Thoughts spinning

Suddenly I'm so numb and no music can make me feel anything, not even "Misty mountains" from The Hobbit and that's serious. Maybe I don't ever want to stop cutting? Maybe it's the only true fucking comfort that will always be with me? That will never leave or abandon me, that I can't abandon.

Cause I do, leave and abandon what is my comfort for god knows what stupid reasons. And I violate my own sanctuaries over and over again. I make sure that I'm not comfortable. I make sure that I'm suffering. There's something self destructive etched into my subconscious mind, I do it without even reflecting.

How I seek comfort and then ruin it, find a sanctuary and violate it, get help and abandon it, find peace and leave it. I don't want to go into details, but I hate how I'm constantly doing it.

When I listen to certain songs that K wanted me to hear, around last summer, I can't believe that he never felt anything for me. As I hear the lyrics and I just can't help but thinking... that he meant them for me. Maybe I wasn't wrong, and it terrifies me, that what if he did feel something but then those feelings faded away? What have I done? The silence that follows that question echoes in my head.

My worst nightmare would be that if I die and then somehow later find out that he did love me, or felt anything along those lines. That's one reason I'm holding back, and because I don't want to hurt him, that he would lose a friend if I died. It's all so focused on him, my whole life right now is just revolving around him and I'm so fucking blinded. All I see and hear and think and feel is K, K, K, K, K.

Though it's true and it's not. Cause I do think about other things too, but it's true that I feel nothing else than what I feel regarding him. The pain has taken over every other emotion. Oh gosh, if only people knew that. What a shell I've become. Nah, I don't want them knowing.

I'm becoming my darkness, the light is drowning and it feels like I can't save it even if I cared to even try. Once again I "learn" how to live in total darkness, solar eclipse, as I just stumble around blinded. I stumble and fall and fall and fall until I can't get up any longer. Until every bone in my body is broken or shattered and I can't do anything but bleed and lie there. That's what life feels like right now.

And I'm too tired to fight. Too tired to say no to the psychiatry's life saving instances, too tired to do anything on my own. Too tired to say no to razor blades, pills, booze. I shift back to listening to my second favourite song of all times, "Demons" by Alaska in Winter. I love it that damn much, it just fills my soul with something other than emptiness for a little while. But it can't last, nothing can, and there's both sadness and comfort in knowing that.

Cause if nothing lasts, then that means even the good things that may come my way won't last either. How is it for humans, are their lives worth living knowing that, or do they simply not know that? Ignorance is bliss, I never once doubted that. Knowing a whole lot of truth about the world, mostly spiritual/wisdom related stuff, gives me such an overwhelming sadness. The more I know, the more awful and hopeless life just seems. So pointless, stupid and dull.

Like, I know the meaning of my life is that I'm here to learn about humans, but I'm so fucking sick of them by now I can't fucking stand it. I can't stand my own purpose to life. I know too much. And knowing how I'm gonna die is also one of those "too much information" things. It gives me a lot of pressure. It tells me "you have this long to live your entire life and do everything you want to do but you can't cause you're a mental wreck cheers have fun" and it literally drives me mad.

Cause if only that prophecy had been a tad more clear from the beginning, that would have been neat. I lived my late teenage years and early twenties in constant fear thinking I was gonna die before turning 22. What was all that about?! Thank you, sincerely, higher powers whatever the fuck it is you want with me. What do they want with me? Am I a messenger of sorts, on a test run for something great or just plain delusional?

I so have a Messiah complex. It's not very visible these days, not very "in your face", but it's there. I know that I was a very important, rich, powerful and famous person in my previous life and thus, I still am that person at heart. I don't believe that I'm God or Jesus, but a demon and according to some sources that counts in too. And a part of me believes that it's possible that I will become a god one day. Not "the" god of Christianity, but like maybe one of Hinduism or something. I believe all gods are real, as real as they can be, not really existing in our plane of existence, but I'm not a religious person. My faith is all over the place.

I only chose Satanism because I like Satan and pray to him, I follow him. I'm not really a practitioner of that religion, I just follow Satan. I've been dipping my toes into every religion (well, almost) and nothing fits. I've given up. My god has my soul now, so I can't change my mind. I wrote a blood oath, so there's no going back. I don't really regret it, but it's sort of, I don't know, it lacks devotion.

Gods are such complicate being to me, although I only know two personally. And I don't know how much of my faith is pure delusion, but there's even a saying about how hearing gods talking to you is crazy shit. I haven't actually told anyone, a shrink or whatever, that I sometimes hear God and Satan speak to me. It's rarely now, although maybe I need some divine help right now. Maybe a Christian person would agree with that, or possibly they too would think I'm crazy.

I hardly know what is crazy or not, but I do know what is normal and not. It's not always the same thing. And people always telling me that I'm not crazy, I wonder where they draw the line. Cause I'm pretty sure I've crossed it. Ages ago. If it's because of Anna, hearing God and Satan speak to me, believing I'm a demon prince, actual hallucinations, my constant depression that never qualifies as such, my suicidal tendencies, my mood swings, my way of defining real, other voices I've been hearing, or simply that I can't tell real from dream. I don't know.

My reality has always been so different from others. It's like I've got a lot of symptoms of Schizophrenia and Borderline and Asperger (obviously), Dissociative Identity Disorder, Dysthymia, ADHD, Body Dysmorphic Disorder and so on I could literally list everything that exists and I have no doubt that I would get most of it if I took the tests. Am I crazy? Fucking yes, but that's not the problem. The problem is that I'm the only one who thinks it.

I wouldn't want to be normal, but I don't want to be like this either, cause I can't survive this way. I wrote a whole book about my sorry life at 26 years old and it's so fucking packed it's crazy. I'm just saying my whole life is too much for me to handle. So I have to write it down, as it's the only thing I can do.

A new way to bleed

I still get sky high anxiety that sort of makes me "lock" and I can't even move for minutes. I just sit still trying to claw my way out of my own mind and reach for my razor blade, pills, booze, cigarettes or Theralen. I don't know what's going on, if it's something else than anxiety or if I'm just tired.

I'm slowly becoming more and more apathetic. I don't rock myself as much anymore, I'm not able to. All I can do is sit or lie down and stare when it gets like that. But I always manage to snap out of it, sooner or later. But the thing is, how do I even manage those random spurs of total apathy? What if I get stuck that way?

I finally managed to get some sleep this night, but it was full of exhausting dreams. I chased after K in them, I was stuck in psychiatric wards with weird and horrible rules and then I also dreamed about sleepwalking and cutting off my long nails. I woke up scared of that last thing being true but was relieved when I saw that my nails were intact.

I'm gonna need to bring my arm warmers, cause I ain't showing people my wounds at the ward. I don't know why, but somehow I find that being a very private thing. Fuck, I just got stuck like that again, for 15 minutes this time. It was horrible, but I could move a little, like blinking and swallowing. Until I just used all the force I could possibly summon and reached for a cigarette. First I went for the razor blade but then I thought that a cigarette is better. Oh my god, I'm so tired. That was so exhausting. How can sitting completely still be so exhausting? Because I was locked inside my own mind and I know of no scarier place.

It's a little bit hard to focus on anything right now as I'm still sort of coming out of it. 45 minutes later... yeah. I'm trying to just let the music soothe me combined with some chain smoking. I'm scared of getting stuck like that again. I don't quite have all my strings attached, it could happen. I feel like I'm close to it and have to keep myself busy, but I don't know how. I took some Theralen, and I'm up at 1 ml now. It's making me feel sick, I probably can't up the dose more without puking. I have to smoke menthol cigarettes and focus real hard to not puke.

Something I've learned on the way through overdosing in the past, how not to puke. It's not always successful of course, but it helps. So anyway, I'm hoping Theralen will help me stay focused on not ending up in that state again. Well, not today at least. Anyway, I think that's all I can think of right now. I'll get back to you when my words get back to me.

Still kinda holding on

It's been an alright day. I've been listening to music, mostly Melody Club and DDT. Then I went shopping in the centre of the village where a few stores are (surprisingly) still running. I bought hair bleach, nail polish, a new paper diary (I have just as many as suicide attempts now), a couple of pens, a paper clip thingy, more food and more cigarettes. I needed menthol cigarettes to deal with the aftertastes of both Imovane and Theralen that are bitter and veeery long lasting. Up to over 24 hours.

I took Imovane last night as well, I don't remember when or why, but I didn't do it as an attempt to die, only to sleep. I must have crashed on my sofa because that's where I woke up a few hours later. And I must have been sleepwalking again cause I was wearing different clothes, arranged in a strange order, but I have no memory of it. Now I'm out of Imovane again and probably won't get new ones for quite a while.

I have been told that I'm very well welcome back to the psychiatric ward whenever I want/need to. So that's good to know. I have some preparations left to do, like shaving, showering, packing what I want to bring, wait for the pens to show up and what not. So far I've fixed my hair like I planned to and I'm just in the middle of fixing my nails. I paint them in my new, light pink, shimmering polish. They look like fake nails but they're real. I get comments about that, so yeah.

And Anna is still a bitch. Right now she just sent me pictures of me putting my hands into a meat grinder. Thank you, I sincerely needed that. I have this sensation that because I'm feeling down, she gets down too and that's why things get so messy between us lately. It's not making it any better, this whole situation with my hopeless heart. She does that often lately, by the way, sending me pictures in my mind somehow. Like she's transferring her own thoughts or I don't know. Suddenly it just flashes before my eyes and she's cackling in the background. She's having fun, I'm definitely not.

I run out of words, but I'm gonna try to go to bed soon. Seems a friend of mine is possibly suicidal too. I care, but at the same time I kinda don't. I don't believe that they're gonna commit suicide, they've joked about it before. But what is it about really, why suddenly so many are having such a hard time around me? Is it contagious or something?

I don't know, I just feel weird. Now I'm just sitting and staring cause I have too much anxiety to move. Just sit here and listen to music from Silent Hill, game or movie I'm not sure.

