I stand in shadow and gaze at grim light
dimmed by my hesitation, wondering is the future even bright?
too far to see and not enough to show
am I blinded by what I already know?
Never knowing if I'm too hopeful or too bitter
left dithering between choices, unable to tell dust from glitter
but I lean forward, to dip my toes into the cold water
hoping, waiting, but time grows as I faulter
And I stumble into the unknown
as fear ruptures my excitement, and hides what I want shown
but how will I ever touch it and feel
if I cannot somehow make it real
It's dangerous they say, and worry for my health and sanity
but I grew weary of care based on a taboo, disguised as humanity
and now I wander freely into the dirt to find brittle gold
to the fringe of society where my shell can be repeatedly sold
And all my reasons to fear, what might not even come to pass
will follow me all the way through, alas
and all the times I'll misjudge and get hurt, I'll recall that hesitation
exasperated by the doubts of others
but without this chance I'll be lost in my stagnation
(written by me)
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
Wednesday, 13 June 2018
Sunday, 27 September 2015
Listen carefully if you really want to know
Maybe I did start hating myself around the age of 10, after those things happened. They ruined me, I ruined me, forever. Such wounds never really heal. I swore an oath to myself, to never tell a living soul, and sometimes I'm okay with that. Other times it's killing me. When I look at myself and what I did that one time, all I see is a monster. It was such an inhuman act, such a horrible crime. And it's eating away at me.
When I first found out what really happened, when I dug too deep into my mind during the summer of 2013, the thought of ending my life was stuck in my head. People have killed themselves for much lesser remorse. Do I even feel remorse? Sometimes, sometimes not. Because I didn't know that what I did was wrong in any sense, I was way too young to comprehend any such matters.
I've hinted at the nature of the crime, in times when I didn't care much about anyone's reactions. Not many have confronted me about what I've written about it, and I've never really spoken about it. At least, never into such detail as I tend to in my blog here. Or in poems. My poems always, always tend to go into more detail than I'm actually comfortable with.
It was a sex crime. Can I even say that much? Maybe now that I've abandoned most people who matter to me, and I guess I've in a way, also abandoned their opinions. Maybe now that I no longer care what people could think of me. I've said it was horrid, I've said I was too young to know what I was doing. 9 years old and committed a sex crime? Maybe now you can understand.
Just how fucked up I am, in that area, and how much it's been fucking me up. Perhaps, no I'm pretty sure, that is also a reason why sex is so repulsive to me now. It has ruined way too much. Way too much. It has crawled into the very essence of my soul and stained it from the inside and out. I know that the sexual assault I went through not long before led me to commit a very similar act myself, but my crime was worse. In the eyes of the beholder, or in the eyes of my victim, or in my own eyes, how can I know for sure what was worse? I can't, but it's my interpretation. They let me go almost instantly, of what I can remember, while I wasn't too fond of letting my victim go. I was stubborn for reasons unknown.
I was more fucked up right afterwards than I was able to remember for 15 years. I thought it was an innocent game up until the summer of 2013, until it revealed to me what I actually had done. How can I even live with myself? That question does pop up from time to time, to which I answer that I simply don't know, I just do. It's been by far the hardest thing I've had to deal with, worse than what I went through, worse than the rape when I was 17, worse than anything.
I'm calm right now, telling you this, although my hands are riddled with cold sweat and it's like I've got some kind of tunnel vision. It's all I can think about. Somehow I picture myself, two years ago, standing outside of my apartment, smoking a cigarette and not knowing what I should do. I remember when I desperately googled everything I could find, on if it was possible I could get imprisoned for that crime if it somehow slipped out of me what I had done.
I knew I had to take it with me to the grave, exactly what it was, and to whom. All I'm saying now is that it was of sexual nature and similar to what happened to me right before. You'll never know to whom it was, no one ever will. I suppose it's the one and only secret I'll keep no matter what, but I do know it's just to save my own skin, if anything could potentially happen if it did come out.
It doesn't keep me up at night since obviously I'm sleeping quite a lot these days, but it is gnawing at my conscience. That it took me so many years to truly remember, that it ruined me so much. Perhaps my sex life truly is permanently dead after that discovery, I don't know. I don't think I'll ever be capable of having normal sex with a normal view on it after realising what I did. Damaged to asexuality, and that's the truth. I damaged myself so completely and I can't even imagine how much I ruined that other person. Although, I do know.
