Intense writing, and how I love it

Oh my god... I only have eleven chapters left to write. That's not much at all, considering I've already written 52 of them. This next one that I'm gonna start writing close to asap is gonna be the last really happy chapter which saddens me a lot. Close to crying again... Damn, I've been crying so much lately, it's insane. And it's equally insane that I've written over 100 thousand words in a less than three weeks.

I never thought it was gonna become such a big book. Thought those 160 pages wasn't so much, but then... yeah. Word count is a bitch when I have it divided into six documents. It will be around 7 or 8 documents with around 18 to 20 thousand words each altogether when I'm done with the first draft, I think. So I haven't been keeping track of exactly how many words I've written. I'll keep an eye on that from here on though.

Do I ever talk about anything else than my writing? And not that I ever reveal anything that I write. Just talk about how far I've come and how I feel about it. I have to admit, I am kinda proud of my work so far and I'll probably (most likely) be incredibly happy about it when I'm done. When, not if. Just that makes me smile. It's like finally I'm pursuing my passion and it feels great. I can't even understand why I haven't done that before.

But I do know. I've been at the very bottom for so long, falling through trap doors to reach new bottoms for years and years. I just haven't been stable enough to write anything bigger than poems. Not that writing poems is bad or anything, just that they're not very productive in the same meaning as writing a book is. And also, I was just not good enough in English to write it, and too bored with the for me very limited Swedish that I could have written it in instead.

Haha, just thought of how nice it would feel to brag to the English teacher at school when I start next spring term, to say that I'm writing/have written an entire book in English. Just how amazed they should be. I wonder if I'll have the same teacher as before. My English was better than hers, and it definitely is now. I'm entirely self taught these last two or more years, by the way.

But anyway, my writing is getting better and more intense every day. I don't quite keep up with myself, as I now only have to look up maybe one or two words a chapter and the text just flows out of me in the pace of my tears. I feel sorry for my characters that I keep on hurting, but I won't reveal the ending. Maybe I destroy them too much, maybe I patch things up for them, maybe they find their peace of mind again, maybe they don't.

I realised, yesterday, that I will have to warn my readers before letting anyone read it. It's very graphic and triggering and you should definitely take caution if you're sensitive. Not saying you shouldn't read it if you are (hey, I'm sensitive) but yeah, I'd have to warn you. It's definitely not for kids and if it ever comes out to be published, it would be in an adult section by it's own, almost. There's a lot of abuse and such stuff in it, that much I can say. That much I have to say.

But I hope you'd still like it, despite of or because of that, I don't know. I wanted to make everything realistic and I've included a lot of stuff that I've been through myself, but perhaps in another vintage. I want it to be able to go under your skin. To me, I'm practically over most of the horrible things I've been through, so it's been okay for me to write about stuff like that. But it's another thing reading about it. I know that. And I've been adding in more cruelty than I first planned to. Whether that's good or bad I don't know. It's gonna be intense, it already is.

Eat, sleep, write

I'm so tired now. Only slept for about three hours during the forenoon today. Was awake during the whole of last night and been awake all of today. But I'm restless, hungry, far from sleepy and just wanna write. Only things I've eaten today is one portion of yoghurt and a simple sandwich. I'm starving again, but not for the reasons you think. I don't do it as a means to lose weight, but because I don't care. Hardly a better reason, I know. If there are ever any good reasons to starve.

Also, it saves a lot of money. Usually I would eat for about 3.000 kr. a month, but I'm gonna take it down to a third of that, is my plan. I'm so poor this month, only have 3.000 to live on and that's like nothing with my smoking and drinking habits. Even if I starve, I will probably not make it through without my family's aid. Why not accept that aid then? Of course I will, if it comes to that, it's just that I don't like it at all. Trying to be independent here...

I've written so incredibly much these last two weeks, it's insane. Around ten pages a day has lead me to the whopping 108 thousand words. That's way too much for a novel and I have so much left to write... Here's to hope I'll be the next J.K. Rowling or something... It's hard to get a publisher to accept a book containing more than 109 thousand words, I just read somewhere. Mine will probably land at around 150 thousand words when I'm done with it, but that's just the first draft. We'll see if I'll try to cut it down as soon I'm done or if I'd discuss it with a publisher first. You never know, you know.

I never thought I would write this much. Ever. 157 pages in six OpenOffice documents. 50 chapters so far. I'm already trying to short it down a little as I continue writing. Don't try to fill out chapters with useless stuff "just because" but rather hurrying up the story and only write what is necessary for it. Still keeping it realistic and my own language, all that stuff. But no more characters pacing around and talking to themselves just to fill out a whole chapter. Rather merging chapters together if possible.

I've now introduced all the characters and basically just tying up the knots in the ending. A few more events will take place, but it's at the very ending and things are very exciting now. It's thrilling, heartbreaking, upsetting and amazing to write this part of the story. I've been looking forward to it for so long now... it's like I'm gasping cause I can't believe how far I've gotten. I'm really gonna finish it. I know that now, I am really going to finish my novel that I've been working on for over two years.

My kind of sadness

I know people often think that I'm depressed due to a lot of things in my lifestyle and what's going on in my head, but I'm not. Not clinically depressed. I have a shitty life and a million reasons to wanna kill myself, but it's not the same thing. I have asperger, borderline, chronic tension headache, I'm transsexual which means to me that I hate my body/low self esteem, I'm sometimes psychotic and I get a lot of nightmares, I have a lot of anxiety and have been through unspeakable traumas that may or may not have cause some kind of PTSD.

That does not equal depression. It does mean that my life is shitty, but for other reasons. Sometimes I get suicidal because I can't stand the emotional pain that cutting, medication, booze and cigarettes can't deal with. You can be suicidal and hate yourself and your life without being depressed. Depression is an illness that I don't have.

It would have been easier if was all just depression, but the truth is so much more complicated than that. I probably have every nameable mental illness there is, but I'm not depressed. I'm sad though, and quite a lot sometimes. And by "sometimes" I mean a lot more than the average person. My past haunts me, my ghosts haunt me and I can never fully relax. Not even now, sitting safe by my computer, doing what I love the most. I am so tense 24/7 with my headache and all. I've literally forgotten what it's like to be relaxed, physically and mentally. I can never stop the thoughts and my conversations with Anna are infinite, endless and eternal in its very literal meaning.

Was I ever better? Right after the surgery? Yeah, I think so. I had a really good spring and summer, possibly the best ever. But all good things have an ending, as much as all bad things do. Or they never do, they just take turns. Keeping us alive and bringing us down to earth, drown us and rescue us until something or someone kills us. I have a bitter and sometimes a bitter sweet view of life. For me, my world lies cloaked in darkness with occasional sparks of light. It's not entirely black all the time.

Right now I'm in some kind of limbo, neither darkness nor light. I see both sides in front of me, behind me and on both sides, up and down. But I can see where I'm going, I know that this is the end of something good. I worry about myself, fear that I'll do something stupid I would regret or too damn late to regret, or that I would give up writing again. I really can't do that, at least not the last thing mentioned. I can replace every meal with coffee and thirty cigarettes, I can start cutting every day again, I become alcoholic again, I can plan my suicide when I'm done with the book, but no fucking way I can give up writing.

I can never say that I have some kind of happiness to go back to, in my childhood or later in life, but what I can say, is that after almost 25 years in darkness I got a glimpse of what happiness could be like. I just wasn't strong enough to keep it up. I let the darkness consume me again, but as slowly as possible, I go all in fully armoured and with weapons and hold my breath as I sink into the water once again. And by now, I know how to swim in it, how to stay alive with only gasps of oxygen. I know I can survive much more than I ever thought was possible, so I say bring it on.

Strings of hope

I've decided I should stop pretending that I'm fine. Cause I'm not. My make-up is peeling, my mask is wearing off. Yet I have not turned to any means of self harm other than alcohol and cigarettes, but it's just a matter of time before I fall back to cutting again as autumn comes closer and hiding wounds under clothes will be easy. I know that I'm strong, I know that I hold up, but it's taking up more and more space in my mind. The sadness, the sorrow, the lovesickness, the scars are bleeding once again. But I'm still trying to hold on to what keeps me alive. To art, to K, to my best friends (all three) and to my writing. And that is all but it just has to be enough.

Yet I don't want to resort to suicide, I'm not that far gone yet. But I will be. Sooner or later I'll end up in a hospital again or smashed to pieces on asphalt ground, I don't know. I just hope I'll be able to finish my novel before then. I hold on to it, clutch at it, as if it was my last string of hope to live a decent life. It is my last string of hope to live a decent life.

I've had too many bad days again, these last few weeks or so. Too much bottling up that I for some stupid reason can't let out. It's like it's stuck inside of me and it feels like it's gonna suffocate and kill me. So there you have it, how I actually feel and it has only shown in my poems before. I only post them on tumblr these days, but here's one:

"Hold my heart
my life is getting shorter
hold my breath as I sink
in under the water

These little strings of hope
too fragile to hold
Clutching at false belief
shivering in the cold

Hold my hands
they're cold as death
and hold my hopes up
I'm out of breath

Running faster
they're catching up
how will I ever
make it stop

Hold my pride
it's withering away
hold my defences
and tell me to stay"

~ a poem by me, called "Hold my breath" ~

False calm, false happiness

I've become better at ignoring my pain. Everything that rips and tears up wounds inside me. I just cross it over, bury it, pretend it's not there, distract distract distract. I do it best through writing, but other means sometimes work as well. When it's hard to swallow, when it's difficult to breathe and my eyes water without running over. When I can only gasp and hope for everything to disappear. Those days occur more often again. I'm losing my grip on false happiness. Not losing hope yet, but it's slipping and some days the hopelessness is overwhelming. I bite down hard and close my eyes as I hollow out my own mind. Rocking, cradling myself to a false calm, anything to hold on to. Anything, anything, anything.

