The bridge

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Well, let’s see.. List the most random and accurate thoughts that come across your mind most frequently on a Friday evening – or any other evening, if you can. Mine are “what a shitty piece of self you are”, “another day I’ve flushed down the toilet like a hideous self-killing creature I am”, and then comes about every attribute that I could easily sign my name next to – vicious, lame, weak, desperate, evil, ugly, furtive, devious, selfish, irresponsible, careless, stupid, lying, lazy, hedonistic, disgusting, chicken-shit. All of these are mine, I’ve earned them in a lifetime of living each day as if there were always going to be countless days to make up for the inconsistency of all the previous ones. I kept waiting for a miracle to happen – for me to go to bed one night as this person, whom I know too well, and wake up the next day a completely different one. If not kind and brilliant and hard-working and humble, I wish that I could wake up a decently realistic person (or a plain decent person), for once, one who knows too well where she is and how she could hang on to that place or try to always reach a better one. One step at a time, there should be plenty of time for this trip. Most of these days I do wake up holding a completely different version of myself than that which I fell asleep with, along with my daughter’s teddy bear – it happens at around 6 am, probably earlier, and that version of myself tells me “you’re way too cool to screw up anything of this day, or of any of the days that follow”. And then I fall back to sleep. And then I screw them.

I’ve been trying to put these pictures here, of me wearing what I could call my newest, most intriguing by now, uniform, on one of the two bridges that live in a number of my most intense memories of this town, of me in it. I’ve been failing to do so, until today. Just a few hours earlier, a man, his name and figure unknown to the people who were, at the time, witnessing what probably was that man’s most intense moment just because it was his last one, jumped off the second of those bridges, here in Ineu. Some people were coming back from work, some were going shopping at the supermarket nearby, others were just walking from one place to the other, not knowing exactly why and what for and probably being glad for it. The first thing I thought, when I heard, was thank God it wasn’t me. Of course, then I jumped back into my shoes, plugging myself back to that inner machine telling myself how ridiculous and over-the-top I always am, and that’s true. But I did remember that there was a time I really put a serious amount of thought into the matter of a bridge, back in my hometown. And, sadly for me, I was already on that bridge, and I was figuring out how everyone I knew back then would react to my performance of such a dreadful act. It was peculiarly contrasting to the plain nature of the gesture – one foot over the cold steel bar, both hands holding, the other foot over the cold steel bar, still both hands holding, then suddenly no more hands on it – the body would have been swallowed by the water in a matter of seconds. What would have happened afterwards was my main concern, as I knew I could swim and I probably would have, if I could.

There are way too many times that I wish I believed myself, upon thinking that the only thing I am better when compared to is non-existence – I am better than my potential definite absence, at least for these people living next to me. But to expect appraisal for such a tiny, insignificant favour to the world – the acceptance of being – is the most horrible thing to do, while I am here. And still, this is what I haven’t managed to refrain myself from doing, over and over and over again. I know why a man would want to jump off that bridge, I know it’s far from being a quality, but it sets me apart from a significant amount of people who wouldn’t know. I could never jump off that bridge, which is even less a quality than the first one. But the hell if I know how to pick a fight with myself without needing someone else to get me out of there, alive and willing to remain thus.

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2 thoughts on “The bridge

  1. Patricia Luiza

    I think that you are very brave to share such stories and deep thoughts online, where anyone could stumble upon them and that is a great quality. Keep doing what you’re doing, because you’re great :)

    Warmly,
    Luiza
    wingsforliberty.com

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