the afternoon looks far less intimidating.

The sun is shining and I should really get out in it. Carpe Diem because Tempus Fugit. That was probably all one line at some point. Makes sense.

More walking, more shopping, more work. More life. That’s what I’ve been adding lately: life. Popping into the store to pick up more milk. Walking a bit further because the sun is out. Smiling at people because that’s what you do here. It doesn’t always help; my mood can be so flat it brings pretty much anything down to meh. Half the time I feel like I’m sleepwalking these days. Doing things without thinking about doing them. I keep pulling up sharp and looking around thinking ‘I’m HERE?’ and then go on in a half daze. It can freak me out. I’m getting no endorphin high from swimming. Nothin’. It’s getting fuck all difficult to keep it up.

I’m still here, and I’m still going. Even if I don’t feel it.


11 thoughts on “I Don’t Feel It

    1. ROFL! Oh, how rude! Cunt in English is, well, cunt. Tho the Dutch sounds very close – it’s one of those subtle vowel sounds you’ve got to get ingrained in you..

      *sigh* I just be nasty! 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  1. Speaking in English to an English psychiatrist is a waste of time, they pretend to know what they’re talking about using medical jargon that they know you probably don’t comprehed. I can’t imagine speaking in Dutch. You are brave.

    Love your writing style.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks! Turns out he spoke perfect English. Either I misinterpreted what Heike said, or it was just my anxiety skyrocketing me off somewhere (more likely the latter)…


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