Worthless

I don't know what to do, I just want to die, I can't even talk to the one and only person that I want to talk to. Took more Theralen, took more Lergigan, I just want to sleep. I'm so hungry but I can't eat, food disgusts me. I have to be the strong one, but none of us is the strong one now. It's just a complete fucking mess and I don't think it's unreasonable to think it's possible neither of us will survive the summer. That's it, I've said too much. I don't care though, I just don't want anything anymore. This life is so fucking worthless. I'll just go to bed now.

Stay alive

So... this night turned out to be an adventure that I can't remember. Wat I did was taking 3 Imovane and drank 6 vodka drinks. I read up about it yesterday and it warned me about getting blackouts and sleepwalking and well...

When I woke up I had some kind of mysterious stain on my jeans that I slept with on, same kind of stuff under my nails, the cream cheese tube was on the kitchen worktop (instead of the in the fridge) and I realised that's what was all over me. Also there's a glass of juice on my desk that I have no memory of what so ever. Oh, I used a plate too, but I have no idea exactly what I ate except from that cream cheese. I must have been sleepwalking, and eating in my sleep. Or I went up to eat in an awake state but then blacked it out, but probably the first considering the mess I made.

I don't seem to have done anything serious in that state, however. No new cuts on my arms, my hair is intact and so on. Also I didn't call anyone, according to my phone.

So no, I didn't die, just like I thought I wouldn't. A part of me wanted to die and that's probably why I wrote that letter and kept beside my pillow in my bed. I even slept with my clothes on just in case. Would not want to be caught dead naked. Literally. But I didn't die and now I'm myself again. Sigh. Was this a suicide attempt? I don't know. A very ridiculous one in that case. I mean come on, it was just 3 Imovane and some booze. No one dies on that little.

I found spilled out juice on my desk, but seems my keyboard is alright. I can't help but wonder exactly what and how much I ended up eating during my sleepwalking. Like I managed to do the quite complicated procedure of pouring up juice concentrate and water of decent amounts in a glass, but then smeared cream cheese fucking everywhere. I have to clean up my jeans and my desk and I had to wash my hands pretty thoroughly to get if off my nails. I will so do this again sometime. Yeah, I'm crazy.

I'm still bummed over that I didn't die last night. Although I didn't even try to, and I still don't know if I should count it as my 16th suicide attempt, but maybe I should, cause I did dress up and wrote a note and everything. Ugh, I don't know.

I'm dying on this island. I'm literally dying and my mother thinks I shouldn't return to Uppsala again. She doesn't understand, but I will explain it to her one day. If I survive this year, I'll try to make my mother help me get an LSS apartment in Uppsala or somewhere nearby, so that I can move there next year or the year after that. I just won't stay here longer than 5 years and that's final. I'll probably not even be alive for that long, but still. I try to still do future plans despite knowing that I'm gonna die.

I'm pretty sure that I'll skip having a child and go for surgery right away instead. There's no regretting, I'm not meant to be a parent. How can I? I skip that thought and leave it forever behind me. I don't need a child, I truly don't. It was just an obsession that came and more importantly: went. If I survive this summer, I'm gonna have my mother call the right people to see if I could go for check up for surgery or get a meeting with my surgeon or whatever is required. I'm pretty sure that some kind of consultation would be important.

I just want to be one step closer to complete. I don't want this horrible dysphoria and self hatred. I don't want to look like I'm somewhere between male and female, I want to look completely male. I need it, I think I need it to survive, if I can survive long enough to get to that point.

I don't plan suicide, but my impulsive behaviour could lead me there one day. I always try to hold on, even now, but sometimes I can't. Then I do reckless and stupid things. I want to say that I try as hard as I can, and I want you to not worry about me, but I just can't lie. I don't want to live and I'm constantly on the brink between life and death. I see no future, yet I do, cause my hopes are still not dead. I think those are what's keeping me alive most of the time, the hopes for something better.

But I don't believe in a better future, not really. I think that if I stay, life will continue like it always has. Without the heartache, maybe I could manage that, but not with it. Definitely not with it. I just have one more weekend to survive on my own, since my pens will likely show up on Monday or Tuesday (yes, I finally managed to order them), but if I can't, I'll get my mother to call the hospital and see if they can arrange a bed for me at the psychiatric ward before then. My mother will then just have to come with my pens after I've been admitted in that case. If that's possible. I mean if I lend her my ID-card or something.

But hopefully I'll make it through this weekend. I'm gonna see my psychologist tomorrow, I think, and then talk about all of my annoying feelings. Of course she won't think they're annoying though. I am incapable of finishing this entry. It feels like I needed to say something more but I don't know what that would be.

Oh, now I remember! I had the crew coming over today and apparently they've talked to the person in charge (more or less reported me) because I've refused help from them so much lately. Apparently that was wrong of me, but they didn't even warn me or anything first. That's shitty. I'm feeling like a mess and then they're doing everything worse. Sorry, I'm too shut off by now to even being capable of reacting.

I was close to crying though, when my contact person of the crew told me that. She said she was gonna warn me but she's been away/sick, and that she didn't approve of her colleagues' method. At least she's on my side. I don't know what to expect, cause they have already reported me. I'll probably somehow bring my mother into the mix and then just try to explain that I've been feeling seriously horrible lately and that's why I've been ignoring the staff. I just couldn't handle them. At all.

Yes, I finally let her into my apartment and she helped me with the dirty dishes, swabbing the floors and I vacuumed the floors and put my clean clothes away in the wardrobe. It was tiring, but I think I had a slightly better day and could finally just get it over with.

Long entry becomes long, and you should know that I deleted quite a large portion of it. It doesn't even show. I'm divided. If I talk to my shrink, won't she think that I actually do care and want help, which I really don't? And if I shut up I'll suffocate cause I think I really need to talk it through with her. She's not nearly as annoying as my contact person at the eating disorder unit is though. She's more laid back and understanding, although we do have our misunderstandings sometimes.

Like she once thought that I was actually in a relationship with K, or that she thought I wanted to get instantly better from my eating disorder as soon as I told her about it. But it's okay, it's understandable misunderstandings. So maybe I'll just have to be clear, that I've lost it, my ability to give a fuck about how much I'm ruining my body for a peace of mind I can never get. But also that I'm thinking about the psychiatric ward and possibly also mention my half assed suicide attempt last night.

I might not mention exactly what I took though, in fear of them taking away that medication from me. I might not even mention the sleepwalking for the same reason. Just say that I took an overdose with alcohol, put on make-up, dressed up, wrote a suicide note and went to bed. It sounds very much like a suicide attempt if I tell it like that. But oh, well.

I only have 1 Imovane left now so can't do the same thing this night. Next time I'll take 4 or 5 pills instead of 3. See if I can get an even better/more interesting effect. But not tonight. Tonight, I don't know what I'm gonna do. But I'm not gonna try suicide cause I want to be alive for that meeting with my shrink. I need to be, I just fucking need to be.

Care

My contact person was so annoying today at our meeting. Or maybe I was the one who was annoying? She thought I should see more people more often which I flat out refused. She tried to make me find other methods besides cutting and I refused. If I could just make up my mind or have it my way I would see a lot less of her and more of my awfully busy psychologist. Maybe I in the future won't book meetings with her so very often, like only the weeks I don't see my psychologist or something.

I shift to dark and don't give a damn about the world. It disgusts me, people disgust me. She kept talking about how humans are and included me as such so damn many times that halfway through I wanted to just yell that I'm not a fucking human. Instead I whispered it in English when she had her back turned. I don't think she heard or noticed it. I'm so tired of people just coldly repeating that I'm human as if it was a damn fact. I'm not, I'm not, I'm not.

But why would they believe me? I'd just come off as delusional. And maybe I am, I don't know, but all I know is that there is a form that makes most people humans, and I don't fit into it. I'm different, and that much everyone who really knows me also know. But to go as far as agreeing I'm not human? No one has.

What am I then? I'm a demon reincarnated. My body is of course without a doubt human, but my soul isn't and they're chafing awfully when put together. I'm mentally divided from my body, so to the point that I constantly feel like a stranger in it. It doesn't feel like my body cause the real me isn't human. Never was, never has been. So if it's a delusion, it's been with me all my life.

And I just long to be with K. I want nothing to do with anyone else. Not even my closest friends. I break apart and I can't put myself back together. Damn, that meeting just tore me up even more. I know she's just trying to help but she goes about it all wrong and is it that wrong of me to want to strangle her half the time?

I don't know, I don't know what to do. It's like I can't explain it either as I only have two options in that office: 1) yell at her or 2) shut the fuck up. I usually go with number 2. It's more polite, more reasonable, but I'm breaking into pieces and soon I won't go there anymore. So tired of her shit and I don't care about how shitty my own life is. I don't care anymore. I don't care about getting better and I don't know how to tell anyone that.

Exhausted

I almost got to school too late today as I lost track of time, but made it there at least, just about 10 minutes too late. Then I was exhausted when I got back home again despite that the only thing I did, literally the only thing, was sitting down and listening to people talk and play music. I didn't even sing along when I was supposed to during the ceremony, or what to call it.

Then I went grocery shopping (yeah, the usual pre-packed meals and soda) and then I fixed my nails. Now I'm so tired I can barely think. Also, I'm almost finished with my autobiography now, as I've started poking it around a bit and I realise it won't take that long to fix it up. It's 15 core chapters or what to call them, that covers the timeline of my life and then there will probably be tops 5 more, random chapters. So it won't be all that long, this second book of mine. I haven't counted the words yet, but my guess is maybe around 80 thousand when I'm all done? I really don't know, could be less but probably not more.

I'm still hurting, but I think I've gotten into yet another type of almost denial phase, pretending that everything is fine, but shatter under the surface. I'm still capable of keeping a straight face most of the time. I've actually only broken down 3 times since it all started. Right after the first video chat, during the second one and at my contact person's office. Otherwise I'm just stone face, not showing much at all.

So I'm at least somewhat stable, I guess. I actually have an appointment with her as soon as tomorrow but I'm not sure what to say. That I've started cutting every day again, perhaps, but what more that she doesn't already know? Am I just going to those meetings to keep everyone updated? I don't think that they can help.

Talking so rarely helps me. It can if it's special, but not for very long in that case. A few hours, sometimes just a few minutes.

