Maybe soon in patient

I should never have started purging. Now look at this mess.

I listen to my suicide playlist, not because I want to die, but because I want to feel something. I fell asleep on the couch again, too tired to physically exist. Now I'm up again, and imagining every possible scenario that could happen if I do decide to go in patient. Everything they could possibly do wrong.

I honestly don't know what good they think it would do to force me there. Or if I would go freely just so that they won't force me.

I don't know what I'll do. Last thing I want is to be force fed. It's literally a recurring nightmare of mine.

I'm scared of the results from my blood tests, scared of how bad they will be, or what the fuck if they are still within the normal range?! I'd suffocate then, feel like a complete failure cause then I obviously can't even purge right. Can't starve right, can't purge right...

I still can't make up my mind, still want to see those results first, cause if they are in the normal range, I so definitely won't go in patient. But if they're completely out of whack, I might consider it. I really don't know what I'll decide for if they're just a little whacky.

I purge every day, I drink every day, I starve every day. My life has literally never been messier but I won't accept any help. Still every essence of me cries out "help me" but I only want help if K tells me I should. I only live for him, I might as well die for him too. But I can't die from him... I can't leave him.

All the time, fucking constantly, people seem to assume and ask if I'm suicidal, and maybe I am, I'm just so damn good at hiding it from myself.

But death scares me, being away from K scares me, further away, that is. I'm already so fucking far away what difference does it make? I'm flickering, shifting fast between wanting to die and wanting to live. I really, I think for the first time now, live on the border between life and death. I balance it carelessly, unable to make a decision.

And I don't know if I wish to be immortal or for this to eventually kill me so I won't have to do it myself. I'm putting suicide out of my hands. It's a god damn fucking relief, to be brutally honest. And now I feel something, all the things there even is a name for.

I'm too young to die, and now I'm just getting all the more sure that I won't live to 30. Eating disorder suddenly, drastically shortened my expected life span. If it wasn't bad already before, I mean. It's just suddenly so damn real and it freaks me out.

I'm just so fucking scared but I don't know of what exactly, cause it isn't stopping me. I get more scared after every time I purge, last time close to tears, yet I keep at it again and again and again. I want it to kill me, but I don't want to die.

The ambivalence is eating me alive. It might be one of the hardest decisions I've ever stood before: live or die. I can't decide. I can't fucking decide so I let my eating disorder decide it for me. But I'm losing control over it and I'm afraid that if the day comes that I decide to live, it will be too late.

The ghosts in my mind

I'm feeling misplaced. Like I'm supposed to be somewhere I can't remember, like I'm supposed to do something, be something that I cannot become, have something I cannot retrieve. I feel so lost. Wandering, echoing like a shadow in the distance. Floating, detached, lonely. I don't feel like myself at all. Where am I? Who am I?

How much better am I really? I can't tell what's real anymore, I still can't differ dream from reality, am I dreaming? Maybe it's not my dreams that are so real, but my reality that is so dream-like. I can't put my feet down, it's like I can't feel the earth no matter how far down I try to reach. Do you ever get that feeling, like you're so detached you've forgotten how to re-attach yourself?

I wonder. Am I happy somewhere inside, am I really gonna give life a chance? Yes, to the latter. But I don't know how. I know what I need to do but I just can't. Can't, can't, can't, can't. I'm so scared I don't know what I should do. What would be right, should I try to hold on without help? I can't keep this up much longer. If I don't act, I'm afraid I'll fall apart again.

But that's the thing: I know I have to fall apart again, really hard, for the doctors to take me seriously, for them to understand how fucking serious this is. And I'm depending on their understanding, I always have been. I'm depending on their opinion because how else are they gonna help me? But I'm afraid it will be too late by then.

That I know I will need to stress myself enough to trigger a psychotic episode, get into the emergency psychiatric ward again and then get some sort of diagnosis and help. It's a sick world we live in, believe me, but I do know the psychiatric system pretty well by now. I've been involved in it for ten years after all. I know that is the only way, to let them see it with their own eyes.

When that day comes, whenever that will be. I have a sensation that it will be sooner than I can wait. I don't think I'll die from it though. No, what I fear is worse than death. Death would be freeing, a solution to an endless problem. What I fear is imprisonment in my own mind. That I will make it worse by not getting any treatment for it. It started already about a year ago, (not counting in Anna) and though I have been feeling fine in longer periods of time, it has struck me out of the blue several times and I just had to pretend it was just anxiety, worry, too many "thoughts" (yes, read voices) and that my actions were self harm alone.

