In the last years, my mental health was relying on an unfailing trinity of certitudes: my warrior identity, my queer identity, and the security of the corporate world. Over the course of a few weeks – between December 18th and January 12th to be precise – everything has been breaking.
I’m standing at a strange turn of my life. I’m feeling my old self stripping off my soul and I have trouble distinguishing what my new colours will be like. It is scary. I have no security of any kind beyond the integrity of my body and the money I get every 25th of the month. Both can stop any minute. Security doesn’t exist.
This morning I got in my office – the fantasized temple of my safety – and my manager since 2 weeks came to me and said that my desk was no longer my desk because a new starter was going to seat at my place. I’ve worked in this company for almost 3 years, and my contract stipulates that I’m a remote worker. I can therefore work from anywhere I want on this side of the planet. When I’m in the office – more often than not these days cause no one is waiting for me outside working hours – I’ve never really had an allocated spot. Even in the corporate, I am the gypsy of the gang, which I find hilarious. About 6 weeks ago, I finally got a place of my own and I started storing shit in my drawers, such as hand cream, tea bags and tooth brushes. It felt like I had an extension of my home in the centre of the city. This was temporary joy, since I got evicted this morning. I stored the shit in a plastic bag to clear the space for the new hire. I have to say that I felt a thrill along my spine emptying those premises, as if it was a rehearsal for when I leave for good.
Parallel to the work drama – I mean, there has been proper drama, personal attack and legitimate defence ; the drawer disappointment is anecdotic – my end of year boy fling continues playing with my head & body. I don’t recognise myself and most of me doesn’t like it (the remnant of me is overexcited).
Now. Another layer added to all that fun. Last week, someone told me something about myself and I don’t know whether it is fiction or reality. I’m not trying to be mysterious. I just don’t want to ramble about something that may or may not be. I have to hunt for the truth before divulging anything. Whatever the outcome, it fucked me up for the time being. I am writing this typically to get it out of my system. I’m looking back at the 3 decades of my life and I wonder if I was someone I didn’t suspect all that time. My first reaction at the news was to deny it. My second reaction was an urge for Krav Maga. Since then, I’ve been contemplating this possibility, and for all I know, it would explain why I see myself like a vampire and why I am intrinsically violent. I’ve been spaced out, my body intermittently freezes, I lose sense of space and emotion. I’ve been forcing myself to eat well and hug trees to balance things out. I’m looking forward to the future.
I hanged out at Starbucks for a long time after work today, I don’t know how long. I sat in the window to observe the ballet of people on the street. The darker it was getting outside, the more I was seeing my own reflection. I love the new lines at the corner of my eyes, because I carry evidence on my face that I start having a clue about life. Of course, I am scared of them too. How long before my marginality is no longer “sexy” or “fascinating”? How many years before I become at best invisible, and at worst, pathetic?
I didn’t let my mind go down that road of thought, though. Whatever happens, I’ll be inhabited with my vibrant joie de vivre which is stronger than anything. My nature grows back like weed over every shock and every punch.
When I finish this new mutation, everything will be even more awesome.
I left Starbucks and I went to buy a sweater on sale with Snoopy on it, and 2 jeans for £5 instead of £55.
At least my usual good star of fashion is shining. I wouldn’t trade that for the world.