For better or worse

I’m down on 68 kg! That was years ago I was this thin! Well, “thin” is a bit of an overstatement. Got into my leather pants, they're a little itty bitty too tight, but I can walk around in them without discomfort. 12 kg down, 8 to go. Ah, I really miss weighing little enough for people to mistake me for being thin. Two “obstacles” I somehow seem to fight: testosterone that is known to cause weight gain (you get more muscle mass) and starvation is said to not make you lose weight (unless you're at it for a really long time, which I suppose I have been now, or well around 4 months. Don't really know if that is considered a long time though.) I'm also very careful about what medications I take, I refuse to take something that has weight gain as a side effect.

They have razorblades at ICA! I can't believe it! A 5-pack, meant for those kind of things you use to scrape of food residue from stoves with glass plate. Not as stylish as the old kinds, but on the other hand thicker and therefor steadier to hold and can take a little pressure. Jeez, I'm really talking about them as if they were tools for some kind of hobby! Ain't that the truth then, huh? I was so nervous buying them, thinking the clerk was gonna ask me what the fuck I’m intending to use them for. I even sort of practiced what I would have said if he did...

On my way home I saw a tarnished bike lying on the ground halfway to the store, by the road. I was thinking of taking it, but was unsure if some crazy lady would run after me screaming that I stole her bike. (It's a woman's bike). So I’m gonna wait a couple of days and then go back to see if it's still there. If it is, I will steal it. Now this is a really small commune, so if I do take the bike I plan to redecorate it a bit, just to make sure its real owner won't find out and let hell break lose.

And I really need a bike, and I’m too poor to buy one (even just a few hundred is too much). So according to my ethics, it's not wrong for me to steal one. Well, I generally don't think theft is wrong, but even less wrong in this case. Stealing something you need is better than stealing something you don't need. I think I started this habit when I was poor for real and had to completely depend on others for money just to survive and not end up on the street. Desperate times calls for desperate means. Sometimes I can't really believe I really was that close to homelessness. And if I had lost my apartment, my stubbornness and stupidity would have told me to still stay in Uppsala, even if it meant living on the streets or selling my ass and everything I owned. Rather than just move in with my parents here on Gotland. Oh, well. Then I got ridiculously rich for about a month and bought lots of things. Försäkringskassan had miscalculated and given me almost 50 thousand...

Now where was I? Yes. I really love having stolen objects, they get these sort of vibes or auras or something that just makes me value them more. And of course because I didn't have to pay for them! No guilt, no remorse, just excitement and a slight touch of joy. *cough* kleptomaniac *cough* Well, not compulsively stealing, just really liking it.

It doesn't happen that often nowadays. I don't visit other people's homes anymore and at School or the psychiatric department of the hospital in Visby, I haven't found much at all worth stealing. Just an eraser, some pencils, some papers loitering in a printer. Nothing really valuable or something that people would miss. They'll just think they misplaced the stuff or something, and I’ve never been confronted about it. Well at least not since I moved here. Kinda harmless in other words, or at least in my point of view. And I never shoplift, it's too damn risky and I’m quite keen on not getting caught. Not cause I think they'd deal out some horrible punishment or something, rather because of the shame of it.

I went a little beauty crazy earlier today as well. Shaved, washed, exfoliated and moisturised my face. It really isn't necessary anymore though, my skin is better than ever for some reason I can't figure out. No acne, no extra oily-ness, over all more even and fresher. Acne scars are healing up and becoming less red, which is about time if you ask me! I will always look a little scarred, but that's not a problem for me. I think that if I had perfect skin I would have cut my face or something to make it less perfect. I’ve always loved scars, anything from neat lacerations to acne to those from burn wounds. Barely noticeable or severe, intentional or from accidents, all is sexy. Now remind me again why I can't get a date, when I'd even consider dating severely scarred people and find them attractive?

Then I took a shower and extra carefully washed and dried my hair. Maybe next time I’ll even take a pair of tweezers and organise my overgrowing semi-mono eyebrows. Do they get fussier on testo? Or maybe it's just that I’ve let them grow wild for the last years. They've always been kinda bushy, much like my father's eyebrows. Hm, that's interesting. Also my mother once rather recently told me that my voice is much like my father's. I’m becoming more like him and less like my mother, appearance-wise. He might not look so attractive nowadays, but he was actually quite handsome when he was in my age. And for some creepy reason I don't find it weird thinking of my father as attractive... okay, not mentioning my relapsing incest ideas. I'm fucked up cause I’ve already tried that. No questions 'bout that, oki? It is illegal, you know.

The construction workers repainting the house are for the moment washing my window. That's nice of them.

Tourniquet

I'm feeling a slight case of mania coming up again, which is nice, cause then I have some energy to get my ass off to ICA. Coffee ingredients running out. Also gonna check if they sell some nice, useful razorblades. The kind you can cut yourself with. Or I'll just buy a pen sharpener and screw off the blade. Damn the internet to give me tips like that! I'm supposed to stop cutting, not buying new equipment for it! Better pick up some bandages as well, while I’m at it. Already got disinfectants and normal patches. But my wounds get so long, and if I’d slip I kinda need to have those handy little things, like a tourniquet and whatever. I’ve never used that word before, tourniquet, but I’ve known about for quite some time, ever since I first heard that song by Evanescence. It sounds French...

Wiping off the dust

Okay, dusted off my guitar and amplifier (literally been collecting dust for years!) and tried to tune it. The strings are rusty, the high E-string is broken, and the amplifier is buzzing like a frigging electric saw or something. Other than that everything seems fine. First off, I really need to change the strings, get someone to help me tune it and find out what's going on with the amplifier. Perhaps also get a plectrum. Think I have some of those lying around somewhere...

I may not know when a single string is out of tune, but if I play all the string together in a stroke and it hurts in my ears a little, I know it's out of tune. I tried for like an hour, but couldn't fix that. Besides, playing with only 5 rusty strings isn't exactly optimal. Too lazy to change that now, but I have some strings in a box somewhere. Anyways, I played for over an hour, found a website showing how to play "Amazing Grace" (it was supposed to be simple) and I think eventually got the first verse right. Except that I can't make the D-chord without the missing string. My god, I've forgotten how much it hurt in my fingers! Got a blister on my thumb as well...

Yeah, I think a little guitar playing every once in a while can be therapeutic, even if it sounds like shit. Definitely better than slicing my arms to pieces, I think we can agree on that. Except my neighbours perhaps, especially if I'm gonna keep playing at 5 in the morning...

Written in blood

I've listened to “The wrong side” by Abney Park 93 times continuously now. For 301 minutes, or 5 hours. Feeling a little single-tracked today. I just got a quirky idea! White hair is so hard to achieve, especially when trying to bleach dark brown hair that's been dyed black a thousand times. So I was just thing, maybe I could bleach the shaved off hair in my side cut when it's starting to grow out. Cause if I don't like it, I can just dye it again or shave it off. I'll keep that in mind.

I'm self harming more and more every day. More often, deeper and several cuts. It takes more harm to get me that rush of adrenaline and endorphins, and the effect doesn't last that long. Like an anti-anxiety drug that wears off after just a few minutes. Totally worthless, I know... it's just that I'm addicted to pain and blood, which pills won't get me. I just can't resist it, the urges attack me violently and I crave it like an addict crave their drug. I am an addict, and that was definitely proved when I realised I can switch between cutting and drinking, almost as easy as I can switch between being top or bottom sexually. My sadness is written in blood.

Sometimes when I burn myself with cigarettes I'm not satisfied with the result. So I put out another cigarette on the same spot, and then another and another. When I'm close to passing out I stop. Mission accomplished.

My future surgeon asked me if I had any cuts on my body during my consultation, and I truthfully said no, cause I hadn't cut or burnt myself in over a month. I suppose that won't be truth anymore when I see him again...

I don't know which is worse: people who tell me I'm seeking attention by cutting myself (I only show my scars/wounds to people I trust and or am comfortable around), or people who tell me I should cut deeper (I mean, really!?)

Two days

Okay, tiredness is making me hallucinate again... just how damn prone am I to hallucinate, really?! Urghh... fucking hallices... Anyway, I have a picture of my crush on my desktop, but all of a sudden his face started to change into an entirely different person. Like a twisted, hollow-eyed, elderly man. Creepy as fuck! I had to put the picture away, close the window and change to another picture. Perhaps I’ve just been staring too much at the same picture for a bit too long... no other pictures behave like that. I’ve been awake for almost two days straight now, and I'm starting to miss my bed. No I don't...