All it took was a tumblr post this time and I'm drowning in the darkest corner of my mind again. How much darker can it get? Would I even want to know...? And that's why I'm sure, that if there is a Hell, other than this place, I will go there. I believe, like so many others, that sex offenders would get one of the worst spots in that place.
And it's all so fucked up, you know, cause half the time I don't know which side I'm really on. The victim, or the offender? The world is so far from being black and white, it's never fucking simple. And I go into cases of some kind of mortal fear every time I see things online related to rapists and what literally everyone thinks society should do with them. So kill me, so hang me or shoot me in the head. Cause once it comes down to it, I do want to die anyway.
And I think you should know, I think you have the right to, finally know what kind of monster has been hiding in the person you view as your friend, for all this time. And I know, that for being the offender I sure as hell am putting a lot of blame somewhere else. It was my decision, my choice to do what I did, yet it's like I blame it on something or someone else. Those that attacked me, cause I'm pretty sure it never would have happened otherwise. What a hell hole Alunda must have been, what were we kids really up to before our age had reached to double digits even?
Or maybe all schools were that horrible, what do I know, I only have that one to compare with and it's not much, but it's everything. I've heard other stories around, and maybe the ones I really should blame are the adults, the teachers, for never teaching us kids what was wrong or right? Were we just suppose to know? How?
Wasn't my victim even someone I was suppose to protect? Oh, that hurts even more. But it's true. There are no lies in this entry, it's as close to the truth as I'll ever let you, so listen carefully if you really ever wanted to know.
In my autobiography I don't include this much of what happened, but more on how fucked up I was the following years, ages 10 through 13. How I was dealing with Anna, other voices, dissociation, self harm and how I revolted against my bullies in fairly strange but effective ways. Right now, I barely understand how I even survived.
There's a diary, somewhere in my collection, I can't even remember what colour it is, where everything is written down. Everything except from who my victim was. Just in case anyone would find and read it. It's maybe obviously, written June or July 2013 when my memories came back. No, I don't even remember which month it was. I just let it be there in my book shelf, completely on display, cause why would anyone get the idea to read all of them through?
I was beyond myself, far beyond myself when I wrote that down in that diary. Just had to get it out, somehow, somewhere. I still haven't accepted it, I don't think I ever will. It's by far the most awful thing I've ever done, but not the only awful thing. I did something else, much later, but entirely different and definitely not in the same category. For some reason that's an even better kept secret of mine.
Wow, those dark corners of my mind really haunt me tonight. No rest for the wicked. So yes, I really am a criminal but I guess I just hide it well. Not so strange why I suddenly realised why being around cops has always made me feel uneasy for back then to me unknown reasons. Perhaps afraid that they would one day just look me in the eye and just know. I don't know, maybe I'm being irrational again. For crying out loud I need another cigarette...
There are so many layers of me, from dark to darker and the saint most new people see when they first meet me is just a surface that I don't know why they always see cause it's not even there. But yeah, of course there's so much more to me than this. But not really a part that would never hurt a soul. Maybe I just am one of those tragically hurt people that became an offender myself. Only once though, or technically twice but yeah.
So maybe my surface has been cracking lately, as I lie to people I really do care about and it hurts them and I try to repair it but then I lie again. Cause I can't deal with the truth, any truth, anymore. And I care less and less about other people's feelings. It's like instead of healing with time I just break more and more until there's just nothing left to break. It's the only way I can describe it, to me everything is either moving on or going under and there's nothing else. Perhaps you've noticed, I don't know.
In my world, all I see is degrees of pain and darkness, or possibly the lack of it. Cause I'm not always drowning, not always wanting to die. Just that most of the time I am, and I do often get that kind of tunnel vision. It's hard to break out of, especially when I isolate and only have my own thoughts. And it's not like I think I would feel up for discussing this either, I'd probably just state it was a one time thing and that I'll never go down here again, but knowing myself, I probably will. Some day.
But right now, it's just important that I get all of this out of me, all these thoughts and feelings that won't stop spreading like the plague inside my stressed out mind. I can't stop chain smoking, can't stop thinking. Eventually I'll have to stop this vicious circle and do something else, something safe, like playing WoW or whatever. And I'm too disgusted with myself to be able to eat even though I'm hungry as hell.
Hell... maybe I made my own hell that day when I was 9. Maybe that is my curse, defiling everything inside me. I think I'll stop now, I just have to.
