Open doors

I finally brought it up with my psychologist. That I wanna talk about my traumas. Only took me about eight months to muster that... I lightly (well, maybe not so lightly) write about some of those ordeals, what I'm okay with sharing, but it's a whole different thing talking about it face to face with someone. Especially when I'm sober. I might even tell her not only about what I've been put through by others (which I have shared here and in real life) but also about what I've done to other people.

I'm not such an innocent little flower, you know. Or well, I don't know what got into me exactly at those times when those things happened. Probably must have completely lost my mind for a day or two. I still don't know why I did what I did, it's beyond me. I'm kind and caring and would never harm another living creature on purpose, would I? Except that I have.

And I can't wrap my head around that. Maybe there is evil somewhere inside all of us, just that I happened to be one of those who acted out on it. There's so much I don't understand about myself, but those things... I really wonder what the hell is wrong with me when I think about it.

Maybe I shouldn't, you know, think about it. If it pains me so much and I just get nowhere when I'm trying to sort it out. I just entangle myself in it and the problem only grows bigger. The problem that I can't accept myself for the awful things I have done, and I wouldn't accept anyone else for having done the same things either. There was a time when I thought "those people" should be locked up in prison, or even be executed. Would that justify a suicide? I don't know.

But I wouldn't wanna kill myself as an excuse to society, and those I've hurt by my deeds would only become devastated if I die. That is a problem. I suppose you're figuring out that it's someone I'm still in contact with, someone who knows me. Then you're right, but I won't say more than that. There's only two people by the way, that I hurt, if that's of any consolation at all. Better than three or five or ten, I mean. Though I'm not diminishing it.

I don't want to kill myself, and especially not for something that happened several years ago. I've had reasons, millions of reasons for suicide, but this has never been it. Is that wrong of me, thinking that I don't deserve to die, but that I have in my past thought that people who have done the same things rightfully deserved to die?

I mean look a society. We have a criminal justice system, and the state or something decides who should be locked up or not. I was too young for my first deed but had I been older and gotten reported I would most likely have ended up in prison or a likewise place depending on age. But then my gender would also likely have been confusing so you never know. Cause "girls don't do that" kinda crap, not that I was a girl, but you get it. There are certain things you wouldn't accuse a girl of doing. All I know is that most sane people don't want creeps who have done such things walking around on the streets. I could do it again, right?

Isn't that what the criminal justice system is made for, to stop criminals from acting out again? I can safely say that I will never ever lose my mind like that and do something like that again. Ever. But the thing is that I have already done it and once things are done they cannot be undone. I would if I could though. Oh, I so definitely would undo it if I could...

But back to where I was going with this. I'm very divided around the subject of right and wrong because of this. Cause if I would firmly stand by my words I would go against my own deeds, if that makes any sense. My sense of right and wrong is colliding. I'm the kid in a candy store telling everyone it's wrong to steal but still has stolen candy before in that store. But now we're talking much worse things than stealing candy. Very hush hush.

It's the only things I have never ever told anyone about. That's why I'm so nervous and hesitating to tell my shrink. I don't even know if I should. Things could get worse, if she decides she needs to "save" or whatever, the persons I hurt, then it could get really complicated. Really, really complicated. Of course I'll ask her if there's any chance she would do that first. Really push it out of her if I have to, cause I just can't take that risk. It would mess things up not only for me, so I'm not completely selfish.

I know of only one other person I would possibly tell, and that would be K, if he wanted to know that is. Cause that is how much I trust him, even though I don't know him so well. Though I bet you're all dying to know what horrible crimes I've committed. Or maybe you just want me to shut the fuck up about it already. But here it is. Maybe I am revealing more about it each time, I don't know. It's like it's trying to claw its way out of me, like a crazy bird or something. I have to force myself to shut up.




Maybe why I'm always so open... what if it's compulsive? That I'm sort of forcing myself to the brink, constantly pushing it a little bit further each time. Until literally my whole life is on display. No, I won't include those things in my autobiography. I'll leave a hint in the end of the chapter about when I was in 1st to 3rd grade, but I'll also say that it's not just my story to tell. I'm still trying to control myself as much as I can. I re-read and edit all of my posts and I ask myself, "would I be okay with everyone reading this?" before I decide if I should post it. I think that's it for now. Just needed to vent a bit.