Becoming cisgendered

I can only think of two downsides with taking testosterone which are: the acne and my inability to cry. I've always had both a lot of acne and a hard time crying, but both have become worse since I started with the hormones. Though those are the ONLY downsides, so the positive weigh up like hella lot. With all the physical changes such as I really love how deep my voice has gotten, body hair, fat redistribution, facial hair, muscle gain and so on. And the mental changes like how my thoughts are more direct, that I feel more "even" in my mood, how I can separate thoughts and feelings in a whole different way, how not that much affects me emotionally anymore.

I know I've said, a long time ago, that I'd always consider myself as a guy until I'm done with this second puberty and everything before I'm gonna start considering myself as a man instead. Like I can't be a "teenager" and a man at the same time, even though my age is kinda right for that term. I don't know, maybe it's silly. But I'm 25, I think I'm starting to grow out the youngster phase and become an actual adult. I often refer to people from around and over 20 years old as men and women rather than guys and girls. But it's still strange to me to consider myself a man, you know. Like I'm still too young for it but still I'm not. Hard to explain, I guess.

I'm slowly starting to put this transsexual deal behind me, that I'm sort of somehow becoming cisgendered, if that makes any sense. Like before I was a guy in a girl's body, but now that same body isn't that much of a girl's anymore. So I'm becoming a guy in a guy's body which would be the exact definition of being cisgendered. The feeling of satisfaction is indescribable. That I'm finally starting to feel at home in my own body even though I have possible future surgeries left to do and I'm still legally female.

I'm still pondering over and want to have SRS (sexual reassignment surgery, the "sex change operation" as people so mistakenly call it), but my doubts are still the same. Do I need it? Do I want to risk losing sensation? Will it change my life to the better? The question of "need" is the biggest somehow, because I don't just know what to answer but also how to answer it. Like what does "need" mean? Like maybe if it's actually a necessary procedure to go through with, or like if maybe I ask myself if I somehow need it more than I need what I have now. And also it overlaps with the question of how it could make my life any better, to have that kind of surgery.

Perhaps it's an idea of becoming complete. To not be "stuck" in an in between state of being male or female. Like it's the last part of me that is still (somewhat) female and I don't like that. It does give me dysphoria, come to think of it. Not so much when I'm alone or with people that I trust, but in naked situations of any kind and that's a part of life too. I'm leaning more and more to actually go through with it, actually. Because a part of me thinks that I do need it, that it will in fact make my life better, if it can reduce if not completely take away dysphoria and make me feel more complete.

I have to think about it some more of course, and maybe then I can reach a decision for when I've gotten the legal sex change done and the time has come to act on it. Of course I don't have to do it right away, but it seems to me like the simplest if I have decided already at that time. In about six months or so, give or take, I would presume. They're slow at the department that decides if I'm allowed to change my legal sex or not, and I need their approval before I can get SRS. I don't worry about it though. All of me, my mother and the people in charge of my journey from physically female to male agree on that there should be no doubts. I'm kinda confident about that. But yeah, it takes time...

And then there are waiting lists for surgery at Karolinska hospital which would be where I would turn. If I can make up my bloody mind, that is. And I'm probably gonna get sterilised first, and then there are some things that I would like to discuss with a surgeon before I reach my final decision. I won't go into any nasty details here or with anyone else than close friends and a surgeon. Just so you know, it's a bit too private, even for me. Exactly what I look like down there and how I would want it to look, which method I wanna do and why, are simply just none of your business. Because I say so.

I didn't intend for this to become an entry about transsexualism, but apparently it turned out that way. It started with that I'm planning on letting my half retarded sideburns grow out again, and that I think my facial hair in that area (and others) have increased due to taking testosterone. It glads me that it seems like I one day will be able to grow a full beard, which isn't gonna happen for every transman out there. It's quite common to get what has been referred to as a "chin beard" where it only grows under your chin and down your neck. I kinda have that right now, but it's slowly growing more upwards and to the cheeks. It will just take some time...

That is one of the things I mostly hope for when it comes to more physical changes. Otherwise I'm hoping for more fat redistribution and maybe some more body hair, which is also working on expanding as we speak. But anyways, time will tell but I'm impatient. Gotta post this now, before I write more nonsense.

I won't give it up

I kinda can't deal with anything today. So many memories of this and that popping up from all of my previous relationships and sexual encounters. Everything that I'm embarrassed over. Literally everything. It's just drowning me. I'm trying to focus on my work. Got a little better last night after my outbreak about wanting to delete everything I've written. I don't want that anymore and I didn't do it either. But I'm out of focus. I finished another chapter and I'm now about to start chapter 40.

Considering it's gonna be around 65 chapters, I've written more than half the story now. And things are finally getting really interesting to write as the characters' pasts start to unfold and things get really messy. I'll completely wreck havoc now that the readers should have a good idea of who the characters are and what makes them tick. So I'm done with introductions and small talk, sorta, and dive right into the big stuff.

It occurs to me that when I decided what the storyline should be, with all the details and stuff, I didn't consider exactly how I was gonna write it. Cause it's one thing with cliff notes, a total different one to actually know what to write. How it's all gonna be when it's finished, you know. I'm thinking about the ending, and I'm thinking about where I'm now, or will be very soon in the story. Things I don't know how to portray, explain or depict.

I realise there are a lot of secrets in this novel and those secrets tie everything together as they will all be revealed at the end. Is that a good plot? I will drive my readers crazy, dying to know what Kian and Lydia are hiding from each other in their perfect little relationship. At least I hope so.

It's not rubbish, it's not rubbish, it's not rubbish, I try to tell myself. If it was someone else writing it, I would buy the damn book. I would buy it and I'm sure others would have too. I don't suck, I'm doing really great now and I will prove it. I'm gonna proudly present my work when it's done and not if it's done, cause it is gonna get done. I won't give up, I have to keep at and keep at and keep at it until I'm done.

I have to keep being my characters, write it as if I was them in every moment, the way they are, act, think and feel. I believe that's the only right thing to do, to consume myself completely and drown it it, to be able to portray everything as good as I can possibly can make it. It's not rubbish, it's become a part of myself now.

Shit, now I feel bad for Marie as well. The third most important, supporting, character. She's just a child and I've been so cruel to her as well. The truth is that I'm cruel to every character except for a few, very small role characters. Kian's doctor will keep her pride through the whole book, but she will only be around for like two or three conversations. No one will remember her.

I counted to that I now have 13 named characters in the novel and probably just as many that are not named, just figurants or what to say. Nameless and faceless ones that are only there to fill a crowd. Gotta have those kind of characters too. No, there will be at least 15, now that I come to think of it. There are way more male than female characters, but somehow it feels more even than it is. Maybe I'll change that later on, I dunno. I'm kinda feminist or maybe I just wanna make people believe that I truly am. I dunno, but I have a lot of work ahead of me still. More characters will be introduced even though they are small ones.

Dead dreams

I just got this incredibly strong urge to just delete everything I've written. Like, gah, I don't know. Can't shake the feeling that it's just crap and I suck and should just stop pretending that I'm a writer. My urges of destruction and emotional suicide are killing me. My feelings of worthlessness and that there's no point in anything I do are overwhelming and also killing me.

My parents killed my dreams long ago and so did the rest of the world. Saying that I'm not good enough at anything that I like doing, that the little spark of hope I have is useless, pointless and not worth it. I'm not good at painting, not good at drawing, not good at sewing, not good at writing and it's killing me because that is what I literally live for. Nothing hurts more than that. Nothing. Do you understand that? I have nothing else and it just hurts so damn much to know that it's all just useless crap. And that's why I've stopped doing it for long periods in my life.

When I've for months or even years not produced anything artistic cause what's the fucking point? It's useless, it's so damn useless everything I do, my last bit of pride for nothing. I don't know anything else, I have no merits, no education, no other interests or hobbies, no other ambitions. And I suck at it. Trying to tell myself that I'm just doing it for myself and for my own gain, but it's not true. How can I ever become anything at all except from the failure and loser I am right now and have always been, if I can't let myself believe that my work is appreciated?

Is that selfish of me? To want others to like what I do? What I've worked so hard on, what I've spent more time and energy on than I have ever before been able to have the ability to? That I've gone out of my way to create just because it's the only real thing that I can do? Is that wrong, is that selfish, is that too greedy of me? I don't know, but that is what I truly think, that is what I truly believe that others think.

That I demand too much, that I should just keep it as hobbies and interests and not something to eventually be able to live on. Don't you know? I'm incapable of living a normal life with a normal job. INCAPABLE. Do you even care why, do you even believe in it? It's because I flip out, I break apart and the world splits in pieces whenever I try. It's because it worsens my already half intolerable headache sevenfold, increases my hallucinations, I dissociate, go into psychosis, get social anxiety, any other kinds of anxiety and I'm not fucking exaggerating. I don't function in society. I don't and I never have.

Asperger might not be the worst handicap one could have, but I was born into a world that did not tolerate me. Already as a young child I had anxiety, OCD and even possibly dissociated. From there on it got worse. Now I'm finally better after 24 years in a darkness I could not describe and I'm 25 years old. Finally I'm able to be artistic and write like never before, finally I seem to have the mental capacity for it and this might not be a good day/night for me, I'm barely holding up, but I can't help but feeling that what I write is just useless crap and I should just stop pretending that I'm a writer.

