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!