Have I mentioned the only word from Dala that I remember? It's "sili" which means star and is pronounced like "seelee" kinda. My initials were S.I.L. before I changed my name. Coincidence? I think not. I don't believe in coincidence. I believe in fate.

I smack my own face over and over until it stings from the impact just to stay awake. It's self harm too and I know I probably shouldn't do it, although it's pretty harmless. I've only been hit in the face by another person once in my life and that was me begging for it as a part of a sexual act. How fucked up isn't that?

Okay I can't find more words to write now, so this will have to be it. Hang on a sec, I just figured why I'm so exhausted all the time: because I barely get any sleep! 3 to 5 hours a night is next to nothing... oh, well.

Second book soon done

"Are you depressed? Do you have anxiety?" Will you stop guessing your way to it when I've told you over and over that I don't want to talk about it?! Apparently not. I am so tired of the crew.

I just thought of the perfect pseudonym for K in my book: Kaj. Because it's simple, starts with a K and somehow I just think it would almost kinda suit him. Yes, I've gotten as far into my writings as about him, and he will take up space in 2, possibly 3 chapters. I've loved him for exactly 2 years in 12 days. So he shows up in the chapter about 2013, covers a lot of the one about 2014 and if I do write a chapter for 2015 he will obviously be there too.

It feels like love shapes me, every heartbreak and unrequited love story that's ever been in my life. I don't know if I want to continue with that thought. I'm tired and restless at the same time again, keep changing position in my chair and can't decide what music to listen to. My thoughts are taking me nowhere and my mind goes blank for annoying, short moments as I try to focus on my writing.

I was at school today and it was kinda boring. Just listening to other people talking and nothing to say for myself. I just couldn't help but feeling how much I dislike people. Humans, crawling everywhere, talking, talking, talking. I don't even care if they shut up, I'm only annoyed when I have to listen or say something myself. Just one last day of actual school now though. Then it's just the voluntary school once a week throughout the summer. I will however not prioritise that.

Haha, I just told my mother about that I want my new pens to come before I decide if I should go to the psychiatric ward again and she totally understood me. Am I being silly? Yes, but having something to do there is important to me. And I hate the tv and the boring magazines they have at such places.

I started over with my calender project for a fantasy theme instead. Right now I'm working on re-doing a goblin that I did before, just slightly different and most importantly: with the piece of paper turned horizontally, instead of vertically. I think this goblin should represent April, but I'm not sure.

Oh my god I'm soon done! Just finished the chapter about 2014 and I have only one chapter left to write. It's happening, the impossible: I'm getting done with my autobiography. Now I just need to figure out what to call the next chapter, the last chapter... it should be an ending of sorts, a summary, something that ties everything together, something very me. I don't know.

Whatever, I'm going to bed now, I've only got one more day of school and that's in a few hours.

Work to do

Old memories from my life in Uppsala suddenly come back to me. They mix with my dwellings on that last video chat with K. I can't get it out of my head, can't stop repeating what was said over and over until I tell Anna to stop reminding me or stop me from reminding myself. It's kinda 50-50 who's responsible for bringing it up. It's agonising, humiliating and plain annoying. I can't stand it.

Other than that I think that I'm doing remarkably okay considering the circumstances since that video chat. I'm still cutting, about once or twice a day but very shallow cuts so there will be no bleeding accidents or serious nerve damage in my beloved hands. By "serious" I mean from all the years I've been cutting my arms there has been slight nerve damage as that "skin" (read plain scar tissue) is pretty numb to the touch. One of the reasons why I don't dare pressing down is because I'm scared of causing nerve damage to my hands. My artist hands, I care for them to an almost ridiculous degree.

Other than that I'm still drinking Theralen like crazy. I mean, I take it in half millilitres now instead of drops. But I read on the label that the most common dosage for anxiety among adults is 40 to 60 mg which is far more than I take. I'm up at 20-30 mg, although I've been ordered 5-6 mg. So yeah, it's quite a heavy overdose according to my doctor, but not according to the label. And when it comes right down to it, I'd rather trust the label in this case, cause then I know that 20-30 mg doses are not in fact dangerous to me. It's just people being too fucking over protective around me. As usual.

I still end up rocking myself quite a lot and I still haven't lowered the volume of my music. Still smoke two packs a day and drink fairly big amounts of coffee, half reasonable amounts of booze (maybe 3-5 glasses every third day or so), I still eat junk and my sleep is bad. This night I only got 3 hours of sleep after desperately trying to sleep for 4 hours. My stomach hurt, my head was a mess and then I got all these stupid drawing ideas. I ended up sleeping in a corset to keep an even pressure on my hurting stomach, took a Treo (the only kind of non-prescription painkiller that works on me) and shut off the music.

This odd mixture of tiredness and restlessness is making it nearly impossible to both sleep and be awake. And my lack of care drives me to drink coffee sometimes as late as 2:00 at night. Then I just try to drug myself down with Theralen and Imovane. I mix and blend all my drugs into strange cocktails to keep me awake, keep the feelings at a distance, keep my thoughts in order and to uphold addictions at the same time. But it's the one thing that is the hardest: to go to sleep after I've done all that during the course of a single day.

It's exhausting, but I'm too wired, caffeinated, jaded, anxiety ridden and restless to be able to just... to just fucking relax.

I haven't completely started isolating again, I just got terribly bored of facebook and tumblr, in case you're wondering. I find all those gifs, videos, pictures and texts suddenly awfully dull and I turn myself inside out again: I can only see my own insides. As I continue writing my autobiography it doesn't seem to drag me down anymore, but rather it just engages me to want to finish it. I will soon, as I only have 2 chapters left to write. I've written 29, most of them the summer before last. Some of them won't be included in the finished work, those that are only informative or just a poem or what not, shit like that. Of course I won't exclude anything that is actually about my life, from my timeline, or how to put it. Only some of those extra chapters that I find to be... unnecessary.

So, I've got work to do, and I plan to be finished with it within a few weeks tops. That would include editing and tidying it up a bit. I won't edit it as meticulously as I did with Grimston, simply because this is written in my native language and I'm far better at it than I am with English. Also, I'm just not in the mood for editing yet another book 4 times just because. It's not that fun.

Then I'm not sure what to do with it. I'm thinking I'll change all the names to pseudonyms and then maybe send it around to random friends who wants to read it. Then put it away somewhere until I can make up my mind whether I want it published or not. I should get separate USB memory-thingies for each of my finished books and put them in a very safe place where they can't get lost, stolen or broken. Then also have back-ups of course.

I'm just ranting, I don't know where to begin.

It's not worth it

My main concern is that I don't know how to cheer myself up. At all, no matter what it's about. Instead I'm listening to my suicide playlist and smoke cigarettes. I have no idea how to make myself feel better because nothing has ever worked that way. I don't have a single method, not a single one. And oh, I've tried so much, so many different ones over the years. Nothing's ever worked.

Is that sad? I guess it is. I decided to wait through the weekend, cause I don't want to miss the last two days of school. Miss them over sadness? How annoying. But sadness is tearing me apart and I don't know where to start. Or end, for that matter. I ended up in thoughts on the psychiatric ward, that I should try to bring my razor blade somehow, like hide it in my underwear or something. Yeah I'm back to cutting and I don't want to stop. I just don't care about that either.

It's gotten to a point where I can no longer refuse to feel to protect myself, the feelings are there ripping me to pieces and there's nothing I can do about it. I should probably stop video chatting with K and his partner, I mean fuck, it's dependent on my life, but I just can't. I just miss him so so much and I don't know what's tearing me apart more: these hurtful feelings or constantly missing him and what we never had.

Most of all, I hate that I'm shattering for no reason. Nothing's happened, not now nor earlier. I'm just too damn sensitive and too damn much in love to be able to live knowing I never had a chance and once again fell for the same trap.

Is nothing heavier, than the topic of death? The opposite of life, the one thing everyone around me seem to in one way or another freak out about. And I'm just shut off, can hardly even tell the difference between being dead and alive. I'm stuck in between the two, either seems impossible. Neither seems appealing to me, I don't want to live and I don't want to die. Still wishing for a third option, but such one never comes to me.

Anna: Are you crying?
Me: A warrior never cries.

So, just had some kind of dinner in the form of chicken pie. I don't eat much else these days. I'm listening to "Twenty-Three" by MC Lars and am reminded of another time when I was also suicidal. I scared my closest friends, they thought they were gonna lose me. It was back in the end of 2010. Has anything changed since then, anything at all? The song ends but the feeling remains.

How many times in my life have I been suicidal? It's too many to count, far too many to count. Probably hundreds of times from age 4 to now. Or it just never stopped, the feeling of wanting to die that never entirely left me, just attacked me in different forms, for so many different reasons. Mostly it's been love, Anna or Dala, but mostly it's been love. My broken heart not capable of handling what's supposed to be the best feeling in the world.

It's the worst feeling in the world, and you could say I have my reasons to never want to fall in love again. I can't handle it. The feeling is just too fucking huge to even lift, definitely too huge to carry. I shift back to Tokio Hotel's "Don't jump" as I listened to it right after my video chat with K this night. I think someone needs to tell me to not jump, but I'm not sure it would help.

Yeah, I listen to the emo band Tokio Hotel and no fucks are given. I like their songs. Maybe there is a bit of an emo inside me, the broken teenage heart that never had a chance to heal, the cutter and the emotionally unstable person who can only speak of blood and despair. I don't know. My sister always teasingly calls me emo and I'm not sure if I should even bother to defend myself, so I don't. It doesn't effect me anymore, anyone can think what they want and I don't know what my style is called.

It might as well be emo, goth, synth or what else. Probably a mix between all of them, but I don't equal my clothing style with my sadness. There are happy goths (I happen to know a bunch) and there are those that are sad no matter how they dress. I don't anymore, dress to express myself. I only wear what I feel the most comfortable in, mentally and physically. So if people think that black clothes and a chronic sadness equals emo then that's fine with me. I don't care.

