Everyday Stranger

The Cheese Stands Alone

This weekend wasn't easy. I think in general I got on well with Melissa, and Mr. Y's friend Jean, has three fabulous children that I would very much like to abduct and raise them as my own they are so sweet. But there were a number of tense moments, stresses, and under-currents of people talking about the situation. Somehow I came out of the weekend feeling more confused than ever about a number of issues, and instead of clarifying how I feel and think, I only seem more muddled than ever before.

We spent the weekend in the lower southwest part of England, a part called Cornwall. Cornwall, by my estimation, is one of the most amazing landscapes I have seen yet in England. The surf and coast are wild, the wind whipping, and the roads hedged in by fields that have acted as natural fences for centuries. The house that Jean had rented was built in the 1600's-an immense country-side structure that had a larder complete with stone counters and ghosts in the attic, a house I would give anything to own. Mr. Y and I pitched a tent in the back garden, in a garden fenced in by high hedges.

The house was packed with people, lots of Whovilles with their toys and their noise noise noise noise. There were about 20 adults and one thousand children, all of whom somehow cloned themselves anytime they left the room and came back. There were balloons popping, children laughing, adults shouting, the clink of dishes, people talking...it was overwhelming. And since most of them were Swedish or related to Sweden (Jean and her kids are English but live in Sweden, Melissa perhaps feels more comfortable speaking Swedish), Mr. Y and I got to flex our Swedish muscles. A lot.

You would hear English/Swedish phrases all the time.

"Dad, I fatter nothing." (translates to: Dad, I understand nothing.)
"Mummy, this food is ackligt." (translates to: Mummy, this food is disgusting.)
"Kids! Frukost is ready!" (translates to: Kids, breakfast is ready!)

And so on.

I really can't discuss the weekend, not just because my computer isn't encrypted with an incrimination checker, but because I simply don't know myself what happened or how I feel. I can't seem to make heads or tails of anything, and just when I think I have figured it out or am ok, I get my feet knocked out from under me. I overheard a few things that have me feeling uncomfortable, and I don't know what to do with them but stuff the thoughts into my garbage can in my brain and try to forget them.

There was a Swedish woman there, named Ellen. She and her best friend, Jim (an Englishman) were there, and constantly looking out for each other. I walked into the lounge where they were sitting, talking, and was surprised to see Ellen completely in bits.

I went back to the kitchen and asked Jean what was up, and she told me that Ellen is clinically depressed, and that Jim, who is a psychologist, is currently going through a divorce. Ellen is so depressed she is suicidal and friends keep constant watch on her, she has been forced to retire and has recently gone through a divorce, herself. Jean said sometimes she isn't sure what to do, sometimes she gets so frustrated.

I went back into the lounge and sat down, Ellen not trying to wipe away the tears.

"Listen." I said, softly, not sure why I was doing what I was doing. "I know that people tell you that they understand and that you can talk to them. I know that people tell you that you need to cheer up and that you need to snap out of it. I also know that people may tell you that you wll be so selfish if you try to kill yourself."

She looked at me, aghast. "How do you know this?"she asked.

"I've been there." I replied. "I am there. I too find it hard to face the world. I too have problems finding myself. I too have lost everything. I lost my job, my home, my marriage. And I lost myself. I know that you can't just 'snap out of it'. I know that you can't just 'cheer up'." I turned my right wrist up, showing her the faint spider line. "I tried to kill myself, knowing that it would take the pain away. But you know what? It's not the answer for me. I hurt too many people around me, people that I love and feel terrible about hurting everyday."

Jean was sobbing, holding onto my hand. I looked at my scar, realizing that all those people that I may have hurt...only a few of them are still in my life now. And yet, I know that I need to go on.

"Thank you." Jean whispered. "This is so hard, I am opening too much up of myself to you."

Sister, I know where you are coming from on that one.

We talked a while longer, a little oasis of crazy people in the lounge, and at the end, Jean's eyes were bright, but her smile was calm.

"Do you want a hug?" I asked her.
"I do want a hug," she replied. "But it would make me cry again."

I nodded, not taking offense at all, and certainly not knowing that I would be saying those exact words myself to her within 24 hours. I got up to go.

"Can I get you anything? Some wine? Chocolate?" I asked.
"It won't solve the problem." Ellen hiccupped.
"No, it really won't." I replied honestly. "I'm going for the topical ointment here. The real diagnostic problem will take a bit longer."
Ellen smiled. Jim reached out and took my hand.

"You're amazing." he said, kindly.
"No, I'm really not." I said firmly. "But thanks for thinking of me." I smiled, and left.

When we left Cornwall to go home yesterday, Ellen was shopping, but I left her a note on her dresser.

Dear Ellen,

I am leaving my email address with you, and I want you to know that you can contact me anytime about anything. I will always be there to listen, although I maybe can't help solve the problems. I am leaving my address not just because I genuinely like you, but because I think maybe you and I have things to talk about. And you know-the truth is, I really need a friend, too."

Love
Helen

I don't expect to hear from her-I saw her vulnerable underbelly of aches, and I know that once you show that, you just can't reveal it again, you can't face the person that knows you are the weakest link. But I would love to hear from her. She is where I once was. She loved my risotto. And she offered me a hug and didn't get offended in the slightest when I told her it would just crack the veneer.

-H.

PS-KarmaJenn, Lesley, Ilyka-you got it right. In August, Mr. Y and I are off for 4 days to Venice, Italy.

PPS-Emily, you made my day. Thank you, gorgeous.

Posted by Everydaystranger at June 29, 2004 02:02 PM | TrackBack