My Magical Life when I fight the c***

by Sophie BARBARELLA · Published Jun 2017 · Updated Apr 2024

don’t care

One of the greatest discoveries of my life, of those that change you a man (well, in this case, a woman), of those that give the impression of having seen a spark of awareness spring forth, of having won the black belt of spiritual awakening, is the day when I realized the immense power of choosing to have nothing to fuck about.

It happened on a normal, mundane day, when I was in the depths of my depression. I went for a walk, as I did every morning, to expose my body to light, to practice physical activity, to boost my pineal gland, my dopamine levels and my serotonin levels. In short, I was trying to survive.

That morning, I met my neighbour on the left. A bland, skinny, ugly, soft type, obviously uninteresting, and above all totally hermetic to the many attempts at connection and interactions that I had made until then.

Concretely: approach a big smile, say hello, try to make some jokes, develop a cordial neighbourly relationship.

He is still my neighbour on the left, finally my neighbours on the left, since there are two of them, he and his wife. Our two apartment doors are at an angle, so we sometimes find ourselves in front of each other when we leave our respective homes. Hard not to say at least a polite "Hello"…

At least that is what I have always done. Whether it's entering a bakery, attending a meeting or a conference with strangers… a big smile, try to create a bond, a relationship, generate empathy, positive contact. Because a priori, people are nice.And as always, he hadn't taken a single step towards me. I gave without return. But I was giving, because.

But that morning, my reserve of empathy, willpower, good humor and kindness was flat. My barrel was empty, my account dry.

I went out, and within half a second, the only thought I saw crossing my mind when I found myself in front of his gray face was:

"I don't care."

I royally don't care, to please him, to create a good relationship, to be nice, and the whole thing. I have nothing to do with it, whether you are friends or not. There, I just want to have enough courage to do this walk,which allows me not to ruminate too much my dark ideas for about an hour. And above all, I fight the balls, from what you think. Finally, the ovaries, to be anatomically correct. I-EN-CARRE.

I went out, looked at it for half a second, and turned directly to the elevator. Neither hello, nor anything.

I pressed the button, he waited next to me, we went down the 4 floors without a word, and that's it. I just didn't have the energy. That is what I said to myself, in any case.

But it wasn't me, me so attentive to social interactions, to do what is good, good, polite, courteous, respectful. I arrive on time, I warn if I am late, I do not forget birthdays, I sometimes really bend in twelve to do a service, even if I do not want to, because friendship, anyway, is to help the other when he needs it. No, it was my illness, which put me in this abnormal state. Not even say hello to his neighbor…

After twenty minutes of small steps under the branches and leaves of the park where I dragged myself every morning, I began to realize something surprising. I had the strange feeling of having, in fact, saved on my low energy reserves. Or rather, involvement. Or… gift.

I was already in the passive, I had declared forfeit, I had engaged the "survival" mode. I didn't have enough balls to give.

That's it, I was running out of balls.

Dry, empty pockets, over-indebtedness. I had to keep my little reserve, my Livret A de Couilles for what was really important: my doctor's appointments, my evenings with my companion, a minimum of cleaning, a minimum of accounting, shopping, rest, work, leisure, peace.

I then began, slowly but surely, to realize the mountain of obligations that I had become accustomed to accepting without even thinking about what it brought me.

The first opportunity to check it was when friends offered me to come and discover the second baby of one of them. Forty minutes drive to a gigantic clinic in an even bigger health center, a gift to buy, so a detour to the city center on a Saturday afternoon … Ordinarily, I would have given all that was left of me by force to fulfill my duty as a friend. I was happy for her! But there… No.

I was terribly angry, but I realized the feat of being just sincere by telling them: "I don't have the courage".

None of them blamed me. They just said to me: "We'll see each other later, when she goes home, she too wants to rest anyway". So it was only me who put this pressure on me. And I was giving a lot when I was definitely not asked that, actually.