I have three dreams. That's more than I've ever had and one of them is to become physically male which I can just almost say has come true. The second is the newest and it is to end up in a relationship with K. The third one is the oldest and has kept me alive (not always though, considering my rap sheet of suicide attempts) and that is to be able to live on my artistic "talents". I'm seriously questioning the "talents" part today. Seriously.

That dream has been crushed, stomped on, spat at, laughed at and even killed but somehow I've managed to resurrect it again. Why am I sober? I ask myself as I try to figure it out. Try to let go and just continue writing and forget everything else that's distracting and what not. My damn sister is also ruining my dreams by being a lot better than me. I just wish, dream of the fantasy day that I have written everything, printed it out on 200 or more pages and slam it on the table in front of my family and demand them to read it and that they would love it and cheer at me for my incredible work.

But it's not gonna happen cause they wouldn't bother to read it. They would just say they'll read it later and then it would lie there and collect dust until they hand it over to me again. Get rid of that crap, will you, John? Or they'd read it and complain about how I can't write about this or that cause I have no experience of it and it's crap, stop writing, you suck at it and no publisher would ever accept that embarrassing thing.

Sadly, tonight I just feel like crying but I can't cry so it just bottles up and it's hard to swallow and to breathe, but I cannot weep, however much I need to. I kill my dream, I kill it over and over again but it just won't fucking die.

Under my skin

I'm so scared. Scared of the future, of the past and the present. Of the ghosts in my mind. The literal and the figurative ones. The metaphors clinging at my throat, hardly explaining anything at all. What's the point? The point of what, I don't know. Something's lingering, I can't catch it. Something's upsetting me, I can't feel it. A glimpse of drowning with a hint of decay. Tears behind my eyes, too faint to show themselves.

To me, it's easier to imagine another hell instead of a heaven. It hurts less, I've come to realise. That I'd rather imagine having schizophrenia, or being a prostitute than imagine being happy. It hurts because I can never be happy. It's impossible. It's not impossible that I become worse, and slip into a psychosis again. It's not impossible that I sell my ass to someone who wants me for money. Whoever that could be.

I've been with unattractive men that I felt nothing for, it's not unimaginable for me to be with such a person for money, the difference would not be that big. I've actually been super close to accept money for a sex act once, but I declined. It felt unworthy to the person I was with. I saw it as a mercy thing, I did him a favour, I gave him something he had never had before. Although, I could always use a little extra cash, if I'd ever run into a situation like that again. But no one would pay to be with me, not really.

I fantasise about it though. Wish for it to happen. I don't know why. I find it alluring somehow, to get money for such a simple thing and be able to call it "work". (It's not illegal by the way, to sell, only to buy.) It seems simple to me, but perhaps not on a regular basis. I'm not much for having sex at all, I'm practically asexual. It's so hollow, you know? So pointless. There is so much else out there in the world that is so much better, and believe me, I've had really great sex. Even if you don't, I do actually find better pleasure from a lot of other things. Even in this hell.

But maybe that is why. I'm too fucked up to find any real pleasure in anything, and I might be too fucked up sexually because of the rape, which was by the way the first time I had sex. That's not a good introduction into the adult world. I do feel like it wasn't that that corrupted me though, I was fucked up already before then. It was the first assault when I was nine. That was the fucked up factor number one. It wasn't much, but it changed my world. It changed it to a dark and gross place where sex was evil, control, power, greed and I still can't let go of that. I still can't shake the feeling that it's all hell no matter how or where you twist and turn it. No matter how good it is, I've always found it disgusting. I've tried, I've really tried to change my world view but it's like depression: you can't change your view of the world by telling yourself that it's not as bad as you think.

Cause it just doesn't work that way. I've been thinking about it, as I write about the awful things related to sex and the like. I've been thinking about why I see it as ugly, why I can't drift away and let pleasure take over me, why I feel it's just a necessary evil. Something to take care of, get rid off, wash away down the drain. I want to be able to put some use into it, and I think that is why I have wanted to become a prostitute. To make it mean something.

Improving the dream

I'm obsessing, I know. It's like this novel has suddenly become my life, or something. Dedicated like hell and I'm really working, it's like I actually have a job now all of a sudden. Working at home entirely on my own terms with the best job in the world... could be worse. But it won't pay, not yet at least. Well, that's what it's like with writing something big for the first time. I mean, I have written before, obviously, just nothing amazing enough to send to a publisher. This... it will be great. I just know it already and I've known it all along. I'm just getting all the more certain all the time.

I think I'm getting even better at writing in English even faster than ever before during this process. It's like I've forgotten that English is not my first language. Like, I rarely write in Swedish at all nowadays. It's boring and feels very limited. Not only because I can reach a bigger audience by writing in English, but the vocabulary is so much better. Like, they have words for everything that Swedes don't. I feel more free using English, it's so fun playing with words and phrases thought I sometimes don't know if I'm even half right half the time. Grammar is sometimes hard, a lot harder than spelling is. I might spell wrong on like big words with a lot of consonants, but surely not the simpler words. Unless I'm being sloppy then of course, but that's a different matter.

No, I think I've gotten even better just this last week now. It's amazing how much and how fast I can learn the language. Just looking at how I did when I started writing Grimston Estate two years ago. I got stuck on like every other word and it was so hard just producing one correct sentence. I must have edited the first chapter like ten times or more since I wrote it the first time. The first "edition" of my novel I wrote by hand in Swedish but didn't get very far before I decided to write it on computer and in English instead. Too bad I don't have it saved, the way the first chapter turned out the first time.

Oh well, now I'm writing it so easily, I've found my own language or how to say it and everything... it's just so fluent I amaze myself. If only I was as good at talking in English as I am writing in it, but I very rarely have the need to talk in it. I don't know any non-Swedish speaking people whom I meet and talk to face to face. Maybe when I start school again with English lessons. I'll probably end up being a second teacher though. Ugh... I hate it when that happens, but it is indeed a self esteem boost. To be the walking dictionary whom everyone comes to for guidance and help when the actual teacher is busy somewhere else or they're just too lazy to look it up themselves.

Last year was like that, everyone crowded around me and demanded from me to teach them stuff. Now that I'm even better I'll probably not be able to breathe during those lessons. Learn something more myself? Probably won't happen but I might get a touch up on my talking skills, by simply talking. It's very basic English you get to learn in that class, it's just an introduction course to get you going for the real stuff if you wanna continue studying, which I do, if I have the mental strength to.

I look forward to start school again, it should be fun. Unless I'm extremely busy with with my book by then. At that time (beginning of January) I'll probably be right at it with the editing and chasing of publishers. I look forward to that as well, how intriguing it will be to be almost done with my work that I've worked so hard on in periods for over than two years, by then. And how sad it will be when I'll have to put it behind me when it's all done. How I'll miss my tragic city and tragic characters. But who knows, maybe it could become a movie as well? I'm thinking too much...

I'm getting affectionate for my characters somehow and I suffer with them as they go through their tragic lives. Not as much as they suffer of course, but it does leave a sting in my heart as I tear their lives apart. At first I thought it was gonna be easy, like yeah their lives suck but that's life and I'm gonna make it realistic. But now I'm like, no how sad that that happened to them, how will they be able to go through with it, how will they be able to even go on living without breaking apart? The questions regarding their feelings, how I hurt them and I feel so bad for hurting them.

I'm not even the slightest bit of evil, am I? Because it tears me up so bad, writing tragic stories for fictional characters. Fictional characters! They're not real! Man, I need to toughen up a bit if I'm gonna be able to go through with writing this... It's just a story, just a fictional story in an imaginary world with imaginary characters, how can it be so heart tearing? But alas, that's what it's like with good books. They hook you up and you feel for the characters, even as you know they aren't real. I probably won't be the only one reading it while crying like a baby once it's done.

It will be a sad story, that much I can say, only and already halfway through and already crying and shaking while writing. And it will just get worse. Deeper, more intense, tear jerking and frustrating. I might be a sensitive soul but I hope I will be able to move my readers as well. But you'll have to wait. I'm sure I will get published, one day or another. All I need is time, patience and a lot of effort. I got an infinite resource of the first two (until I die, that is, but it's at least a few more years left until then) and the third I can manage to conjure up. To get published, cause I will, I just don't know when and how. I might sell another piece of my soul for it as well, if I deem it necessary. I'd sell whatever I got to get published. I know that's insane but it's a dream of mine that I've had since I was around twelve years old and first wanted to become a writer. Just don't know what the fuck took me so long to actually start writing...

My heart in my work

I didn't realise how hard it would be to keep the whole book to myself while writing it. All my thoughts about the storyline and especially the ending. It's like it's gonna explode inside of me... Almost as if it was something that's happened to me, but that's not even close to true. Well, some parts, here and there, but the ending has got nothing to do with my own pathetic life. It's not the storyline itself that makes me crumble, it's my thoughts about it. How I feel when I'm writing it. How it tears me up and excites me, amuses and scares me. The whole range of human emotions lumped up in a mess regarding an imaginary world that I won't let anyone visit until it's complete.

My thoughts about my writing are greater than the 63 thousand words I've written so far in it. Can you believe that? It's up 90 at pages now (yeesh, almost 100!), which is 28 chapter and everything is still going fine. I have a bit of can't stop writing nonsense in the note pad kind of thing going on right now, but I've almost finished two chapters already today.

I told my contact person of the crew about my book today, as I finally got around to accept her help in my messy apartment. She seemed excited about it, and agreed to that it's actually a lot of work behind it as well, and not just fun and games. I don't know if she just said that to make me happy though, that it's her job to be polite and like her work at the best of her ability. I am her job, after all.