In another language

Obsessive love, you've got me on my knees. I know I'm not the only one feeling like this for someone else, but why do I keep lying to my family? I want to keep everyone at a distance. Far enough to not touch my heart, but close enough for them to see me. Knowing that I'm still there, but a part of me isn't. Sure I talk about how I'm doing, but I leave stuff out, like the most important stuff. I talk about anxiety when love kills me, I talk about tiredness when I'm lethargic or filled with sorrow. I let people see the surface, but not what is going on underneath. I tell them what they already see.

Maybe love would drive me insane if I wasn't already crazy. If only I could find someone else who is also feeling like this or has before. Preferably before, and how they got out of it. What I did wasn't exactly a good advice to give anyone except possibly an enemy or two. Cause suicide seems to do the trick, and surviving an attempt did it for me. I could really use some good advice from someone who's been in my shoes. What to do when love suffocates you, when the best feeling in the world is slowly killing you?

I'm watching the Buffy series again, and thinking I'm much like how Spike was in the last 2-3 seasons. What did he do for the way he felt? He died for her, he fucking died for her. Sorry for spoilers, but it just feels important to say that. I'm crying again, and I cannot stop for the feelings remain. I've carried this for almost nine months now and I just don't know what to do.

I can't let go of him, I can't. I've tried and I'm not gonna try again, cause I don't think I would survive it. I think about him not just every day, but every night, every hour, every damned minute. I think about  him when I write about other stuff, when I play WoW, when I watch a tv-show or a movie that doesn't even depict love, when I embroider or do my laundry. All. The. Time.

Some times I don't really notice it, other times it's overwhelming. Gradually increases or decreases. It's become a routine, a habit, something that just is, following me like a shadow, or sweeps by like the wind. And it's constantly blowing on this island, so it's not a bad comparison. Exactly what I think is for me alone, too private to tell anyone. You don't wanna hear it anyway.

It's not just the thoughts you know, or waking up from a dreams about him, or missing him painfully much thirty times a day, or the picture I can't stop staring it, or the poems about him that I can't stop writing; it's the feelings. The feelings that words cannot describe. They're like a silent scream and a gentle hug at the same time. Speaking their own language that I cannot translate, but I do understand it. Oh damn, I understand it.

The tiredness of today has made me more sensitive than usual these days. It's like I'm about to collapse every minute, but I don't. Both physically and mentally, literally and figuratively. I'm on the verge of crashing, but I hold my breath, stop and start again. Pretend that I'm smoking: holding my breath for a few seconds before breathing again. An unusual way of smoking, or so I've heard. Breathing out slowly before I take my next breath. God, I miss smoking. But not as much as I miss him.

It's clawing inside me, like anxiety, but more around and in my heart than the rest of me like anxiety does. More searing and raw. Why do we feel love in our hearts? Cause it's more in the brain really, and for some of us it's in the soul. And where is the soul? I don't know, and I think no one really does. I think it's a bit like the aura though, or maybe the aura is the soul? It would make sense somehow. The way every aura has its own colour, or combination of colours, like it's our personalities in a way. I love the way auras look. Like the northern lights, or an amazing sunset. It's really something. You should see them too, and if you can't, I wish that you could.

I got off track again, but I'd rather think about auras right now. And just like that, I'm back to thinking about him again. Or rather, the thoughts flowed back to the surface again, they were just hiding in a lower layer.

Wake up, society!

I started writing about something else when I came up with this text, so if the beginning here looks a little weird, that is probably why. I'm not even trying to make this text simple and easy to read, you just have to try to tag along with my fairly complicated and just a tad bit too long sentences. You should appreciate it that I for once write from my heart.

I can recite my whole life from my first memory when I was two years old the very first summer I had when me and my parents moved to Alunda in 1991, up until this day. Cause I did, you know, in my autobiography, and it's all there. Or almost all of it, it's not quite finished yet.

The one book I will leave behind me the day I die. Yes, that is my plan. To write it, polish it and finish it, print it out, but leave it here on my desk safe and sound, until that day comes. Cause I will reveal way too much that I don't want anyone to know until I'm not around here anymore. It will also be my final say, my suicide note.

Not to be like that, but that book would most likely make me kinda famous, if I'd be alive to see it or if it get published after my death, or published at all that is. It will be one of a kind, I can assure you. The life of a young man who lived for a whole lifetime and experienced so much, but still somehow managed it. It's tragic, cause I really wanted that book to inspire people who also have a shitty life, a message to them that you can get through life even though you are miserable and have all the reasons to "justify" a suicide. It's tragic, because at the end of the book, I will actually have died from suicide.