I'm still fairly shut off, but every feeling is lingering around the corner. I'm together, don't react much at all. When I just came out from the grocery store to light a cigarette just now, a guy suddenly stood right in front of me. I ripped out my headphones from my ears with a "huh?" and he asked for a cigarette and I gave him one. Then he asked what I listened to and with a despondent voice I told him that right then it was Kent, as "Mannen i den vita hatten" was playing. Then we continued our separate ways and I can't shake the feeling. Of what I don't know, but perhaps something similar to some kind of confusion.

I'm rarely approached by strangers, but if I am they always want cigarettes, and I gladly give, thinking if I one day need to ask strangers of cigarettes myself I won't feel so guilty. Then as I walked closer to my apartment an older guy on a bike waved at me and I can almost swear it's the same guy who yelled profanities at me at the same spot a bunch of weeks ago. I'm not generally scared of the looneys who live in my neighbourhood, but sometimes they do upset me. I feel at home with crazy people, as if I'm one of them, no matter what their diagnoses are.

Like, I feel more at home with a psychopath or a schizophrenic than I do with "normal" people. I'm not sure why, but maybe it's the impulsion, the randomness in their behaviour that makes me feel like home. I could be scared of them and still feel a certain connection. And get the feeling that I'm not crazy enough to truly belong with them, and not sane enough to belong with healthy people. Once again, I'm stuck in between with nowhere to turn.

It might sound silly, but it really does feel like I'm walking this world alone, permanently stuck between real and dream, I never know what is real, can never trust my senses or overpower them. Like everything I do I have to do alone, like I have nowhere I belong, and no place feels like home. Scared of eviction, scared of being left alone by those I love, scared of the remains of my broken heart, scared of losing everything I have and what I've never had.

I do live my life in an unnecessary, consuming fear that sometimes shifts over to crude anxiety. And I don't even know what I'm so scared of. Of life and death and everything beyond. Of myself, mostly. What a danger I can become to myself, I'm never safe in my own hands. Mostly, it's my impulsion that scares me. What I do in times of extremes, whatever they are, and when everything becomes overwhelming. In panic and too much anxiety. Panic. Panic that leads to a breathless desperation and I reach for whatever harmful thing is closest to me. To shut my eyes and cut without looking how deep it gets, or blindly mix cocktails of medication and downing it all within split seconds, to attempt suicide on impulse.

I could even end up killing myself accidentally. And that shit really does scare me. I'm not very good at handling the big emotions. Those written in red and painted with blood. When they drive me over the edge and I can't see. When I'm blinded by my reaction to them and end up taking overdoses left to right or desperately self harm hoping for just about everything to stop. It's like I become this unstoppable force driven to slowly end my own life.

It leads me to even more desperation as nothing has never worked and when I realise that death is the only thing that can work. Cause I just don't think it's worth it. Life isn't worth those big emotions written in red and painted with blood. The emotions so many even seek after, which I try with all of my power and more to escape. And I know, I just know from the bottom of my soul, that I don't want to live if I have to cope like this for the rest of my life.

If I survive this, there's a huge risk that I'll shut off completely. Stop going to school, end most of my friendships including K and never try to bond with humans again, cause they're ruining my life and I don't want to feel anything anymore. I'm already at it with emotional suicide, trying to kill everything inside me medically. I believe it's the only way I can survive, by becoming nothing but a shell, completely shut off from humans. It's not the life that I want, I don't want a life at all anymore. I've had enough.

Enough heartbreak and sadness, it's not worth it. But I plan to survive this weekend, it's just 3 days, and then try to get my ass to school at least one of the last 2 days. Then maybe... I don't know. I'll either kill myself of end up in that psychiatric ward again. Maybe make a faulty 16th attempt and then seek help. I don't know.

Update

I am so beyond tired today. Woke up 15:40 and it feels like I'm hangover but only from the drugs. I don't know why I took that bigger dose yesterday, it wasn't an actual suicide attempt and I'm not gonna count it as one. Just me being extremely sad and impulsive. It's a bad combo and it could have gone much worse, and I know that I'm losing control.

Anyways, just wanted to give you an update in case you were worried or something. I'm so tired I can hardly even write, need this coffee to shake me back to some kind of alertness. Then I'll write some more.

Falling

I'm shut off, so completely shut off, I can't feel a thing. Pretending to have gone to bed because I told them that I would. I don't know how much Theralen I just took, about 30 ml I think, I might not wake up for a couple of days or so. I hope I won't ever wake up again. I'm listening to The Goo Goo Dolls "Iris" but think there's something wrong with my headphones.

I had another video chat with K and his partner, but my webcam didn't want to work, so they couldn't see me. Good for all 3 of us, cause I kept on drinking Theralen and I even cut myself while they were kissing right in front of me. I'm gonna die, I just know I'm gonna die internally.

I can't fucking breathe, can't stop rocking myself, I can neither cry nor scream. It's 4:30 and now I know that I want to die. I still haven't told them, but soon I have to, or I will kill myself. Cause I can't handle this, I'm broken everywhere and everything hurts so horribly much there... there just aren't any words for it.

Right now, it's likely that I'll try killing myself with Theralen any time from now to never. I'm just shards and shatter and I can't even breathe right. I'm falling, I fall and I land so hard.

I tried to shut my eyes, turn my face away, every time they kissed, but it was hard to time it and I still got glimpses of it. I don't know what to do, I don't want to live. No, the Theralen I just took is not enough to kill me, just enough to sedate me for the rest of the morning and possibly a few more hours, but won't do more damage than that, probably not even that much.

I can't keep up that much longer now, but I'll be back tomorrow. I just... I don't know what to say. Don't worry too much, I still don't plan anything. But it's weekend now, I have to survive the weekend or possibly call the psychiatric department tomorrow. If I'm awake early enough to call them. I don't know. I can almost imagine myself crying, screaming and rocking myself at a psychiatric ward... uh, I don't want to, but maybe I have to. I'm falling so fast.

Thick grey mass

I cried in therapy today, but blamed it on the make-up. I don't even know why the tears escaped me, it wasn't terribly upsetting. My thoughts are so scattered today, I don't even know what I'm thinking about half the time.

I'm trying to draw my comics again, but I hardly even know what I'm doing. It's based on that meeting with my contact person today. Although it's not really therapy, if we're supposed to be technical about it, it's just someone I talk to. There is no therapy for me, because ironically, I'm too broken for it.

Now the emptiness mixes with the sadness and The Cranberries' song "Empty" still fills my headphones on max volume. I smoke and drink coffee but can't fight the tiredness. I wear my hood on cause I'm still cold. I don't think I'm eating enough, cause this coldness is familiar.

And I find myself looking out the window. The big window without a view. And I'm thinking of how much I'd rather stay in here than to be out there. Anywhere. I put aside my drawing and light a cigarette. The chaos in my mind keeps on ravaging. I have to order more pens. Now 2 of my 3 skin tones are dying, one green and one blue and soon I have nothing left to draw with. Nothing left to wither.

I almost scared my contact person with my sadness today. She wants me to go inpatient but I don't want to. I don't want people poking around, trying to make me stay when all I want is to leave. I told her I have no lust for life but I have no lust for death either. It's true. I'm still standing in between, unable to make the choice: live or die. So I'm just breathing, alive, but not really living.

I had a hamburger today, with the motivation that maybe I should eat something today, and my mother agreed. I don't live near any fastfood joint, so it was in Visby. Shit. I'm reading my old diary from 2007 again, and I had no idea that I have tried to kill myself with the exact same method in the exact same place and at the exact same date with 4 years apart. With pills and booze, by the river in Uppsala, 31st of August. 18 years old first time (well, 5th attempt) and 22 years old the second time which was my 11th attempt.

I'm at the same time as I'm writing trying to sort out all of my 15 suicide attempts and just hope that they're all written down in the diaries. It's my cv information, my rap sheet and my favourite thing to brag about. Yeah, I'm fucked up. I've never actually written a cv and I don't have an actual rap sheet, but you get the idea.

I don't really know how to function right now. My mind is a mess and I can't stop rocking myself. Someone please shake some life into me. I feel more dead than alive today. This week, this month. I found a picture that I've drawn in my diary, just pages before that suicide attempt, of how I wanted to look like the up-coming winter... like, yeah. Things have certainly changed, and only the tattoo remains.

I did that tattoo later in 2007, like the only good thing about that year, in September the 16th. So much shit to "celebrate" this year, as it was the 10th anniversary of my self harm by cutting, my constant headache, first time having my heart broken and first suicide attempt. And then of course 17 years ago since the thing when I was 9 and 8 years ago since the rape. But it's also the 8th anniversary of my tattoo, 2 years on testosterone, 1 year post op and what not.

I realised that if I do die in 2 years it will have been 10 years ago since the rape, another "great" thing to celebrate... I guess the anniversary from when I was 9 hurts less only because I can't remember the date it happened. I only know it was either April or May, but likely May cause it was a hot day and I only wore a dress. It was white and blue checkered and I only remember wearing it twice. It was that special "old fashioned school day" when we were all to pretend it was the year of 1897 just a year before, spring of 1997 when I wore it the first time. Then after what happened I tossed the dress.

Sometimes I get confused and think maybe the thing that happened to me was in -97 but then I'm like "no it has to have been in -98". 1998... it feels like an eternity ago, doesn't it? Back when some people even thought the world would come to an end in 2000 because of something with the computers. I only remember it vaguely as I was quite young and awfully busy with myself and my own fucked up life. I was only 11 years old when we came to the new millennium and didn't find it all too fascinating. It was all just numbers to me.

Now I'm having more coffee again and I'm just writing cause I don't know what else to do. My school ends for the term on Tuesday. I still don't know if I want to continue the next term. I have no goals left, no dreams, I'm just killing time. I no longer want to actually study someday. It's not worth it and there's no actual job that I can imagine myself having one day. Anyway, back to my autobiography, if I can.

I've finished the chapter about Lundellska up to the point where I met my ex R. I call that next chapter that's gonna be about him "Burn heart, burn" and it sends chills down my spine over and over for minutes. Halfway through the cigarette and I still feel them. Damn. (I smoke slowly, and one cigarette takes about 8 minutes for me to smoke, so yeah). As I mentally try to prepare myself for writing about my ex, I finish my cup of coffee and try to collect my thoughts. Start by trying to remember how we met, then take me chronologically through the almost 9 months long relationship.