I just learned a new word today: omnisciently, which means that you have complete or unlimited knowledge, awareness or understanding. Like an omniscient god, for example. I learn a lot of new words as I try to find better ways to present my characters ways of thinking and feeling. Broaden my horizon and making the reading and writing more interesting. Cause I can just never become good enough in English, that's why.

Though my flow is very fast and effective while I write nowadays, I still get hooked up on words, tenses of words, spelling mistakes and incorrect grammar. Mostly I just let it slide though. Deal with it later. What's important now is that I get the damn story down on paper and not how good my English is.

Anyways, back to work now. Can't be slacking around for the rest of the day and upcoming night. Gotta write at least one more chapter while surviving on only coffee and cigarettes, and possibly a sandwich if I can't deal with the hunger. I have cashew nuts as well. I'll be alright, compared to my main character Kian who is at the brink of starving to death. Onto that now...

Kinda a new obsession

I get inspired from music in my writing. Like Marillion's song "Lady Nina" has inspired me a lot when it comes to Lydia. Small things, like how she relies on her beauty and that she listens to Edith Piaf. Not something you'd need a copyright for, I'm very careful with that. To not have any song lyrics, movie quotes and such. The only thing is that I mention actual medication that exist in the real world as well as in my made up world. I don't know if I would need special permission for doing that, I just want it to be real, you know. That I can include something that I know something about.

I'm writing about a person with serious mental illness problems, so that he's gonna take medication is like almost a must. And thus I need to write about medication that I know how they work, like the stuff I've been taking myself. But of course, I could invent something instead, or like keep writing about the actual drugs but make up new names for them. That could work too. As I said, careful with not writing about stuff that I would need special permission to have in my novel, if it comes to publishing it.

But of course I want to have it published if or when I finish it. The old fashioned way, not on the internet. And by the way, before I forget it, Abney Park's song "This dark and twisty road" is an inspiration for Kian, mostly him and his relationship with Marie. He's got her back, safe from creatures of the night, but go and run and hide, little girl. It's complicated. Their relationship is very complicated but I will eventually and over time explain it quite simply.

76 pages and another chapter has been finished. I'm trying something different sometimes, another way to tell a part of the story than the same old. This chapter... it just ended up perfect. Sad and very reflective from another point of view. Showing that neither Lydia nor Kian is "cured" by them being in love, that they are still broken and love is just applied to their already chaotic lives. Because that's the way it is, love doesn't cure mental illness or wipe the sorrow away for good. It stays, no matter how happy you are with that special someone.

Alright, now I've done some chapter division and calculated that it will end up with 60 chapters and approximately 180 pages in total. The first draft, that is. I'm gonna need to add more to the story later, especially at the beginning, between the first and second part of the story. The "parts" are just so that the documents won't end up too big, with around 30 pages in each, depending on how long the chapters get, but they're usually around 3 pages each. Easier for me to keep a track of it all as well, at least in theory.

This is gonna be one hell of a story to write, especially when things are really gonna be set in motion. I will blow myself away and probably both cry and shake while typing. At least I frigging hope so, because otherwise I ain't doing it right.

Yeah, this takes up like 95% of the space in my mind/life right now... I can't stop writing it and about it. Though it's been going a bit slow today, only written one chapter so far and that's just not nearly good enough. So I wrote up all the chapters and what's gonna happen in them to easier have something to work with. This is one hell of a project, just so you know. Probably the biggest I've ever adopted. It's literally taken me years to form the idea, how the story is gonna go, how the atmosphere is gonna be, who the characters are and so on. Perfecting my language skills, finding my own language, finding my characters languages. There is so much work behind this, you have no idea. I'm just hoping it's gonna pay someday.

Why I'm alone

I'm not well enough to support myself even. I hide my darkness around booze, talking to K, writing, playing WoW, drawing or anything that works as a distraction and more. I'm not dealing, I'm just hiding it from myself and the rest of the world. I still have nightmares, I still think a lot about dying, suicide and I still think this world is hell. Just that I finally found a little space where I can breathe. That's all. At least it feels like that now and since a few weeks back. Like I'm so insignificant, my friends don't care about me, I don't care about the world. It's like my lack of interest in politics keeps me from my friends. Because there's just nothing else to talk about and I just refuse to talk about that. Other things keeps me shut out from their reality as well. Like work, school, love. I don't have much in common with anyone, really.

But I don't even try to reach out, I just know that you don't really care about me. I'm always the third wheel, you know. Never get any space and I'm too damn shy to speak up. I don't know what to say in conversations so I just keep quiet. I don't know how to be social so I'm just not even gonna try anymore. I've been trying so hard for over a decade now and I just know when enough is enough. When there's no use in trying anymore, cause things aren't gonna improve. I don't want new friends, I don't want most of my old friends either, but I feel so terribly lonely and unappreciated. Like I don't even exist. Who would miss me on Facebook if I just left, except for 3 maybe 5 people? I could erase my whole friendship list and nobody would care.

It tears me apart, but it's like it doesn't matter if I talk about it or not. It's not doing me a damn thing what so ever. Talking has never helped me. And that's why I don't see any point in getting some actual friends where I live. What should I say to them? Hi I'm a mess, shy and terribly introvert and probably won't say more than ten words in a two hour long conversation and I probably won't give a damn about what you have to say either?

Words. They get lost inside my head and I can only write them, not say them. It's like I forget how to pronounce them somehow. Like I care too much about how it's gonna sound, I don't wanna make an impact, don't wanna scare or sound like a total freak. There's nothing left to say, I become mute. I might as well be mute in most social situations. People would probably not even notice it if I suddenly did. Mostly, the few things that I do say are obvious replies to the other person. Like "oh that's understandable" to something that is obviously understandable, or "oh, that's not good" to something that is obviously bad. I mostly just do that because I have nothing else to say and I want to make sure that I listen. But I don't. Not really. I drift away in my mind, bored with conversations that are about normal stuff. Something someone's seen, done or whatever that isn't remarkable in some way.

Not only do I demand a lot from friendships, I can't live up to those demands myself. But maybe that is the kind of friendship I could have? Something that is on a deeper level with deep conversations that reaches in under your skin. I talk easily about all the darkness inside me, I don't wanna focus on the boring, normal stuff or I get bored kinda quickly. But the problem with those interesting, deep conversations that I've had with people is that they grow way too fond of me and start acting like suddenly we're best friends. I'm like, no we were just talking, you're not that special to me, but you do seem to have an interesting life that I would have been keen on getting into a bit more if you did not suddenly develop a crush on me.

I realise what the problem is with that, I'm not stupid. Those who have opened up to me like that have usually not had that with someone else for a long time, and as they let me in under their skin, of course they feel a stronger connection to me. But I'm not like that. I can't stand the shallow small talk for an entire friendship, I need the depth or I'm just gonna ignore you. However much I like you. Because then we're just not compatible and that's the way it is. I'm tired of sitting in a corner and pretend to listen to someone's prank or opinions on a movie they saw. If you can't stand my darkness, it's likely that I can't stand you.

So, again. Who is abandoning who in my life? I don't know, but I think it actually goes both ways. As I get tired of your boring lives and stay silent in a corner, you forget about me who is not participating in the conversation no matter what you do. And there I managed to sum up basically every relationship I've ever had in one sentence. Except from those that last, forever. We both make sure we're not bored with each other's company, we're both interesting people with a lot to share. I feel safe with you and I'm not scared of what you think of me, and I'm not scared of offending you. And the other way around, of course. But most people aren't like that and I realise that I won't settle for anything less. Until I do, I will stand here without friends on this island.

Working my mind off

So, I really ended up writing almost 20 pages in 24 hours yesterday and the night before yesterday in Grimston Estate. That is more than I had written in two years before. I'd say that is a pretty good flow. Now altogether counting in the 17 pages I had already written before, it's up at 25.014 (twenty five thousand fourteen) words to be precise. I'm gonna keep writing today as well, so we'll see how far I will come in the nearest future.

It helps me a great deal to not think about upsetting things, whatever those may be. I won't mention what those are, but I do have a lot of upsetting stuff going on in my mind right now. They come back when I'm not writing in my book. Sure I do basically write constantly, but not when I'm eating, going to the bathroom, writing this or trying to go to sleep, for examples.

I dreamed so much weird stuff tonight, probably because of my slight sleep deprivation before that. In one dream I kissed my sister passionately. When my mother woke me up from that I was like "my god, thank you thank you thank you!" really did not want to go back to that dream. Nightmare? Pretty fucking close to becoming one, at least. In another dream I dyed my now platinum blonde/white hair brown, close to my natural hair colour for a movie I was supposed to star in. Later in the same dream I started shaving off my hair instead, but regretted it while I was at it.

In a third dream I had done SRS (sexual reassignment surgery) and was very pleased with the results of it. Waking up from that I was like, damn I wanna do that! Like I think I want it, but not sure if it's worth the risks. I think the results that I've seen have been good, but mostly it's because of the risk of losing sensation or getting complications of various kinds that makes me hesitate. But that dream was a bit of an eye-opener, I think. At least I'll think about it some more, maybe actually reaching a decision sometime in the future. No need to hurry it of course, it's just that when I started my journey to become physically male, I thought I would have decided if I wanted SRS or not by now. It's been six years. And I thought it would take half that time.

Oh, by the way. I got a not from RR (Rättsliga Rådet) today about that they've gotten my application for changing my sex legally. So now I'll just have to wait... They are very busy over there so it can take some time, I've heard. But yeah, that's the update for now.