I don't want to be famous, you know, at least not for all those stupid reasons today's youth seek fame. But if I would want to to become famous, it would be for that I inspire people to cherish life, seek wisdom and don't give a damn fuck what other people think you should do with your life. To inspire people to not give up on their seemingly impossible dreams even when your loved ones tell you to get real and grow up cause you're supposed to be a "valuable member of society".

Well, let me tell you this: you don't own society anything! You didn't ask to be born, you're not a slave to man made rules, you haven't signed any contract with your own blood. You were born to be you, to make your life valuable to you and no one else, and to survive at the best of your ability.

Now I doubt these words will at all help, and I know there are a lot of people out there who don't agree with me about said words and all of what I will be writing from here on in this entry. It's all about "get an education, grown up, get a job, fold your laundry, grow up, move out and did I mention grow up?!" nowadays. It's sad, it truly is.

I think about slavery. Harsch, perhaps, but that is the way society is going, in case you haven't noticed. Today's youth come off as lazy, despondent and that their lives are practically meaningless unless they take up that mop and clean the damn floors already or they won't get food on their tables. See what I mean?

I realise, cause I'm not that daft, that society is ruled by money and independence above all else. Being dependent is being a burden, living on social welfare is basically stealing other people's tax money, and crashing on your parents sofa until you're 35 isn't very productive - but just hear me out, okay? Complaining about having to abide to society's structured "rules" isn't about being lazy.

I'm walking on that thin line between being mentally disabled and just a lazy brat, but I'm not blind or stupid enough to not realise that I am privileged cause I don't need a job or pay for my own flat. What I want is for everyone, not just young people, to stop shoving it into your own and other peoples faces that you are useless in society. You don't have to be a good citizen for your life to matter.

I'm quite a heavy burden for this society. I live on your tax money, so indirectly it's YOU who pay for my rent, my clothes, food and cigarettes. I can't really afford much else cause the payment I get is minimum wage. I take a lot of prescription drugs, and the state pays for most of it (cause högkostnadsskydd, you know) and the same with almost all of my psychiatric hospital visits. If that wasn't enough I live under LSS as you all know, which means that I have people who have it as their job to do my dishes and help me clean up my mess. Literally.

But do I feel guilty? Hardly. Do you know why? Because it is my right as a member of society to get the help that I need in order to survive. The privilege, is that I'm sick enough to get that help, but others who also suffer might not be, and they die because society won't help them.

People who have had the guts to confront me about my way of living (most just give a friendly pat on my shoulder and tell me not to worry, it's gonna work out in the end for me as well, but I appreciate it when people are honest with me, so don't take this wrong) have asked me what I really want to do with my life. I don't quite understand that question, to be perfectly honest. I'm not halfway anywhere, I'm doing all that I can and sometimes more when I have the strength to. I've survived numerous of suicide attempts, mental torment and a disabling headache for a decade, I can just barely stay above the surface most days, but I still try my best to pursue my long term goals and dreams.

People seem to just assume that I want a job like I'm supposed to. Make my own money the way I'm supposed to. And what if I don't want that? It doesn't matter how damn drunk you are if you ask a person that sort of question, you should fucking respect an honest answer: no I don't, and you can't argue with that. I don't want to work for money, because doing some shit job where someone tells me what to do, just to get a pay check at the end of the month, just isn't my cup of tea.

If I would ever have a job, it would be something that I enjoy. I don't mean a paid full-time vacation, I mean an actual profession that doesn't make you long for Fridays and hate Mondays. Now, I don't technically need a job of any kind, but that's beside the point. It truly is, because the message I want to get out is this: if you can avoid the responsibilities society has handed out for you, fucking do it.

Maybe you don't want to be role model of the year, famous or even the slightest bit of a rebel, but not wanting to be a part of this slavery doesn't make you lazy. That, is what truly makes you an individual. To be able to step aside and take another road to the same goal we are all aiming for: to be happy.

I wish someone could actually listen to me, when I say you don't have to flip burgers in order to survive, there are other options. There truly are. Just open your eyes and see that there is a whole world in front of you.

