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.
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