Endless flow

I've been writing a bit more lately, or again. Trying to steer up meetings with my characters in Grimston Estate. How to portray them, if they're shy or straight forward, what secrets they hide and what they're open about. General stuff like that, something to build a conversation on. Right now I'm trying to describe a park and how Lydia and Kian first meet each other. It's not as easy as it may seem, since I kinda suck at first impressions myself.

It's so weird, at first I had a hard time writing about Lydia. Like how the hell am I supposed to portray a middle aged woman with a secret background story that is nothing like my own life, it's impossible... and now I can't stop writing about her. Well, she's about 38 so not that old, but still. I do have a few things in common with her, but mostly it's just my imagination running wild as I slowly create her word by word.

I've written 5 more pages today, up at 22 pages in total now. Started at 17. That's like 10 chapters at the moment, but I will try to make them longer and fewer later on. Oh, Lydia. I really like her now, but I have to write more about Kian, who is the actual main character. Ugh, I've gotten quite stuck with him. He's harder to portray somehow, even though he's much more like myself.

I write almost all of it by hand since it goes so much better if I can smoke at the same time, which I can only do outdoors and I can't bring my computer with me out there. So then I write it on my computer afterwards, so basically I write almost everything twice today. Taking much longer than it would otherwise. But oh well, I've got a really nice flow today and tonight. I wanna stay up all night and just write! Probably wouldn't be so practical though, because circadian rhythm and such "important" stuff. And I have to see my shrink tomorrow, or rather in 10 hours from now.

Now I'm gonna go back to writing a hopefully not too awkward sex scene. Wish me luck or something... well, I'll get back to you when I've finished that later. So, there. Now I've written 2 and a half pages of sexiness. It was a bit weird, me not being used to writing like that, about that sort of stuff, but I think it turned out alright. Might need some editing later though, if it seems too much like porn or something. Now I have to get back to writing about Kian again, or at least give it a fucking try. I need for his personality to unfold, like I did with Lydia. I can't have my readers knowing everything about my most important supporting character but nearly nothing about the main character.

I'm up at 24 pages now, by the way. It's a bit like milestones, pages, to me. It's 14.694 words altogether. That is quite a lot to me, though not nearly as much as I've written in stories before. My longest, called "Ödet finns inte" (fate does not exist) got up to 60 pages before I lost it all. Anyway, I really hope this novel will become a complete book one day. I'm still just working with the beginning, lots of meetings and describings of people and places, but not very far into the story at all.

27 pages and counting. This is going really well and I'm back to writing about Kian. How different he is from Lydia, when I come to think about it. I hope so, at least. Don't want all my characters to turn out just the same with different names, genders and looks.

I might be boring, writing a novel not depicting any goths, gays (except for a few non-interacting characters), transgendered or non-caucasian characters. Though Lydia has Russian roots. But I add in misery, mental illness, dystopia, hopelessness, love, hope, broken hearts and traumas instead. Lots of traumas, cause everyone has them, in various degrees of awfulness. And that is also what brings the villagers together in Grimston Estate. It's why they still live there. Because they are broken people, and broken people has traumas.

I write about people that may appear normal and "boring" but with a great depth hiding beneath a bland surface. Maybe that is why I make their faces bland, cisgendered and heterosexual just because I want to put focus on their fucked up personalities instead. That it would become too much if they were cool as well. And also, it is important that the main character falls for a woman. So he had to be straight or bisexual, and since that's the only relevant relationship he will have through the story, it feels unnecessary to make him bisexual.

I made 28 pages in the first document for the book, and then it became like a perfect break for a second document. I'm splitting it up to not make too large files, it tends to get fucked up when I do that for some reason. I've lost many and much work that way, I just don't want to risk that happening again.

This flow is still running like syrup through my fingers and I notice how easy it was for me to write tonight, and still is. Usually I have to look up every other word and it goes slow to just produce one page of text. But not now. Now I'm writing it as fast as I would read it (which is about as fast as talking, maybe a notch slower) and I only have to look up very few words here and there. Writing in English has become so easy that it's silly nowadays. I don't know, maybe you've noticed.

I was up the entire night writing and drinking coffee, but no more coffee now cause my stomach does not approve, but I'll keep writing until I'm going to see my shrink at 15:00 o'clock later today. I'll be heading off around 14:00 so I "only" have 5 and a half hour left to turn into words and inspiration. I don't even need to listen to inspiring music, but I do collect memories of past experiences in my life that can help me writing about similar things that my characters are feeling, have gone through or are doing.

It's starting to become a bit exhausting, I've been writing almost constantly since sometime around nine, I think, yesterday evening. So around 12 hours then. It takes a lot more energy than what you might think, figuring out how to write what and how to connect different events in the story to each other. Also I've been writing a lot on pure improvisation which has been especially hard because I did not have any cliff notes or anything for those parts of the story. But imagination saved the day, or what to say.

Damn I've been writing a lot about this now. Guess I really do have a never ending flow right now. Just wishing it would be like this forever, every day of my life. Then I would actually be alive to see the ending of this book... But in the pace that I've had since I started forming the very first idea of it, I've written 30 pages in two years which means that I'll have written 60 pages in two more years, 90 in four, 120 in six, 150 in eight, 180 pages in ten years... oh my god, I literally won't be alive to see the result of this novel if I keep writing it this damn slow.

I know I shouldn't worry too much about that, but I just want to have a book all finished and entirely written by me before I die. Whether it being this novel, my autobiography or something else, doesn't matter. It's just that it's a life goal of mine and I still believe that I will die before I turn 30. So, I'll just better hurry the fuck up and write instead of whining about it in this blog.

Nothing

Nothing ever works out the way you plan them to, I should have learned that by now. Almost to the point that I think I should just not plan at all if I want things to actually happen. That thought has struck me a thousand times, and a thousand times this weekend. I'm so fucking tired now it's like I just wanna sleep or disappear or both. It's been so painful and stressful and it was all for nothing. I just don't care anymore, I might never tell him. Just fuck it, I'm done.

Went to my parents' place again today. Just thought I needed to get away for a little while. Even dreading seeing my shrink on Tuesday. I don't want to tell her what a coward I am to not being able to do what I told her I was going to do. What I almost promised her. Instead I stay in this mess of hiding and keeping this painful secret to myself. For another year perhaps. The months have passed one by one and what does it matter if I just let them keep passing?

It will suffocate me. Slowly and silently until there just isn't any air left to breathe. As I will see him move on with his life and I remain in his shadow. Just another one of his pals. Blending in with the crowd, unnoticeable, until he finds another person that he falls in love with and my world will fall apart. That is what will happen if I never tell him. But right now I just don't care.

Does this bother you? That I aimed so hard at telling him and talked about it so much as if I was actually going to go through with it but then I didn't? I didn't choose to not tell him, you know. I was all ready, set, go but my plain failed. I can't give you any details, it just didn't go as planned, okay?

I'm kicking myself a lot because of this today, even though it wasn't my fault. Wasn't anyone's fault. Nothing happened and that's what's bothering me. All that work and then just nothing. No telling, no answer, no anything. It leaves me with a heavy emptiness, like staring into a void.

Realistic patience

How sober am I, really? Today I've drunk two bottles of Smirnoff Ice, one can of Rekorderlig forest berries cider (which was very yummy), half a bottle of wine and one glass of vodka mixed with energy drink. I'm having a second glass of the latter and finally I'm getting drunk. I yearn for drunkenness, yearn for the freedom of losing my senses. I might be better than for a long time since the surgery, but I'm still wasting my life by trying to kill the pain inside me with booze as a socially accepted form of self harm. I just needed to empty my bar cabinet today, and I need to buy more alcoholic based drinks on Monday. Oh, I will so need it then.

I'm trying to be realistic, and already planning what I'm gonna do if he rejects me. When he rejects me. I don't even know if I'm gonna be alive on Tuesday when I am to see my shrink. Cause when it all comes down to it, if things go to hell, I can't see any kind of future. It's just a black, empty void. Without him, I'm nothing, I've got no one. I'm in contact a whole lot more with him than I am with my best friend. I depend on him, my life just wouldn't exist without him. This might and probably does, come out very harsh, but it's like he's the only friend I have right now.

He's the only one one who is always there for me, and I'm always there for him. I just can't understand that if he is going to reject me, why would he have talked so much with me these past few months? Why would he treat me the way he does, if there's no spark in it? That if I get a strong no, why would he be so close to me if it was all just friendship and nothing more? It makes no sense to me. That if it all goes to hell, what am I supposed to think?

My head is full of questions and empty of answers. Answers only he can give me. I wonder how it happened exactly, how he came to become my whole world. That nothing and no one else means as much to me as he does. Of course I care about other people, well, at least my family and two best friends. With K counted in I only consider myself having three friends. The rest are lame acquaintances or once were friends that I don't see or hear from often enough to even count as actual friends. Losing K would be having my soul ripped to pieces. Like shards of a broken mirror. And you can't repair glass. Once it's been broken, it will always stay that way.

I can't get it out of my head. Telling him. Expecting an answer of any kind. Hopefully through actions rather than words. If he would shy away from me, hold my hand or just look at me, that would be the best response considering the circumstances. Because words just aren't enough. I hope it won't come as an awkward surprise to him, but somehow I doubt that it will. That I think he might suspect it, he might even hope for it, if I should look at the bright side.

Guess I should, huh? Look at the bright side. Not just preparing for an impulsive suicide or becoming catatonic. Can you even become catatonic from a broken heart? I guess we'll just have to wait and see. This burden that transforms me, consumes me and tears me apart. My soul is inside out, my heart is bleeding, my body quivering. The booze and sleeping pills make this easier to cope with, but it's still ripping me to pieces.

