Snowy Scotland in All Good Things

I'm in Scotland. Far more civilised. Don't let me ever leave the first world again.

I've somewhat opted out of life. Other than the two weeks in Dubai in early December, I haven't worked since last October. I've said yes to a three-day job in Delhi at the beginning of April, but I'm not thinking about that yet. Every week the guy in charge of the office I used to work for in London texts me to ask if I'm available for work the following week, and every week I text back no. I'm not.

I'm going to run out of money eventually.

Did I say that I'm not going to South America? I can't remember. Well, I'm not. Instead I'm going to Birmingham and Glasgow and Bradford and Southampton and Newcastle and Woking. To see the swans. Yes, 23 shows in London over the festive period were not enough. For some inexplicable reason, the only time I feel remotely okay is when I'm watching them. The rest of the time I'm terror-stricken and can't leave the house.

I saw them eight times in Birmingham since I got back from Africa, four double-show days. I've managed to get decent tickets for all seven shows in Glasgow this week, and I'm already panicking about next week when they're in Dublin and I couldn't get tickets. My dad is coming on business the week after from New Zealand, his first time in the UK in over ten years, and since he'll be working in Oxford for three days, I'm shooting up to Bradford for three shows and I'm wondering if I can convince him to come up there to meet me on the Thursday. I wasn't supposed to see them at all that week, but Nottingham the week after is sold out and I couldn't cope with not seeing them for three entire weeks when I barely coped with not seeing them from last Thursday in Birmingham until today.

Then there's a week in Woking (just outside London, so I can stay at home), followed by Southampton, then they go to Belfast and I go to India and meet up with them again in Newcastle and Edinburgh and Wimbledon (London again). And then it's my stepmother's 60th birthday in New Zealand and I'm wondering if I can make myself keep the commitment I (semi) made to my stepsister about a surprise party for her when it means missing Canterbury and High Wycombe and Bristol....because then that's the end of the tour in the UK and then they'll be gone and I don't know what I'm going to do next.

How I'm going to breathe.

Yes, I know this is insane. I am perfectly aware of the fact. I also don't care.

This is all I wanted every single second I was trapped in Africa, and sitting in the theatre tonight, I didn't want to be anywhere else in all the world. After so many years of forcing myself through a life I hated and loathed more and more, I just can't do it anymore. I can no longer make myself do anything I don't want to do. And this is all I want to do.

The nice thing is I'm getting to know the cast members better, and I've even seen Matthew Bourne a few times (the director and choreographer). I sat next to him in the theatre once. I don't quite understand how he created this piece of magic when everything else I've seen of his (one show live, two others on DVD) have been largely crap, but if anyone wants to read a fantastic book on the process of creating theatre I'd recommend his, even if I generally don't like the result of his processes.

My dad has insisted I go to the doctor and get some medication, at least for the constant panic attacks. I have an appointment for next Monday, the first I could get. We'll see what happens. Maybe it will magically fix me and I can go to work again and talk to people and let my husband touch me without silently screaming. I know he's worried, but I can't think about him right now. I don't care about him. He barely exists for me. He's too needy and demanding and right now I can't even look after myself, let alone be somebody else's sanity.

We had a very bad fight the other night when I inexplicably lost my ability to lie. I learned years ago that in order for our relationship to work, I had to not tell the truth most of the time. Yes, I know. Really healthy. But it worked. More or less. Except something happened to me a few nights ago, I think it was Friday when I was facing another FOUR days without swans, and suddenly I couldn't tell him what I needed to in order to keep the peace. The truth kept leaking out of me, no matter how hard I tried to stop it, and it nearly annihilated even the remnants we have left of our relationship.

Poor man. He tried so hard. He was really sweet, trying to take care of me, to make me feel better, and inside I was just screaming GET AWAY FROM ME DON'T TOUCH ME DON'T FUCKING COME ANYWHERE NEAR ME GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME DON'T TOUCH ME DON'T TOUCH ME DON'T TOUCH ME!!!!!!!

I actually told him I couldn't be responsible for him. He acted shocked, outraged, as if why would I ever think he wanted me to be, of course he didn't. Except that he says all the time that I'm the only thing that keeps him grounded, that keeps him sane, that keeps him going. Which is why I keep lying. Except on Friday night, when I no longer could.

I said other things. I managed to choke many others down. But that meant I was mute, because I didn't dare open my mouth or it all would come hurling out and he'd have left, there and then, and I probably would never see him again.

If he ever realised the damage he does me, the way he hurts me.....he'd remove himself from my life, for my own sake.

Which is why I never let him know.

Which is why this is so incredibly fucked up and is probably a large contributor to my current state of inability to live my life.

The worst thing is, I don't even care about him any more. I don't love him. I wouldn't care if I never saw him again. I'd actually be relieved if he died, because then I'd be free.

But actually I suspect that's all a cover, this numbness, this lack of feeling. Because beneath it lies volcanic rage that is smothering me.

And I don't know what to do about any of it.

So I don't. I just watch swans.

(And probably identify far too strongly with the prince who goes mad at the end.)