Everything I do not know
12th of March.
I have always had this striking suspicion that I wasn’t born on my birthday. Maybe I tricked everyone into believing I was, even my own parents. Whatever the case, every year it comes along I smile and thank my family and friends for their gifts and wishes, but deep in my heart, I feel like a fraud.
28th of August.
Things are getting harder again. I spend days at a time in front of the mirror, trying to figure out who I am. I have a different smile in each photo I take, I found out I have freckles on my nose only two years ago. Do I walk around each day with a mask that peels away only when I am alone? I think if I saw myself walking down the street I would not recognise me.
21st of December.
It’s almost Christmas. I do not mind this time of the year, but it is not my favourite, like most people. They rave about family traditions, and I will spend a week with relatives I never see, nodding and with a fake happy expression plastered on my face. I will thank them for the expensive jewellery they will undoubtedly get me, even though it’s not something I care about, and make a point to wear it for the rest of my stay. It doesn’t matter, it’s the thought that counts, they don’t really know what I like, and it’s better this way.
I don’t know if they would still love me if they knew everything about me.
22nd of February.
If I could take it back, I would. I wasn’t lying but looking back… it doesn’t matter. I’m wearing all black tomorrow, and I’ll probably be the only one, I know I don’t have to, Italian funeral customs are different from British ones, but wearing anything else feels disrespectful.
It’s meant to be a nice day. Sunny clear skies, warm temperature. What a waste.
12th of March.
My birthday again, or so I am told. My grandmother got my age wrong, it doesn’t matter, at least she can still wish me a happy birthday.
30th of March.
It’s a Wednesday. I thought doing something today would take my mind off it, but it only made me more miserable. My feet hurt, my dress looks ridiculous, and I found my black ribbon at the bottom of my purse. I doubt I will ever wear it again.
5th of April.
Got a notification from Google Photos, it made a collage of photos of me and Sophie from last summer. Has it been that long since we last spoke? I made the decision to archive all our videos and photos, I’m not ready to delete them yet, but the less I see them, the better. I already have my plate full with uni and my grandad being gone… I can’t deal with this too.
16th of April.
I can’t sleep. Maybe it’s the new medicine I’m on, but in any case, I spend my nights staring at the ceiling, thinking, thinking, thinking…
At some point, I inevitably fall asleep and have the same dream. I’m no stranger to recurring dreams, I had the same one of me packing up boxes when I left Italy and moved to England. This is the same, just my brain trying to deal with everything.
So last night I dreamed of him again. Sitting at the table, drinking coffee. He calls my name, I answer, and my auntie asks me who I’m talking to. I’m the only one who can see him.
How long until it stops? I can’t listen to the songs I had on repeat on the train when I got that phone call anymore, every time my best friend asks me how I’m doing I break down sobbing. And how dare I? I barely knew the man. My family deserves to be heartbroken, I don’t. Why am I the one with insomnia? The one who can’t sit down in his armchair?
8th of June.
It’s her birthday. Weird how someone can go from being your absolute best friend to just disappearing. Well, it’s for the best, and I’m the one who cut contact with her if she knew how much time I spend writing about her-
It doesn’t matter. A lot can change in a year, these past few months have taught me that.
10th of July.
Longest summer of my life. I always look forward to the end of the academic year, only to be reminded why I moved away. There’s nothing for me here, not anymore.
21st of September.
Autumn. Auburn leaves rain around me, and my heart feels as heavy as always. I have a lot to be thankful for, new friends, and new life experiences, and yet I can’t shake this feeling I’m wasting my life away. I tell myself life is about balance until I’m blue in the face, that I can spend months not doing much and others having fun, that’s what a realistic life is, and yet I don’t believe my own words.
What this year really taught me is that life is fleeting. I close my eyes and I’m in that church staring at the casket before me, as I pretend to mouth words to prayers I haven’t said in the past ten years, both because I’m not a believer anymore, and because I have forgotten all of them.
I can’t wrap my head around it. How can someone’s life wither and their body still be there, left behind, discarded like a gum wrapper?
I don’t think I ever will understand it.