Skin tight

I've always believed, but it still surprises me. I do this ritual thingy every day before I go to bed, to make my beard growth increase, beyond what the hormones can do. And now... I think it's actually working. Side effects: more acne, itching and slight skin irritation. I look at my hands for only a moment, trembling. The power in them, it makes the skin feel weird, as if it was the skin itself holding that power.

Only a small part of me can't understand how this can be real, though the most of me has always taken my magic powers for granted. I'm a demon warlock incarnate, what else can be expected? Yet, I'm still surprised. The natural laws here have bound me for so long, that this feels like break through. A small one, but still a break through.

What I would be able to do if this goes the way I want it to. Suddenly, a lot of opportunities open up, and I will be taking on bigger projects in changing the way I look. Not just hair and eyes and skin, but re-shaping my so very hated curves. I don't know if it could be possible, I don't know just how much power I have. It will certainly be worth a try or two though, in the future. I don't wanna get drained, since it's kinda a bad time for that, with the up coming surgery and stuff. Shit, I'm seriously vain...

But will I make people believe in me? Perhaps a little demonstration to prove them wrong? Uh-uh, not gonna happen. I don't even talk about it, I might have just mentioned it briefly at one point or another, but I definitely don't brag or show off. That's not what I want. But if this really will work and have the outcome I plan for it, it will be obvious. 



Oh, and sixth round of bleaching my hair, by the way. Will post pictures later, along with pictures from my fifth round that I did a couple of weeks ago, but never made it to the internet.

Controlling energy

I just thought of something. Maybe only crazy people are given magical powers? So that no one will believe them. Cause that would just be so typical for this dimension. Yes, I do say there is real magic in this world, but it's rare and very well hidden to most people. I think maybe you have to be a bit crazy to believe in it. And how can you get magical powers if you don't believe in magic? You can't just get them cause you want them, you know.

Much lies beyond, in other dimensions or very far back or forward in time. Magic does too. It's almost like it's not supposed to be here where nature and human technology rules. But it slips through. Here it's not the kind of magic that I was used to back in Dala, but I do think that I brought with me some of the energies from my home place.

You see, I believe in the possibility that energy in its purest form can transfer between different dimensions that exist and co-exist in our universe. Like auras, I think mine is different from others because of where I come from. Not entirely different of course, and it's something that can never be proven or dis-proven. I just sense it, know it in my soul somehow. And I think that is why I can do the things I can do.

I don't think anyone would truly believe in magic unless they are the ones performing it. It's one thing to see someone else perform it, cause how can you tell if it's actually real? It's most likely an illusion, or a trick. But imagine that you hold that power. With will, instinct, spells or faith, you can change things that aren't supposed to be possible to change. Would you believe it then?

Honestly I don't know what to do with my powers. They're like this little hobby project that I can't really control. Gah, I wish there was a Hogwartz in reality! No kidding aside, it is fairly complicated and I don't think I even understand it most of the time. Still asking myself "how is this even possible?" like five times a day. Yeah, it's become that much lately. Small things, but still.

Most of it I can't really describe, it's more like instincts I guess, just that they magically work every single time. That I just know what will happen if I do a certain thing. Like I get this feeling that if I do something specific I guarantee that what I want for the moment will happen, and it does. But I can't control that feeling to "appear" whenever I want it to. It's always sudden and very strong, like I get a signal from somewhere, a command that I can choose to act upon if I want to.

And then the stuff about changing my appearance. It only works if it's something small, and over time. I can't make instant changes, but they will be permanent, I think. I've never tried to change it back. When I decide to change something, I have to concentrate a lot for a few minutes every day or so, and over the time of perhaps a week it changes. Maybe it's some sort of energy manipulation?

It's not like I see it right before my eyes, it's slow. Like a sun tan or something. Maybe I'll be able to make instant changes one day, but as I said, I don't have that much control over it yet. Patience, it truly is a virtue.

Impossibly possible

I love my paradoxes sometimes. How they overlap and extinct each other. Like red and green just becomes brown, but sometimes brown can become red and green separately. Figuratively. Did you know that once I was told that you can't mix colours to create a primary colour, and that I said fuck that and with purple and green I got red. Not a very clear red, but it was a shade of red. Like a matte scarlet shade. Perhaps that is a fake memory, a delusion (I was ten, how schizo could I have been?) or my magic powers (okay, maybe I was a bit schizo already then...)

