Monday, 5 February 2018

On leaving home for the first time and being alone

Before coming to the Netherlands to study, I had lived in the same city for the entirety of my life and in the same house since I was 5. Home was therefore, clearly defined, and I can clearly visualize every nook and cranny of my house. Home is more than just a physical space, but rather a complete package, a warm place where you can find you family, friends and the feeling of belonging. It is comfortable and you are sheltered from the dark of the outside world. Yet this comfort is also what pushed me to want to get out of it. Initially, I planned to go to University to Bucharest, but I was afraid that I would stagnate in comfort, in the familiar. I chose to go to the Netherlands, without visiting it before and not having the slightest idea what I was getting myself into. I knew of tulips, of how it was flat, of how marijuana was legal, of high-speed trains. Little did I know that I was doing more than simply moving physically in another spot. I was permanently altering myself, my perceptions, my knowledge of who I was and what I believed, in ways I am still discovering today, one and a half year later.
            One of the most vivid moments was when I was lead to my room and the door closed behind me. That was the moment I realized the following things. First, I was truly alone for the first time in my life. Second of all, I had no idea what I was doing. Third, I realized that I had no idea of what was necessary for one to sustain himself on his own. This manifested itself in the small things, such as not having any cutlery, any kitchenware, interior decorations, god damn toilet paper. Fourth of all, and probably the most relevant thing, is that I realized that when you are alone, just you with yourself, silence becomes very, very loud. Incredibly loud, deafening loud. And the noise followed me everywhere, as it was in me. It was hard to sleep at night, because the thoughts wouldn’t stop coming. I started on the wrong foot by isolating myself, by finding reasons not to go out, and when I did go out, I tried my best to avoid any people or social interaction. Living in a building with 400 other people certainly did not help, and I ended up putting myself in the most absurd of situations, such as being anxious over small things like “If someone’s door is open on the corridor, do I peak in and say hi as I am walking or do I keep going?”. And so, I created some very unhealthy patterns of anxieties, of closing myself off, of punishing myself for reasons that I did not really know.
            Sadness is addictive and comfortable, as it does not require you to take action. All it demands of you is that you do not get out of it. Gradually, I lost sense of who I was, or rather who I believed I was. It became clear that all the knowledge of who I was and how my personality is were given by circumstances back home which were no longer in this new, unfamiliar land. The question of “Who am I?” followed me for at least 6 months, and the more I sought the answer, the less I knew what the answer was. I desperately wanted to go back home, to be back to something I knew, to something to give me some comfort. And home I went, during winter break. I expected the answer to become clear, but everything became even more fuzzy. My grandmother dying in the break certainly did not help in me finding any resemblance of balance, the noise becoming even louder. And so, I returned back in the Netherlands, even more confused. Answering that it was “good” in the break became an automated response to all the people who asked me how it was, as I knew that actually giving an honest answer probably implied me having a breakdown right there on the spot. I did not have time for breakdowns anyways. Grades were needed to receive financial support, and I had to be functional. I could not afford to worry about my existential dread. So, on and on I went, half functional, half anxious, through the remainder of the year. The noise started to slowly reduce its intensity, but the pressure was still there. I was looking forward for summer break back home in Romania, hopefully managing to get some answers to my questions.
            I did get answers. None of them were pleasant, but all of them have been very helpful in my process of healing. I expected to come back and see the same old things, but I was very wrong. While I was busy changing in the Netherlands, my friends, my family and Romania were also busy changing. What I was looking for simply ceased to exist, metamorphosing into something else, the same way I did. Home and belonging disappeared the moment I boarded the plane, yet I held very hard to these concepts as I knew them. All that accumulated in a year wanted to burst out, and so it did, at a very appropriate moment during a music festival. It was probably the most emotionally intense and heavy feeling I have ever felt, and an incredibly releasing experience.
            I’ll skip other details and I’ll jump straight to the conclusions, which I believe are applicable to most people. Being with yourself is not easy. But it will be the only thing you will ever have. Do not confuse being alone with being lonely. Being lonely is you missing human interaction and isolating yourself. Being alone is something you always are. Even when with people, you are alone. Even in a relationship, you are alone. That does not mean that you cannot have connection with other people, or feeling like you belong. But before you start looking for these things in other people, look for them in yourself. If you rely on friends to give you validation, you will have a hard time. If you hope that those around you can give you the love that you need, you are setting yourself up for future disaster and misery. You might disagree with me by this point, but you know very well how it is when you have a problem with yourself, and you hope that someone else can fill in the gap. They might fill the gap, for a while. But the problem remains. And eventually the problem will hit you again. And it hits you again because the entire approach is wrong. You cannot hope for the outside to solve your inside. The other way around is much more insightful and enriching. Looking for the external solution is a temporary solution to a much deeper problem. Do not get me wrong. Exploring your inner-self will confront you to some unpleasant things. It will bring back bad memories, bad experiences. It will reveal to you the whole extent of the pain you carry within yourself. Embarking on this journey is arguably much harder than relying on external help. But the more you explore, the more you will surprise yourself. Your intuition will become sharper. You will no longer be bothered by being alone. You will realize that who you think you are and your personality are in no way fixed, and you can change them by working with yourself. You will stop being so stiff with fears, and you’ll learn how to flow. And the noise, the great deafening noise, will revert back to true silence. This is something I am still working on, as last year still comes to me sometimes. But whenever I get anxious now, I know not to take it too personally and not to overthink a feeling. Feelings are to be felt and thoughts are to be thought. They do mix, and at best they complement each other, at worst, they amplify the negativity. Try drawing the line carefully. And for God’s sake, stop hating yourself so much. You wouldn’t burn down the house you live in, why would you burn yourself?
Until next time,

-Vlad

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