The hardest thing on earth, to tell him the truth. Not just straight up "I'm in love with you" but something a bit more subtle (read "vague"). I've thought about it so many times, yet I don't know exactly what to say. I need to improvise a bit or it won't come out natural. A sentence, maybe two can be rehearsed, but that's about it. The rest I can put in my memory bank and see which phrase will be most suitable. I might not be able to use any of the ones I've thought about, I might have to think of something new. Well, just hoping it will happen tomorrow then. Don't think I can wait that much longer.

The right opportunity

I'm a bit impulsive and I just can't keep waiting for the right opportunity, I have to create it instead. I'm trying, I'm really trying here. You would be proud of me if you knew exactly what I'm up to. Or at least you should be, cause this must be one of the bravest things I'll ever do. My plans may fail, but I'll make sure I'll get the message through, somehow, anyhow. My fragile dream, finally put to test. I ache for it, long for it, yet I fear it like nothing else I've ever feared before. Worse than phobias, this just doesn't compare.

I get so tired feeling like this. It wears me out and I keep closing my eyes to rest, but I can't get any rest. Just wanna go to sleep and disappear into a perfect dream world where all my dreams come true. Somewhere in its opposite to this reality. Cause what's the point in dreaming if it's just gonna break my heart?

Devouring me

I was trying to draw but got pissed at the pens and their damn lids that won't open no matter what I do. So I stopped drawing because drawing when I'm pissed is never a good idea. Failure is unavoidable then. Instead I'm writing this and listening to William Control whom I just discovered. He looks kinda gothabilly but the music is more like darkwave.

My piercing is annoying, always getting kinda dirty so it hurts to move it, so I keep washing that off but it always comes back again. It also hurts and itches.

How hard can it be, to pick up the phone? I need to make a call but it's like the next hardest thing on earth right now. Why does it have to be so difficult? Okay, I did it. Wasn't that hard, now was it? Well, I'm still shaking and sweating... so yeah, it was a bit hard. Me and my phone phobia, how do I even get rid of it? The phobia, not the phone. I'm okay with answering calls, reading and answering text messages, but not calling people. I get so horrible side effects, or what to call it, it's like anxiety, it is anxiety. Increased heart rate, sweating, shaking, stomach ache, heavy breathing, all of that and more.

I have to think about something else, this is consuming me, devouring me. I'm shivering and my heart just won't slow down. Have I taken on a task too big to go through with? Probably, or maybe I'm just blowing it out of proportion. How can I? Why can't I just step outside of myself for a little bit, to get some perspective? I can't cheer myself up right now. Listening to not so sad music and playing WoW didn't help. I'm not up for trying to deal with my Promarkers now either. Those damn pens. Just don't want to do anything that is upsetting, that's all. But what is left to do? Not so strange that I feel tired today... ugh.

I want to be open about my otherkin-ness on tumblr but I don't know how. Like it's an okay site to be open about that on, but it's also a good site to get harassed because of it. I don't wanna pride it or push it in people's faces, I just want to not hide it. Somewhere else than here. But it's not easy for me, cause I kinda hide it everywhere.

I know now that K will be the last person I'll ever be in love with. It can only turn out two ways, one: it all goes to hell and I will never love anyone else again, two: it does work out and I will never love anyone else again. If it does work out it can only turn out in two more ways, three: we break up and I will never love anyone else again, or four: we'll be together until death do us part and I'll never love anyone else again. Cause either I'll be his forever or my heart will be broken, and I just know that I won't be able to handle having my heart broken for the 10th time.

But I seem to have calmed down now. A little after effects but it's not too bad anymore. My stomach is still twisting every so often and my heart still starts beating a little faster sometimes but that's basically all there is now. I'm listening to Ice Ages which isn't quite cheerful but it's not about broken hearts at least. Those kind of songs tend to make me feel sad and more lovesick than I already am.

I'm hoping I won't stay up too late tonight, want to get up in the morning instead of the afternoon. I'm so tired these days because of all the socialising, booze and my stupid feelings. So I sleep quite a lot and always feel drained. But it's worth it, damn it's so worth it.

Tomorrow or never

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. I don't know what to do with myself today. Just trying to collect courage without drinking, but I'll probably drink tomorrow. Because it's gonna be hard as hell even with booze and likely impossible if I'm sober. Well, that's the plan at least, but I don't know if it could be applied to the reality. I've planned and thought it through for so long now, yet it feels like I'm suffocating cause I'm already so nervous I just can't breathe. This is my chance and I just have to take it. I'll never be ready, but this is as ready as I can be. You wouldn't understand even if I told you what this is about. But I'm guessing you already know.

It's just that I've been dreading it for so long, and I don't know at all how to handle this. I can blame it on my Asperger diagnosis, that socialising has never come easy for me. I can blame it on a lot of things but it wouldn't make this any less hard to face. I suck at this and I never learned how to do it right. This game that I'm supposed to play, this fucking game. Love is not a game and it just shouldn't be. It's real, the only real thing that I truly know is real. That I never doubt, the only emotion that I can truly trust. In myself and others. Love is real, it always is.

I've been in this mess for too long and I just need to sort it out, get the answer that I'm literally dying for. I'm trying to prepare myself for the worst, what I would do with/to myself then. Lost and abandoned, where would I go? Roaming the streets of Visby until I miss the last bus home, keep roaming the streets until my mother picks me up. Or just take the first best bus back home and drown my sorrow in the last drops of alcohol I have left. Or stay, I could just stay and try to get myself together. Say that I'm sorry and try to make the pain go away. Sorry for what, my own stupid feelings? Is it even alright to say that I'm sorry for what I'm feeling? It shouldn't be. But I don't care, cause if it would somehow help with an excuse then that will be what I'll say.

Yeah, I'm writing as if I'm preparing myself to be sucked into hell, but that's not so far from my reality. How I view it. To go through with the hardest thing on earth and it's like jumping off a cliff with a parachute that you don't know if it's gonna hold you, and you can only hope that it will carry you, cause if it won't, you'll fucking die. That's how it feels, that's how hard this is for me. And to think, I only have my mother to hold me if the world falls apart.

Wine and nerdiness

My piercing is itching. I suppose that's good cause it means it's healing, but it's annoying still. I gently press it down, thinking that might also help reducing the risk of it crawling outwards. I've never heard of anyone else having that problem with labret piercings, but I suppose I've just been exceptionally unlucky or something. Jeez, I've had this one for over 3 weeks now, how did that happen? Where did time go?

I'm drinking red wine and trying to drown my sorrows. Working? I don't know yet, but it tastes weird and makes me feel a bit sick so one glass will have to be enough. I'm listening to Judas Priest and thinking about weird memories. Today has been weird, I've been feeling weird a lot and it's for reasons I won't mention. I know you might be dying to know but I can tell you one thing and that is what you're already thinking: about K.

Trying to mix the sour wine that is supposed to be sweet with lemonade without water but it still makes me feel sick though it tastes better. I think it's my new favourite brand, "Casillero del Diablo" which is a fairly cheap red wine and comes in really tiny bottles as well as bigger ones. I'm not exactly sure what it means but the diablo part which means devil and that I like. And I know it's Spanish.

I'm not sure what to say really, just trying to pass time or something. Farming for herbs in WoW to increase my character's skill in the herbalism and inscription professions. I'm trying to boost a level 61 character with a level 45 character which turned out to be quite a fail cause I need to boost the lower level character instead. Oh well, I'm having fun at least. And soon that 45 is catching up with the 61 so it will even out in time I think. As long as I keep playing with them both that is.

Oh, speaking of WoW, I've managed to learn how to play a shaman now as well. Elemental then, because caster and caster is what I do. Except for when playing hunters but they're ranged as well so some similarity if they have any similarity with any type of class. Hunters are special that way. The only non-magical ranged class. Still I get bored with them quickly and I still find it rather amazing how I got my little dreanei hunter all the way up to level 85. I've got a few bunch of high level characters nowadays, and those I count beyond level 60 except for the death knights that start at level 55. Okay, I've bored you enough with the nerdiness.

But I'm proud over my nerdiness, even if it's in quite a small scale compared to... other nerds that I happen to know. I'm attracted to nerds, you know. I might not have so much in common with other nerds, but it's just something rather amazing about a person really loving a special interest of any kind and the way they shine up when they get to do it or talk about it. Many of the people (mostly guys) that I've been in love with have been some sort of nerds and that's like the only common trait that I seem to fall head over heals over. So if you wanna impress me, be nerdy, haha.

Okay, no more wine for me. I'm not even drunk, but I get lost, you know. In thoughts, feelings, memories, his eyes, his smile, his nerdiness. Things that I'm more than just a little attracted to, you know. I might be attracted to weird things except the usual stuff, like certain words he says. Like really normal words that just get so much better vibes when he says them. Or the way he moves his hands. Unfortunately not on me, cause things haven't quite nearly gotten that far. But I imagine. Oh, I imagine, but I guess you already figured that out.

I'm not so unpredictable when it comes to love. I'm a true romantic and mostly traditional, to be honest. Sure I like doing wacky things that we shouldn't mention on such a public website, but I'm sure you know what I'm thinking about. But that's not mandatory in a perfect relationship for me. It could be a spice, regularly or not at all. I'm very versatile that way. As long as I'm in love, everything will be awesome unless it's really horrible. Even I have my limits, even though that might not be so obvious.

I'm breaking most of my limits like all the time, no matter what it's about, and that's how I broaden my horizon, willing to try what I've sort of promised myself to never do. I know the ambivalence in that, but it's just who I am. Now I can't stop thinking about K again, even though I'm really trying to talk about other stuff. I'm thinking about seeing him again, whenever that will be. And more than that I don't want to say.

