Skip to main content

When a murderer lives inside your head

Schopenhauer says to live is to climb a mountain and when you see what is waiting for you on the other side of the mountain too early in life, you can never climb it the same way. I saw what was on the other side and decided I was simply not climbing that mountain anymore, unless pushed the way up. You wouldn’t realize that just by looking at me then. You wouldn’t see that I had quit. I would wake up, take showers, eat (actually there would be a lot of eating), go to work, do whatever obligation I was supposed to. I would even go out with friends or family.

But if you looked really closer, you would realize I was only automatically responding to demands, except for the food. Food became my only source of pleasure. How was all the rest performed? At work, if there were tasks and deadlines, I’d do them, using no more than the basic skills required.  As to my social life, it rested on the plans of others. They would say when and where to go. They would pick me up and bring me home. I would smile, have conversations… and eat.

Seeing me there, at work or with friends, you could think life can go on normally, even when horrible things happen to you. You could feel hopeful. But if you had seen what was going on in my mind then, you would have contemplated a different picture. As soon as I arrived somewhere I had an urge to leave. I could not focus on what they were saying so my mind wondered. I pretended to listen and just observed the line of ants on the wall. I payed attention on how the little creatures simply knew the direction to follow and I smiled at my friends.  The fact is that nobody wanted to talk about the only thing that really mattered to me. They all wanted me to move on, to forget, to be happy. I wasn’t happy! I had no interest in what they were talking, I had no plans for the future and I couldn’t careless about anybody else’s plans. They didn’t know. I doubled.

At home, I would watch movies with my husband and he would cook for me. Lying in bed, I would  picture myself dead on the bathroom floor, wrists cut, a river of blood… Relief. Relief was what I felt picturing that scene. I would also pass by a long bridge on my way to work and imagine:  “what if I make a sharp turn to the right and just let the car fall down the lake, let the water slowly fill it up... Relief. They don’t know, my friends, but once they tried to cheer me up and took me hiking. I was still weak and walked in a much slower pace then they did. Now and then they would remember and would slow down for me. We reached this large canyon with beautiful waterfalls and I admired their magnificence. “What if I fell”, I thought.  

I also doubled at work. I didn’t smile much anymore, but all responsibilities were up to date. While, I emailed people, worked on reports and had meetings, I looked around at the furniture, the PCs, the piles of paper and simply saw myself insanely throwing them all to the ground, screaming, and kicking them around. Sometimes, in this scene I imagined there would also be the throwing of PCs through the windows of the 9th floor where I used to work. At that time of my life I had a secret murderer living inside my head. I would drive and see a bunch of people crossing the streets, all together, going about their lives, in movement.   I would stop and wait for them to cross, but the thought would cross my mind: What if I speed up, what if…

Comments

  1. Quanta intensidade !

    ReplyDelete
  2. Wow! Deep! Now I know what you were going through then...

    ReplyDelete
  3. Lorena, I had overlooked this post somehow. Very powerful, and haunting. Those with great light have often seen the darkest of days, and you are blazing with light. I'm glad you hung on through the darkness. Keep writing!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Maio, 2017 - Fim de tarde em Brasília

Um burburinho de barzinho no fim de tarde. Tudo parece igual. Amigos se encontram no Café, grupos ocupam as mesas maiores. Adoram sentar-se ao lado de quem lê um livro, de quem está só. Desconfiam dessa solidão e afrontam-na.Alguém solta uma gargalhada alta.Tudo normal, tudo como antes.
A música contorna as conversas e risadas: “Cai o rei de espadas, cai o rei de ouro, cai o rei de paus, cai não fica nada…” Nada é, na verdade, como antes, como o dia de ontem. Hoje, o ar que se respira é grosso, agressivo e sufocante. Nada, abaixo da epiderme do mundo está igual. A brisa leve não engana. Refresca o corpo, mas a alma treme.
Agora, toca Roda-Viva. “Como pode? Ontem mesmo era ano 2000.” Quando o golpe se deu e as ideias estapafúrdias começaram a surgir com projetos que tinham o nome de músicas da minha infância, regravações dos anos 80 começaram a entupir os programas de rádio. Hoje, Elis e Chico ressurgem nesse Café, fazendo o sentido que já não faziam há tantos anos. Apertam o meu pe…

Recém casados

Recém-casados, um apartamento de dois quartos para um casal. Parecia muito, a princípio, um privilégio. Não tinham filhos. Tem gente que mora em um quarto e sala com oito meninos. Dormem uns por cima dos outros, amontoados, redes por cima de redes. Eles tinham um escritório. Olha o luxo! E uma cozinha americana!

O problema é que para onde ela se virava, lá estava ele, um sorriso nos lábios e aquele olhar tranquilo. E tudo que ela pensava era: "Meu Deus, agora para onde eu me virar vou dar de cara com ele? Ganhei essa sombra! Aff!" Disfarçava, sorria de volta, um sorriso daqueles que não mostram os dentes, só empurram as bochechas para os lados. Até que acordou um dia e foi escovar os dentes, a pasta de dentes apertada no meio.  Deu um grito. Ele correu para a porta solícito. Era demais! O rosto queimando, berrou: "Olha, assim não dá! Eu preciso do meu espaço!" 
Saiu marchando, bateu a porta, andou uns 20 minutos em volta do quarteirão. Quando a respiração voltava ao…

Lembranças, mudanças e rumos

Uma amiga me diz que nos anos setenta, houve uma infestação de ratos em Brasília e que eles saiam pelo ralo do bidê  e entravam nos apartamentos da Asa Norte. Ela pergunta se eu não me lembro. Não lembro. "Mesmo? Não lembra?" Não lembro.

Não lembro da infestação, não lembro de comentários, notícias. Respondo que era muito pequena, mas ela é mais nova que eu. Sorrio sem graça, sem mostrar os dentes: "É, não lembro." O que lembro é de sempre ter tido medo de ratos, mais do que de baratas. E de sempre sonhar com eles em tempos de angústia, preocupação. Uma vez vi um video de um churrasco na casa dos meus país em que tento alertar minha mãe da passagem de um rato e ela me ignora. De certo não queria chamar a atenção dos convidados para a presença do animal asqueroso que corria no canto da cerca. Não queria interromper sua cantoria e seu ensolarado dia de domingo e, por isso, ignorou completamente a fala da criança inconveniente.

Uma amiga me contou também  que já se ol…