Alright, still

 Life tends to make my story quite hard to romanticise from time to time. I'll try anyway.

I feel ready now to pour it all on you; this is a raw summary of the last few months.

Sit back, relax, and prepare the Kleenex.

There are things in life - good and bad - that you know from society, media, codes in your DNA, will come eventually and unavoidably. You wait and wait and sit tight, prepare yourself for them in extends that you didn't know existed - and they still don't come. Until they do. All at once, because life probably knows that you're running out of time to fit all that into the remaining half.

If I wasn't medicated, I probably couldn't handle it. God bless Zoloft.

This is the story of how I got engaged.

If you follow the blog since the start, you probably already know a lot from the last five years. The posts get more and more personal with each year passing, with a constant concept of unsuccessfully trying to squeeze some positivity into the messages I deliver, during clearly depressive times. Somehow, this is different now; it's not much of a miracle, as I've already shared that I took very definite steps to actually get better. And I do feel better. Even at times, when I'd have all the reasons not to. For beginners: this is how depression works - more mysterious ways then God themselves -, sometimes you have no grocery list of reasons why you feel depressed and you still do, and other times shit really hits the fan and you're okay.

Towards the end of 2020, my always strong, active and full of life father could barely move. We've prepared for what a family needs to prepare for, but his will to live was as strong as ever; every birthday, every Christmas was feared to be the last one, but he managed to make fun of us by staying with us for yet another one, and another one. He held on until he knew for sure that he can leave us safe and content.

On my last birthday, we called him and asked him for his blessing to get engaged. His face lit up with happiness and with his last energy for that day, he wished us a happy life together. We hung up and went to my favorite jewellery store to pick a ring together.

Before I continue the sob story, I need to make one thing very clear. In Les Unringables I contemplated about whether or not you should talk to your partner about the proposal, if you should sit back and wait for something that might never come or take the magic fully out of it and ask for it. Turns out, there is a silver lining here too; the key is understanding who your partner is. My story is a simple conversation about what's important for me, and what is for him. Unlike I thought before, this conversation is not at all heavy or awkward or sad; it was the best thing that happened to us in the two years together. I don't think either of us has been happier before. This is my way of doing it, and it does not at all mean that it's applicable for every relationship. The only important message here is that it really goes down to knowing who you're with. Maybe you wanted the same thing all along, just had to find a way to communicate it to each other. Believe me, once you find the way to do so, it's the most beautiful thing, plus you get to see your partner in an even better light, knowing that all they want is really to make you happy and love you.

Back to the Kleenex part.

After my birthday, we were happy for 24 hours. Mom called. Dad in hospital. It wasn't the first time, not even within a week. I called him, told him I loved him and started to look for plane tickets. By the time I arrived to Hungary, he passed away. By the time I arrived to my hometown, my mom took care of everything. All that was left for me, was to be there for her, at least for a few days.

When I came back home, I fell back to being sick, and we had only a few days left to leave for Zanzibar for Christmas. I didn't want to risk being sick there, so I asked for antibiotics and within the first week of the holiday, I felt much better. We had an amazing time. On the 27th, we watched the sunrise on the beach, like many other mornings, and he pulled out the ring and asked me to spend our lives together. We were happy for 24 minutes. I started to feel sick.

I managed everything by treating symptoms, and when we got home, I went to see a doctor. All results perfect, but here, take these two different antibiotics to be sure. I stopped them early because I felt like they were making me worse. I had a couple of better days, then I relapsed and it got much worse. I went to see another doctor who managed to find the nasty bacteria that apparently started to eat me from the inside due to the first round of antibiotics and the foreign cuisine. I got the right medication and healed slowly within ten days. We're at the end of January at this point, ankle-deep into 2025. Alive, but at what cost.

I didn't cry. Not at the bad part, not at the good part. To be fair, my emotions are chemically regulated - and I can't express at this point how thankful I am for that. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. Another month had to pass for me to process the first part, and be able to release some heavily built up emotions. Now I'm working on the second part.

I am happy. I think I still haven't processed the fact that five years of written and 25 years of verbal bitching ends here. In 2025, I am planning my wedding. Our wedding, I mean. It's been an extremely heavy period, starting from last summer, through the rollercoaster at the end of the year, to nearly shitting myself to death as 2025 started. I want to say the only way is up from here, but let's look at the statistics for a moment here...

I'm not delusional. But I'm no longer negative. I think I can stay on the ground of reality with a lighter chest and expect that some of the things in life can actually go right. I will be a wife at 35. I will be the wife of the most amazing man I've ever met. And again, before I sound like every other insta post: the road was long and tiring, even with this one specifically. It takes time and patience to grow with someone, to get to know each other on a level that you no longer assume the worst, based on past experiences and traumas. You need to forgive. You need to respect each other. You need to be true partners to each other. That doesn't always happen right away - and that can be okay too. As long as you know you have a good one in front of you, time will do the rest. Maybe if he hits you with a brick every night instead of kissing good night there's not much time can do, but a genuinely good person that steals your heart is worth the patience - and vice versa, I'm not saying I'm perfect either (only strongly suggesting it). Joke aside, I don't think I know a lot of men who'd be this supportive and understanding with never-ending health- and other issues. Of course on paper this is bare minimum, but let's be honest, at extremes, they tend to break. Just something to show appreciation for - turns out they like that shit.

I don't know what's next - apart from organizing the thing -, but be damn sure that I'll write about it when it comes.

Don't forget to throw the used Kleenex in the bin.

-V