I’m passing the time with completely meaningless quizzes on OkCupid and practice some good old tumblr scrolling. Constantly smoking and blasting music on max volume in my head phones. This is the worst time of the day. I’m so tired and mentally downtrodden by the weight of my own body, as if my blood have turned into lead. Poison. I feel poisoned. Restless, carked, drowsy, impatient, worried, lethargic, angsty. Oh damn, now I've got restless legs as well! I hate it when they twitch like that, repeatedly, almost like hiccup in my feet. Perhaps I could watch a movie or something. Get a little distance from internet for a change. I’m basically stationary with eyes fixed on various internet forums at least 20 hours a day lately. Could be a bit too much. 

No, I'm going to bed. The least I can do is give it a shot. Who know, maybe I can actually get some sleep?

Diagnonsense

Recently I've been thinking a lot about my Borderline diagnosis, and though I have some of the traits, I doubt that I really fit the diagnostic criteria. From the way I got the diagnosis in the first place it makes me feel like I'm making mental illness into an achievement, but I know I had good reasons for doing what I did at that time, even though it was sort of immoral and stupid. It's bad to cheat on a math test in school, but cheating on a diagnostic test for a personality disorders is just... I can't think of a word for it.

I had read up quite a bit about this disorder before hand, self diagnosed myself and lied to the psychologist who did the test on me. I did it cause I felt so very helpless after seven years in contact with the psychiatry without getting any help at all. I found out about DBT and I just knew I had to go to that therapy. So I found a way to get permission to do so.

Now I can't help but wonder, would I still have gotten the diagnosis if I hadn't lied? And stupid as I was (just can't stress the word “stupid” enough here...) I didn't think about that I during the therapy had to keep up those lies. That was when I still lived in Uppsala and went to the DBT there. When I later moved to Gotland and started over in a new group and with a new psychologist my lies started to rift. My then new DBT psychologist is a very smart and kind woman who really knows her stuff. She also has some knowledge about Asperger since she used to work at the neuro-psychiatric department i Visby before.

It felt as if she saw right through me when she started to say that most of my problems I brought up during our sessions stemmed from my Asperger traits, and not from Borderline traits. If it is true that I've been misdiagnosed, I will still keep quiet about my mischief, cause I still believe it's helpful in some ways. Dreading the day I will have to open up and speak the truth about everything. I even slipped once, I don't remember what I said, but she asked me "are you hearing voices?" and I quickly got a little snappy and cryptic which might not have been the best way to deal with the situation. I replied "would you write it up in my medical record if I said yes?" and she said she couldn't answer that, to which I replied "well, in that case: no, I don't hear any voices" to which she gave me a snarky look in disbelief.

I have ever since not been able to let go of the query if she did write something about that in my medical record. All the time I have to cover for Anna, Vargyl, Satan, the whispers and the raspy voices by saying that I just have a very cluttered mind. And if you squint a little, that could almost be considered partially true, since the voices are indeed inside my mind, cluttering it. But it's not just the voices I lie about. My ever so present delusions, halfly slipping into psychosis. I had a whole weekend fighting off imaginary lice and ignoring talking curtains, talking out loud in long conversations with Vargyl who I actually believed was real at that time. He is a green skinned goblin from World of Warcraft. Of course he's not bloody real. So I suppose you could legitimately call that a psychosis.

Another time I lived on crackers for two weeks cause I was terrified of going outside, I had no other food, because I truly believed people could see me in my true demonic form when they looked at me.

Yet another time I believed I had entered another dimension. A world that was an almost exact replica of the real world, but I was absolutely confident it wasn't the real world I was in anymore.

Then we have this strange thing when I let Anna take over and control my body, as some form of mental shift. First I thought it was a dissociation/a multiple personality thingy, but now I'm pretty sure it was rather a delusion, or a depersonalisation.

I have almost every listed trait of Schizophrenia, and I don't doubt for a second that if I was to come clean about all of this I'd get that diagnose. I've known that on and off since I was 12 and I guess the coin finally fell into place. Sure my hallucinations and delusions are fairly mild and harmless, or maybe I'm just a harmless person, but the thing is that it's very hard for me to pin exactly what is real and not. That, is also a symptom. I'm never sure, and as soon as something seems out of place I immediately start questioning it's validity. I don't think I'll ever be able to understand the full extent of what really is hallucinations of everything I perceive.

Well, this truly is an itch I cannot scratch. Self diagnosing gives me a little tunnel vision, but I've never before been so sure about a diagnose as with this one. I've never felt that sting in my gut like that before. I've always known. Even as a 12 year old I connected the fact that I heard voices with Schizophrenia, even though I was way too young and uneducated to fully understand what I was dooming myself with. But I was right all along. If this really is true, then I was a very early onset at the young age of 9. It's not impossible, I heard about a fairly recent case of a 7 year old that got diagnosed, it's very, very rare though. And even if I someday get diagnosed, I doubt they would consider it as I would have had it basically my whole life. This is also why I reconsider my Borderline diagnosis. Schizophrenia would completely replace it. So as of now, I just keep until due time. Handy, but imperfect.

This post became slightly longer than I intended. Sorry 'bout that. The title is inspired from the movie “Girl, interrupted”.

For frustration, press four

The hypo-mania is wearing off, or something. I'm shaking, trembling or twitching - I'm not sure which, maybe all three. It's getting hard to focus with my eyes, and tiredness is starting to wash over me. I’m cold, and dress like a caveman in t-shirt, hooded sweatshirt, a sleeveless hooded sweatshirt, arm-warmers, morning wrap and a thick teddy blanket wrapped around my shoulders. If I wear anything more I won't be able to move my arms. I’m ignoring my legs and feet, aching cold despite thick sweatpants, double layers socks, wool socks and slippers not doing a daft. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother putting on socks at all, it's not like it makes any difference if I so was to wrap each foot in a fucking blanket and put them on a heater. It's not until your limbs reach down to room temperature that you will realise just how cold that really is. 

I worry so much about so many things, in general, but a lot more lately. I’m sitting here, scared of damaging my body through starvation and killing my brain with sleep deprivation. And those two combined just can't be good for my poor body. I just wish at least one damn doctor could take my (undiagnosed, but very real) eating disorder seriously. Just because I’m not losing weight or getting malnutrition doesn't mean that I’m fine. I’m not eating, for crying out loud! I can't fucking eat! But then it's easier to just resign and agree that this is probably not gonna kill me. Go back to force feeding myself with two pancakes every other day with a glass of juice or milk and pretend that everything is just fabulous. Fuck my life.

I’ve been thrown between different psychiatric departments and doctors, one worse than the other, for a decade now and all the while I just keep breaking into smaller and smaller pieces. There's nothing they can do for me really. They don't say it, but I know because they never bring up any options, they ask me what I want, and when I answer they say they can't give me that. Then I ask them what my choices are, but I'm not given any. Eventually I just give up. Fine, fuck it, what do I care. To hell with everything! Everything can be explained by my Asperger diagnose anyway, at least that's what they say. I suppose they just love doing that, because Asperger is a permanent condition and then it's out of their hands. Just throw me to the next department then, will ya?

I have no idea what I want anymore. I’m having irrational fears regarding my up coming surgery. Either that they are gonna postpone it cause I’m sort of a mess again, and also I'm scared something will go wrong during the procedure. Someone whispered in my ear that I will die on the operation table. 

Now that voice is hardly a reliable source, considering it's not unusual for me to hear voices in the first place. Most of the time it's just me and Anna, once in a while it's Satan, pretty seldom nowadays Vargyl puts a word in, and then there are these unidentifiable impersonators I sometimes hear. They're giving me warnings with raspy voices. For all I know it could be a whole commune in my head...

Knowing what it is, is the first step

I just came across this word: limerence, that I've never heard of before. I couldn't find a Swedish translation, cause it's truly a unique word, and quite beautiful if I may add. The sort of love I always en up in, to different degrees. Even for imaginary people. (Now that where my slight case of insanity comes in on a corner.) Various sites back me up on the fact that it can indeed be fatal. Why did I never look this up before? I could have gotten help for it, back in 2011. But instead I felt so utterly stupid and like such a fool, like I had literally torn my own heart out of my chest and stomped on it. That it was all my fault, and I was ashamed of telling psychiatrists about it. If only I had known... then maybe I wouldn't have been just a heartbeat away from succeeding suicide.

