thursday night: I got an attack on the walk back home
right after Babak dropped lawrence, chris and myself off… ( I was worried about getting hit by a car, I was worried about
scaring Chris and Lawrence; I was hyperventilating and I thought my heart would burst out of my chest
I was speaking fast and directing my own first aid.
What I really should have done is relax, suffer the attack and let the boys deal with it.
Chris read me The Red Pony. I shook like a leaf. my eyes were tearing. He read on until I fell off to sleep.
Friday I could swear I was gonna die. on a winter afternoon. alone. and right after I had answered to Chris’s phone
call telling him, am alright. I was alright during the phone call. Valerie too had sent me a text asking if I needed her to come over
I was sure I was alright. Then, as if in a practical joke. The attack came back. a massive one. I was crying. yelling. mourning. disappointed in myself.
Again. sixteen again. Vulnerable and helpless again. Why. Why again.
Friday night I promised to fight it. I cooked. Rice and vegetables. The idea was to impress with my cooking. the end result is that
the rice was too dry, the vegetables over cooked, over peppered, less salted… but at least; I wasn’t lying down flat on my back shivering, shaking, crying, hyperventilating, welcoming my childhood to swarm my little brain—-( At one point i thought I was home in Kakoba. At my grandparents home, and was calling out; Mummy, Mummy, It’s come back again: my head hurts, my chest hurts and I forgotten how to breath)
Saturday morning: it was a good morning. It had been a good night. At midday a woman rang my door bell: she wanted to check
my gas metre. I didnt even know i had a gas metre. I had practically run out of bed to open the door for her: she was speaking fast, moving her hands, checking my trash box, opening my kitchen drawers, speaking in Italian…. I woke my house mate. she’s spanish. at least they two could communicate. it happened. the gas metre was found. she left.
my housemate was crying. She had been for hours she told me.
I made her a big breakfast, I found us the FRIENDS DVD and played the first season; I ate most of the breakfast, she cried all through the funny skits in friends; I asked her to cook something, chop something…. anything that would divert her crying energy as well as feed me… she made us a spanish omelette. Heart breaks aren’t that bad; I told her. she cried some more… they are bad, she answered. they are horrible…
yes they are.
Saturday afternoon. We caught the train to Udine. Udine is become that place for us now: A great break from Fabrica.
We spent the weekend with Ramon; bar hopping; drinking, eating, snacking, eating, laughing, arguing, shooting at bottles, driving bumper cars, getting drunk; worrying less about being ill… popping aspirins every once in three hours. We got back to Ramon’s house in the morning.. so to speak
Sunday afternoon. Rain. cold. rain. cold.
Talk about Zico coming to the village; a coffee and chats with Renzo; a ride to venice to watch Chelsea vs Man. U
where we ate, drank, ate, drank.. and a few aspirins.
Now I conclude this diary exercise.
I HOPE I GET SOMETHING OUT OF IT