I don’t know what my problem is today. I think the sleep deprivation might have finally pushed me over the edge. I’ve been sitting around rainy, depressing Zagreb doing nothing and hating on myself.
I managed to get real sleep last night, which is perhaps why I’m really annoyed now. I thought I’d feel better, but apparently the sleep debt still has a few repayments due. It might even have accrued interest. In any case, I got up determined to do something with myself, so I ate 4 bananas (the only thing I had that resembled a breakfast) and disappeared into the city streets. I should have known right away that something was wrong, but I still had residual happiness lingering in my psyche. I thought it’d be enough to get me through.
So I’m walking down the street and I’m thinking about throwing myself in front of a speeding tram. Then I’m thinking about beating the hell out of a gyspy in the street, crying out for change. Then I’m drifting through history thinking about the violence in human nature. Then I realise I’m lost. How did this happen? I only took one turn and yet I’m hopelessly awash at sea. The rain is in my hair and in my shoes. I feel like shit. I hate Zagreb and I can’t be fucked with any of this tourist shit any more.
So I rally. I go through the motions of all the things that usually cheer me up. I pick a goal and follow it through: get something to eat and get back to the hostel. I do this, but it isn’t enough. I hit the computer and I want to write something but I’m just so damn sick of myself that I sit impotently at the blank screen.
I get on the internet and talk to pretty much every friend I have in this world on a combination of Skype, MSN and Facebook chat, and impossibly, I still hate myself. What is going on here? I try another walk and nothing. I start stewing in it. I think awful thoughts, and I think them real loud. I want to get back, get on the blog and just rip myself apart for everyone to see. I guess in a way that’s what I’m doing now, even though I no longer intend it.
I realise that I need to get some dinner so I go out to find something. I don’t want to eat out, I don’t want to be around people I don’t want anyone looking at me. Somehow I can’t find the supermarkets, even though I’ve been to two just the day before. I’m getting really worked up. There’s a storm inside me that’s far worse than the weather outside.
Eventually I find the stores and I calm down enough to walk inside in a composed way. Inside a crazy woman is wreaking havoc with the staff, making outrageous demands in Croatian, scratching her hands, her string-hair shaking. I want to just snap her neck.
Later I’ve calmed down. I’m in the hostel chatting with a nice Canadian guy with a cool sense of humour. We seem to ‘get’ each other. After a chat I decide to make myself dinner. I’ve picked up some rice, some frozen vegetables and some kind of Asian mystery sauce. (I can’t read the label). For some reason whenever I’m feeling angry, sad, self-pitying or self-destructive I end up attempting to cook. So far everything I’ve made is edible. It shits me not being able to make anything decent. I hate having to buy minimal and shitty quality things. I have no choice. No storage space, can’t take things with me, can’t trust people not to steal my shit.
This day was a mess. When I get back I’m going to cook something real.