Limerence is when your crush turns into an obsession and you lose control over your emotions. It's a word for being in love with someone who doesn't love you back, whom you may not even have the courage to ask out. This can lead to symptom such as:
- mania or hypomania
- depression -- tearfulness
- insomnia/acute insomnia
- anorexia -- lack of appetite (Wikipedia may not be entirely correct in this particular case, cause I seriously doubt that it can lead you to think that you're fat and should lose weight. Rather it's just a loss of apetite and feeling that you can't, don't need or want to eat. Or well, that's how it is in my case.)
- stress - high blood pressure, pain in chest and heart
- obsessive-compulsive disorder -- preoccupation and hoarding of valueless but superstitiously resonant items
In general psychologically created physical symptoms such as upset stomach, change in appetite, insomnia, dizziness, and confusion.

Now this is surely a slight revelation, cause it means I'm not losing my mind, and my subconscious is not playing tricks on me. I'm just truly, madly, deeply in love. And it's killing me. Why do I always get the bad stuff...? I'm still struggling with insomnia and starvation. Even the chocolate cupcakes sickens me, I couldn't eat a single bite, I don't don't have any apetite at all. Coffee, on the other hand I can drink lots of. The acute insomnia is also working out terrificly. So for the last few days: I was awake for 42 hours straight, slept for 7 hours, and then been awake for another 24 hours. So I've slept for just 7 hours in 3 days. And now I'm hypo-manic...

Now this calls for playing some Savage Garden, whom have made a song called just "Truly, madly deeply" along with a couple of others on the same subject. No I'm not sobbing and hugging a pillow, I'm smirking and shaking my head because I'm glad I realised something important.

About falling apart, a preparation

And so I finally cried, and I cried so hard. I watched the most beautiful love story on film: "City of Angels" about an angel who guides the recently dead to Heaven. He falls in love with a woman, a surgeon at a hospital, but even though they love each other so much they can't be together. Unless he gives up his life as he know it and becomes human. This movie is so beautiful and sad from beginning to end, and I cry everytime I watch it. No other movie I have ever seen shakes me like this one does.

This was the only way I knew I could cry. I've been building up tears for weeks, months even. But I promised myself that I wouldn't cry, not even think about it, that I wouldn't cry for him. Cause that would mean that my heart is broken, and that I have fallen into the same trap as I always do. I reach too high, fly so far up that that I fall... I fall apart. But I've come to realise that I keep repeating this over and over because I don't want to stop believing in love. Cause if I let my broken heart win, and finally decide that I've had enough, that I've cried for enough men and women for a whole lifetime, I would never experience love the way it should be. You know, mutual and all that stuff.

I really have experienced the pain of love enough for a lifetime, or several for that matter. I think the first time I felt it was when I was 12, and from then on my heart just kept on breaking whenever I fancied someone. When I was 15 and lost control over everything and my whole life fell apart, I stopped counting them. The wounds in my heart were as many as the years I'd been alive, and the pain exceeded my resources for coping with pain.

I only have two options. To either follow my heart wherever it leads me, through tears and despair, starvation and insomnia, obsession and passion, through fire and ashes. Or I can choose to abandon my heart, swear to never fall in love again and live the rest of my life alone, to never experience true love with another person. As the angel Seth says in the end of the movie, the line that always makes me weep my heart out: "I would rather have had one breath of her hair, one kiss of her mouth, one touch of her hand, than eternity without it. One." So I choose love, for even if it kills me, I'd rather have that than the other option. I still believe, after all these years, I cling to the childhood dream of finding The One.

I feel every single human emotion so strongly, it's wearing me out. How even something so beautiful as love becomes so painful it feels like I'm being ripped apart. Love is to me the most painful emotion in the whole spectrum of human emotions. And it's just who I am, it's who I will always be. Will I come to learn how to live through a broken heart? My heart that never heals, and I doubt it ever will. More wounds are applied to it all the time, and all I can do is patch them up and keep going.

I was never over Tomb. I still keep his picture in a black frame, hidden among all my unpacked things, his green eyes peering at me and it stings everytime I look into them.

How can you break a heart that's already broken? I don't know, maybe I have two. All I can do now is hoping this won't break me completely, that I will have at least something left to hold on to when it really hits me. Just one straw to clutch to, and I will be fine, eventually. I know heartbreak, I know it like no one else, and I know that I can survive it. Just... keep that in mind.

Bleeding heart

Okay, I have a new theory about why I can't eat or sleep. I’m lovesick. I can't think of anything else than him, his picture glued on my eyes, his written words on my mind, his soul in my heart. He rules my world. Blinding me, leading me astray. I don't even know if it's really him I adore, or if it's my idea of who he is. I’ve never fallen for someone I have never really met in real life before, but to be honest, it's not that much different from it how was when I sort of worshiped Tomb. Sure I met him every day in School, but I never got to know him, not really.

I'm building a shrine of pictures and written messages, but I never really talk to my crush. Just brief conversations. Not actual, deep conversations about who we are. I idolise an idea, an assumption, a face and listed facts. Trying to figure out his personality through tumblr posts and Facebook links. But there's only so much you can find, and how can I really know who he is, at heart and in soul, without actual conversations and actions?

And it's not like I can just pay him a visit cause I was “in the neighbourhood”, cause that neighbourhood is in Stockholm, and I can't just go randomly back and forth with the ferry, no matter how damn fucking much I want to. But I will meet him, I’ll try to figure out a way to make sure our paths cross someday. For more than those two minutes we talked when I saw him briefly a year ago. For it feels like I’m in love with a ghost

Still I try

I’m tired of these mind tricks, and I hate my fucking brain. Twenty times or more I have wanted to bang my head against something hard today, but that would hardly help or do me any good. It's just another form of self harm. So I’m stuck with feeling like a complete idiot with zero self control.

The embroidering is going alright, especially since I’ve only done cross-stitches once before and that was 10 years ago or so. Right now I’m working on a piece of text, a quote. It's so-so readable and some words ended up a little bit too close together, but over all it looks quite neat. I ended up using normal sewing thread in four layers and it's working out alright. I’m gonna do a picture underneath and around the quote once I’m done with it.

It's hard to concentrate, cause I keep making the same mistake with the stitches over and over again. I can't believe that even when I’m yelling at myself in pure frustration and resentment, I use English. I’m so tired of myself, feel worthless and hopeless. Still I try to look beyond that and keep doing what I’m doing, keep trying. Even if it doesn't turn out at all as I want it. I need to distract myself, and making an embroidered picture while listening to the fifth book of Harry Potter is quite some therapy. Steven Fry who reads the book is also amazing, apart from that he is truly a marvellous character himself, has done an astonishing work in portraying the characters in the book. Only that is a good reason to listen to it. I haven't yet read the sixth and seventh books (shame on me), and it seems I can't focus enough to read anything longer than a short article nowadays. Thank goodness for audiobooks!

This song really speaks to me right now. I've never heard it before, and I'm a devoted fan of Evanescence. Seriously thought I'd heard all their songs, can't believe I missed this one! Apparently it's one of the first songs they've ever made, and it didn't make it to their first album “Origin”. Sadly enough, they seem to get more and more commercial and weaker. I love their first album, really like their second, the third is okay and I find their fourth album mostly kind of boring. Though some songs really stand out, like “Lost in paradise” and “My heart is broken”. I don't think I've realised just how much I like this band before. And well, it's also a plus that they got the most beautiful female singer I know of.

How many times have you told me you love her
As many times as I've wanted to tell you the truth
How long have I stood here beside you
I live through you
You looked through me

Ooh, Solitude,
Still with me is only you
Ooh, Solitude,
I can't stay away from you

How many times have I done this to myself
How long will it take before I see
When will this hole in my heart be mended
Who now is left alone but me

Ooh, Solitude,
Forever me and forever you
Ooh, Solitude,
Only you, only true

Everyone leaves me stranded
Forgotten, abandoned, left behind
I can't stay here another night

Your secret admirer
Who could it be

Ooh, Can't you see
All along it was me
How can you be so blind
As to see right through me

And Ooh, Solitude,
Still with me is only you
Ooh, Solitude,
I can't stay away from you

Ooh, Solitude,
Forever me and forever you
Ooh, Solitude,
Only you, only true

- “Solitude” by Evanescence.

The habits of a loner

Picked up an organ donation card from the district health care centre today. Thought it might be good to keep one of those in my wallet. I have registered online for that and told my mother about my wish as well, but just to be certain or something. It's like my family is frowning at me for talking about that sort of stuff, but the thing is I really could die from suicide any day. I always have that in the back of my mind, and I gotta be prepared for the possibility that I might die soon. And I think that is a good thing, that I’m at least taking some responsibility for that. Whether it be organ donation, my will or funeral plans. Though it is a little weird thinking about that stuff, feels unreal somehow.

