Easy?

I have to learn to take it easy. Yesterday when “my” social worker saw me, that’s what she said too. I am too controlling, I try to control the reactions of people around me, their thoughts even, and I spend way too much energy on that.

But in the last months, I have been slowly easing my grip. I mean, I am far less controlling than I was. Even in bed, I learned to let go.

My life always seems to me one giant mess, like a knot, whichever side I try to pull the thread out off, tightens the knot. There’re just so many obligations! Work, love, friends, writing, taking care of my appearance, the gym, shopping and looking after my house, keeping in touch, the net, reading, learning Dutch. Then there’re things that I would like to have in my life, but don’t or hardly do: meditation, volunteering, traveling (and planning that travel), yoga, more sports, more good movies, more good books, writing a book (and not this blog), painting.

Yesterday I updated this blog from work, but there was a bug in the system and everything I wrote disappeared. Course I was frustrated, but didn’t have time to dwell on it, because I had to run out for a meeting, and other things were calling. All I know is, something gotta give. I hardly have time to live my life, let alone document it. But it’s happening. And it’s pretty damn wonderful. Besides the sad, dark bits, or even because of them (where there’s no darkness, there’s no light, right?).

Just very briefly, while my oatmeal cools and before I rush out to the supermarket and then work, the events of the last days:
I told P. about B. and he was the sweetest. But before that we talked about our families. Or rather (something which I feel slightly ticked off with myself about), he talked about his, and I cut him off and began to talk about mine. But there you go: the control thing again. How to control a man. How to keep him with you (despite having HIV; maybe I should write one of this manuals). Number one rule: listen when he talks and let him finish, or else.
Anyhoo, I made some pretty serious revealing breakthroughs about my life in the historic perspective, something which I would probably have had to pay a therapist for years to achieve. Just by telling someone about my parents, and grandparents.

God I love him.
I have hope that B’.s diagnosis is false and caused by the malaria (which he is being treated for; he isn’t being treated for HIV). But I might never know. As long as he lives for years and years and years with HIV diagnosis and isn’t told to take drugs (because his CD4 counts don’t go low enough) I guess I can live with it. I guess, because the chance that I infected him isn’t great, but it’s real. It may well have been me. But, it could be someone or even something else. Yet, even if I was 100% certain it wasn’t me, and in fact even if I knew he is negative and “just” has malaria, I’d help out. I owe him that much, for sticking by me, despite our terrible rows (one time I thought he’d kill me, after I pushed him) we did a lot of good to each other, I wouldn’t be here, in fact I don’t know if I would have survived, literally, the last years, without him, and he, well, would probably be in some kind of hell or another.

And asides from all this, he is a human being, and a friend.

I could write for hours now, really, about everything I figured out last night and this morning, and about how grateful I feel, but the day calls (not to mention various unproductive activities on internet forums), so I will be off.

I am dying, itching, craving to write, for real.