Ah, I really don't understand sometimes. Or I just can't explain, those magic powers. How can they be, and how come no one believes me even when it's right in front of their eyes? My hair is supposed to be light/medium brown, unchangeable, but now it's dark brown naturally. Just look at my eyebrows, I haven't dyed them since the summer! And my eyes, they turned green over night. I created a primary colour from two secondary, which is supposed to be impossible.

Maybe that's it. It is impossible. Period. Even if it actually happens, no one will believe it. That's how you humans work, you don't believe in anything unless you are the one experiencing it, no matter what that is. I don't work the way you do, I believe there's a possibility for absolutely everything to exist. I don't need proof, I don't need first hand experiences. Maybe it's not me who is crazy, maybe it's just humans that are too dumb to stop pretending to be blind and deaf.

This is, and has been hard for me. My whole life I have never known what is real or not. What actually happened or not. I think the breaking point between my past life and this, along with bullying and abuse, made me Schizophrenic at a very young age.

I was a very private person as a child, and I hid all of my rather severe mental problems. I was already then, in my soul, old enough to understand that it was not something you talk about. I really went out of my way to hide the fact that I heard voices and practised magic in the living room at home when everyone was asleep. I didn't tell people about my odd experiences, maybe just my parents, but they don't even believe in mental illness. They just see it as we are all different.

I only see the world through my own, rather impaired eyes. What should I compare with? How can I possibly know what reality is? Is it like a boring dream with less time jumps, or more like a hollywood movie with less drama? Or am I fishing again?

I know "regular" people usually don't experience previously mentioned stuff, but what about all the rest? There are too many gaps to fill, too much chaos I cannot define. I mean I don't even know what psychotic means! I've read so much about it, but I still can't understand. I think that is because I'm already in it. A light form of a permanent psychosis. So deeply embedded delusions that more or less have come to define the person that I am today. And that's why it's so difficult, so painful, to look beyond it. Cause what is left? Is there anything left?

I think I've built everything on what actually isn't real. All of my beliefs, my hopes, dreams, goals, wishes, fate, everything. Goddamn hard it is to get off this chair and go to the store today...

Lost in the world

I believe I must be in some sort of reversed solipsism, but I don't know if that's the right word for it, or what the right word would be. I heard this saying once, I don't remember who said it or in what context, but here goes: "it's my world and you just happen to live in it". That was to be about solipsism. But immediately I thought the opposite is very much like me: "it's your world and I just happen to live in it".

My belief that I'm actually already dead, just a ghost lingering, creating interactions with remaining relatives and friends, not knowing that I'm dead. Of course that is a paradox, cause how can I know that I'm dead and at the same time not know...?

However, as I said, I'm dead. As a doornail. I'm not really here anymore, I have no place to feel safe in or that I feel I can call a home. I don't have any impact on anyone else's life. They all seem to live their lives and I just linger here. Intangible, lost, forgotten, abandoned. But I abandoned them. I moved out from my parents' house, I moved hundreds of miles away from my friends. I moved out of the world, and the world goes on living and blossoming without me.

That, is my version of reverse solipsism. I live in a lonely world, as instead of having everything revolving around me, I'm trying to revolve around everything but failing miserably. It feels like I would lose contact with the world permanently if I stopped trying to. But I can't revolve around everything, no matter how hard I try. It's like I'm trying to initiate a dance by starting to dance myself, trying to make others go along with me, but I just end up dancing alone all night.

The happiness I've never known

Why was I never happy, not even in my early childhood? Of all the things I envy from other people, I most of all envy that no matter how sad or happy they are now, they were happy once before. What do I know of happiness? I've never felt it, never been able to reach out and touch it with my finger tips, never even seen it in the distance. I've heard others talk about it, seen other experience it, showing their happiness to the world.

Now I'm not talking about that fairy tale sort of happiness, I'm talking about the every day kind of happiness. Getting up in the morning and not wanting to just stay in the bed forever every day of your life. Having dinner with your loved ones without thinking about your past or future suicide attempts. Going for a night out with your best friends without five minutes later sneaking in to the bathroom to cut yourself. Being able to stay in a moment of happiness, it might last for hours or just a few minutes, without constantly feeling the darkness hanging over you. Cause I wonder what that is like.

Sometimes I dream, fantasise about what a happy life could be like. A normal life with a tolerable amount of anxiety. But the thing is, I don't fit into that picture. I end up fantasising about someone else's life.