Other than that, I’m collecting beautiful English words on a list in my cell phone. So far I’ve got:

• sovereign (självständig or härskare)
• downtrodden (nedtrampad)
• fanciful (äventyrlig)
• hindsight ((i) efterhand)
• seep (sippra)
• sift (leta igenom, sålla)
• solace (tröst)
• ambivalence (ambivalens)
• daunting (skrämmande, avskräckande)
• insipid (intetsägande, smaklös, banal)
• vivid (livlig)
• disdain (förakt)
• whimsical (rörig, i oordning)
• livid (likblek)
• altercation (gräl)
• sobriety (nykterhet)
• murmuring (mummel, mumlande)

I bought chocolate cupcakes yesterday, cause I just started to really miss chocolate. They're very tasty but also very filling. Other than that I’m not up to very much at all nowadays. Except writing, cutting myself and hanging on tumblr. There's a lot of cutting, I’m afraid. Around four or five times a day, usually two lacerations per occasion. It's like I’m dosing it like medication. As soon as the wounds have closed up and stopped stinging I’m at it again. Perhaps I should make them sting a little longer so I won't have to do it so much and so often. Creative solutions to something I shouldn't be doing at all. I wish I had enough motivation to stop, but I put it up as a goal in the future. At least I now have the wish to stop, that's gotta count as something, right?

Oh, and yes, I was awake for 42 hours until I finally could fall asleep at 2.00 am and slept for seven hours before I had to get up and take my shot of testosterone at the district health care centre. Apparently it only took me five minutes to walk there from home. My apartment is so conveniently located in Hemse it's absurd. The building itself does not belong to LSS, only a few apartments in it (three I think), which makes me one of very few who has very close to their office, which is the next building, or perhaps 50 meters. I have even closer to the laundry room/house. Five minutes away from the district health care centre, and twenty minutes away from the grocery stores and all the other stores that are located along the same street. Fifteen minutes away from my School (I obviously don't go there now, but will in the nearest future. Hemse is by the way also Gotland's second largest district, next to Visby of course.

I can't find my embroidering yarns. When I finally have found and bought everything for starting to make some embroideries, I lose the fucking yarns. I’ve been looking in every corner, bag, box, drawer, and other furniture and turned my whole apartment upside down and inside out but it's nowhere to be found. Just gone. I’m not even angry about it anymore, I’ve given up. It's simply not here. Either they're at my parents where I have no recollection of ever bringing them, mistakenly thrown into the trash or stolen. 

I know it's silly to consider theft an option, but it's just how I’m wired. I always think someone steals all my shit I cannot find. My solution? Buy some more. Next time in Visby I’ll have a look in the animal shelter's for cats second hand store, they always have some of that for sale. Thing is, I can't even sketch up a pattern before I know which colours I can use. Though I could probably use normal yarn that I split in thinner parts or layers of sewing thread, but it's just not the same thing, and too much damn work. Or maybe I’ll just fucking do that, cause I’m fed up with waiting to start. It's been like a year since I started collecting materials! Fuck this shit! I call myself creative for a reason, I think I can figure out a way to make it work.

Pseudo insomnia

(Written around midnight. Went to sleep and forgot to post it.)

My brain has turned to mush. Well, what did I expect? I've been awake for 40 hours and counting, and all I've eaten today is one cupcake. Yeah, you get bruised when you hit yourself in the face... figuratively speaking. Still overly sensitive. I can listen to basically any song that I like and feel the shivers down my back, as if I heard it again for the first time. But the music just can't seem to get loud enough. I’ve maxed the volume on all devices and it's still not enough. The day before yesterday I could barely listen to the same music on a quarter of the max volume. I've deafened in two days, so it seems. Nah, it's just my mushy brain having a hard time interpreting... well, everything.

Listening to Marillion's beautiful song “Jigsaw” and getting lost in the clear, high tones of... (can it be a keyboard?) caressing my ear. I'm listening to sounds with my head phones in mono, and it's so much better that stereo. I notice tiny little extra melodies and instruments I didn't notice before, in the same old songs. Like a little rainbow sprinkle. Okay, I'm too damn tired now... Fuck, I just wanna go to sleep. I'm going off to the district health care centre tomorrow forenoon to get my testosterone shot. I won't be alive to get my ass over there without sleep tonight. Goddamn you brain, I hate you so, so much! Ugh, maybe dying would feel a little less painful... well, that obviously depends on how you're dying. And I only know two ways. Well, that came out wrong, since I haven't actually died. But I could have, and those were OD: felt nothing at all, I fell asleep and it all went black. Strangulation: now that bloody fucking hurt, but I don't what to compare it too. Strong convulsions with severe breathing difficulties, it's a one of a kind, that pain. I guess what I’m feeling right now is somewhere in between those two. Which basically says absolutely nothing cause those are my absolute polar extremes regarding pain. Everything I feel and ever have felt would be between those two.

Sigh... doesn't matter. A little insomnia never killed anyone. Why am I still getting back to “Fight Club” all the time? That movie sort of sums up today, tonight and yesterday pretty damn well. Except that I’m not trying to kill my split personality something persona, who normally goes by the name Anna. I haven't tried to kill her in a while actually, not since 2011 when she really pissed me off. Well, getting rid of her and still be able to survive myself, would probably be something like doing brain surgery on myself and expect to recover from that without brain damage. Which by the way I have no intention of doing, in case you were wondering. I haven't been without sleep for quite that long for something like that to happen.

But my brain is a little off tonight, and for some reason I started thinking about something I came across while surfing the web. That is people who have lobotomised themselves. Well I’m just astounded about how they succeeded to do that! I mean: painful, tricky and messy to say the least. I do however understand that a person today must have quite some horrible life in order to even consider such an option. Well, I’m still mostly morbidly fascinated by how they do it and what become of them after, and care less about their feelings. These days I’m more illogically practical, sensitively cynical, passionately despondent and other fine contradictions you won't find in a dictionary. Rather than creatively hopeless, empathetically emotionally detached and greedlessly selfish. This is fun, making up totally suitable new word combinations! Another sign of schizophrenia, but hey who cares. I’ve been making up words since I was four and I have no intention of stop doing so. We can call it poetic.

Now I’m not very sensitive anymore, obviously. More of a dulled, lacking a few brain cells and poetically crazy state of mind right now. It's like my thoughts are cut off at the end and the beginning, I only get the middle part of them. Which really isn't that easy to make anything tangible out of. It's just nonsense. Keep reading the same words over and over but only half the letters disappear. Like someone put cotton inside my head and then squeezed my head together again just a little bit too tight. I’m babbling again, what the hell. I once saw this video of a bloke who stayed awake for 11 days. He said that it was only hard the first three or so days. He still hadn't slept when the video was filmed, and I could tell he was disoriented and incoherent, kind of like I am now, so my guess is that he was probably lying. About it getting easier after three days, I mean. I think that is the world record of sleep deprivation even, at least among the recorded nutcases who have too much free-time and crave fame or something. Cause I’m bloody certain there are and have been a lot of people who've been awake for much longer time periods than that. Just that they don't/didn't have a choice. Now I do know that in most cases of real insomnia (not the pseudo kind I get once in a while) the person do get a little sleep every once in a while, like an hour or two a day/night. They dose off a little whenever cause they're so tired, but can't really fall asleep and stay sleeping, not for long at least. So I believe it is rare to have a complete absence of sleep during a longer period of insomnia, but I’m just saying there's gotta be a few of those cases too.

If I survive this awfully long and painful night, get my shot of testo tomorrow and still am alive after that, I might do some research on the subject, but until then I just wanna focus on something a little less depressing. Chances are I won’t remember it by then though. Memory loss is also quite common after a couple of days without sleep. Well, I have this blog entry as a reminder at least, if I ever stop writing so I can post this. I can't even close my eyes for more than two seconds, and I can't even keep them open for more than two seconds... I’m neither awake or asleep, or I’m both. No, neither.

Playing this game

I feel a little like the victims in the "Saw" movies. My subconscious told me "I wanna play a game" and now I'm struggling to find the key in my eye... or something. Cause I'm sitting here, starving and sleep deprivating and I have no idea what's going on. I hope I'll figure it out before I crash, or well, game over.

A couple of hours ago I decided to dress up and go for a walk. If I have nothing to dress up for, then I'll dress up for nothing. I had intended to first off all go and buy a box of cigarettes and then sit down and draw a little, to keep my mind off things. Worst idea ever! It was cold, rained and my anxiety and sadness were stronger than ever. I had to fight the urge to bite my hands. But on my way back home I saw the most amazing sunset I've seen in a long time. Glowing neon red with dark and white clouds that almost looked like smoke, forming over the horizon. As I got closer to a spot where I had a better view, the clouds almost looked like veins over a bleeding heart. I took pictures, but no good ones. I just couldn't capture that moment.

