Category Archives: I refuse to die alone on general principles

Panic attacks: a history.

Ibiza lasted less than 48 hours.

And now that we’ve got the suspence out of the way, let’s proceed.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my stay in AA, is that you should always plan an escape route.
This very bit of common sense is supposed to make yourself feel better about facing social gatherings without a drink in your hand, and it does. Which is why you might be tempted to boil it down to something like “never attend a party in an isolated location without a fully charged mobile, a bona fide chaperone, a list of excuses for disappearing, an overabundance of cab fare, a .45 and a shovel”.
But it also comes with a sliver of abstract truth in it: no matter where you go, you’re bound to be fucked over again and again and again.

Many missteps were made during the planning of the trip.
First of all, I trusted a network of acquaintances over photographic evidence, and I found myself in quite an undesirable situation.
You’ll understand why I’m wary of whipping out details in a blog post – suffice it to say, there was no way I could live there for five weeks.
Second, I assumed that the sheer newness of a place was worth any possible discomfort, if only for the experience points.
I underestimated my need for comfort.
“Comfort” has become such a bad word lately – maybe because we’ve come to associate “comfort” with “luxury”, “overspending”, “narcissism” or, Heaven forbid, “bling”. (Textbook Depression mentality, if you ask me, but the next couple posts will prove how much of a Regent junkie I am, so there we go.) It’s a slippery path: if you’re not willing to make a few changes, you’ll never experience the pleasure of roughing it out; if you can’t rough it out, you’re bound to get over-attached to material items, never enjoying any peace of mind; and if you can’t deal with the healing powers of poverty, then you better take your ungrateful ass home. (Spoiler alert: why, yes, I did. But hear me out.)
Third, the world’s grittiest display of disposable-camera pictures would have never prepared me to the ugliness that we call Ibiza Town.
The first waves of anxiety hit me exactly 24 hours after landing.

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Filed under I refuse to die alone on general principles

And so it begins.

Basically, I want to get pregnant.

Such a task would be deemed “doable”, were the situation just a little bit different.

Not around here.

I was born in Italy. I’m still living here. I’m 32 years old.

I’m leaving in a month.

Reasons could be written off as “needing some personal time”. But there’s more to the story.

Current Italian laws make it impossible for an unmarried woman to get artificially inseminated, whatever her sexual orientation might be (wouldn’t have been my first choice, but it would have been nice for it to be a choice somehow). The same goes for adoption: you need to be straight and have been married for a few years [ed.: apparently, you can apply for adoption and pull the old “…no, Your Honor, but we do plan to get married soon” – bonne chance] before you can turn in the papers, and even then it’s a big “if” (which could explain why so many couples just get on the road, travel to former Soviet Republics and swipe babies for cash… but I digress).

So, if an Italian woman happens to be in lack of a husband and wanting to start a family, several appealing alternatives are laid down in front of her.

1. Pay massive amount of cash to get an in vitro abroad (unknown donor), then raise the kid as a single parent.

Pros: hey, it’s your baby.

Cons: baby gets crushed under the weight of Messianic expectations.

2. Pay massive amount of cash to get an in vitro abroad (you know the donor), then raise the kid as a semi-single parent.

Pros: you’re not on your own.

Cons: donor could fight you for custody, and win; donor could change his mind about sharing any sort of responsibility, effectively pinning you in .1 scenario; seems to work only for lesbian couples whose Spider-sense is really, really sharp.

3. Trick unsuspecting guy in getting you pregnant, then raise the kid as a single parent.

Pros: Unsuspecting Guy never finds out, therefore he can’t become Bad Influence on kid.

Cons: Also called pulling a Loverboy.

4. Trick unsuspecting guy in getting you pregnant, then go around screaming “it’s your child too, you bastard” and hope the DNA tests prove you right.

Pros: you might get some child support money – if and when the court rules in your favor.

Cons: do you really want to be that person?

5. Invest years, time and energy in landing an actual relationship with a man, then hope he might want to become a father one day.

Pros: it’s supposed to be natural.

Cons: personal/emotional life morphs into series of increasingly desperate manipulation attempts; relationship might de-evolve into a 2. scenario.


Should any of these things work out for you, there’s no safety net when it comes to getting back on your feet and into the workforce.

You’re a woman, and you’re in Italy, therefore you’re expected to make everything turn out ok without any kind of support.

So much fuss is made about you (aka Future Wife/Mother Figure) as a future family cornerstone, but no political party is going to do anything to help you. You want a kid, you’re on your own. You want to work, you’re on your own. And never the twain shall meet.

I really don’t want to be that.

I don’t want to kill off everything I tried to do in the past 10+ years just so that I might, one day, get a husband and a baby. I know I won’t.

But I don’t want to keep on making myself invisible to men, so that I can do my thing and little else, banishing any thought of an actual relationship.

So, I’m leaving. Let’s see if things are really the same anywhere else.


Filed under family laws, I refuse to die alone on general principles, note to self: remember why you're doing this