The thing is, not a day goes by without me thinking about suicide. Not just about doing it, and rarely any actual plans. Most it's just vague things. Like pictures flashing by, and I don't even know if it's me in those pictures. I make associations to suicide from movies and tv-show episodes that really aren't depicting suicide. For example, some character might talk about being thirsty, and I instantly start thinking about what killing yourself by drowning could be like. Or I could just be smoking a cigarette, one of those 40 something a day, and wonder if I could kill myself just by smoking in my bed.

The thought creeps in at any given moment, several times a day, hardly with me knowing it before hand. Anything, absolutely anything can make me start thinking about it. I'm trying to figure out when this started. But I think that it's always been this way, just more often the older I've gotten. I think it increased after my first suicide attempt, in January 2005. The first time I really wanted to kill myself I was 12, so that might have been when these thoughts started, but the topic had been on my mind far before that. I was the suicidal child that no one took seriously. Well, at such an early age as 6 I had no idea how to even go through with it. I didn't know what was lethal or not. That took some time to figure out.

I really didn't figure that out until just a few years ago. Of course I knew the principles long before that, but it wasn't until I was maybe 20 or 21 that I found out just how deep you need to cut, or just how big an overdose it's required.

Apart from me being suicidal like forever, I haven't always been unhappy in it's general term. Just tormented. I've had too much on my mind, too many feelings in my heart, too much longing in my soul. I think that maybe my memories of Dala has made me an unhappy person. That clinging to them, wishing I had never come here, always comparing Dala to this world, has made me incapable of truly enjoying anything in this life. Cause no matter how good things are, they were always better in Dala.

Yes, I have thought about that before. Even wished that I could take it all away, all those memories and start over without them. I don't wish for Dala to never have happened, I just wish that my reincarnation was more like other people's reincarnations: without any memories of it. Cause I think that then I wouldn't have had something so much better to compare with. Then I would have given this life a chance.

Cause that has been a problem. I never gave this life even the slightest bit of a chance. Ever since I discovered about my reincarnation, somewhere around age 4 to 6, I can't remember before 5-6, but my mother told me about my first suicidal thoughts at the age of 4. Ever since then all I wanted was to throw this life away. For somehow I discovered that by dying I would be able to return to my "real home" as I said back then.

A thing my mother told me just the other day or so, about a "Monroe Institute". A guy that remembered a past life much like mine. He described it as our (human kind) place of creation, our first home, where we all come from. A place of perfection and harmony. Well, just hearing about another person remembering what could most likely be the exact same place, kinda blew my mind! He's dead now, unfortunately, but I've been meaning to check out that website my mother mentioned.

I still cling to Dala, but as of lately I've been trying to let go. It feels like I need to let go in order to grasp this life that I'm living right now. Trying not to think about it so much, trying to move on. I should of course have done that many years ago, but it's so close to my heart, it's like it is every essence of my soul. And my soul is screaming, yearning, aching, bleeding to return. It's hard to ignore those heart tearing wishes that's been solely the number one reason for almost all of my suicide attempts. And I don't even know if I'll be able to return.

That is how strong those feelings can be, so strong that I'm sometimes ready to just throw away this life forever, even though I don't know if I would return to Dala. 50/50 and I take the bet, sort of. But most of the time, all that long time between suicide attempts, I don't want to take that chance. However, that is how strongly I still cling to Dala. Ready to kill myself for a childhood fantasy land.

So there was where it all started, so young that my very first memories hadstarted to take form. I shut myself away from the world, didn't want to be a part of it. It was a pretty good defence mechanism as I was bullied from my first year of school. I was antisocial, hated humanity and didn't want so called friends. I liked to keep my distance, until I started to like my future best friend. Realising she was one of few who didn't hate me, one of few who wanted to hang out with me.

I don't know for sure if she was the one who brought me out of my bubble, or if I just invited her into it. Maybe bits of both, cause when I started to train karate in a different town I really had started to crawl out from that bubble. And that was also when I first started to let go of Dala. I don't remember feeling unhappy in my 7th grade, maybe that was as close to happy as I've ever been. Before things started to fall apart again.

It's really gone up and down since then, but mostly down. I wasn't comparing so much with Dala as of what I can remember, didn't wanna think about it. Life fucked me over, but it wasn't because of my way absent past. I had lost faith in myself a long time ago, and almost invited bad people into my life. I'd rather something bad happened than nothing at all. Yes, I remember saying that when I was 14 or 15, and I'm not saying any of the horrible things I went through was my own fault. I'm mostly thinking about the rape, but not exclusively. I've never blamed myself for his despicable deed, but was it entirely on him?