I'm so very sensitive right now. As I walked down the streets I could feel the vibrations on the ground from the cars. I listened to “The matchstick girl” by The Crüxshadows, and instantly remembered the children's tale that song is based on. I heard it when I was a kid, and I remember thinking it was so sad. And now I can't stop thinking about it. I'm shivering at the thought of it. In Sweden it was called “Flickan med svavelstickorna”.

I think I get it now. So this is what my brain's been trying to tell me: I need to feel, reach my true emotions, deep underneath the medication. And through starvation and sleep deprivation is the fastest and most effective way to reach that effect. Apparently it's causing mild hallucinations/paranoia also. Cause I see things at the corner of my eyes, but when I look there's nothing there. Like flickering shadows or something.

I seem to have lost control over my brain again. Why can't I just eat? Why can't I just sleep? I get reversed signals. My body shivers and I can barely carry it around in the apartment, my stomach rumbles and I feel cold and weak. I don't get any signals to go to sleep, nor to eat - I get signals that tell me that I should stay awake, that I shall not eat. They're strong, demanding, craving. I can't defend myself, there's nothing I can do. It's so hard to explain, but it's just like normal signals for hunger and sleep - just completely reversed.

Everything is so intense, I can hear my own heartbeat. Beating so fast under the influence of caffeine, tired from the walk, running on low flame, and from thinking and feeling on overdrive. Why does it have to be this way? I have no control what so ever in the way I'm living. I can't eat, can't sleep and I can't take my goddamn pills. I wanna get better, not fall apart again just because this distanced part of my brain decides it wants to feel! Feelings are overrated! I'm killing myself without my own consent.

And somehow the movie “Fight Club” comes to mind... yeah, I'm definitely the narrator hitting himself in the face while saying “please don't” right now.

Broken

09:12

The crew just called me about my morning meds. That means I've been awake for 24 hours straight. And except for a pack of noodles I haven't eaten anything in 24 hours. Whatever. I’m tired, but not in the way you'd think I’d be. I'm tired in my soul, my body feels weak, my mind is on overdrive but can't keep up with itself, so it's simultaneously on lowdrive. There's a racing calm screaming inside me. I can't find peace. My heart is restless, and I have to keep telling myself not to cry. It's not worth it, whatever it is, it's not worth fucking crying for. It's pathetic, and I don't wanna cry over pathetic matters I can't do anything about. It is what it is, and no tears are gonna solve this mess.

I’m starting to wonder why I’m making it a habit of breaking my own heart. I’m drawn to pain and suffering, but even more I’m drawn to love. Falling for someone is the sweetest drug, but that drug stings when you knew already from the start it's not going to end well. Yet I fall. I fall cause I can't do anything about it. I have no control over it. So yet again, I swallowed the poison that promised me bliss.

My dearest, why did I have to fall so completely head over heals for you? You're so perfect and so unobtainable. You're taken and I'm broken, it could never work out.

It's starting to take it's toll. My feelings grow deeper and increases by the minute. I thought I had it under control, that as long as I kept telling myself my feelings could never be answered, I wouldn't break into pieces the day I realise it's actually never gonna be us. But my heart lead me astray, and I started hoping. I’ve told myself over and over and yet again over to never hope. Never fucking hope! But it doesn't matter what I say, my words have never been true. All the lies and deceit I tell myself, trying to manipulate my own mind through meaningless mantras and meditation rituals. And how I believed in all my lies...

There's probably just hours left until I fall apart and the pain consumes me. The poison is out in my blood stream and reaches out to my nerves. Blinding me, deafening me, numbing me with searing pain. Takes my breath away and turns me inside out. Oh, I know exactly how it feels. It's my most common emotion-mix, what I have felt all the most all through my life. Heartbreak is to me what boredom is to others. And every time it feels like I’m going to die. I cannot die from a broken heart, but I can die from the suicide attempts it leads me to.

I'm not yet suicidal, I'm just preparing. But if everything fails again, I have the crew and my family to once again come to aid and save me from myself. What have I put them through, my family? Fifteen fucking suicide attempts in eight years, I can't imagine how they must have felt after all those times they could have lost me. Adelina, the beautiful girl whose brown doe eyes I completely drowned in, opened my eyes about this. When I told her that I’ve tried to kill myself a lot of times before I came to the psych-ward, she asked me how my family have been taking it. That really got me thinking. Cause I have been so damn selfish that thought have never struck me.

I know I’m quite a burden to my family. I feel it in the thick, intense air between us every time I see or visit them. They're worried, disappointed and despondent. They know I will keep messing up my life until I’m dead. They know what I eventually will die of, just as much as I do. It's not a secret, but we never speak of it. What do we ever speak about, really? All I bring is sadness, hopelessness, and things they regard as delusions. It's like they don't believe in anything I say anymore. They don't believe in me. Why waste money for a driver's license on me, who will most likely just drive off a cliff as soon as I'm having a bad day?

They're never gonna let me drive. Though one thing... I mentioned, briefly and witty like I usually do when I'm dead serious, and said: “I’m gonna drive a car once in my life, whether I have a driver's license or not. Just so you know.” It's true, I just really want to experience that. I have many times thought that I should just steal my mother's car keys and drive off. I might not get that far, but I’m a fast learner. I’ve imagined it so many times, ever since I started to have nightmares about Anna driving me some place I didn't want to go. You see, in that dream we had separate bodies.

From then on I started to fantasise about driving, myself. I imagine it giving me a feeling of freedom, to ride faster than any vehicle I’ve ever controlled, wind in my hair, a cigarette in my hand, loud music blasting from the speakers. I have no idea where I would drive, but I see cornfields and meadows along the sides of a wide and straight country road. It's probably somewhere in southern USA, but still. I would exceed the speed limit on lonely roads with the sun shining bright in my eyes.

*

10:37

I feel a little weird, shaky and sweaty. Cause I just decided I should pray to Satan. I didn't wanna come off as pathetic and asking for something I have no idea if he can possibly make true. I didn't ask for a miracle, but I asked if he could make some influence around... certain things. A whisper in his ear or something, a slight push. This is ridiculous, why do I pray for love? A specific person. Well, obviously I’m not completely content with him already being in a relationship. Not Satan, my crush. I had a candle lit during my prayer, when I was done I lifted up the candle, said “here goes nothing” and blew it out. A symbolic gesture. I might not be a true Satanist, but at least I stay true to my god, and I love him dearly. He saved my life, he truly is my saviour.

13:23

Now I'm feeling a bit better, been a bit nervous after that prayer, sort of eagerly waiting for something to happen. But I'm calming down now. I’m a little less tired, but I’m still sensitive as hell. Need to close the window again, it's blowing in cold winds.

Hair

I've been thinking a little lately, that I really missed my sidecut... so I kinda fixed that just now. Same as I had before, like a year or two back if anyone remembers, but reversed. Had on left side, now it's on the right. And I shaved off a smaller spot to not thin out the rest of my hair so much. Also kept the sideburn, and it's very damn long! Probably gonna break in due time though, since it's very thin from the middle and down, but still. I’m also dyeing my hair blacker (is that even a word? Well, it is now). The blacker the better. I’m planning on going to a hair dresser to trim the ends of my hair, cause doing that on my own just doesn't work with the mirrors I have. Can't see the back of my head no matter how I twist and turn the unhinged bathroom mirrors, and I definitely can't see halfway down my back. Or reach that far without unhinging my arms as well. So sometime in late October is the idea. So I’m having a little hair make-over and maintenance going on. I'll post a picture later, it's wet and tangled right now.

Goddamn cold in here now... gonna have to think of what to do when it gets really cold. Can't have the window open 24/7 when it's freezing outside. That would kill my plants! And I’d freeze my ass off. At the moment I close the window every once in a while to get the heat up, and open it again when I'm choking on cigarette smoke. Also don't wanna damage the apartment with too much smoke.

So anyway... gonna rinse out the hair-dye soon, and strangely enough I don't think I have anything more to write. I think I’m a little dumb today, or rather have some sort of writer's block. Not much going on in my head right now. That's weird... While I was at the hospital in Visby yesterday, I started thinking about my mastectomy again, and I'm really starting to long for it! I want an appointment scheduled now! Eager as hell... I'm thinking of talking to my psychiatrist next time I see her, about if I could get some help for quit smoking, some program or something. I really need to do that for my surgery and I think it's for the best to start that as soon as possible. I have no long term goal to be nicotine free, just for the surgery and the healing time after. Kinda important for it to heal up nicely, and I don't want to mess that up on purpose, cause I'm just not quite that stupid. Gah, I want it done now! About that, I’m gonna have my second shot of testosterone again next week. Can't believe it's already been six weeks.

