OUT OF PLACE, OUT OF SPACE

Eleven p.m. Saturday night... I am stuck in my horrible room. Tonight we have to change the hour. I don't about the rest of the world, but apparently, we have to do it in the US because the government wants to save electricity. So we change the time earlier this year.

March and spring is not here... Everything is covered in snow yet. I grow worse daily. It is sad to own it, but more and more I feel summed up in a movie line: "Every day of my life is a little worse than the day before. So every day that you see me, that's the worst day of my life."

So is this particular Saturday the worst day of my life? I don't know... Maybe yes. And nothing has really happened. But...

My doctors always ask if I have friends and I think it strange and funny and answer Yes automatically. But no, no, no, I don't have friends. Or if I have friends, how many? 5? (and I mean 5 friends in all and every country, in total). People find me alienating and threatening. And most of the time I don't mind... I enjoy being left alone. But now... I don't know what is happening...

I have absolutely no-one here. Sometimes I feel like locking myself in the bathroom just to avoid people looking at me. Because the bathroom is safer than other places. But it is not completely safe, because people come and go and make noise and they can hear me and know that there is someone there... and men can also come and I hate it. I shouldn't, but I feel like male visitors are a threat, like they are invading my safe space, and I feel an immediate hostility towards them, because I fear that they will harm me.

I can't stop thinking of how everyone means to hurt me or how they act not even noticing me... not looking in my direction. I observe, for example, the group of the other TAs (teaching assistants, like me), who stick together, and make plans together without me and all that... they are smart enough, but none of them is exceptional or really interesting or fascinating. Their conversations are always more or less the same. The plans are always the same. The routines the same. Is it that what I am missing?

I am so tired of being me... of being so proud, so pompous, so pedantic, so critical, so cynical, so insecure. I am so sick of this anglophilia, of this not belonging anywhere. Where is my place in this stupid world? What is my home? Do I have a home? I NEED TO BELONG SOMEWHERE. I will always be a Russian girl in Spain, and a Spanish girl in Russia. And everywhere else I will be a mix-up. Why? Why? Why? I want roots. I want to belong.

I always feel out of place and out space wherever I am... and everyday that goes by it gets worse. Not even the medicines can make forget that.