When I first found out what really happened, when I dug too deep into my mind during the summer of 2013, the thought of ending my life was stuck in my head. People have killed themselves for much lesser remorse. Do I even feel remorse? Sometimes, sometimes not. Because I didn't know that what I did was wrong in any sense, I was way too young to comprehend any such matters.
I've hinted at the nature of the crime, in times when I didn't care much about anyone's reactions. Not many have confronted me about what I've written about it, and I've never really spoken about it. At least, never into such detail as I tend to in my blog here. Or in poems. My poems always, always tend to go into more detail than I'm actually comfortable with.
It was a sex crime. Can I even say that much? Maybe now that I've abandoned most people who matter to me, and I guess I've in a way, also abandoned their opinions. Maybe now that I no longer care what people could think of me. I've said it was horrid, I've said I was too young to know what I was doing. 9 years old and committed a sex crime? Maybe now you can understand.
Just how fucked up I am, in that area, and how much it's been fucking me up. Perhaps, no I'm pretty sure, that is also a reason why sex is so repulsive to me now. It has ruined way too much. Way too much. It has crawled into the very essence of my soul and stained it from the inside and out. I know that the sexual assault I went through not long before led me to commit a very similar act myself, but my crime was worse. In the eyes of the beholder, or in the eyes of my victim, or in my own eyes, how can I know for sure what was worse? I can't, but it's my interpretation. They let me go almost instantly, of what I can remember, while I wasn't too fond of letting my victim go. I was stubborn for reasons unknown.
I was more fucked up right afterwards than I was able to remember for 15 years. I thought it was an innocent game up until the summer of 2013, until it revealed to me what I actually had done. How can I even live with myself? That question does pop up from time to time, to which I answer that I simply don't know, I just do. It's been by far the hardest thing I've had to deal with, worse than what I went through, worse than the rape when I was 17, worse than anything.
I'm calm right now, telling you this, although my hands are riddled with cold sweat and it's like I've got some kind of tunnel vision. It's all I can think about. Somehow I picture myself, two years ago, standing outside of my apartment, smoking a cigarette and not knowing what I should do. I remember when I desperately googled everything I could find, on if it was possible I could get imprisoned for that crime if it somehow slipped out of me what I had done.
I knew I had to take it with me to the grave, exactly what it was, and to whom. All I'm saying now is that it was of sexual nature and similar to what happened to me right before. You'll never know to whom it was, no one ever will. I suppose it's the one and only secret I'll keep no matter what, but I do know it's just to save my own skin, if anything could potentially happen if it did come out.
It doesn't keep me up at night since obviously I'm sleeping quite a lot these days, but it is gnawing at my conscience. That it took me so many years to truly remember, that it ruined me so much. Perhaps my sex life truly is permanently dead after that discovery, I don't know. I don't think I'll ever be capable of having normal sex with a normal view on it after realising what I did. Damaged to asexuality, and that's the truth. I damaged myself so completely and I can't even imagine how much I ruined that other person. Although, I do know.
All it took was a tumblr post this time and I'm drowning in the darkest corner of my mind again. How much darker can it get? Would I even want to know...? And that's why I'm sure, that if there is a Hell, other than this place, I will go there. I believe, like so many others, that sex offenders would get one of the worst spots in that place.
And it's all so fucked up, you know, cause half the time I don't know which side I'm really on. The victim, or the offender? The world is so far from being black and white, it's never fucking simple. And I go into cases of some kind of mortal fear every time I see things online related to rapists and what literally everyone thinks society should do with them. So kill me, so hang me or shoot me in the head. Cause once it comes down to it, I do want to die anyway.
And I think you should know, I think you have the right to, finally know what kind of monster has been hiding in the person you view as your friend, for all this time. And I know, that for being the offender I sure as hell am putting a lot of blame somewhere else. It was my decision, my choice to do what I did, yet it's like I blame it on something or someone else. Those that attacked me, cause I'm pretty sure it never would have happened otherwise. What a hell hole Alunda must have been, what were we kids really up to before our age had reached to double digits even?
Or maybe all schools were that horrible, what do I know, I only have that one to compare with and it's not much, but it's everything. I've heard other stories around, and maybe the ones I really should blame are the adults, the teachers, for never teaching us kids what was wrong or right? Were we just suppose to know? How?
