My mom decided to bring me into this beautiful world in the mid-90s in Latvia (yes, that’s a full-on country in Europe). From there on I was on my own to figure out how to get out of there alive and sane. It wasn’t all that bad, actually. I do dramatize a little.
From the very beginning of my life, I experienced bullying from other children in kindergarten and later in school. I never understood why it happened to me and if it was my fault. In high school, it was all about the looks and who got into the cities most famous clubs (yes, we partied like crazy at 15, I know now). So, a heap of underage snobs are trying to impress each other. Boring, in other words.
Well, are you getting it now? Why, all I ever wanted to do was get out? Nobody liked it. Especially since I talked about the great escape and my dreams so openly. All I ever heard was, Who do you think you are? Well, baby, let me tell you who I am and listen closely, so you won’t miss a word that’s coming.
So right after school, I packed everything I had to my name (full of two cars of stuff and a cat) and moved straight to Germany. Happy end. I’m kidding. I wish it would be so easy-peasy for me, but I found myself in a foreign country full of people I don’t understand on a mental level and who absolutely don’t care about my very existence.
The good thing in the hood is… well, the hood. The community. Everybody hates everyone, but people are still close and hold on to each other. In a country of 80+ million people, they don’t give a darn fuck about you. I was bullied for things that didn’t mean shit in this country’s reality. Yes, I was able to wear whatever the fuck I wanted (it was so bad that I was even bullied for the clothes I wore).
So I started my studies in a rather small city. As an engineer. Fucking full-on engineer with physics, chemistry, and mathematical analysis. Oh, and I met a rock star of the hood (the bigger one). He called himself a guardian of love and a spiritual man. He spoke from God, by the way.
As you may have predicted, I changed the university major (and the guy) right next year. I had a broken dream and a broken heart. Both needed healing, so I enrolled in textile design studies and was drinking about six wine bottles a week (working week; weekends were reserved for whiskey).
I wasn’t happy. Not a second. I somehow still tried to function (chase the dreams in my language) while lying on my couch all day every day. There was a free apartment in my house, so I rented it too and bought myself a whole park of industrial sewing machines because I was a designer and I wanted to design fashion. Oh, and I met an artist/DJ who told me he’s a horrible person and I need to stay away from him (are we still counting the red flags at this point?). And so flew the moth to a flame. Because what other than that would be the reason for the moth’s fucking existence, right?!
Skipping the drama (a lot of drama), I found myself years later on the same couch. Unhappy and with an unfinished degree. The artist guy was also gone (he still likes my photos, lol). The thought of going to therapy was terrifying to me. I wasn’t afraid of doctors. I just couldn’t accept the fact that I was the one who needed help. The one who wasn’t normal. All I ever wanted was to be normal. But there I was. Not normal at all.
It took me a whole six years to get out of this rabbit hole of fear and weakness. Six fucking years. The years when I was supposed to be young, sexy, and fun. I was drunk, depressed and had acne. My cat also died.
I moved to a new flat, found myself a job as a waitress, and it got even… worse. This wasn’t the life I imagined for myself. I was physically working for a minimal wage, wearing some really questionable décolletés to get more tips, and partying after work with people I didn’t even like. Something needed to change. Rather quickly.
When you order something at the universe’s bar, you need to be really specific. Otherwise, you get blacked out really quick.
I had the greatest heartbreak of my life. Again. Not again. We weren’t even together (he was married)(but was going to divorce soon)(I know, you don’t need to tell me anything). This situationship left me so deeply disappointed and broken inside that I decided it was time to change something for real. Deep inside, I knew that I physically and mentally wouldn’t be able to hold another heartbreak like this. I didn’t have the energy for a damn breath (only to inhale joint after joint on my neighbor’s couch).
So I started my first-ever year alone. I was serious about it. I read books about being alone. Not only that, but I cried every night, craving human touch and love. It wasn’t the hot single-girl life I imagined for myself. I doubted if I’d be able to ever be alone. I had plenty of time to myself. And… I dropped out of the university (unofficially, of course. I just stopped going to lectures).
