Do you know that dream where They found out that you passed That Test out of sheer luck, and you had to take That Test again, and you haven’t touched whatever That Test was about in ten years, and They are going to have the Final Evidence that You Are A Fake?
That’s what I feel like, right now.
I shouldn’t. I opened my first blog in 2004. I was in a bad place, possibly the worst I’ve ever been in my life: undiagnosed depression.
My best friend and all-around hero had opened one of these new thing. I had an idea for a title while I was in the shower (really), I liked the pun1, I started writing.
OK, I’m an exhibitionist. I blush every time my skirt is more than an inch above my knee, but I’m going to tell you my worst secrets if I feel I can get your attention.
One night I wrote a short post. Something like
Is there anything better than watching Star Trek: Voyager at 2am, eating homemade fake-Cantonese rice?
About 20 miles south-southeast, someone read that post. He commented. I replied.
Ladies and gentlemen and people of any other identification: my husband.
So, you see, I should feel like a blog goddess. Probably Juno, given the marriage bit. Or Athena, given the unabashedly geek bit.
But I haven’t kept a blog in a while. Too many excuses, all of them probably bad. I was living between two languages. (I had moved from Milan to London, in the meanwhile.2) I was concentrating on my studies even if it was clearly harming my health (I can be quite stubborn). I was severely depressed, again (but, thank Whoever, this time I was diagnosed: bipolar disorder, rapid cycling3).
So, what changed? Simple: I got better. I learned how to live with my condition.4 I’m handing in my thesis, because I’ve also learned how to recognise the time to quit before wasting another five years. I’m still quite stubborn, but mostly when it comes to living.
For the first time in my life, I’m not terrified when I’m waiting for a train or when I cross a bridge.
So, let’s go.
Oh, In case you’re wondering: my That Test was Calculus. My thesis is in mathematics.
Resto del mondo. It works in Italian. ↩
If you ever think of moving country and organising a marriage that’s more complicated than “going to the registry and sign the papers” at the same time, dear reader: don’t. ↩
The “bear” joke is funny only if Carrie Fisher tells it; and even then, only the first time. ↩
The NHS saved my life. The acronym stands for National Health Service. Just so you can guess my political opinion on the matter. ↩