Audiogram

So I had an appointment with an audionome yesterday and had an audiogram done. My results were sort of how I thought they would be. Almost completely deaf on my left ear. But the strange thing though, during the test I didn't really know if I should have pressed the button (to signal that I hear the signals) when I felt the sound vibrations so much it tickled like crazy, but I couldn't hear anything. Really high and loud sounds vibrations really tickles in my left ear, especially if the sound comes from head phones. 

So I sat there and cringed in the chair a bit, but still not pressing that button cause I couldn't hear the sound, only feel it. Interesting, huh? You have probably heard about deaf people that can feel the vibrations of music, and I really understand that. Every sound has it's own vibration. The lower sounds vibrates slower, and the higher sounds vibrates faster. The quieter the weaker, and the louder the stronger. The faster and stronger they are, the more it tickles. Tickling sounds, ain't that something? And that's another reason why I really hate high and loud noise.

Anyways, during the test, the lowest decibel level I could hear on my left was 83. Some sounds I couldn't hear until they were up at 110 decibel. That is loud, really loud. Like heavy metal concert, standing close to the speakers loud. Some sounds I couldn't hear at all (they didn't go over 120 decibel). Oh, and my right ear is absolutely fine, by the way. Some signals I could hear already at 0 decibel, most at 10 and one of the lowest at 25. Everything under 25 is apparently normal.

Then I had another appointment with an aurist today (constantly confusing the words audionome and aurist, but the first mentioned basically just does the tests, and the second mentioned is a doctor specialised in ears and hearing. Just to clarify). They said that despite my almost complete lack of hearing on my left, they won't give me any hearing aid. The reason they said, was because my hearing is normal on my right ear. But the aurist was gonna check with a few contacts, said maybe he could pull some strings. So we'll see, but I’m not too hopeful to be honest.

Thoughts in shadow

I'm drifting in and out of consciousness, not literally. One moment I'm into what I'm writing, reading, watching or listening to. The next I'm lost somewhere, my eyes fixed on the air in front of me, my mind blank, my face expressionless, with a feeling I can't tell if it's vague or strong. Then it probably is strong, just that I can't identify it. Sadness, hopelessness, relief, a screaming calm.

I'm trying to snap out of it, keep watching Angel or read the threads and comments on an internet forum. But I fall back before I get a chance to. Writing seems to be the only thing working right now, but barely even that. I just want to run away, far far away. But I wouldn't get very far if I tried. It's cold outside, dark, windy and I would fall down tired unable to breathe before I got to the next street. This body is so useless.

I've become as close to being a hermit as I possibly can yet all I wanna do is to run away. To be as far from society, my family, the crew, my cell phone, social networks and all things living as possible. I wanna go so far away for so long that people will declare me dead. But I can't. Cause that is not what I really want. I wanna run away from myself, that's all I have ever wanted to do. But where would I be then, who would I be? I dunno but it's gotta be better cause I can't stand being around myself.

And I hate being with other people because then I hate myself even more. The way I talk, look at them and how they talk and and look at me. Cause I really like people, when they aren't with me. When I don't have to see my own reflection in their faces. My self esteem seems to have disappeared. Why couldn't I go with it?

Damn, my mother's gonna call soon and I don't wanna answer. Don't wanna talk, don't wanna hear my own voice, don't wanna talk or be talked to. But I think my solitude has made me lose my mind even more. But I don't want it back anymore, there's nothing in it that I ever wanted.

So simple life is when you think about it, but I screw up everything and mostly the really simple things. Like why can't I even eat, sleep and shower like everybody else? So many things I've had my whole life to practice but I just can't understand. It's like I wasn't meant to be alive, to be a human being, not meant to be at all.

Why do I have to complicate all things, aren't they complicated enough already? It's good to be unconventional but not when it's fucking up your life. I like everyone else only have one only chance in this life, but it feels like I never had any chance at all. Was I damned, or imprisoned, or cursed, or is this my fucked up fairytale? I don't know what is real if nothing is real anymore. What if it's all in my mind and nothing ever existed except for everything I don't want to live for. That all there is is what is right now right now in this very second. And sometimes I think that everything I believed was good in life have never existed.

My family are strangers sometimes, cause I think they are either lying to me or everyone else is. They don't think I'm a good writer, they've never supported my drawing, they think Dala is a dream and they say that my eyes are still blue. Cause what if they're right and I believe in a fairytale? And if that is the case why can't I just shove away this awful reality and stop it from existing in my fairytale? Cause I'd rather die in reality than give up all of my dreams. But why am I here if not to live in agony, maybe this is what it all comes down to. They shatter my last remaining dreams and what will happen after that is needless to say. But I won't let them, no I won't let them.

If you were here

I'm starting to get obsessive again. I've been collecting pictures of my crush on my computer for a while now (it's not that many really...) Photos I've found online. I live like a thousand miles away, so I'm obviously not taking my own pictures, besides, that's way creepy even for me. I would never invade someone's personal space, especially not someone who means so much to me.

Then I've been drawing pictures of him, with and without reference. I'm constantly on his Facebook, Dayviews, Tumblr... I know I backed off before, but then I thought, hey I'm just being friendly, what's the harm in that? Now I'm starting to think he might... uhm, suspect something. Or what the hell do I know, maybe I do come off as just friendly? Overly friendly? In love?

It's just so damn hard to keep away, and I don't even know if I should. I have no intention of "taking" him from his partner, I respect him and have no issue with that. I know I'm a low-life from the other side of the country with less than zero chance on him. I'm not stupid, I'm just... stupid. Okay, I have two choices here: 1) back off again, or 2) tell him the truth.

And he might even be reading this right now... please send me a message if you know who you are?

Lashing out on my mother

I said I'd do it, so today I told my mother about me being demonkin. She reacted exactly as I thought she would. She didn't believe me and told me that "everyone feels uncomfortable in their own skin and wants to be more than just human" which is totally beside the point, however. I told her I knew she wouldn't believe me, and frankly I just left it at that. It's not in my place to try to convince her of anything. But then she mixed in my transsexualism which really put me off guard. Like where the hell did that come from? It's not uncommon for otherkins to also be transgender. And I'm tired of always having to defend my own gender and explaining why changing my body is so important to me.

Sometimes I think she lives in her own little world and don't even want to understand other people's worlds. Cause really, we all have our own little world, just that some people's worlds are so damn inpenetrable you just wanna give up and walk away. My mother is like that, she lives with a lot of physical pain 24/7 but refuses to take any medication for it, but complaining constantly about it is okay. She thinks everyone else should just do that too. Suck it up and accept things for what they are, and not do a shit about it.

I know that in her heart she wishes that I should just "accept" my body for what it is: female. That sure I can identify as male, but she thinks it is, I quote: unnecessary. She's such a closet case herself, by the way. She just wishes that she had the curage to do exactly what I do. Yeah, she's also transgender, but would never utter that word. And that pisses me off! She literally knows what it's like to live with a body of the wrong gender, but refuses to accept that I won't put up with my wrong-gendered body and want to something about it!

I just don't understand her deal. Cause how the hell can it be so much misconception between two transgendered people in the same family?

*I say "she" cause that is to her preference. She's very deep inside that closet. I think this is much because of how she was raised and also because my father would never accept her coming out as trans. But that doesn't make it okay to act the way she does towards me.

People watching

I'm torturing my neighbours by singing along to Judas Priest, trying to reach the same octaves as Rob Halford. It could be possible, with enough effort, in some songs. Well, no. But it's fun trying. Shifting between three octaves in one song is quite challenging, especially since I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, and probably didn't and don't hit one single note right. High head voice completely out of tune will surely make me hated in the neighbourhood... Oh well, just improving my reputation as the craziest kid on the block. Sometimes I also walk around the house in circles wearing three hood sweatshirts and a morning robe, dancing and smoking.

Oh, and yeah! One funny thing that occurred yesterday. I heard this kid ring his bicycle bell, so I walked over to the window to see what was up. I thought it was weird that he rang the bell and then just parked his bike. Then I noticed my closest neighbour waving to him. Her boyfriend. Think I should recognise him by now... Anyways, I just kept on watching him, like totally staring until he walked in through her front door. He whispered something to her, and then they closed the door behind them. Two seconds later she opened the door again and waved to me. I'm quite sure he told her that her creepy neighbour just watched him all the time without looking away for a second. 