Wasn't my victim even someone I was suppose to protect? Oh, that hurts even more. But it's true. There are no lies in this entry, it's as close to the truth as I'll ever let you, so listen carefully if you really ever wanted to know.
In my autobiography I don't include this much of what happened, but more on how fucked up I was the following years, ages 10 through 13. How I was dealing with Anna, other voices, dissociation, self harm and how I revolted against my bullies in fairly strange but effective ways. Right now, I barely understand how I even survived.
There's a diary, somewhere in my collection, I can't even remember what colour it is, where everything is written down. Everything except from who my victim was. Just in case anyone would find and read it. It's maybe obviously, written June or July 2013 when my memories came back. No, I don't even remember which month it was. I just let it be there in my book shelf, completely on display, cause why would anyone get the idea to read all of them through?
I was beyond myself, far beyond myself when I wrote that down in that diary. Just had to get it out, somehow, somewhere. I still haven't accepted it, I don't think I ever will. It's by far the most awful thing I've ever done, but not the only awful thing. I did something else, much later, but entirely different and definitely not in the same category. For some reason that's an even better kept secret of mine.
Wow, those dark corners of my mind really haunt me tonight. No rest for the wicked. So yes, I really am a criminal but I guess I just hide it well. Not so strange why I suddenly realised why being around cops has always made me feel uneasy for back then to me unknown reasons. Perhaps afraid that they would one day just look me in the eye and just know. I don't know, maybe I'm being irrational again. For crying out loud I need another cigarette...
There are so many layers of me, from dark to darker and the saint most new people see when they first meet me is just a surface that I don't know why they always see cause it's not even there. But yeah, of course there's so much more to me than this. But not really a part that would never hurt a soul. Maybe I just am one of those tragically hurt people that became an offender myself. Only once though, or technically twice but yeah.
So maybe my surface has been cracking lately, as I lie to people I really do care about and it hurts them and I try to repair it but then I lie again. Cause I can't deal with the truth, any truth, anymore. And I care less and less about other people's feelings. It's like instead of healing with time I just break more and more until there's just nothing left to break. It's the only way I can describe it, to me everything is either moving on or going under and there's nothing else. Perhaps you've noticed, I don't know.
In my world, all I see is degrees of pain and darkness, or possibly the lack of it. Cause I'm not always drowning, not always wanting to die. Just that most of the time I am, and I do often get that kind of tunnel vision. It's hard to break out of, especially when I isolate and only have my own thoughts. And it's not like I think I would feel up for discussing this either, I'd probably just state it was a one time thing and that I'll never go down here again, but knowing myself, I probably will. Some day.
But right now, it's just important that I get all of this out of me, all these thoughts and feelings that won't stop spreading like the plague inside my stressed out mind. I can't stop chain smoking, can't stop thinking. Eventually I'll have to stop this vicious circle and do something else, something safe, like playing WoW or whatever. And I'm too disgusted with myself to be able to eat even though I'm hungry as hell.
Hell... maybe I made my own hell that day when I was 9. Maybe that is my curse, defiling everything inside me. I think I'll stop now, I just have to.
Thursday, 2 April 2015
Desperately holding on
So, I wrote a very suicidal poem last night that I didn't post anywhere. Was thinking people would get worried then. I care too much and don't want the cops calling me again. They freak me out, man.
Anyway, I'm feeling slightly better right now, although I refrain from saying "today" cause I'm most likely gonna fall with the sun later on, as I usually do.
I don't even know if I'm light or dark anymore. Maybe one or the other, or neither, I don't know. It feels like I'm just fragmented and nothing adds to the whole. I'm sweating and slightly shaking and I can't control it. So, not entirely fine. But am I ever?
It's 39 days and I'm scared of trying to contact K again. Afraid of what he might say. I'm thinking I'll wait until the weekend, if I can. Just holding on to my false hopes for as long as I can, they're slipping away and that fast.
Hopefully I can hold on a little longer, or either thing will kill me. Because I can't stand the silence or face it, I'm locked between two choices again and I refuse to choose. I try to let time choose for me, but either way, I'm scared of dying all too soon.
I couldn't tell my contact person yesterday, about that I think I'll die either way. Or any way, for that matter. Maybe they should just lock me up for some time so that I can continue living. Cause I want to live, and for once, I'm deliberately holding on to my prophecy, because I'd much rather die in two years than in two weeks.