So far through that chapter, which I called "When you've fallen, get up immediately" or something like that is the best translation I can manage right now, I realised what a wreck I totally must have been. It was so much that was broken, bleeding and hurting. I'm listening to Marillion's song "Lady Nina" and it just fits me so well how my life was back in 2006-2007. "Forever kissing frogs that think they're princes, Lady Nina, where did all the romance go?" for example.

I was chasing hearts like crazy. So many different names in my diaries from that time. I can count to at least 7 different names in the span of one year. ONE year. 5 of those I actually had something going on with. And that was after never having as much as kissed another person before. I was crazy, cause suddenly there was a whole world in front of me with loads of people and opportunities but my heart kept on breaking and I kept falling for the wrong people who either took advantage of me or hurt me tremendously instantly or over time. That would summarise the whole chapter...

It was by far one of the most crazy periods in my life, but I only remember about half of it all. I didn't remember my 5th suicide attempt or half of those people on that list. I had forgotten as it was too much shit to remember. Also, I'm very rarely embarrassed over something I find in these old diaries, I'm not ashamed of putting it into my book. If anything I either feel sad about it or laugh at it in retrospect. It's my life, and it is what it is.

Must. Have. More. Theralen! My god, as I write about how we met I realise that by writing I once again unlock memories. It's nearly freaking me out how I suddenly remember that the first time I followed him home was a Thursday, without having read about it in a diary. I haven't touched that diary for years, not since I let him read it. Come on now Theralen, calm me down so that I can go through this... just don't make me fall asleep, okay? Deal? I took 7 drops altogether... oops.

I'm still rocking myself, 3 hours later, I'm still breaking inside. And drinking that sedative drug as if it was booze cause I'm out of booze, and drinking coffee when the drug makes me too tired. It's in the balance between jaded and calm, tired and alert. Just even me out, I am made of artificial matter and only my bones are pure. Medications, caffeine, alcohol, synthetic hormones, nicotine and what else I put inside me just to stay alive. Just to stay alive. But it barely even works.

Today it doesn't, not quite. It's not enough to keep me above the surface, I keep drowning. I feel some effect. At last! My god, I would be dead without all that shit, I really think I would have. Would have jumped, hung myself or cut deeper in my arms. It's been an emotional day, yet I still feel empty. My sadness blends together with my emptiness and I can't tell black from white anymore. It's all just a thick, grey mass. Indistinguishable.

I can't handle the crew, I keep ignoring their text messages, all they want is to clean anyway. I'm tired of cleaning and I don't mind the filth. Although that inspection thingy really does scare me from time to time, but I don't really care about that either. I snapped at one of the crew a few days ago when they told me I should ventilate my smokey apartment. I told them that I didn't give a shit about that. They got mad at me, passively, but I felt it almost knocking me over, how mad they got.

I read in my diary about a teacher who was constantly sick, when I suddenly remember with chills down my spine that she died. She died just a few weeks later and she was my favourite teacher in that place. I just wrote "I was so very much in love with him and he was in love with me. I never had that before, and I will never have it again" in my chapter about R and it tore something up inside me and the coldness sneaked in. And I still rock myself. For 4 hours now. This isn't good, although it's not bad in itself, it's not a good sign. Like crying, I think I rock myself instead.

And now I wrote "Why did everything go so wrong? R, you loved me" and the emptiness turns to apathy. And the sad thing is, I can't help but suddenly thinking what if he was the one for me? And I dumped him! I miss him so much sometimes, I want back what was so beyond good, what was so amazing that I can't think clear.

I'm moving into 2008 and I've almost written a full page. I'm getting tired of reading my diaries and try to remember what happened on my own instead. It's hard, my memories are scattered, chopped up and have splinters in them. I wish I could meet him again. Just to talk, talk everything through, and that maybe it isn't too late... to possibly try again. I know one thing he said me during the summer of 2008, is that if I ever left him, he would never take me back.

I need to write some cliff notes for this. Maybe it doesn't matter just how chronological it becomes? Cause my memories are not chronological but I remember which season it was in all, or almost all, of them. So, I'll just add in the winter memories first, then the spring and lastly the summer memories as we did become a couple in December 2007 and broke up in August or if it was September 2008.

I feel maybe I should end this entry now, and then continue writing and maybe post a follow up. As if this wasn't enough, uhu, I really don't know when enough is enough when it comes to writing... Anyway, I'll just dump this here now.

Okay, just a tad bit more. I have now written almost 3 pages almost completely out of memory about my relationship with R. It's getting to the sour parts of it already, and I just finished writing about Valentine's Day 2008, when I went to see Berny Pålsson with my best friend, at a cafe in Stockholm. It was messy, what happened after with R, but not that bad, or I don't know, we had a fight but it blew over quite soon. It helped with the cliff notes, like tremendously. And finally I feel something from all those drugs that I took. Only 4 hours too late... damn you, Theralen, I'm gonna take 10 drops instantly next time, cause this doesn't do, it doesn't do at all.

Next up I'm gonna write significantly more about me being trans, from age 19 and up, when I'm done writing about R. But now, sleep is very much needed and I don't have the energy to go through all this.

Empty

Staring right in front of me without seeing anything. This mist is thicker than it appears. My grey eyes reflect the coldness around me. It's spring and warm, but I'm cold, constantly cold. An old, tarnished hooded sweatshirt with a zipper covers half of me, sweatpants covers the rest. My slippers are too big and I kick them away. Colder now. Every cigarette drag is going slower, more tedious and dull. Yet, they fulfill me from the inside, the only thing that can.

I'm waiting, and I've been waiting for soon two years, without bending my will, without bending my already broken heart. I forgot what it was like to live without the shatter. His picture follows me everywhere I go, and so does his loved one's. Two separate pictures, or I wouldn't be able to deal. And I scroll past more than I read, flick more than I watch, zone out more than I listen.

Unfamiliar music streams through my headphones, I needed not to feel. I'm grasping at straws, for this night lasts forever. I'm captured in my aching, flicking away the cigarette just to light a new one. Didn't you see me as the ground disappeared? I had nothing but somehow lost even more. The ground is shaking, the air is so still here and I breathe.

Kill me, please kill me I tell my cigarette as it slowly fills me up with tar, please kill me. I reach for my slippers and put them back on, but I'm not warmer, not colder. My world is nothing without fairytales, but they always end badly. Nights of sorrow and empty days, I'm screaming, crying, yearning but what can you see? Nothing. Strong, brave. They call me strong and brave but oh what if they knew. The things that I've done shadow my past I am nothing.

It drags me down when everything becomes too much and it hits me all at once. How am I even standing? I fall apart on the floor, just seconds later, too tired to even gasp. Just lie still, hoping for an end that never comes, just lie still. I've forgotten how to express myself and now all I have is my words. It's all I have and I have nothing left to live for. Nothing left to die for. I'm lost in between, lingering.

But there's no place I'd rather be, no place that I want to be at, than just right here. Breathing in circles and cigarette smoke that takes too long to kill me. I vanish, I was never here. And oh I know how it feels when my heart is breaking, I know it like nothing else. Nothing else, nothing else, I know of nothing else. And I know when enough is enough cause I've been through too much already. Someone please help me I cannot live this way.

It's 22:12 and there comes a point when I no longer want a better life, I want no life at all. Just erase it all, make everything black or send me home. I'm tired. And that word is rarely enough, if it only was something stronger, something that could explain the feeling of carrying the weight of the world, 26 years of misery, thousands before then and longer before that. If there only was a word that could describe the never ending feeling of never ever having enough energy for anything, of not having enough energy for breathing right, for eating, sleeping, going to the bathroom, brushing my hair, cleaning the dishes, taking out the garbage, going to school, seeing people, taking road trips, going to parties or for emptying an ashtray. Tired.

It reaches in to my soul, into its very essence and I can no longer stand my own nature. Cut the chaos away and leave me empty. No, no metaphors, just clean and simple. But my thoughts are so heavy, as if they actually had a mass that is weighing me down. Something is, but I can't tell what it is. It is many things and they all tie together. If it's a diagnose on a piece of paper: asperger, borderline, transsexualism, depression, eating disorder, ptsd, dissociation, the darkness I cannot fathom, or if it's something deeper inside my soul that can't reach out.

And I'm locked between two worlds. Your world filled with the saddest news, requited love, flowers, animals, sun and darkness, night, day and so on - and my world of chaos, unrequited love, heartbreak, things that aren't real, ghosts, a haphazardness that always stays and always conceals. And I think that the biggest difference is that if you press the wrong button in your world it's not the end but it is in mine and I'm constantly pressing the wrong buttons cause there are so many buttons and I have so much to lose.

But I ended up losing something I never had, I ended up breathing for what was never mine. How did I live past 26 years old? My memory is like a giant archive, I can pick and choose any time of my life and I know exactly what happened and when and sometimes... even why. But I can't even remember which way I took on my way to the grocery store yesterday and I suck at math, what does that say about me?

I'm waiting, and I've been waiting for soon two years for what will never come. I'm apathetic sometimes, a wreck the rest of the time and the only word I know is his name. Timeless flickering, I can't keep my eyes open. And for a second, just one split second, the whole world disappears and I'm at peace. A faint breeze passes by and catches my blue hair, and I know, I just know, that time does not exist and neither do I.

Long term effects

I immerse myself in my autobiography to escape my real emotions. I escape into my past to not having to deal with the present. Back in 2007 when I was 17-18 and things were significantly worse and messier. One of the worst years of my life, but I don't mind digging through old diaries from that time and writing some kind of summary from them on my computer. I've missed being able immerse myself in bigger writing projects, such as my autobiography which I've been working on, on and off, since I was 13. And writing in Swedish isn't as boring as I thought it would be.

I still listen to sad songs on absolute max volume and I only lower the volume when I'm about to fall asleep. I never turn the music off, except from during school. I feel more empty than ever, it echoes inside me for every breath I take, my heartbeats echo, my thoughts echo. I feel absolutely nothing at all except from this constant, inexplicable, heavy weight hanging over me. I'm tired and restless at the same time, can't stop taking Theralen, drinking coffee, booze and smoking more than usually.