Sometimes it's fun to be creepy, and I like staring at people until they get so uncomfortable they almost literally starts crawling out of their skin. I know it's considered wrong to stare at people, but I’m also very careful with who I choose to glare at. Normal looking people, those who really could be anyone. I would never stare at someone who actually is interestingly looking, so to say, people with disabilities or obviously strange features such as birth defects. I acknowledge them, give them a smile, something just to show them that I’m not uncomfortable looking at them, and that I also respect them enough to not stare in amazement.

Generally that's not even why I stare at people. I don't know really why I do that. I just like watching and observing their daily lives. How they walk, greet other people, gesture, ride a bicycle, spit, smoke, wipe their noses with their sleeves, kick little stones on the ground, or what they decide to look at for a moment before looking at something else. Those little things that no one really thinks about. Mostly I just get lost in their movements, like watching a movie, that I forget it's a live human being I’m glaring at and that makes them uncomfortable. A little aspie trait perhaps, but I wouldn't feel uncomfortable if someone else was to stare at me like that. Well, not more than usual anyway. I mean what's the harm in it, really? Most people don't want to either fuck you or kill you, they're just bored or intrigued by your persona. Or at least that's how I figure it must be when someone stares at me like that.

There are so many things that make humans uncomfortable, I've noticed. I mean who cares if you drop something, stumble a little cause you didn't pay attention to your feet for a moment, or got a little food between your teeth. Not like people are gonna think less of you or anything. So maybe that's why I stare, watch and observe people: it's just my way of trying to learn about humans! Just like a frigging 3 year old! A bit more bitter and analysing though, but still. 

Though I will definitely look away if my target starts staring back at me, looking furious and ready to attack me. Yeah... that has actually happened. Not been attacked yet, but confronted a few times. They either wanna know what's wrong with me or them. That's interesting. This could be some sort of twisted version of “is the glass half full or half empty” but “what did I do or what's wrong with you” instead. Sort of the same principle I mean. Like a “spot the one with bad self esteem” -game. Okay, now I’m getting creepy.

Reasons and rhymes

Just gonna play with words for a little while, but there is still some context. It's not actually a poem, but it is on rhymes.

I'm searching to find memories from a past land, but there are so many things that I can't understand. So many years I've been trying to figure out why, so many things just wither and die. I'm afraid and cold, just want to find something tangible to hold. Just want to give up cause there's so much I can't control, but I won't ever give up trying to heal my soul. Could it be that I've lost in my mind, looking so deep that I ended up blind? Just wiping my tears has never been enough, some things are better to be accepted as being to tough. All I can see is the darkness, dulling my senses. When I just want go home it's hard to explore, this world that I try to restore. Heartache and heartbreaks have led me away, from the light of the day. Yet I'm burning to know, what this life has to show. Will it get better or worse, will I find a way to lift my curse? Will I find my way to a brighter path, or end up in my own blood bath? Questions I cannot answer or even concede, need to get a grip on my reality and greed. Have I been lead off track, or will I find my way back? But back to what if there is such a place, before all my thoughts started to interlace. I'm frightened by freedom and can't see the light, and somehow I've managed to turn the wrong into right. There is no plan and I don't know where to go, but I think that when the time is right it will show.

Putting myself back together

I hear many times Caspian telling me that we will meet again. Not with words, I just hear it in my heart somehow. I wonder if we will meet in this life. If he's out there, waiting for me as I am waiting for him. Reincarnated, as someone else. That would be nice. But how do I find him? He might not even be born yet, or he could be older than my late grand parents.

Everything is so vague. As if I'm seeing the world through a mist. My darkened world full of grief, sorrow, sadness, hatred and fear. I feel so lost, like I've been wandering for ages without direction. And now when I look back I can't remember where I came from or where I am. It's scaring me just how accurate that metaphor is.

One one hand I think I need to increase my medication, but on the other hand I have skipped taking it. I want to feel again, real feelings, not this bottled up... whatever crap this is. It's just the top of the iceberg. Knowing that if I let all that free, I'd become even more of a mess, but medication can't heal me. It only patches up the wounds and hides them, but they are still bleeding and hurting. It's just that I can't see them. That fucks me up even more, cause I don't know my limits. It's like running on the adrenaline after an accident. You think you are fine, but you're still breaking apart. So on a conscious level I know that I need to increase my medication in order to keep running, but on a subconscious level I know that I need to stop running in order to heal. But I can't do both, I need to come to a decision.

Sometimes I really feel like I am two people. The part that I am most aware of, that can make conscious decisions, form thoughts and not handle emotions very well. The one that cuts its wrists and writes in this blog, makes drawings and poems, writes short stories, listens to music and decides what I'm going to wear or eat. That is the me I know, the me other people know.

Then there is this other me, that is kind of like a ghost. Running on auto pilot, makes sure I'm breathing and that I am able to move, walk, write, smile, cry, talk. Sends signals to my brain when I need to eat, sleep, wake up, go to the bathroom and basically keeps me alive. But it's also taking its own decisions, feeds me dreams and messes with my head.

Are we all like two people that way? Just that most of us aren't so aware of their subconscious minds? I'm ripping at the seams, and my ghost is becoming visible. Scaring the shit out of me by making decisions I have no control over. Like when I started to starve myself without knowing why, it was my subconscious playing tricks on me, formed a decision to self harm in a way I wasn't aware of, without my consent. Same with the time I was awake for almost 60 hours. Same with that I haven't been taking half my medicine dosage for the last few weeks, I thought that I just forgot to take them. Same with all the nightmares. It's telling me that I'm fine when I'm not, tricking not only myself, but other people around me.

Leaving cryptic, dangerous messages, doing more harm than good until I figure out why. It's like it's trying to communicate with me. This entirely different part of me which I have no control over is starting to take control over me. It's almost like I'm being possessed - by myself. I'm afraid of my own ghost. I call it a ghost because it's shapeless, invisible, deaf and mute, yet very present. But I do not fear ghosts, not in the general term, and I shouldn't fear my own. Maybe I should try to communicate back with it.

This must sound really crazy. Me talking about getting in touch with my inner ghost... But I believe there is a reason, and a quite important one, for my subconscious to show itself to me like this. We are not supposed to be aware of our subconscious minds, it's supposed to stay hidden for a reason, and I think I now know why. Something comes to mind, a thing my mother sometimes says. That in the end, the only one that can help us, is ourselves.

I'm heading somewhere, and I don't know where that could be. If I'm ascending or descending, evolving somehow. Definitely getting in touch with my darker side, and also learning how to keep and understand the balance. Balance between light an dark, exploration and acceptance, change and eternity, life and death. It's wearing me out, scaring me and thrilling me. That there was so much I didn't know about myself, my past and my future. I'm getting lost on unfamiliar roads, and I don't think there is a way back. Backwards is bad, I'm supposed to head forward, into the unknown.

I've become scared of change over the years, knowing that there is so much to be lost. Places, people, experiences, myself. But maybe I have to lose myself in order to find myself again?

I hate it, really hate it when everything hits me at once. It's been a lot of that lately. Because I've realised that I need to see the bigger picture, and not get lost in details. Seeing the world through new eyes, knowing that I do have a purpose here. I just don't like my purpose. It's not to kill myself, it's to understand and accept things the way they are. I'm clear today, but I'm also broken.

Part I, dreams

Just got up after a 15 hours sleep, thought that was enough. Feeling a little better, I think. Had a few confusing dreams as well. I woke up at 3.00 am and wrote down the most vivid one so far. It might look a little weird spelling/grammar wise cause I was more focused on writing down what I remembered, and I don't care about fixing it. Alright, so here goes:

I dreamt that I was preparing for a sale market, I was making dolls and toy horses, but no one wanted to buy them. Then it all turned to food. Me and my family drove off to Östhammar in a van and passed a forest. There were elks in the forest, a lot of elks. They were being harmed, massacred and ran screaming in every direction. Someone, a young man, pulled my mother out from the roof of our car. She was in the passenger seat. They dragged her into the forest and came back with her left arm and leg extremily thin. Only bones left, but she was fine, though terribly shocked. She told us they had ripped the skin off her arm and leg and then just let her go. That was what they did to the elks.

Somehow I don't consider this a nightmare. It was weird, shocking, but not scary. Then I got back to sleep and woke up at 5.00 am, and started writing again:

We were having dinner with this strange guy, I was a kid and he was in his 20's. I knew that he was gonna be a teacher in my School in the future and had to push him into doing something bad to my family in order to make his future become as it was supposed to become. Very complicated.