I found myself a part-time job and was just living my life, lying to everyone around me that I’m going to write my thesis. It was about the time I met somebody. You know it when you look at the ground on a boiling summer day and the air makes these heat waves. He made the waves. I’m not kidding. I couldn’t hear a word or sound around me when I was looking at him. I fell in love immediately. Bad sign. Bad, bad sign.
This was the first love where I felt responsible for the outcome. I was so in love that I thought we were going to marry each other. One reason for that was the anxiety of another heartbreak that I wasn’t going to survive, and the other was my stupidity (in my head, I am always going to marry the man I’m currently dating). So I pulled every tanga string of my soul together and made my very first therapy appointment.
Going into therapy, I was afraid of two things. At first, I was afraid of losing myself (the famous spark). Second, I knew that when I healed, I wouldn’t be together with this man anymore. And I really didn’t want to lose him.
Fast-forward two years. I would say I healed. I dropped out of the college course for real. Started two (or three?) businesses with the man and one without him (he wasn’t especially keen on working). All I was thinking about: I don’t want the average life. But there I was, living my average life, going to therapy, and trying to sell some posters online. And losing money.
When none of these really great business ideas worked, and I didn’t have the money for a new one (working full-time wasn’t an option), I started to think about what I really wanted to do. Nothing came to mind. Then one evening I found myself looking at the 20th video about food and nutrition and finally recognized that through all of these years, there was only one thing I did consistently: go to the gym. I called my university, and the next day I was a student of nutrition sciences.
Yes, there are more awakenings. This is what happens when you don’t give up. You’re wide awake all the time (just kidding).
So, I was 25 and starting a new degree. Oh, and working part-time, having a business, and doing all the household chores on the side as well. It was pretty bad at this point. I found myself unhappy again, although I knew this wasn’t an internal unhappiness. And you know what big girls do when they find themselves crying over the dishwasher full of dirty dishes? Correct, they ditch the guy who didn’t unload it. But was I this girl at the time? No.
He made me cry at my mom’s wedding. He made me cry afterward. He made me cry. A lot. One morning, I woke up and decided it was over. While he was on his laptop, I started to clean up. Throwing his every fucking belonging out. Leaving only one pillow on the freshly made bed. When he asked, What was going on? I said he was going off. Just like that. I was proud of myself. This was the first time I wasn’t the one who was left crawling behind. It gives power, I must say.
So I began my second year alone. Although I felt pretty comfortable and healed at this point, and I knew I wasn’t going to die over a heartbreak (what a discovery), my sympathies for men fell drastically.
I didn’t want anyone around me. I was comfortable and at peace with myself. I picked up my passion for reading again and was pretty consistent with sports. I enjoyed my studies and had a job. What could you want more of? Oh yes, it was still me. And I wanted more.
As you may guess, it wasn’t the end of the story. And as you may guess as well, I only learn from heartbreaks, so where’s the next guy?
I met him at the peak of my self-confidence (measuring the year 2022). A hometown boy. I know, right? It wasn’t even a date. We were friends at school. We just met after years of no contact, and I was telling him about me (I learned to talk about me with confidence and love) and what I wanted from life. The list was looong. At this point, I was so proud of myself and happy being alone that I wasn’t afraid to speak out all the wishes and standards I had (I finally had some).
You know how they always tell you that you’re not supposed to tell the guy about everything you want on a first date because he’s going to think about you things? Well, this was precisely what I did. I didn’t care. I told him about the half-million-dollar car I wanted, a wedding on Como Lake, and a Cavoodle (beige, of course). About how I didn’t want to work, and men’s money is our money, and my money is my money (oh, the guys don’t like this one). Basically, everything. And you know what he did?
He smiled at me and said, Okay. OKAY. Not like laughing at me and calling me crazy. He was being serious. He agreed to all the listed conditions. You know where I was three days later? At his fucking mama’s house.
Sounds like a fairy tail, right? Well, here I am. Almost a year later. Writing this story down and being so thankful for this one last story. He made me believe I could be who I wanted to be and get what I want. You’re asking yourself why I left him? This story is for one another time…
Love you,
Lorena