I still draw but now I write more. I'm working on, as a side project kind of, an abstract drawing of random swirls, circles and lines in gradient colours. I'm gonna order a mass load of pens by next Monday when I get more money again as my pens are dying again and the list is just getting longer to what I need.

Yes, I'm getting into some kind of denial phase here. Just pretending that everything is fine. And for moments, it is. I'm just so damn tired and coffee doesn't seem to help. Maybe Imovane is still rumbling in my blood stream or something. I took it a little late.

(The following is to be read with caution, as it's graphic details about me you might not want to know, but if you do, I can assure you it has a good point and it's not just me rambling about the trauma)

My drawings in my old diaries are so strong. I can barely even look at them, how awful they are. In the one I'm holding right now, I've drawn with a ballpoint pen, a picture of me as a girl getting raped by that guy with the text "happy valentines day" written in the lower right corner. I drew it about 5 months after it happened and I know the picture is very accurate. I've drawn everything in detail except from his face which is just lines blending in with his hair. I don't know why I drew it, maybe I didn't want to forget, maybe it was some obscure way of dealing with it.

Maybe I just wanted to rape myself over and over because some people do that. I write about that too, how I seek similar situations to repeat it over and over again. I still do that. Last time I had sex, for example. When I found a much older guy on Cruiser to basically use me and abuse me. I wanted it of course, but I'm pretty sure that I have a very fucked up view on sex. As I constantly shift between that repeating the assault in an almost sex addict kind of way, and being completely repulsed by sex and close to asexual. There is no in between. I'm either a maniac in bed or I'm not in bed at all.

Maybe this is TMI and maybe I'm breaking the new rules of this website now, but isn't it important to also talk about what abuse can do to you in the long run? Not many do talk about that. How it makes me a complete idiot when it comes to physical intimacy, a risk to myself at times and possibly even a risk to others. How I can go from being overly sexually active in any way I possibly can, banging anyone that has a pulse doing anything that is risky and thrilling including bdsm games without safe words or having trad sex without protection... to shutting myself off completely, barely even hugging people for years at a time.

I'm a wreck sexually, and I don't think it will ever become a healthy thing for me. I haven't talked about that with anyone. I mean, I have mentioned it, but no one has been willing to discuss it. Did it never matter because I wasn't in a relationship with most of all those people I fucked, or did it not matter because I was lucky at all times and didn't get any diseases, pregnant or hurt in a way other than the mental? Or was it just too shameful?

I might mention it to my newest contact person, she who is so damn annoying all the damn time, simply because she doesn't seem to find it that embarrassing to talk about. Also, she might understand, now that she knows about the rape. I might vaguely mention that the trauma when I was 9 also was of sexual nature, when I'm at it. Cause she's asked me about everything you can possibly have an addiction for, and sex addiction came up rather recently. She asked me how often I whack off and I told her the truth. Then I realised maybe that's more than average? I don't know, testosterone still makes too horny for my liking.

So maybe I could mention my fucked up view on sex and such relationships, and tell her that I could have been classified as a sex addict in the past. And I blame the rape almost ridiculously much for that. How it's just either "use and abuse" or "don't come near me" for me. Hmm, that summed it up much better than I thought it would.

I can't solve that issue on my own. My only way of "solving" my sex manic episodes is by going into some kind of celibacy. I once watched a movie called "Mysterious skin", it's fairly new maybe 5 years old or so, and it really made me start thinking about this for real. It's about two men who were sexually abused as young children (maybe they were about 7, I don't remember) and while one of them is a sex worker and is constantly ending up in dangerous such situations, the other one is completely asexual and has never had sex. And it's so weird how I am like both those two, but in periods.

That movie was very traumatising for me to watch, but I did learn a lot about myself from seeing it. At first I couldn't understand it, since I've literally always had a very fucked up view on sex and what it was supposed to even be there for. Always, until I realised it must have come to me after that first childhood trauma when I was 9. Damn, it fucked me up on so many levels, I never again knew the difference between right and wrong.

But most of how it fucked me up I've now been able to slowly restore over time, but not the sex part. It still has my whole world view changed, and I believe, for forever. I wish there was something I could do about it, if I could find the right partner or something. But as long as I'm alone and miserable, I'll probably keep being either completely repulsed by sex for ages or go looking for creeps online to take advantage of me.

Right now, and for about 2 years now, I've been in and am in some kind of celibacy where sex repulses me and damn, I can't even stand seeing pictures of nude people. The gifs on tumblr are the worst and I keep unfollowing people left to right because of it. It's not that I don't... uhm, "react" but rather that I'm repulsed by my own reaction. I identify more as asexual now than I ever have before, as I have no wish to be with anyone else, barely even K. Barely even K.

But it still lingers in my thoughts, that a part of me wants to go looking for creeps again. It's getting harder to find such people the further I get into my transition from female to male. At least as long as I still look like something in between male and female. I obviously can't go looking for straight men anymore, and gay men might need some convincing which I wouldn't be able to do, mentally. That leaves the bisexual, the experimental and the pansexual.

But I should perhaps find another website than Cruiser, as K is there and I don't want him seeing me chasing after creepy men to take advantage of me. Not my most glorious moments. Although I wouldn't lie to him if he figured it out and asked me what the fuck on Earth I'm doing. But I know that I really shouldn't. I know that. But it's like I can't really control it. I can, but I can't.

I've known about this for quite some time now and that's one of the reasons I've had such a hard time determining what my sexual orientation really is. Because I've not always even had asexual orientation. Between about mid 2011 to mid 2013 I felt nothing at all for any person. I shift between being overly sexual and asexual like crazy. So yeah, grey area asexual is what I go by these days and have now for at least a couple of years, since I found out more about it.

So... revealing way too much about myself this time, but it does feel important just because no one ever talks about it. How sexual abuse can have long term effects on you. I'm 17 years post my childhood trauma and 8 years post the rape. So I'm just gonna leave this here and hope I don't offend or scare off anyone. Or that my blog gets banned. Oh, well.

Hidden wishes

And as I look back, try to piece my past together, I find myself going through my old clothes and putting them on with the wig. Ripped pantyhose in black and pink, a black and white pvc skirt with laces, my ripped fishnet shirt and another fishnet tank top over it, a stuffed purple bra and black shoes. Wishing that I had a black wig again, thinking of buying one. Who am I?

Am I lost in old habits that I can't move on from, the denial phase, and do I miss presenting as female when I was free to dress however I wanted (almost)? Did I shave off my beard only so that I could drag better? I do it far more often lately, almost once a week. Want to go out like this, like a gothic doll in revealing clothes. Although I can't do the cleavage thing anymore. No, fuck I don't want my boobs back, I'd much rather wear fake ones if any at all.

But I'm so confused, suddenly, about my gender, as I'm almost certain that a part of me actually misses presenting as female. It's been 5 years, I thought I knew who I was by now. I don't regret anything of my transition, I'm still a guy and I love how testosterone changed my body's appearance, and top surgery saved my life and I love my new chest. It's not that, it's that I miss wearing skirts and dresses, lots of make-up and having feminine hairstyles. I feel... trapped by society's norms and ideas of what a man is supposed to be like.

I don't want to hide either way I'm going. Like, back when I just started transitioning, or right before, that denial phase, I was scared of presenting as male. And now it's the exact opposite way around: I'm scared of presenting as female. It's something that is inside me, that I simply can't deny, apparently. Would people ever take me seriously if I dress up in drag in public? Or would it just be a silly game for them?

Also, if I show up like this in public, I could get hurt, if it's the wrong public. I've been thinking of doing it in Uppsala, when I get there hopefully this summer. Just pick an outfit, wig and make-up to bring and find a decent party somewhere. With or without my friends. It could be interesting to go alone, see if I'd pass as female after a close shave, lots of make-up, a better looking wig and a nicely stuffed bra. Or I'd do it half assed on purpose, not wanting to fully pass as female. Look like the dude in drag that I actually am. Leave the scruff, pack my underwear and not wear a stuffed bra.

It's a thought, and I believe it's worth holding on to. If I go with friends, I'd be more safe, unless I can find an lgbt-party somewhere. Places aren't usually packed with parties during summer time, so yeah. It could be hard to find a decent one, if any at all. I want a black wig, and possibly I'd do something fancy with it. Cut a fringe, curl it or I don't know. Keep my nails long, paint them red. Wear red lipstick and red pantyhose to cover up my hairy legs since I don't want to shave them. Might shave my armpits though, that I could do.

But I still don't understand. Why I can't let go of my past, the full time drag queen days. I want back what was good about them. How good-looking and hot I felt wearing those clothes and that make-up. I sort of thought of myself as a pretty looking girl. I've never once thought of myself as a handsome guy. I guess some people don't have it in them, they just can't look good as both genders. But I'm not giving up my true identity just because I never feel handsome in it.

I believe that day will come though, when I've been able to move on and give myself enough time and reasons to like myself. I think it could come with age, I'm almost close to being there. Or well, I'm far from it, but I'm close enough to believe that one day it can happen.

So yeah, however, I'm a closet transgender male to female as well as that I've transitioned from female to male. It confuses me a lot. Do I want to be female? Heck no! I only want to dress up as one. I know that doesn't make me any less transsexual, or that it would somehow mean that I suddenly woke up mtf one day. I don't know what it means, but something just isn't right about it.

It disturbs me, and that I can't figure it out. Cause my wish to dress up like this... I don't know, but I think it goes deeper than it somehow seems.

Hints from the past

I want to write a book about myself, but lately I've been hesitating to put so much information about myself out there, you know. It's a lot like this blog, what I've written so far in it, but more in order and less rambling about random days' events.

The number one thing that I need to decide if I want to disclose is my transsexualism. Without it, I simply can't write that book. And I've been meaning to finish it before I die. I have had the thought that I could just write it, finish it and then not let it be published until after I'm dead. That would solve my problem of it being too revealing, since if I'm dead, everything could be revealed and it wouldn't bother me, whether I'm still here as a ghost or something or not.

