Friday, February 8, 2008

Reap the Benefits


After all these years of social isolation, I'm starting to question my position even more. After wanting to leave The Netherlands for so long, detesting the place, feeling resentful of the natives who don't appear open to anything or anyone new, I'm starting to actually value my position. I wouldn't advise this course to anyone. I'm sure there are few people who would be able or willing to tolerate what I've gone through here. Most people would have left, gotten a job, or done something long ago. But it's because I hold on to the idea of a creative life that I haven't made any of the obvious choices. Well, it's more complicated than that, of course. I'm sure I could pursue a lot of things, but none of it seems very attractive at all to me. Only the dream holds its allure, through all of the nagging loneliness, and feelings of utter dejection, I still haven't given up the idea that someday I will experience a great outpouring. A lot of the raw material is already there, and there are many reasons I've left it where it is. A lot of it has to do with anxiety, and again, the pain of social isolation, which has been eating away at me for all of these years.

I've often believed that if I had a supportive social network, I could accomplish more. I've craved the social support that would make my creativity possible. It's been one of my dreams, and I've been trying all of these years to build it up, little by little. Certainly, it would be better for my children if I had more friends. But I think I've reached a stalemate. I've made a few friends, and certain contacts go on, but I'm coming to view my social isolation as a valuable asset. Sure, there are lots of nice people. I'm not going to sit here and say that there isn't anyone of value out there. I've met some here, and I'm sure that little by little, I will meet more. I'm no people hater. But I will say that people disappoint. There aren't too many people out there I can rely upon to any degree. I'm not being very clear because I'm holding back here. I guess what I'm saying is, my isolation causes me pain, but many of the people I've met have also caused me pain. Not all of them, of course, but I've spent time licking my wounds, and I'm always forgiving people in my mind. I give people the benefit of the doubt, but I wonder if it's worth feeling mistreated to do so.

I wouldn't like to find myself in a position where I have no stimulating contacts left with people. A terrible position to find oneself in. I decry the day when that happens. I hope it never does. Over the years I've put a lot of hope in the new people I meet, because I'm not a hopeless person. And it's happened that the one or two people I've put my hope in have let me down again and again, which brings me back to my isolation. Maybe I'll turn into one of those people who creates art out of great despair, but I'm a mother, so I can't allow myself to become a creative, raving mad woman.

What I am saying is that, after all of the years living here in misery, really, it's almost like a total white-out, a blank, it's been so traumatic, I'm starting to think it isn't so bad. I think I can actually work my way out of my dysfunction. I really do. I really do believe that I have not suffered in vain. After all, extreme social isolation is a unique position to be in, a well-spring. I have very few social obligations, a lot of time to waste, and hey, I'm not feeling too much pain now, which could be a little scary, but it could also be a time of personal revolution.

It's still difficult, uncomfortable, irksome, when I pick up my children from school, and the people there, including the teachers, ignore me. It makes me angry. I really can't figure out what I've ever done to deserve to be ignored so totally. They won't even look at me. There are two mothers who will talk to me now, and two or three others who will say hello occasionally. This is supposed to be one of the best schools in Rotterdam, but the people there treat me like I've committed a heinous crime. You'd think I reeked of dead fish, or that my body was oozing puss from every pore. These are the parents of children my children associate with five days a week, so there's definitely something wrong with these people. I'm not sure what I'll do, or how I'll feel after another six years of this, or if I'll be able to tolerate going there another year. Obviously, it's untenable, but that's what I keep saying. I will be here for ten years in August, and I keep saying the same things. It's inhumane, and I've been reeling from it for years, and I'm still a person, after all. Everyone wants acceptance. It will never cease to amaze how stingy and xenophobic this populace is. But I'm coming to believe that I'm better off not knowing them. I've spent a lot of time feeling hurt and dejected, but it's really better. Why would I want to be friends with people like that, anyhow. It would be nice if they were capable of granting me a minimum amount of basic respect. I'm not asking for great friendship. I'm just asking for basic kindness, fellow consideration. I'm not sure what gives them the right to snub me so outrightly, but they do. Oh well. If I did have contact with them, my children might end up playing at their houses, and driving with them in their cars without proper child safety restraints, so maybe I should be thankful.

Since I don't have very much money at all, I sometimes mine my bookshelves for books I bought, and never read. Lately I've been reading Susan Sontag essays, after having read a review of a book her son wrote on her death in The New York Review of Books, and I'm very happy to be reading it. It makes me feel a little better about my situation to read "The artist as exemplary sufferer," and other essays. Mostly I feel trapped in my suffering. Mostly, most days, I'm scrambling around, looking for a way out of it. I have pills, I exercise, I stopped drinking alcohol, for the most part. I'm working on becoming stable, normal. I've been trying to turn things around as much as possible, and it's working. The periods when I walk around on the verge of tears seem to becoming a thing of the past. I am starting to be able to walk past all of those snobbish, rich, Dutch assholes, without wondering what's wrong with me. Should I dress better, do I need a haircut?

It's funny, I thought it would be better to send my kids to that school. It's supposed to be very good. They have high test scores. I thought I would have more of a social network going there. I thought perhaps my world would broaden, but it hasn't exactly happened that way, and it's costing me my plane fare home every year to send them there.

But I guess I just need to forget about all of it, and forge on into my life as a writer.

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