I then began the list of everything I had nothing to do with.

I told my companion at the time that I didn't like to go see him competing on the weekend, that I didn't want to come anymore. He told me he preferred.

I put away three quarters of the trinkets that were spread out on our furniture, to stop dusting stuff when it did not bring me absolutely … nothing.

I also gave up ironing my sheets, jeans, underwear.

I wore sneakers when I had to walk on paved sidewalks, even though the heels are more dressed.

I said "No" to birthday parties, weddings of people I didn't really like, or not like enough, or who were really far away. Or when the hotel was too expensive.

I began to tell the truth: "I can't afford it". Between the dress, the shoes, the gift, the plane or the train, the hotel, the pots during the weekend… I was doing all this for others. Never for me. I never offered myself massages, but I offered many to others.

I gave my Balls to everyone except me.

I stopped customer appointments, which I turned into phone calls. Besides, in my freelance work, I hardly moved anymore. A discussion by phone, an email exchange, a Skype, if already it was not enough to create trust, desire, no need to go further.

No more commercial proposals when you don't even know if the customer has the budget: first a quote, then if it passes, a few pages to explain all that I will bring him extraordinary for this price.

I began to understand the vastness and breadth of the areas in which the magic of "M'en Fous" applied.

Unnecessary storage, unnecessary meetings, unnecessary networking lunches, unnecessary contacts.

The evenings when I would rather be alone in front of a good series than go to the restaurant with several people.

The starting pots of people I didn't even know: M'en Fous.

The car cleaning on Saturday morning when it will be dusty again on Monday morning: M'en Fous. The time and energy, I estimated it at three Balls, so I preferred to keep it for about thirty minutes of ironing, enough to dress in the coming week.

Unnecessary discussions. The times when the other wants to be right, and the answer is "Ok" instead of trying to give him the right information. The moments when the girlfriend complains for the twelve thousandth time about the same things, and we waste a lot of time and energy listening, without it bringing anything to either.

When you want to keep your balls, and then you say:

"I have to go." It's true, we need to leave this conversation that, to me, does not bring me anything.

"I'm tired." That's right, I'm tired, it's depression that does that. Or just a dirty night. Or digestion, or heat. It doesn't matter, by the way.

"I don't have time." No, really, there are at least a thousand more interesting things to do that come to mind in the second, so probably another ten thousand in real life. And time is the most precious thing we have in life,and we can't give it back.

"I'm not really interested in that." To make 20 minutes drive to see the new color of the room of their fiston. Well, no. It's beige turning on the mole, I believe you.

"Ican't." Help mount this shelf, while I have sciatica. Take the saturday morning stand-by, while I had a two-hour night and a double-lengthened day on Friday.

"Idon't feel like it." Simply.

And little by little, I realized that keeping your balls for the most part, applying the M'en Fous method as often as possible, was actually to be sincere. With others and with you.

Be simple.

And practice assertive, non-violent communication, and listening to oneself. Respect for one's needs. Concentration on the essentials, because life is short, and we must put, as the Americans say, 'first things first' – which is important first.

If your sleep is the most important, if your health, your time, your family, your life plan come before, well, the rest comes after.

You are, by keeping your Balls, neither rude nor wicked. In fact, the opposite is true. You are honest with yourself and with others.

Of course, if you think this barbarous corporate pot is an investment for your career, this is your choice. But it is not a lost ball, if it is a voluntary choice, not yet another obligation. A thousandth "politeness".

I recovered from my depression especially from the moment I started to care in a thoughtful but systematic way. I let go, released the pressure, and took care of myself.

Between the dishes and a nap? La Couille goes to the nap.

Between My Dream and this mission that has little chance of succeeding? My Dream.

Between the call to John and the call to James? Jacques wins by at least two Balls, funnier, more positive, much more attentive than Jean, who is often grating and depressing. He will just have a text message, we will wait until the reserve of Couilles is at its maximum.

To discover:

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