I'm just saying that if I was confident and even cared about protecting myself, it's likely it never would have happened.

I was skilled in self defence and had been warned about creeps like him and that exact situation. Don't follow strange men home. Yet I did. It was even my own suggestion. It was like I didn't even care, like I invited it. But then it all went wrong of course, or it would have been a one night stand instead of a rape. But I did have it in the back of my mind. I did have it in the back of my mind already in the moment I asked if we could go to his place. I thought that there was a risk of rape if I went home with him. That's what I'm talking about. So it's not my fault that he raped me, but it's very much my own bloody fault that I ended up in his apartment. I'm smiling about this, so don't worry. I can be an idiot sometimes and years later I'm smiling at my own dumb choices. Practically over it by now.

After that, of course, I fell some more into my despair. Just months later I ended up with my first actual boyfriend, and we were happy to begin with. I was in love, so very much in love, and he loved me too. I had never had that before, and sadly, never again after. But that happiness only lasted a few months before he also became one of those creeps I had been warned about. The manipulative kind of men who wants to literally own their partner. Decide what I should eat, wear, weigh, do and who I was allowed to see and not. It took several months for me to muster breaking up with him, thought he could change. And I broke his heart but he broke mine too.

Shortly after our break up I re-realised the transgender stuff and I don't know if that brought me up or down. There was too much going on already, but that realisation couldn't have come a day too early. But some things got harder, I had to defend myself and my human rights all the damn time and dating became a hell. But at least I was myself, I was finally true to myself.

Once again I end up summarising my whole life, as if I didn't know about it already. As if I could ever stop obsessing about my own tragic life. It hasn't only been bad, but the bad out weighs the good and the negative feelings have always been so much stronger. The hell that I've been through, the hell between me and Anna, the hell between me and the world around me. That even if I try my best and hardest I end up failing, I crash on the concrete aching and bleeding. But I don't give up.

For some reason, despite all the chaos and darkness, I still fight and try to do better next time. I know that if I search long enough I will find what I'm looking for. In the end, and in the long run that is what I truly believe. And I have nothing, absolutely nothing to support that belief. That's why I don't think that I'm depressed, and perhaps I never even was. It's something else, all the other negative emotions except for sadness.

A common misconception is that you have to be depressed if you truly want to kill yourself. It's not true. It is believed to be the most common reason for suicide, but not the one reason alone. I've got enough reason and more. Missing Dala, hating the person living inside my head day and night, lovesickness, feeling incomplete and broken, being stuck in a limbo, anxiety, hating my body and so on. I've got reasons, but I'm not depressed. I want to die, but I'm not unhappy, not overwhelmed with sadness.

Being happy isn't just about happiness. I don't think that just by adding something to my life, that would make me happy. I already have too much to carry, and I don't think I will ever get rid of any of that. That is why I don't think I will ever be happy. It's not about what I don't have, it's what I already have.

It's in my blood

I dreamt that I had bleached my whole hair, but I didn't understand why, but then I realised that I wanted to become blonde. I was on a trip with my two friends and one one them got furious over me accidentally breaking something of his, and then we had somewhat of a war where he destroyed my things, one at a time, saying that he was only getting even with me.

I don't know if this is a delusion, but I think that when I'm letting myself bleed, I let out more than just my blood. This anxiety, this illness or condition or whatever it is. I think that it's in my blood. Like a hereditary/congenital disease or a virus. And by letting some of it out, I also temporarily free myself from what runs in it. When I feel faint right afterwards, I know that I've succeeded to let out some of it. Again, this could be interpreted as a figure of speech, but I do mean literally. That tapping it out is almost kinda like some sort of cleansing. Perhaps this isn't so weird at all, this idea. But it sounds like something in the lines of psychotic thinking. It's hard to tell from where I stand.

But a belief must be like any other belief, right? I mean, say if I believe in ghosts, then I can categorize that belief as something occult, right? So why shouldn't I be able to know if my beliefs like this one with my blood is psychotic? Theoretically, that should be possible to distinguish. But it's hard. It's hard as hell. Cause no matter how self aware I am, trying to figure out which of my beliefs are normal, unusual or psychotic can be damn frigging hard at times.