And two days ago Leila rated my life, and I thought about the 6 score she gave me. And I pondered, and remembered, and relived the feelings kept hidden during these last 10 years, and more. Feelings of solitude, of frustration, of suffering for the frivolous. Of being tied up and pulled back inwards towards a family I liked less and less for it to the point of repulsion, of cursing their over-protectiveness and their prudence. Memory dug a hole all the way back in my mind, tapped into my hidden bag of filth, and the filth came out, sure enough. It filled me with rage and self-loathing, and I almost wished I could not control them as well as I could. For I seemed the same from outside, but inside of me a storm raged, ravaging my principles and my ego.
Later I read an email I sent to my mom a long time ago, accusing her of overprotectiveness, poor social skills, verborrhea, and blaming her for my discontent. Then I let myself go a little further and I cried, inside.
Then I met her at the swimming pool, and we swam. I talked to her minimally, I barely acknowledged her presence in the lane beside mine. I was unjustly short, uncaring, and cold to her. I would not keep a conversation with her for long, fearing she would notice the turmoil in me. So I just swam, lap after lap, looking at the pool floor but not looking, thinking about the past, feeling what I had felt years ago, thinking of what might have been, what adventures I could have had as a teenager, how different would I be, how much more knowledgeable, integral, complete I would be, had I had the trust of my parents I so desired, claimed for, cried for, raged for. Like she had. I thought of the freedom I always valued so much more than things like comfort or beauty. I thought of how she criticized me all the time about my obsession with freedom, and I realized that it was only my too-late attempt to live a care-free and adventurous life. Like she had. And as I pulled myself through the water, one regular stroke after another, I stopped breathing air and I started breathing anguish, and then, hidden by the water, knowing no one would ever see me here, I cried. I listened to my childish sobs inside the water as I swam slowly, regularly, wondering whether I would ever let my past go. I found no answer, and I cried some more.
She hailed me at the start of the lane, she told me she didn't feel like swimming. I wondered whether she would see my tears behind my goggles as I looked at her, and then I stopped wondering, for she asked me "are you ok?". I told her the truth, and she offered to help. I was happy to accept. If I could tell anyone, it was her, and I was more than happy to try to let it go.
We sat on the grass and I told her my ails. My stupid, childish, frivolous, but oh so intense feelings of ire, desire, and disappointment. I had never confessed so plainly to anyone until then - it was so bizarre. My whole body tingled, saturated with unleashed emotions, my hands ripped and crushed the innocent blades of grass under me, and I sought Leila's body to find comfort with. I felt comfortable with her, and I rejoiced, and I thought about the paradox of feeling so happy while I spat out my filthy feelings at her.
In my rage that night I stayed cold, shooting my thoughts out without care for what she would think. No, even worse, I said things aimed to shock and hurt her. And I hated myself for it, but I felt it was best. I was trying to heal myself, and that's exactly what I felt like doing. So I did.
But she was an angel the whole way through. :) Thank you Leila. You rock, even more than swimming.
