Someday we will dream about today (c)
We had been planning this escape to Washington since winter. Last fall absolutely shattered me, and in the most unexpected way — after so many years of teaching, I ended up in a thoroughly nasty situation, crawling out of it utterly exhausted, battered, and beaten down. It was arguably the worst experience of my teaching career. And it was nearly devastating.
I think the idea of Washington flew into Indianapolis right along with Joseph. The city was buried knee-deep in snow then, and he stayed over at my place. I remember him opening his bag and pulling out a green sweatshirt with the word ‘Seattle’ on it. “This is so you can start mentally preparing for the visit.”
Somewhere around spring, my mental state somewhat returned to normal. Well, “normal.” Crying and shaking through a cocktail of three meds, insomnia, binge eating, inability to focus. Thank God I’m alive.
Closer to summer, the reality of being unemployed set in, and I had no idea how I was going to afford a trip, let alone afford to live. Back in Moscow, our legal battle over the apartment dragged on; shortly after, my mom ended up in the ICU, and my cousin kept pressuring me — about how I had no money, and how I just fucked off and abandoned everybody.
I wanted to cancel the trip so badly. Joseph and I talked. And I didn’t cancel a thing. I just flew.
I felt like crying, and I did cry, pretty much every single day of the week I was there. I cried from helplessness, from self-pity, from joy, from booze. One night I even threw up. I took a hit of sativa, got blasted to shit on the dance floor, and the next thing I remember is us getting into a cab, getting out of the cab, and me puking in the living room. The next morning, Joseph told me how many people wanted to meet me at the club — apparently, my accent was that cool.
I don’t know what all that was about.
I went there, and the mere thought of seeing a bunch of acquaintances felt unbearable. I literally wanted no one and nothing. I’m so grateful for the chance to just put life on pause for a week and not have to make any decisions.
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When your entire family is just yourself, and you’re going through a phase like this… you desperately need to be able to hand the steering wheel over to someone else. Even if just for a little bit. And I can’t express enough gratitude for having that chance.
I cried when I arrived, and I cried when I left. Coming back to Indiana was even scarier — a mountain of unresolved issues tumbled off my desk and practically knocked me out of my chair. When your whole family is just you, you step up and take care of your family. Because at the end of the day, it’s your fight. People will help you, but you’re the only one who can win it.
And I realized that you can keep going, you can keep fighting, and you don’t always have to win with fanfare and glitter. The only way out is through. And it doesn’t hurt anymore; I’ll settle for a medal. And it worked. A string of imperfect victories. Shutting off all emotions and just plowing the fuck through, because there’s simply no other way.
It’s like that time at Lake Baikal when I got stuck on the mountain pass — I either had to walk the trail to the very end, or fall off a cliff and die.
There is so much cruelty out there right now. The systems are failing. First and foremost, the nervous ones. People are breaking up, arguing, fighting, thrashing about, pushing each other around. And sometimes, it’s simply because they have absolutely zero strength left. Like when you’re a kid, and things feel so unfair and unbearable that you just throw yourself on the floor, kicking, howling, ready to fight the whole world.
There’s so much cruelty around us right now that the easiest thing we can do is just… not be cruel to each other. Maybe even do some good. Any kind of good. Sometimes, just choosing not to tear someone down is an act of good. Going to the grocery store together is an act of good. Mopping the floors together. Lying down and listening to a new album. Going out to look at the flowers in the yard. Not taking the bait. Asking for help. Accepting help. Refusing to take part in the cruelty.
Everything feels incredibly tense right now. Do you feel it? Like a pot boiling over, the lid rattling from the steam. The lid is just being blown the fuck off. Let’s be nice. The least we can do.
All photos by me, Maxim Bulanov
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