I once had a weird, scary dream. A witch was hunting and haunting me all night long. I tried to escape and I hopped on a bus that stopped close to me.
The witch followed me a bit like the ghost on the subway in the movie Ghost. I remember the number of the bus was 4.
In the end the which didn’t catch me as I woke up before.
The next morning I checked the numbers of buses in the city. There was no bus no. 4. It was a relief. The dream was really so vivid.
I told my story to a friend and he said: Bus no. 4? Interesting.
– It doesn’t exist, right?
– It actually does. At the time of Day of remembrance for the death it takes you to the cemetery.
Isn’t that a scary coincidence?
As I was living in the vicinity of the hospital centre I always took some time to visit the patients I knew well. Some great friendships came out of these visits.
But once my drunkard relative who I actually didn’t want to visit was hospitalised. They called me that I should, or better must pay a visit and that I should report on her condition immediately.
Well, I went. I would go anyway with some hesitation probably, but now when I was forced to do it, I hardly made myself go.
So, I came to her. She was sitting on her bed. Again, grumpy and sick of life. The life didn’t offer me much opportunities to get to know her. Officially, we were not talking, but now when she was in hospital, we should fake that we get along just fine.
And there she was. My blood who got so drunk that she hurt her head so much she ended up in hospital. Slowly she melted a bit and asked me for a favour. To get her some cigarettes. I asked for the brand and went to get them.
I came back, put the packet into the case beside the bed, asked a bit about how she was feeling and similar chitchat. Her answers were short, abrupt and impertinent. I was used to her being like that. I didn’t stay long. Why would I?
She unmade my beautiful day. Blah.
I didn’t call home about how she was. They called me. Namely, a furious nurse called that someone has given her cigarettes and that she lit one after dinner. In her hospital bed.
Of course, I was guilty. I should have known that she is going to smoke. I didn’t expect she would smoke inside the hospital.
A huge smile crawled across my face.
After four months I finally feel a little better. Even though I spend every second day mostly in bed, sleeping and reading and sleeping again.
Caffeine is supposed to be my greatest enemy. My adrenal glands nod with a wide smile when I don’t take any and put me to sleep again.
I used to work a lot or better I did a lot. I learned to make my work and life a computer game. I always had a lot of fun.
Then I broke down and burned out. How come? I am on a quest of finding out what put me in this quicksand that made me fear for my life.
Was it really work or the other obligations I have in my life?
Was it really me or the venomous people around me?
Was it a really hard lesson, maybe the hardest of my life, I have to learn from?
Was it that only some of us are given the opportunity to feel that much and react emotionally?
Is it that the modern world prefers numb and it is telling me to change accordingly?
Well, I have the right to choose myself. I have the right to make it as I want it.
The biggest mistake I made that I got burned out because I burned for others not for me.
It’s about time I did it for me.
The legs can’t carry my body.
I am shaking.
My whole body trembling in this fear.
I am not ok.
Everything is a frustration.
I can’t bear it any longer.
This is too much.
Powerless I crumble into featus.
I breathe and hope it will pass.
It won’t. It perseveres.
I feel like vomiting.
All my muscles cramp.
This is not me.
The ambulance comes.
They will help me.
I try to entertain them.
I always try to entertain everybody.
I always try to please.
I don’t realise it is not the right time.
The legs can’t carry me.
Stepping slowly towards the resurrection. The path is full of sweat, pain and disgust. Feeling even more sick that I hardly believe this will in the end make me feel better.
But there is hope. I tried just about everything to save me in this situation. I tried but it is too strong to heal fast.
Stepping slowly upwards the Calvary. I will be saved in the end, the old me will die.
And the new me will arise and go unburdened with all the suffering I had gone through in my past life.
This Calvary is the last I stroll in my life. This I promise to myself.
Come on. Totally aware that when I feel good I feel guilty. This is the trick my conscience plays on me.
Maybe tomorrow I feel a little worse, so that I silence this sound of guilty conscience a bit.
Wondering why it exists in the first place. It’s rooted in my brain for 4 decades and it’s completely normal to feel this way. I actually have no knowledge of any other feeling I could have at these situations.
I served and I felt guilty. It felt right at that time.
I stopped serving and they want me to feel guilty. They tricked me into a disguised guilt with a quilt, so it didn’t seem so mean at first.
As time passes, this feeling will go away. They were mean. I have every right to be free. Truly be free.
Since you left this world. The news shattered my heart.
The life didn’t give us many chances to spend some of it together. The parents hating each other, we only enjoyed some secret moments together as children.
But you were a geek. A master and a monster in what you knew the best. You were always making me go wow, wow, wow.
Then that Sunday you tried not to hurt anyone. And instead of anyone else you hit and fell and your soul left your body.
It’s been ten years since you left, only 32 years old.
My dear, I miss you, I always will.
I was always proud of my hair. They’re mom’s. Abundant, curly, not too much, strong and long. The disease I have brings many surprises, as well as the pills I have to take.
Today when I combed my mane a lock of hair appeared in my hand. I’ve read that losing hair is part of the burnout syndrome, but didn’t think it would thin out mine.
I guess that I should accept the fact that my body is changing due to the burden it was carrying for so much time.
The hope that this period will not last much more helps me to persist.
I had to run. We all had to run. My body succumbing to the fear I was living in for my entire life.
The relationships I tried to exist in were too demanding, actually they existed only if I bent in. And I had been doing it for decades. They got used to me like this, not wanting anything, not opposing, not complaining. I thought they would appreciate this, but I was wrong.
They only care about the money. This is always the main concern for them, as money makes the world go round.
My eyes have seen so much suffering in dying people’s eyes. A million dollars couldn’t take it away. Not then, not now.
I learned the lesson, they apparently didn’t.
It is unbelievable. Truly unbelievable. I have found myself in a distant town, watching my girl play in the playground. The absence of fear is so new to me that I fear I won’t cope.
I haven’t coped before, actually I coped beyond my capabilities and then I broke and my body could not withhold it anymore.
Now, I am here away from home, realising that I never had one, coping with the syndrome of those who cannot cope – the burn-out syndrome.
Will I survive? Still not sure. Will I persist? Probably. Will I learn from it? No doubt.