Damn... every time I try to write something and I start writing something good, I forget it later and don't save it, so next time I turn the computer on it's all gone. Gotta remember to save my scribblings...
(Double meaning in the title by the way)
It has happened so much lately I just haven't been able to write it. I'm an artist you know, and if something doesn't turn out the way I want it, it's just not worth saving. I do notice how people in this ward notice my drawings and they're all so amazed. I just see them as simple black and greys, nothing so special about them... but they see... well I don't know. They're amazed and see much more than that, like real artworks. And they have so many ideas. Like one said I should do some kind of comic with pictures and texts with them. I just try to explain that I don't have the energy to make something “real” out them. I just draw what's on my mind that specific moment. I can't just plan something big and work on it for days or weeks and expect to be able to finish it AND be satisfied with the outcome. But as soon as I'm at that special short time resident after everything being done here at the psych ward, I'm gonna scan in all my "work" I've been drawing during this time. Almost every day I've drawn something new, so I think there'll be a lot to fill my new account on DeviantArt with.
About that part time resident by the way, it is sort of fixed now. I was there on a visit today actually, and I got a round tour in the place. I've got my own room (maybe I am to get a room-mate later, it's a two-roomer but both places are free, so to say) and just stepping into the hallway I realized it was much bigger than the whole apartment I lived in before! Amazing! So much space! A kitchen you can move around in, a balcony, a "living room" with a sofa and a table to sit down and eat by, a small shover-room and a closet you can actually be in! I feel a bit overwhelmed, or I should. Cause actually I don't really feel anything. Just numb, really... I guess it might come later, when I'm actually there, with my own stuff, sitting writing by my computer and smoking on the balcony which I'm not allowed to, but who cares, haha...
The doctor will order/book-in six sessions of ECT, which means I should have to stay here for another two weeks. Good to not having to worry about being kicked out, anyway, haha... As soon as that becomes reality then, of course. I'm always on my guard, can't relax over anything until it's actually happening.
I've had so much deep conversations with the doctor, my mum and my contact-persons at this ward today I feel all torn apart and kinda sucked dry. But I almost feel as if they finally actually /try/ to understand me. It helps. As like just a now, I talked to one of my two contact-persons about how I see my life now and compare it to the life I want to have and being able to have. Just explaining how I wanted just a decent work with a decent pay-check every month and I just can't even walk into a working place without getting all horrible medical mental symptoms ever possible at the same time /and more/. I said that I don't expect an amazing adventure/hollywood life with a perfect world around me and everything going so well. I don't want that, I just want a decent life with a decent job and live in a decent place and being able to actually live/. I don't live, I said - I'm just alive. Barely. What I expect and want of my life isn't unrealistic at all. I have a realistic goal with all this traumatic, unbelievable psychiatric mental chaos called the "psychiatric healthcare" *cough* bullshit. And that goal is simply this: to be able to accept the world for what it is and live with it; to be able to live a decent mediocre life and live with it; to be able to live with and tolerate my own self. And to stop analysing every little shit!!! That is my goal. That is what I want.
I get a simple picture in my head, it's not a still picture, but it has only simple movements and gestures, kind of like taken from a really slow indie film. I see a small house in the suburbs, a smaller part of the town or so. I see myself sitting inside it, it's my house, I own it. I'm sitting by a table writing a long fictive novel after a day at work. My life is simple, I live there with my partner I love, it's been a few years, maybe five or ten. I'm finally setting down in my life, I have a body which I can live with, my own home which I am able to take care of and a steady in-come. Some days are bad, some are good. There's not only different tones of black, blood-red and grey. It's a bit of colour dashes in my blackness, and when things get worse, I will be able to handle it. I'll talk to my life-partner, my mum or my closest friends, sort things out, maybe take a pill for the anxiety, and after it will feel okay again. I wanna feel like that. Simply okay. Not good or bad, just okay. I haven't been okay for so long...
Yes, my mother took the ferry all the way from Visby on Gotland to somewhere-in-or-around-Stockholm and drew all the way from there to Uppsala just to be with me on a meeting and hang around in town with me to kill some time until she took the ferry back home to the island again. Of course the ordinary doctor was not available and hadn't even been informed about my mother's visit *sigh*, but another doctor could talk to us and write down the important things to the ordinary doctor when he's available again.
So I've really had a tough day... I should have been writing earlier so I wouldn't have so damn much to post today, but ye, ye whatever.
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