Cause it wasn't, you know. I have come to my doctor saying I have anxiety when I was delusional and fearful of things that weren't there. I have harmed myself to get rid off bugs crawling under my skin, worms in my eyes and mysterious tingling feelings allover my body. I told people that my head was filled with more thoughts than usual when it was voices I was hearing. Even in a meeting I had to bite my lips hard to not scream at the voices to shut the fuck up because I couldn't hear what my doctor was saying.

Desperately popping more pills in an attempt to control all those things, thinking more anxiolytics could control my fear of the scary unknown territory of my own mind. My head hurts like hell, I can't stop chain smoking and I just took some Zyprexa. But does it help? Well, it does sometimes, for a little while. Zyprexa is also an antipsychotic medication, I can't do much else than hoping it has some effect on my ghosts. Shit, I really need to get to a doctor... hopefully I can hold on until June, it's not so long after all, just a few weeks...

Truth

I've been more truthful than ever in this blog recently. It's not that I owe you that, it's just that I'm tired of polishing the real stories in a way so that they would sound better somehow. I'm complicated. I'm really fucking complicated and most things in my life are odd, ended up unexpectedly and don't quite fit the way they're supposed to have been.

For example. My transsexualism. I was never very masculine or boyish as a child. I didn't like playing with boys toys even though I was in fact offered them. My mannerism wasn't that of a boy's, it was awkward and on the girly side. Though I wanted to be a boy, I wanted it more than what I actually was. I envied other boys, but I didn't think of myself as one. I saw that I was a girl and I just simply hated it. It was more of a wanting. A strong, very sincere wanting that never left me.

It wasn't until my late teens that I started to feel that I never quite was a girl, it wasn't until I tried too hard to be a girl. I tried so hard at the end that I ended up looking and feeling like a total drag queen. When the high heels and short, revealing skirts just didn't sit right anymore. Sometimes after I came out I tried to perform, pretend that I wanted to pass when I really didn't care. All I ever wanted was a masculine body, a dark voice and a man's name. Well, I started to crave more along the way though. I'm not saying that I'm not transsexual, all I'm saying is that I'm a bit of a wildcard. Unusual, as with most other things, I'm not the typical transsexual. I've hid things like that, afraid I wouldn't be taken seriously.

Now that was just an example. I can't bring up everything, not at once at least. But I do want to, and I have thought it through. Especially now, people can't take things back from me. Things like that in that example that I cannot live without. I couldn't live without the treatment for my transsexualism, you know that. I fought for it so desperately for five years after I started out when I was 20.

I'm no any longer afraid that people will question how genuine I really am with this, all I have to say is that I threatened with suicide and tried to kill myself 4 times in less than a week because I couldn't get the treatment. I would of course have chosen a more fatal technique if it wasn't for that little inconvenience that I was locked inside a psychiatric ward, and most likely would have succeeded if I did. So it wasn't just an act of desperation to get them to take me seriously, it was real.

All of this, it's real. No, I don't think that you doubt that. You should know me pretty well by now. But I know there are people who would, if I would come clean like that. Oh well, enough sadness and despair for now. I will bring up more later, though there will of course always be things I'd rather keep to myself. Now if I could only remember how to stop writing... seriously, I've been writing non stop for about three hours now. That landed me on 3758 words for today. Hepp.

Don't let go

Where is home? It depends on my state of mind at the moment what I mean by that. My apartment, Uppsala, or Dala. The worse I'm feeling, the further I wanna go. Maybe that's not so strange, all things considered.

I wanna meet someone I could call a friend on this island, preferably in the town where I live. Perhaps I could find someone who isn't from here either. Someone who also knows what it's like to be broken. Maybe it's time to pay another visit to the asylum? Nah, just kidding, I don't wanna go there. All they do there is feed you food and medicine and hollow advice for a fee of hundred bucks a day.

They don't prevent suicide. I don't think they even want us mentally disturbed to survive. What future could we possibly have? Maybe they're right. Maybe life just isn't worth living with a mind like this. But it's fine, it's okay. If I die I wouldn't mind, but living is easier.

Cause I don't have to do anything to survive, not more than I already do. Basic survival is fairly easy. It's harder to die, I mean. Takes a lot of planning, courage and determination. I'm not determined to do anything. Not even living, definitely not living. I'm just lingering here, waiting for that courage to end my life.