Aside from a couple of limitations, I am mentally healthy.
All the more shocking for me that I gave myself over to this madness.
This is something discerning researchers usually don’t do.
For me it was always clear: things fall to the floor when you let them slip or throw them.
With Manuel everything always flew to the sky.
But this fascination with clarification.
This urge to understand that is stronger than any self-preservation.
Than any mechanism.
I spent one year in Guatemala, teaching values, working with children, collecting experiences. I am a “suitcase kid”, I love to travel. For me, places are paths.
Jobs are too set for me, I try myself out, graduation done, I don’t really need that much.
I am very curious.
A true researcher.
But Guatemala has me in its grip.
I go back for vacation, meet people old and new.
A board game night.
No sex, only attraction.
End of vacation.
We write each other the way people write today.
And essentially my story only begins now.
We don’t have a relationship, We are not really a couple.
When I write him that I was out for dinner with some friends he attacks me, calls me a bad person, implies I am sleeping with other guys.
Calls me a whore.
Verbal eruption of violence.
I can’t find myself in his words. This form of dialog is so foreign to me that I don’t answer, can’t answer.
I am none of the things he insinuates.
Mostly he is drunk when those sentences fall.
I’m somewhere remote, even remote to myself.
And then I fly back. Oneway ticket.
Leave everything behind.
Because I miss the country so much.
And because the researcher needs answers.
Which I get.
I really get there, it’s a good job, a hotel I practically run by myself.
There is him.
I forget the texts he sent me, the madness in them.
Because it’s not him, it’s not important.
Because he simply is fabulous.
Sensitive, reflected, affectionate.
Even without his body.
With his body it is the best experience I ever had.
Something really mind-blowing.
The best sex of my life, nothing ever compared before or after.
Does it make you stupid – or blind?
I don’t know, yet I watch, make decisions, am awake.
Then he changes and I can’t keep up.
Because that’s not him.
Dependency, Violence, strong words.
It is totally atypical for me.
But it happened.
In Guatemala, life happens outside, after one at the latest.
And then comes Halloween.
He’s doing coke.
I vanish for him, I am only talked about in third person. People I don’t even know.
I want to leave.
Something strange is happening here.
But I can’t. My purse, my apartment key. Everything is at his place.
Talking about it is impossible.
I put him in a bad light, he says.
What do I think who I am.
I don’t recognize him.
But somehow I do, because he is two.
The best and the evil.
I am missing some details, eventually his key is on the floor.
I take it and leave.
I just want my things and then to go home.
It’s not far, I will manage somehow.
I also know that he is there, screaming through the narrow streets, and I am not running away.
He is still screaming when he catches up with me, his hand on my throat.
So close to the wall, it could be a picture.
Ripped from its frame.
I don’t understand what he is saying.
On the other side of the street are some men sitting there.
Not one glance.
Aside from the impossibility to speak this renders me speechless.
Everybody knows him.
Don’t harass the people.
Is what he says.
I am not me anymore, the short way is getting longer.
A man notices, says something, I don’t know what.
He charges at him, nobody falls, I keep on going.
Time becomes endless. Really.
In between I think the day breaks and I won’t be there anymore.
There are many cracks in the clock.
He is somewhere.
How can I avert something worse?
The guy who noticed me with a friend.
Are you okay?
No, I have no idea.
There is not protection.
The police are there, doing nothing.
Eventually I am at his mother’s, or, more correctly, at his place.
He is somewhere out there, escalating.
I can’t go into his room, says his mom.
No purse, no mobile, no key.
I fall asleep, crazed like the night.
Waking up, everything under water, everything ruined.
I pushed it to the back of my mind or didn’t hear it.
Me, in his room, everything that’s mine is gone, in pieces.
He destroyed everything.
I still got the mobile, though.
A pile of junk.
But it’s clear: this is it.
The longest night, the totally loss of control.
Oscillating between life and death.
Not that I thought I would die.
Well, maybe. How close do you get to that thought?
The impossibility of loving the loved one.
The other person is back again.
Stunned, bewildered und shocked at himself.
He has forgotten this night, he says.
He is sorry.
You can always only float a couple of inches above the floor, then you won’t fall as deep.
But this is not flying.
I am more inclined to take chances if a person moves me.
At least that’s what I always thought.
The evening when the guests from my hotel arm themselves with decoration objects because he tries to smash the door.
The day he insinuates that I fuck my brother because I change in front of him, my best friend, my brother.
Crass scenes in front of my family.
And I go.
Days, weeks, months in which I know nothing, do nothing, am nothing.
I didn’t stay this way.