Endless Night

A brief return back to the motherland. A swift escape.

It has rained consecutively for weeks. The land is waterlogged, each place I run in my limited free time is submerged by flooded rivers or muddy bogs. Each day I wake up, usually around five or six in the morning — I am met with the patter of rainfall on the window and an all-encompassing sense of darkness. Winter is coming. I force myself to put on my running kit and get out the door, even if it’s for thirty minutes. I feel trapped, a square peg attempting to squeeze inadequately into a round hole. The rat race, or something close to it. Meaningless work. Mediocre days. The outside world in autumnal England is overcast, and so too are my spirits.

For the last month, I was working full-time as a gardener. It was mediocre but I could manage it. Since my financial situation was dire at the time, I had little other choice. I have nothing against gardening, but mowing lawns and trimming hedges all day in the cold and rain is something that I have little interest in. In the last few years I have done many odd-jobs as a means of filling the gap, but this time was different. It feels like I’ve left a part of myself behind in other places that I’ve recently been unable to reach.

This country has degraded significantly in recent years and many people are suffering. I’m reminded of the reasons that made me want to leave in the first place: the masses forced to work their lives away just to be able to survive, the cost of living constantly rising, and a residual feeling among many people that this is just how it is — that working longer, harder or taking on more debt will eventually lead to freedom, retirement, or whatever we are deceived into believing.

When I say I was working as a gardener, what I actually mean is that I got fired last Friday. In truth I am actually relieved about it, since I was already questioning how long I could sustain this. The work wasn’t the issue, but I’ve been battling a strong sense of isolation and disconnection since being back in the UK, further amplified by memories of better days that seem so long ago. The reason for my dismissal, you may ask?

Well, the answer I was given and the truth behind it are quite different. One member of the team had a particularly vendetta against me for an unknown reason, that particular kind of person who has self-esteem issues often expressed through narcissistic and manipulative behaviour (haven’t we all had the misfortune and displeasure of dealing with such obnoxious people at some point in our lives?). I hadn’t realised but the entire time we were working together, she was passing on dishonest, negative feedback about me to the boss. This, combined with the fact that I was never offered a contract (most likely due to the fact that there would be a lack of work in winter) meant that I could be disposed of at a convenient time when the workload diminished, and I was no longer needed. In reality I was given a favour — I knew I was going to quit after three months anyway, and now I am free once again. Free to make my limited funds last as long as possible. Free to figure out what the hell I’m going to do now, in order to fill the void. That’s why I’m temporarily heading back to Portugal until the end of this year. Peace out, England. You won’t be missed.

Photo by Noah Silliman on Unsplash