Walk Out

It is funny how you can go to sleep with a smile on your face and wake up the next morning crying. I guess it means I am just not happy at the moment. It is the beginning of that feeling deep in my chest that I had living in London, when I knew that I was moving to Israel. But the difference is that I am not going anywhere. I am staying here… with this feeling that leaves me crying on the way to work, snapping at my boss and wanting to walk out and start the day again tomorrow.

The tips of my ears are constantly itching and red hot. The voices are all around me and they are all the saying the same things. I want to shout out and make myself heard but the looks say, “Be a good girl, play your part and try not to say something stupid.” There is no refuge. No home I have in this country where I do not feel this in some way and I try to understand what happened that made me the village idiot. My gut is to just walk away, start afresh and find something new. But I am getting to an age where that would just be foolish, and as I am in fact not the village idiot, I refuse to behave like one.

I try and think about all the good things currently in my life, and there are lots of those treasures around me that I love and adore and who I know respect me for the person they know I am. The ones who take the time to listen to my stories, the friends who walk me all the way home because they see I am too drunk to get there myself, those who know they can rely on me for anything and do, those who understand that when I am calling ‘just to say hey’ that is cue for them to make me laugh, the people who are always around, always there and always care what is going on in my life, not just when they want something in return.

There are enough people close around me that have no idea who I am or what I feel, for if they did they certainly would not take advantage of my kindness the way they do. I feel like I have ‘mug’ written on my forehead and with every smirk that it is sent my way, the lettering becomes darker and darker and is tattooed deeper into the creases. I try to wipe it off, but there on the other side is the word ‘nagger’ so it is either one or the other. So what do I do instead? Nothing. I shut my mouth, I don’t say a word. I pretend like everything is fine, that I am not hurt, disappointed or offended. I could pretend like this forever. I can be a good actress when need be. The only thing is that I am miserable.

(Sorry to be so morbid on my 100th posting… I swear it will get better)

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About channahboo

I was once a Yorkshire lass, I guess I still am, but after moving to London and then on to Tel Aviv, New York and then back to Tel Aviv again, I wonder how much of the Yorkshire lass is left. The adventure continues and although many see my life as an extended episode of Seinfeld (you are free to laugh), I can also empathise with the Buddhist thought of life as our punishment. I guess the important part is the love that you carry with you through life’s journey and my back often feels the joyous strain of the weight of the love I carry.
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