If my prophecy is right, which I believe it is, I will be dead in less than 2 years so I'd better hurry up and write that book. I want the world to know me, who I was, and I've been inspired from a movie called "The number 23" starring Jim Carrey (one of his few serious roles, maybe I should add) and in it his character wrote an autobiography that started out as a suicide letter.

I think mine will go the other way around though, and end as a suicide letter instead. The thought has followed me, as if it might be the only way I can write such a book. Cause I can't hold back. I've so far written about my past up until I'm about 17 years old and it's very graphic, very detailed and includes close to everything that I've been through. I suppose up until about age 15 it's mostly focused on the bullying, Dala, Anna and school in general. It includes my family too of course, but not so much as I'm not actually writing about them, I'm writing about myself and that has to be the main focus.

I didn't have any friends up until age 11 so obviously I didn't write about that. Then I did write about my best friend who still is my best friend to this day, and I can only hope that I didn't write too much about her. I don't want to reveal shit about other people. I'd likely use a pseudonym but ask the people involved if that is necessary. I don't know.

I don't know how "famous" that book could possibly become either. My life is quite interesting, but there are a lot of young writers who write autobiographies these days. I guess I'll never know if I do decide to wait with getting it published until after my death. Force someone else to send it out there for me, or do it as a last thing before I go. And then fail my attempt and see the horror of being famous for everything that I'm mildly ashamed of... ah, life, I guess.

So I don't want to be famous then? It's a tricky question to answer, cause on one hand I'd love to be seen and heard, but on the other hand I don't think I'd like the attention. And with an autobiography, I can't really pick and choose what to get famous for, it would be literally everything there is to know about me. People would feel sorry for me, feel sad for me, be revolted and pick and poke like crazy. I can only imagine, but to me, it kind of is bitter sweet.

As a kid, I dreamed of becoming famous for what I loved doing: drawing and writing, singing and something more that I've likely forgotten. During the very early years, singing was my most favourite thing to do. I mostly sang in my forgotten language of Dala, in Swedish I called it "dalariska" which could be translated to "Dalarian" or something. To other people it was gibberish or fake English. If only they knew.

As I grew up I learned that my singing was dreadful and I couldn't carry a single tone, they were mean to me about it so eventually I stopped singing. I stopped singing completely, couldn't even do it in the shower. And even to this day, I can't sing in public. It's a nightmare singing "happy birthday" to people. I keep my voice low and quiet. I had actually not sung that melody since before my transition when I finally had to at some random place about a year ago. It was weird, hearing my own voice, now on testosterone, for the first time in public like that.

It greatly affected me, those mean comments, but I still love singing, and I do try to practice it on my own within my own apartment. I try to learn how to sing with real tones, although I still can't really hear the difference between real tones and false ones. I blame it on my hearing impairment, as everyone else in my family don't have the same problem.

Where was I? Yes, fame. Maybe every kid at least once dream of fame, I don't know. But I suppose that when I was about 12-13 or so, that dream became less appealing to me, because of the attention. As I was being bullied, attention in itself has never really been something that I truly sought after. But to be heard and seen for what I've always loved doing, or since I learned how to use a pen at least, it kind of seems appealing to me. To be half famous for the right reasons.

To have readers; to let the world, or at least some of Sweden, see my art. Or to just let them have the option to. Because I care more about just sharing my work that I've put so much effort into than to get praised for it. Or money, for that matter. Sure, I too would love having something close to a real job that I love doing, to get some extra money so that I can... I don't know, fulfill my dreams sounds so stupid.

What I mean is maybe things like learning to drive and have my own car, move back to Uppsala, get tattoos and plastic surgery, buy more expensive art supplies and what not along those lines. Can money buy dreams? I don't know, but it could take you on the way to some of them. It depends on what your dreams are. If they involve practical things like those above mentioned, or if they include more, I don't, "vague" stuff like love or what not, it could be harder to buy.

I do dream of getting rich enough to afford those things, but I don't think I'll live long enough to get to that point. I don't even know if I'll survive this summer. Although I'll be sure to try to. I'll once again celebrate my "new" chest and buy neat swim shorts that fit and swim/bathe as much as I can. I don't need to be half as careful with my chest this summer as it's not as recently operated on now. It will have been almost 1,5 years ago when summer finally arrives.

I'm not like other goths, I love sun and swimming and enjoying those really warm summer days wearing nothing but shorts. Drinking soda with or without vodka in it, writing at an outdoors cafe or on a lawn somewhere. Gotta get myself a cheap laptop so that I can do that by machine instead of by hand and then writing it all again to get it into my stationary computer. Such a hassle. I love writing outdoors during the summer season. And of course, smoking outdoors is also quite pleasant compared to the cold seasons.

Maybe then I'll finish my autobiography, when I can get a laptop that I can bring with me basically everywhere I go. I would use it mainly to write, check online forums/websites and listen to music. Just the simple stuff that won't kill it, like WoW would. It doesn't even have to have that much memory space, since I'd mostly be saving my stuff on external hard drives or those little pocket things.

Ah, yes I dream of simply having a laptop by summer. I'll spend whatever money I have on it if I can't convince my family to get one for me. Like a couple of thousand kr. would be enough. Also, then I'd also want a decent camera at some point. So that I can take better pictures of my art, my own ugly face and maybe, just maybe to also record videos with. I'd like to become a useful member of youtube one day, or to make vlogs here on this blog. Speed drawings, is also something that I've had in mind lately.

So, I'm not entirely depressed/sad today, I've got something like close to a spark within me. Almost energy, I feel restless, like I want to do something but can't figure out what. Oh, by the way, my autobiography is still written in Swedish, because I'd most like to get a Swedish audience for it, then it can be translated later on. If only I can figure out how to translate the school years, like they don't have lågstadie, mellanstadie, högstadie in English. Or gymnasium for that matter. It's an entirely different school system, so yeah. That's mostly why I decided to write it in Swedish, as so much of it is focused on what schools I went to, all from ages 6 through 22. That's a lot of school.

I've never once had a job in my life, so yeah. I've either been studying or just living on allowance. Sometimes both. So no, I don't have any studying allowance dept, it's all for free. Well, I got another type of allowance up until I was 16, it's called "barnbidrag" in Swedish and everyone gets it. Then it was something similar but more of it up until I was 18 years old, then I got what I have now, which is called "aktivitetsersättning" and is mostly or only for mentally disabled people. So no, I've never made my own money, if not selling a few random artworks here and there counts.

I went to the bathroom and then I forgot what more I wanted to say. Then my thoughts started spinning and somehow I ended up in an imaginary threesome with K and his partner. Nope, not gonna tell you any details, but actually it was just a discussion and I never came to the actual sex part. I guess it would hurt too much to even think about. But if they asked me, I don't think I would say no. I've done similar things in the past, so yeah. It could even be nice, if it wouldn't hurt tremendously.

But I don't know, I've almost gotten hints about it before. Or maybe I just wish that those were hints, that he would somehow want to include me, even if it meant being with his partner too. I mean, it likely wouldn't be awful, I like her too. Not even remotely as much as I like him of course, but yeah. Maybe I'm just trying to mentally prepare myself for that ever possibly happening in the future. And I would set rules and be very clear with what's okay or not, as I've had some disastrous threesomes in the past. Maybe I'm revealing too much now, I don't know. You can just, uhm, shut your eyes or something.

I don't know how much of my sexual adventures I'd add in my autobiography, as they are at least somewhat important, at least those that were incredible, traumatising or shaped me in one way or another. Like with my first boyfriend, sexual assault, almost getting paid for it at one point, some one night stands, picking up people online and the threesomes. Those that left me significantly confused, amazed, horrified, scarred or empty. It's a part of what I've been through, a part of what shaped me into who I am today and therefor I deem it important enough to include.

Though, I haven't gotten quite that far into my writing, or I precisely have, as I had my sexual debut(s) when I was 17 and that's how far as I've gotten into my writing. I don't know what to count as my debut, as for me, sex is more than just intercourse. It can be so much more, and as a pansexual transgendered person, I really know that. I have 3 major events that I count as some kind of debut. The first being everything but intercourse, the second being the rape and the third being the first actual consensual intercourse. I was in the female role and he male, so that's that. I don't know at what point I lost my virginity, but I was 17 at all 3 times. No, I just remembered, I had turned 18 by the third event.

I also know that despite being so (relatively) old at those times, I was pretty eager to lose my virginity from around age 13 or so. I was just too damn unpopular that I simply could not get laid. Is that tragic? And then it all went so horribly wrong, and I do blame myself, but I also don't. It wasn't "my fault" but it was a choice that I could have not taken. I let myself be allured into a definite trap I could no longer get out of. Dependent on that train that he had to take me to. Yes, that's me talking about the rape. Of course it's gonna be included in my book, very detailed, vivid and horrible. Simply because it's such a major event in my life and it still haunts me to this day, even though it was now over 8 years ago.

It was 8 years ago, and it was also yesterday, in my mind, heart and soul. My body doesn't remember how it felt, but my mind remembers the helplessness. It shaped me in so many ways, and I'm not even sure if I can, but I do, at least partially, blame my asexual tendencies on the sexual assault that I went through, both when I was 17 and 9. I also blame some of my self hatred on it, my insecurity, my periods of sex addiction and a greed that I can't control, my shyness, my trust issues, my huge personal space and so on.

It fucked me up on more levels than I can fathom. I wrote about my first sexual assault, not in detail, but sort of what went on, and everything that happened to me afterwards. All of middle school (or mellanstadiet, ages 10 through 13) I was a complete mess. I started revolting against my bullies, I was pissed almost constantly as I covered my fear with anger to an almost ridiculous point as I was so scared. I started hearing voices (except or beyond Anna) and dissociated a lot. I started some minor forms of self harm like banging my head into walls, hitting myself until I bruised, ripping off the skin of my lips (dermatillomania?) and scratching myself with my nails.

Also, it was about that time that I realised that Anna wasn't real and her behaviour started changing for the first time. She became cruel to me and yeah. Everything was a mess and I didn't think that it actually fucked me up as much as it did, before I went back into my past and also uncovered a lot more memories during the summer before last. I still don't think I can remember exactly what happened when they assaulted me, my bullies, that I've blocked some of it out. Anna has hinted that there is more but she keeps it from me. She still protects me, carrying my most awful memories, those that I can't carry myself.