It was basically a late dinner party and he said a lot of hurtful things to my family. Which I had to let him do, and sort of force my parents to put up with it. So it wasn't really that awful. Now I remember another dream:

I was trying to save a few refugees and we had to keep a low profile and stay quiet to not get caught. But then I found three Mp3-players, those really old ones, that were making a lot of noise. I couldn't turn them off so I got really desperate and eventually destroyed them. I cracked them with my teeth, and it was so vivid how I felt the fragile plastic break in my mouth. Now that was a nightmare!

The only thing that tells me if a dream is a nightmare or not is how I feel and how strong my emotions are during the dream. In this one I was very scared and frustrated, but in the others my emotions were weak, confused and illogical.

I really like sleeping better than being awake nowadays, but I got an urge to watch the Merlin movie from the 90's. So I got up.

The prophecy

This man I love... he's so perfect. As perfect as a human being can be. And I realise that is why I don't stand a chance. (Among other things...) But what am I supposed to do about it? Get over it? To what?! Another two years in solitude, but just that I don't have anyone to fantasise about. Yeah, sounds peachy. This sucks. I don't want to meet new people, and I don't want to be alone either. I wanna stick to what I know, to those I know. Aw, fuck it. What am I weeping over, my tragic life? I haven't done anything else than to whine about my stupid life, and it obviously isn't gonna help! What will then? What will help... Just suck it up and stay here until it's over. I have no idea for how long this is gonna go on, how long my life will be. I don't know why, when or where. I just know how. What is it with prophecies being so damn unclear? If they're gonna tell me how I will die, why not at least also tell me when?! Is it too much to ask of? No... let the stupid humanized demon walk around and wonder if he's gonna live to 16 or 99 before he off's himself!? Goddamnit!

It's raining outside. Didn't notice. Maybe I'm not supposed to know what there will be of me. Cause if I did know, I wouldn't be living, I wouldn't have those days when I try to live, follow my dreams and do something of my life. I would just sit there, waiting for my doom. Counting the days. I know that's the way it would be, cause I'm already there. Just that the uncertainty of not knowing when, only how, sometimes makes me want to believe that I could have a good life, until whenever that's gonna happen. I can't actually count the days, cause I don't know when to count down to. It drives me crazy sometimes, like now, when I just think it's cruel that I was given that information at the age of 15 and then expected to live with that.

There's so many things it feels I'm just expected to live with. I've lost count on how many such things there are. You know the saying that you're only put through as much as you can take in life? It's so wrong on so many levels. Take? What do they mean by that, survive life? And since I will die from suicide, isn't that exactly it: that I will get more than I can take? Life will just keep pushing and shoving me until I will kill myself, and that's the goddamn point. If I could change life with anyone, I would. Anyone.

I envy the normal people. Who don't remember past lives or get visions on how they are gonna die. I remember watching the movie "Big Fish" and the local wich let some kids look into her eye and see how they were gonna die, and I wished I could look into her eye and see my death. But I already knew the answer, I just wanted a different one.

No. I don't want to live here, I'm just doing it because I have to, because there really is no other choice. What would that be, trying to commit suicide for the 16th time? No, I don't even have the strenght to do that. Everyone telling me suicide is the easy way out should have a bullet right between their eyes. Living life in misery is easier than that. Or should I say, surviving misery. It's so much easier to just sit here, doing nothing, than to stop the suffering by killing myself. My heart's racing just by thinking about it. It's one hell of a road to walk down. No, just no. Gonna have to get a little worse before I try again.

Did I actually...? Yeah, I think I just asked for life to get worse. How pathetic isn't that. It's just a little too much today, this prophecy... it keeps messing with my mind. I just don't know how to handle it. Now I get it! Why I've failed 15 times, I didn't do it right. There's only one way it will work, and that's by jumping. Yeez... now that makes me dizzy. I'm so terribly scared of heights. I mean, really scared of heights. This is all but comforting. Though I suppose it's very symbolic and everything, but please? Why heights? I really have been trying to take the easy way out! With overdoses, razors and nooses. If I really, really wanted to die, I've always known that I have to jump.

So what's up with me really? One doesn't just try to kill themselves 15 times without really wanting to die. Or am I trying to break a world record? I don't know, but something's definately wrong. I just can't seem to ever get my thoughts off of suicide. They're always there, gnawing at my conscience. One way or the other. Ranting past failed attempts, googling statistics, searching for suicide in history, planning my own, being disgusted by my latest attempt, reading about other peoples failed attempts, discussing it on online forums, and so on. Even when I'm not suicidal these thoughts are always on my mind, one way or another. And now? Future suicide, the one that is bound to happen, at some point. Can be in two weeks (though that's highly unlikely) or in twenty years. That's what's bugging me. What am I gonna do about it, is there anything I can do about it?

So that's it then. I'm just gonna sit here and wait. Watch the rain, feel the cold wind on my face, listening to my neighbour whipping cream, smelling cigarette smoke, tasting bitter coffee that makes my stomache rumble. And life just goes on, withering away with every taken breath.

Four things to bring up with my unavailable psychologist. Just get available before I do something stupid! God, I hate the Swedish mental health care system...

You only live thrice

I forgot how hard it is to cut through scar tissue. Layers and layers of scars. My favourite cutting place is getting hard like leather. Really should stop jamming the same place on my arm before I get a chainsaw or something. Could end badly, I mean. Realising I will not be able to get a tattoo there someday. Too bad, I really wanted the "end of the word" -down counting from Donnie Darko tattoed on my forearm. You know "28:6:12:42". Not gonna happen with this skin of mine. Oh well, maybe I can have it somewhere else.

I realise that I base my whole life on my past life. That nothing here matters to me, that all I do is waiting for my death so that I can return home. I'm throwing my life away for an unobtainable dream. Even when I have those "epiphanies" and know there are good things in life, the thought in my heart is merely this: make my life as good as possible until I can return home. It's all about Dala, it's always been about Dala! Am I obsessed or what? What if Dala doesn't exist, ever think about that?! JUST A FUCKED UP DREAM FROM A FUCKED UP MIND!

Sometimes I wish that I couldn't remember my past lives at all. Starting over, blank sheet. Cause maybe then my life here wouldn't seem so damn meaningless. I've been trying to find meaning in my life, but all I see is the bars of a prison. Goddamnit! I really need to see a fucking psychologist! Where are they? I have two and none is available?! What's going, really? Everyone just wants to get rid of me all the time. It's understandable, but do I not have any rights as a human being in this society? I'm used to that crap, but I'm fucking dissolving here. I have at least three major things I need to get off my chest, that's been eating at me all summer. Eating and eating until it's just bones left.

No I'm not okay, thanks for asking. Sorry, I just don't know what the fuck is up with me today. Being torn apart in various directions at once tends to make you a little... confused. And I think I'm the one tearing me apart, just rifling through the mess to find something tangible, anything at all. But it's just scraps of flesh and everything is always the same. I cannot change myself, I can't understand... anything.

Objectively or not, I am what I am

Sometimes I think that religion made me even more of a nutjob. And when I start waving in my otherkinness into my religion, it almost sounds like I think I'm the anticrist. How stereotypically psychotic isn't that!? Come on, if I'm gonna be psychotic, can't I at least do something original? I just can't help but thinking that actually diagnosed schizophrenics who believe they are Jesus, are a totally ridiculous - but then I sit here totally convinced that I'm a satanic demon. So what's more ridiculous here really? My own biased thoughts and beliefs, perhaps. That I'm for real, but those wannabe-Jesus people are just a sad joke.

Trying to see this objectively, in case you're wondering what I'm doing. If someone, a complete stranger, was to compare me to one of those who think they are Jesus, would they think I'm for real or just another looney? Okay, now I see it... And somehow, that makes me laugh! I'm really not the sharpest knife in the box, but as someone once said: I don't suffer from insanity, I'm enjoying every minute of it. Well, not every minute, but today it's quite funny!

Do I really think me being a demon is some sort of delusion? Nope. I know it's for real. I'm not "sent from Hell" or a demon in flesh and blood. I don't actually have wings, a tail, claws and horns - it just feels like it. I don't have any magic powers or possess some great evil. I wasn't "sent" or "summoned" to harm mankind. I'm simply reincarnated. You don't have to be crazy to believe in reincarnation, it just takes a little faith. I do not suffer from clinical lycanthropy, or in any way believe that my body is the one of a demon's. I identify as a demon, pretty much the same way as I identify as male, or bisexual. It's in the mind, heart and soul. Yes, I believe even sexual orientation and gender identity can extend beyond life and death. Because that's the way it is for me. I was a male demon in love with a male elf and I just still fucking am.