Over thinking

So, I was up writing all night but since I wrote it in the note pad program I had not saved it before everything in the apartment went black and my computer shut down. Power outage. I'm writing so much shit it was probably nothing to keep anyway. But still, I find it a bit annoying and such. I'm not torn up about it though. I've been writing down crap in such note pad documents almost every day since the beginning of January, so losing one more day of scribblings is hardly anything to cry about.

Okay, I just did what I've been dreading all day... washing my clothes by hand. I've been putting off doing my laundry for way too long and I was all out of clean clothes. Now my arms and hands ache and I'm all tired. I still get the question that if I'm a guy or a girl, and that as late as the day before yesterday. Instinctively I start hating the people that ask me that or comment about it. Like, how can they not understand how fucking rude that is?! You don't go around questioning other people's genders whether they are trans or not. I'm so tired of that shit by now.

I wonder for how much longer I'm gonna be so damn androgynous that I can't fully pass. I've been on hormones for almost a year now and I've had top surgery, got some facial hair going on, a deep voice and I even have short hair now. Not that that has ever helped me pass before, since girls obviously can have short hair too, but still. I don't know, I'm just fed up with it, that I can't understand what I'm doing wrong after all these years of trying to figure it out.

I feel sad over something, but I don't know what it is. Probably just thinking too fucking much, and the thoughts themselves bring me down. My thoughts aren't healthy for me, they're poisonous and sting at the touch. I feel them like razors through my brain and the feelings like razors through my chest. Razors, razors everywhere. Is that what happens when you stop using razors for self harm? Yeah I'm still going strong about that, and most of the time it's pretty easy. I've had some relapses a few times though, but I guess that's pretty normal. But why do the razors have to be inside me instead now? What do I do when everything becomes too much and I can't handle it? I drink and smoke and hit myself instead. So much better, huh?

There's so much I'll never be able to understand about myself. At least I don't think I ever will. Like why did I even start self harming when I was so young I can't even remember how it all started? Before Anna, before sexual assault and all that, but it might have been connected to the bullying. Social anxiety, OCD, asperger and over thinking already then. But I was just a kid and already then self harm was my deal. Like how did I even think of that idea that causing myself pain was helpful in a way? Not like I read it anywhere or saw it on the internet that didn't even exist back then. At least I don't think it existed, did it during the mid 90's? I don't know, but I sure as hell didn't have a computer back then, or access to one.

Must have gotten the idea somewhere else from. But as with a lot of other things, I think I just discovered it on my own without any guidance. I think it was or could have been the car door window. I mean, I used to lean my head against it while my mother was driving me to school and it hurt cause of how bumpy the ride was, and I learned to like it. Could have started before that, but I don't know. Somehow I thought it was okay as long as I learned how to deal with the pain, any sort of pain. I knew there was a connection between physical and psychological pain already as a kid, and I bit down hard to never cry, to never scream no matter how much it hurt.

Yeah, I learned that early on, so maybe it wasn't such a surprise to me when I started training karate when I was 13 that all the hits I got was like nothing. My piercing that I got when I was 14, that was what I was worried about. Seriously. Like, sure you can pummel me half to death, but don't touch the ear! Oh well, those were great times. Don't know if I'll start training karate again some time. Would be nice to blow off some steam and keep in shape at the same time and being awesome too. But the circumstances are never right. Now I have a new piercing and I have to wait at least a year until I can start thinking about karate again, cause I need to have jewellery in it for that long and I have to be able to take it out if I'm gonna train karate. So well, we'll see about it in a year or so then.

I think about it sometimes though. How I miss it. But was it also a form of self harm? Did I let those bigger guys pummel me on purpose for that adrenaline kick? I was still living as a girl then, fairly thin, average height, getting kicked around halfly on purpose by grown men twice as big as me. They were always so sorry about it but never when they did the same thing with the other guys. That bothered me. I was probably tougher than most of them and really couldn't stand being handled like a frail doll. But over all I really liked the sport just because it was so gender equal. I fought guys and girls, men and women with no objections and so did everyone else.

I wonder how much better I could be now, when I can really, actually be one of the other guys, you know. And come to think of it, it's probably better to wait a little longer for my scars to heal up a bit more. This is probably silly, but I'm still worried that some movements could rip things up. I've gotten tiny wounds here and there in the area sometimes and I think I still need to be a bit careful. So probably a good idea to wait another year in that aspect too. But I want to, someday, when the time is right for it.

Speaking of future plans/ideas, I've sort made up my mind about starting studying again after New Years, for the spring term. I think I'm up for it now and at least it's worth a try. I don't say that I've been lazy, I've just not felt like I could be up for it, worried it would mess me up again like it did last time, and the time before that, and the time before that. Maybe the time before that as well. Okay, you get the point, I have reasons to be worried, yet many of those reasons seem irrelevant now that I'm actually a lot less of a mess than I was all those times before. Besides, I live 15 minutes away, if shit gets too fucked up I can just walk home to rest for an hour and then go back there and try again.

Taking it easy, you know. Cause if I stress myself I know things will get messy and I'll start hallucinating, dissociating, get delusions and worse headaches so bad they seem like they come from another planet; which will lead me to start popping painkillers, drinking and self harming just to get through the day. So, the plan is: don't stress myself. They say that stress is bad for you, and well, I'm quite the example why that is kinda true.

That kind of day when my mind is skipping from one theme to another in all eternity, I think. Just wanna see for how I can go on like this, before the words reach an end and I'll just stare at the computer screen with nothing coming to mind.

I think I'm looking forward to school, and hoping I'll get more interesting classmates this time. Nothing wrong with the ones I got last time, except they were to be divided in two very unfair groups: the older ones that were friendly, boring and clingy; and the younger ones that were stupid, annoying and with a mental age of about 14. Oh and there was a third group as well: the younger ones that were quiet and just sort of blended in without anyone really noticing them. Guess where I fit in? With none of them, of course. Sure I was pretty shy, but mixed with all of them, trying to find some sort of connection with the group, but didn't find anyone worth hanging with who also found me worth hanging with.

Well, I wasn't there very much, my world was splitting at the seams already halfway through January and it had only been a few weeks before I stopped going there. A few weeks when I only showed up about once-twice or sometimes thrice a week. Not much to go on, or what to say, then. I really tried my best but my best wasn't enough, and I know that I probably shouldn't, but I still kick myself for it. I even told myself that I sucked so bad at being a part of the world that I should just stay away from school and work and all that forever. I felt so very disabled you have no idea.

That was before I got this LSS residence by the way. I still lived with my family back then and had to deal with them too. My family is all about thinking I have it better with them than I do alone, but it's not true. I might be more likely to fall back into bad habits and mental messes when I'm on my own, but I feel so much more free and relaxed then. Like I can sing or scream, dance or cry, loitering around half naked and do whatever the fuck I want without it bothering anyone. And smoking indoors too, of course. That freedom when I don't have to think about showing consideration towards others. Oh, don't you dare view that as selfish, I know you all agree with me about that, whether you'd admit it or not.

The reason why I also am more likely to fall back into bad habits and such is also because I am more free to do it. I'm more free to let out frustration and over think myself to insanity when there is no one there to interrupt me. Solitude does things to you, even if you're an introvert like me. But solitude itself doesn't bother me, not in that way at least. I mean, my ghosts bother me, but they bother me more when I'm around people because then I have to act normal to not draw unwanted attention to myself. And when I do that... if I keep at it for too long it makes it worse. Ghosts don't like to be ignored.

At least mine don't. I don't know about other people's ghosts, if you have some. I could call mine demons, voices, hallucinations, spirits, or whatever but you know what I'm talking about. What happens when reality is splitting at the seams and tears open for another reality to take place. In that reality, I see them. The ghosts that are haunting me. Or more of sensing them, hearing them and feeling their presence. I've yet not reached a full breakout like the one in October with Anna, Vargyl and Satan. Vargyl left by the way. Not sure why, he was sounding all threatening and scary like he wanted to destroy me from within and then just.. poof, gone.

I can't say that I miss him though. Or well, maybe a part of me does. I miss the good times we had before he became cruel because I fell out of love with him. Maybe he just gave up on me, saw that I had moved on and fell for a real person instead, K. Relationships with imaginary people never end well, I learned that the hard way. And somehow that makes me giggle, just the thought how silly that sounds. I mean come on, relationships with imaginary people? I guess it's one thing if you think they are truly real, but I can't have. Even when I thought I thought he was real, how could I have? He was a goblin from World of Warcraft damn it. If you've played the game or heard of it, you would understand just how silly that is, am I right?

I still keep his picture on my desktop, not visually so, but as an icon, a shortcut to my folder of pictures. Some random stranger drew it in like Photoshop or something and posted it on an online forum somewhere that I found through google and it became a hallucination. I don't really understand just how that was even possible, to be perfectly honest. I'm not making it up, it was real. Damn it was so real, you can't imagine. I just can't understand it, that's all.

So now there's basically only Anna and me again, but sometimes I exchange a few words with Satan. I don't know if I exactly summon him, or if he just shows up all on his own, but something like that. Mostly I just go around and hope he's doing his job, keeping his end of the bargain and try not to allow myself to doubt. Am I even allowed to doubt my own faith? My own god? I can be pretty rude with him sometimes, I don't know my place. As I view him both as a ruler and a father to my demon self, I also order him around like some slave and look up to him as my master. I'm pretty sure we have a quite complicated relationship and I even think sometimes that he's a bit tired of dealing with me. I can hear him grunting at me sometimes, like he's really fed up with me but he's not trying to control me or anything. Master of chaos, what would he even know about control?