So I couldn't disclose the whole event even if I wanted to. There are very few things in my life that I am not prepared to talk about. Those are that first assault when I was 9 and then 2 things that I've done myself after that. I can hint, but I just can't really, actually tell anyone what happened. If I'm too ashamed, or just have an ounce of dignity, or even because I feel the need to protect the people I've hurt, I don't know but it could be that.

Damn I should eat something, but I just can't leave my computer. Just can't stop writing. But maybe, when or if I finish this huge, massive text, I'll go back to my autobiography and continue where I left off almost 2 years ago. Dig out my old diaries again and start researching my past. Back to my second gymnasium (upper high) school and those more or less traumatic experiences, those first sexual ones and then get into my first real relationship with the guy who also hurt me so badly.

There's so much trauma in my life from then on, so much darkness, as if my childhood and early teenage years were bright in comparison... Maybe they were, I don't know. It's hard to compare. But I wasn't bullied anymore once I changed schools, I just happened to end up with one jerk after another. It's my bad luck, and my desperation for that one true love, that lead me constantly in the wrong direction.

I'm glad that I do have all my diaries though, I've kept every single one since I was 8 years old and got my first one. They're all sorted chronologically in my book shelf, so, easy access and everything. I don't write directly from them though, only major events and dress them up a little bit better without lying or anything like that. Just tell the truth in a different way. Now, I can finish up this entry and go back into my past once again.

Hold me back

Today I'm not quite empty, not quite feeling either. On the constant verge of breaking down, but something holds me back. It's warm outside and the spring is here, but it's still winter in my soul since 2011 and I will always feel like it's winter around me as well. I went to buy cigarettes not long ago and only wore a black tank top under my leather coat, with black skinny jeans and my new shoes. I wasn't cold, generally, but my fingers were, despite the fact that I wore gloves.

Sadness still pulls me down deep, but I can manage, somehow. By blocking it all out and waiting for a miracle to happen. I feel like getting drunk and high for no reason, so I mix Theralen with vodka and hope for the best. Worst case scenario: I'll just fall asleep. Since both alcohol and that type of drugs get me tired. Normally I wouldn't draw in either state or in a mix of the two, but these days I just don't care.

Drawing... isn't it all just lines and blotches of colour on a piece of paper? Who cares if I drunk drive my pen until it gets so damn weird that no one can understand it? Okay, I'm slightly tipsy and drugged by now and I'm drawing a blue tentacle monster thingy. Needed a break from that and now I'm re-reading my "Lost in paradise" story. The one about Dala, me, Caspian and Kazanndra. I'm about to take more Theralen as I'm getting tired of booze.

I don't know if I'm editing, as much as I just want to know what the story really is about as I've forgotten that since I wrote it. I'm thinking about continuing with it, as I've not been able to let the thoughts of Dala go lately. It's not entirely true, that written story, as I've added things that I don't remember. I did that because I don't have an actual story to tell from my past life. I needed a consistent storyline to tell in that environment based on my real memories, so that's what it is.

I know, that the phrase "lost in paradise" has a second meaning, that it's an expression of sorts too. And somehow I think that fits, I really am lost in paradise.
I am full of echoes, reminders of various pasts. Of Dala and of K, completely separate and smashed together. The feelings are similar, thoughts are jumping back and forth. I don't know if I'll ever be able to continue writing that story. It hurts. It hurts to remember, and it also hurts that no one will believe that it was all real to me.

How crazy am I? To believe in such a fairytale? To believe it so blindly that I'd literally sacrifice my life to get back there, I know that I will one day. I have wanted to, almost every day since I was about 4 years old and the memories came back to me. Was life better before I was able to remember Dala? How can I know, I was only 4 years old. And I don't remember threatening people at daycare to end my life, but apparently I did.

I don't know how I figured it out, that death could possibly bring me back to Dala, at that young age, but I was a pretty smart kid.

And now I'm keeping a constant high of Theralen, just keep drinking those drops like crazy. I can't focus on anything right now, except from writing poems, but just barely. I have too much grief on my mind, for both Dala and K, and somehow only Evanescence's song can capture that strange mix of emotions. I'm barely hanging on, I don't know what to do.

Nothing left but pain

So, I finally got outside of my apartment to buy what needed to be bought. I hadn't left my apartment in 6 days. The amount of how hopeless everything still feels is beyond my comprehension. Or maybe it isn't, I don't know.

After this night I just can't shake the feeling. We talked as if no time had passed although it had been over 2 months. I was upset, angry at him, hurt and broken but hid it well. I can't let him know, I don't want it to burden him. I love him, I love him, I love him.

I still don't know what I would say if he ever asks me why I feel like shit, cause somehow it feels tactless to say "because you broke my heart". During our conversation, all I could think about was how much I wanted to die. Neither of them seem to have figured it out and I'm scared to say anything. I just don't feel like ruining the few friendships that I still have.

It could put a strain on our relationships, me and him and her. It's an awful trio, to be honest. But if I meet up with them in real life again this summer, which I plan to do, I might have to tell them both. Cause I'd fucking shatter and not be capable of keeping a straight face if I see them snogging again. I'd cry, get breathing difficulties, rock myself, anything along those lines.

I lose my track and vanish into thoughts. Stay underground and blend in with every sound.

Today has been nothing but pain. Is there nothing left but pain? I used that phrase in my book, somewhere in the middle or second half of it. It's actually from a song by Edge of Dawn called "Beauty lies within" and I listened to it a lot when I wrote my book. I sometimes feel that way too, not just my characters, but within myself, about myself.

I get stuck in moments, unable to move or see what I'm looking at. Staring blankly, a gazeless stare into nothingness. I'm just withering ashes, the fire went out and left me cold, so very cold. It's in the contrast you know, that suddenly without the heat, everything becomes its opposite.

My mirtazapine overdose last night didn't do a shit. I don't know what else to take. Might buy booze tomorrow, just a big bottle of vodka and down it all in just one night. Or well, maybe about a third of it would be more reasonable, or at least more doable.

But I don't know what to do today. I might have a few lergigan left, more mirtazapine, some mood stabilisers and that's about it. But I really liked the 5 zyprexa and 3 citodone combination, it was nice and kinda warm. But now I'm completely out of citodone, it had lasted me for 5 years. But everything has an ending, even the best pills I've ever had.

Words and phrases randomly pop up in my head as I stare blankly between sentences. I sigh, but don't know why. I'm trying to watch a movie. I can't focus for two seconds. Same with drawing, same with WoW, same with everything. It's all so dull and hopeless. I can't resist my thoughts spinning endlessly until I forget how to breathe.

I need a medication that works and a vacation from my own mind. The closest thing to that except from dying that I can conclude would be deep sleep, but even that is rare these days. My nights are as hectic as my days, filled with dreams and tossing and turning. I fall asleep late and wake up early. Sometimes I crash in the sofa mid day but only momentarily.

I have nothing to be awake for, yet I'm more often awake than I'm asleep. Maybe 8 hours a night is normal for most people, but 10-14 hours is more normal for me. Gonna try school tomorrow, if I'm not too much of a mess. I might isolate again. Just unplug everything and stay inside my head. Lock the door and stuff away the key, like I did with my heart.

The fire that once consumed it left wounds and they hurt so much. I'd rather burn for real than feel this pain. I've experienced extreme physical pain as well as extreme mental pain. Pain is all I am. I'd take the physical any day if I had the choice. Yes, I can choose to inflict physical pain but that wouldn't be an exchange, only a short moment's relief but it can't take the real pain away. It's just not enough and hardly makes anything better, or at least that's what I'm trying to tell myself.

I don't know how to end this blog entry because it just keeps on and on. It never stops, it never rests, or it hasn't for days now, and last night's endeavors just made it even worse. I'll try to sleep in a few hours or so, but I don't know what to do until then. I'm afraid I broke through my sleeping pills and the effect wore of. There wasn't that much of an effect to begin with though.

And I'm a text book example of heartbreak, the symptoms are so alike for those falling in love: loss of appetite, sleeping difficulties, can't focus, spacing out, and even heart palpitations. But I've got more: I've got pain so strong it's close to physical, constantly close to tears but still can't cry, storms and screams raging inside me that I refuse to let out and a restlessness that knows no end. "Anxiety" just doesn't quite describe it, but I use it as an excuse or an explanation to why I feel the way I do.

It's so much more, so much worse, when I have a real reason to feel like shit and not just randomly feel like shit. Cause when it's real... it hits hard and I can't deal. Tonight, I can't even draw, even though I'd very much like to. I'm working on a new piece of art of the orc shaman and previous warchief of the horde, Thrall, in you know which game by now. I wanted to draw a male character and was a bit tired of blood elves.

But the lines on the paper seem so long and repetitive, so ordinary, so boring. And Anna isn't helping either, as she keeps reminding me of how useless art really is. I know it's not, but today I believe it is useless. It serves no purpose, has no actual function other than to be pretty, interesting or both. It's not like I'm making something that I can actually use. It's just lines on a piece of paper, how can I even call myself productive?

When it's not even helping with the feelings anymore. They drown me, burn me, cut me into tiny pieces and devours me all at once. I feel literally crippled by my own feelings by now. They make sure that I can't function in this crappy society that I don't give a fuck about. I mean, it took me 6 days to go to the grocery store. I can only manage school one, tops two days a week.

I almost started crying there. I still can't. It just stings in my eyes for a few seconds before it's gone. And everything is gone for my life escaped me. I can't find comfort, the storm is too intense. I'm grasping at straws, trying to find anything anything anything that could help me through this. But there's nothing here. And I miss the emptiness because it didn't ever harm me.

Take away my feelings, I don't want them anymore. Just numb me out, empty me, make me hollow for I miss the space. I miss Dala and K more, but emptiness would be better than this, anything would be better than this. And my thoughts of K still haunt me, like ghosts. In them I'm seeing pictures, vivid pictures of me leaning my head against his warm chest, feeling his hair slightly touch my face, his fingers entwined with mine. It pains me so deeply that that will never ever come true. I can't stand eternity without his touch. I can't even stand just this night without it.