I know I speak about the Devil as an absent father or an old friend that I'm working for but I don't respect his work. I'm beneath him but I really don't act like it. Maybe I'm not and that is just me trying to worship a god that I don't think is doing a very good job. Like "I'm trying to worship you but you keep fucking up". I realise I'm most fortunate among other Satanists to have this kind of contact with our god, and maybe not so grateful as I should be. But I didn't come to him, he came to me. Like he saw this hurting soul just yearning to be sold for a better life on earth and oh my gosh I really am bad at saying no to offers I really shouldn't pay for...

No I don't think I regret it, not yet at least, but I will if he doesn't keep his end of the bargain. Maybe I'll even lose my faith then. But what if he does and what if it all works out in the end? Maybe I'll build an altar instead then. But right now, I just have to keep my hopes up, dig up a butt load of courage and tell K what I feel for him, at least a bit of it, just enough to let him know that I'm here and I want to be with him, that I want him just the way he is and that I don't demand anything in return. But I do, I just can't tell him that. Don't want to put any pressure on him, I have to let him come to me, I can't force him to be with me. But if he doesn't want to be with me, like at all, then I'll know it was all a sham and my faith was just a cruel joke.

I'll burn the paper I wrote my name on in my own blood and get rid of the crucifix and all the other stuff and just leave it all behind me for good. That, or I'll curl up in a corner, summon Satan for real and beg for mercy, punishment or whatever. I'm black or white, nothing in between. This or that, it's what I'll do. But what if it all goes right? Why can't I think about it, why won't I even dare believe in it anymore?

Because it hurts too damn much now. The tables are turned, the darkness has become easier to carry than the light. Thinking about the worst that could happen is easier than thinking about the best that could happen. For some reason I can't even imagine any kind of middle ground. It seems to me that he treats me differently from the rest of his friends, and that in a good way. That could mean something, and I can't stop thinking about what weighs towards him being interested in me and what does not. On and off and I can't make up my mind. Maybe he's confused too, about his own feelings, I mean. Maybe it's not the right timing or maybe he doesn't think he's got a chance with me.

I feel like he's keeping a certain distance and it could be for one of two reasons: one, he likes me and doesn't want to show me his bad sides, or two, he doesn't want me too close and keeps things from me to keep me at a distance. What do you guys think? These thoughts are haunting me like crazy night and day and I can't get any rest from them. Except from when my head is full of a thousand other things and K doesn't quite room in there. I had a few hours of insane writing just now before this came up again.

This is the only kind of writing I can do right now. Nothing productive about it, just rambling out every single thought in the top layer of my thoughts that pop up. This is insane, I could literally go on writing like this forever or until my hands starts hurting so much I can't write anything anymore. The strange thing though, they still don't hurt after writing all of this. And if you didn't know I only write with one finger. My right index finger dancing over the keys in a quite impressive pace I can tell you, and so I can hold a cigarette with my left hand and write freely only using my right index finger and occasionally the thumb or pinky for making upper case letters. Everyone looks at me strangely when they see me write on a keyboard. I don't know if they just think it's lame that I never bothered to learn how to do it "correctly" or amazed that I'm doing it so well the way that I do. But I'm proud of my lame writing skills.

Now I'm just waiting for my mother to call and then I'm gonna post this. Yeas, ALL of this. And I'm gonna read it all through, edit it and all that. Only that will take me half the night... but I don't care, then I can play some WoW to finish the night off with before I go to bed. Damn, feels like I just went out of bed. Bed is boring, why do I keep mentioning it? It's such a day, everything just comes to mind for no reason what so ever and I can tell you, that this, all of this, is just barely half of everything I've been thinking about today. Both because I didn't start writing until about five or six hours after I woke up and also because I only write down half the thoughts I'm hearing. The rest are too private or too disturbing for me to focus on. I just keep writing and hoping those disturbing thoughts will go away on their own or something.

Yes, I can think about at least two different things at the same time. Call it a skill or whatever, I really don't think it's very practical. That's how I get lost on familiar streets, how I can't concentrate that well on anything really, how I draw and write mistakes I shouldn't have done otherwise. That's why my conversations with Anna sometimes become all scattered and we both just say "what?" and then move on. I think too much and it wrecks my life. I notice that when I'm around other people. Because I can't focus for more than a few seconds before I drift away again into known or unknown territory of my own damn brain.

And I try to sort it out by writing about it, making the scattered words into a wall of text instead. Is that better? Can I really regain any sort of focus by focusing so much on writing it all down instead of forgetting it the next minute? It's the only good method that I know of, and simply accepting it. Cause I'm never bored, not really, I can always amuse myself in some way, even when just sitting or standing with absolutely nothing to do. Cause my thoughts are with me as long as I'm awake, always and forever, since I was a little kid.

Yes, I did over think already as I kid. Did I mention that before? I used to compare things to each other, I looked down on things and people, compared myself to others and listed everything I hated as I waited for the school bus, waited for my turn to get lunch, tried to figure out a math problem or when I was hanging with my "friends". I thought so much that I lost track of time, even blacked out hours sometimes and I was always lost in my thoughts. Like really lost, I couldn't find my way back out into the real world again even the few times I wanted to.

The funny thing though, about my childhood, I almost only remember the time I spent in school. That was a huge part of my life back then, but not that huge. I mean I was at home a lot as well, and sometimes at some kind of daycare or what to call it, after school. I was bullied there too, even by the ones that were supposed to take care of me. And my parents didn't believe me about that either. But I don't see the point in bringing that up now. Mostly they just didn't defend me when the other kids pushed me around right before their eyes. They probably thought they were just kids being kids and couldn't see the tears I was hiding.

Why did I hide my tears? Cause the few times I let them see my tears, they told me to stop whining. Like yeah, kids cry all the time when they're being pushed around defencelessly just because they're crybabies. Some of those adults knew my parents well and my parents knew me well, they should have been informed about how sensitive I was but I don't think even my parents understood just what was going on. But I can't hate them for that. I just can't. But I do hate the other adults that treated me like crap when I was trying to come to them for the help I really needed. Instead I resolved to self harm, alienation and hatred.

I hated everyone around me and I let my parents believe everyone was so kind and accepting of me. Not because it was easier that way or because I did not want to burden them with the cruel reality, but because I just didn't want to cause trouble, didn't want everything to get worse, and because I knew they wouldn't believe me. I don't regret it, that I kept it from them. Because I'm still thinking it's possible it could have made things worse for me. Adults, they're just not that much to look up to.

I realise that now that I have grown up and every time I see a family somewhere I think how awful it is of the parents to have brought their child/children into this crap place of a world. And that they probably tell their kids that they can trust them, and it sickens me. Maybe that is a bit cruel of me, thinking that every adult and teenager is unfit to be a parent, everyone in the entire world. Some are worse than others though, of course. But I know that not every adult parent is abusive or tolerant of abuse and not every teenage pregnancy is doomed to fail. I know that, yet I feel sorry for the kids.

I'm a bit too damaged by my own miserable life, and I still hold on to the promise I made myself as I slowly entered my first puberty: to never allow myself to forget what it was like to be a child. And still remembering, the memories haunt me as they just seem to have been more and more gruesome every time I think about it, I put myself in the places of other children, thinking how they must see the world. But it doesn't fit, cause they aren't me, they aren't who I used to be when I was growing up. Most kids around the world is living lives entirely different from how I lived my own life, I was after all a bit special. A kind of special that the world couldn't tolerate.

Damn I'm thinking too much about my childhood again. Analysing every little shred of it. Will it ever go away? Will I ever come to peace with it? I think I'm finally running out of thoughts now. Ah, the peace and quiet!

Time sequences

Tried to eat something today. Got down one and a half loaf of bread. Yay me, starvation is so easy and I'm not even trying. Seriously, I haven't felt an ounce of hunger for days, if not weeks. Yeah, I think I was doing alright during my week mainly spent in Uppsala though half the time I was somewhere off close to Stockholm. But anyways, I think I lost my appetite sometime after that. But then I've had like super cravings a few times during this period... nope, don't try to understand me, cause even I really, really can't.

I'm trying to restore my fluid balance by drinking a litre of water in one go. Almost. I haven't been drinking that much alcohol today, but then I haven't been drinking much at all during those 9 hours I was off including bus travels, as I took long walks in the bright shining sun and it was very hot weather. I've been sweating off half of my body weight without drinking any water today. So yeah, almost feels like a hangover but without the booze.

But it was nice, hanging in Visby with friends and uhm... friends of friends. Met a lot of weird people so far. It's the medieval week in Visby, maybe I should mention, and this was my second visit or what to say. Was there on Saturday as well.

Would you know what I mean if I say that I'm interlocking time sequences of my present life? I mean, sometimes I'm talking about something as if it's got nothing to do with K what so ever and then I move on to talking about K as if it was about something else, but in fact I'm talking about the exact same time sequence. It's hard to describe, cause I don't think there is a word for that. It's some kind of light trickery that I'm trying to uphold but as time passes I'm getting less and less careful about that. I mean come on, I don't know a sod here on this island yet I'm basically, kinda talking about seeing him here. Well, it's between the lines, at least. So... what could possibly be so exciting about Gotland this time of year that would make him come here? I'll let you think about that for a minute.

Or you can think about it while I'm going to bed, cause I'm dead tired right now. It's been an intense day and I really should just go to bed kinda right about now. So, if you're reading this and figuring it out, who he is, please keep it to yourself. I don't demand it, just that it would be both kind and polite if you did. And I might de-friend you if you don't.