It's that soon, or maybe in just a few days. My heart is racing fast just thinking about it, it knows it's dying, but desperately tries to hold on. And I'll fight with every power in me to not commit suicide, cause I do want to live, just a little longer, I'm scared and I'm not ready.
I want a baby, I don't want to die. So don't then. I know you're thinking it, but in that case I don't think you understand. That my feelings for K are so strong I can't possibly fathom them, they can drive me to suicide without warning. It would be impulsive, and I'm scary and crazy with the impulses.
And I have to choose. To either never speak to him again, never know, but let time slowly kill me - or to talk to him to find out exactly why he's stopped talking to me, and that truth might kill me too. I'm not strong enough for this, I really really don't handle rejection well. In fact, I don't handle it at all.
But if my prophecy is true, I can't die from this, I suddenly realise. Then it will either go to hell and almost lead me to suicide, but I'll survive, or it will go fine. Or something in between, I don't know. All I know is that K is the love of my life and I've made a promise, an oath, to never fall for someone else like this again.
Then true love is not for me and I'd do anything to try and accept that, cause I'm not gonna hurt myself again like this. I won't fall in love again. I might end up in relationships, but I'd never truly give them my heart. Because ten times is enough, whether I live or die from this.
But I hope, for once in my life, that the prophecy is true. I hold on to it, because it is better to die in two years than the next week or so. That's my suicide thoughts of today, or for now. That's how I see it. That I'm scared and believe it could happen soon but I don't want it to. Suicide, is it in my hands, or out of them? Is it all just fate, impulsion, or do I have any say in it?
My life is slipping away with all my hopes and dreams, and it's getting harder to hold on. All I have is my mortal fear and wishing for a sodding chance to have a life. I'm just 25 years old and I don't want to die. Not because of K, that would be terrible. How my heart can be so controlling, it completely drowns me in feelings I cannot fathom. I'll hold on to wanting a child even if K doesn't ever want me, I'll hold on to the future that I still dream of, I'll hold on to... something, anything.
Anyway, I'm feeling slightly better right now, although I refrain from saying "today" cause I'm most likely gonna fall with the sun later on, as I usually do.
I don't even know if I'm light or dark anymore. Maybe one or the other, or neither, I don't know. It feels like I'm just fragmented and nothing adds to the whole. I'm sweating and slightly shaking and I can't control it. So, not entirely fine. But am I ever?
It's 39 days and I'm scared of trying to contact K again. Afraid of what he might say. I'm thinking I'll wait until the weekend, if I can. Just holding on to my false hopes for as long as I can, they're slipping away and that fast.
Hopefully I can hold on a little longer, or either thing will kill me. Because I can't stand the silence or face it, I'm locked between two choices again and I refuse to choose. I try to let time choose for me, but either way, I'm scared of dying all too soon.
I couldn't tell my contact person yesterday, about that I think I'll die either way. Or any way, for that matter. Maybe they should just lock me up for some time so that I can continue living. Cause I want to live, and for once, I'm deliberately holding on to my prophecy, because I'd much rather die in two years than in two weeks.
It's that soon, or maybe in just a few days. My heart is racing fast just thinking about it, it knows it's dying, but desperately tries to hold on. And I'll fight with every power in me to not commit suicide, cause I do want to live, just a little longer, I'm scared and I'm not ready.
I want a baby, I don't want to die. So don't then. I know you're thinking it, but in that case I don't think you understand. That my feelings for K are so strong I can't possibly fathom them, they can drive me to suicide without warning. It would be impulsive, and I'm scary and crazy with the impulses.
And I have to choose. To either never speak to him again, never know, but let time slowly kill me - or to talk to him to find out exactly why he's stopped talking to me, and that truth might kill me too. I'm not strong enough for this, I really really don't handle rejection well. In fact, I don't handle it at all.
But if my prophecy is true, I can't die from this, I suddenly realise. Then it will either go to hell and almost lead me to suicide, but I'll survive, or it will go fine. Or something in between, I don't know. All I know is that K is the love of my life and I've made a promise, an oath, to never fall for someone else like this again.
Then true love is not for me and I'd do anything to try and accept that, cause I'm not gonna hurt myself again like this. I won't fall in love again. I might end up in relationships, but I'd never truly give them my heart. Because ten times is enough, whether I live or die from this.
But I hope, for once in my life, that the prophecy is true. I hold on to it, because it is better to die in two years than the next week or so. That's my suicide thoughts of today, or for now. That's how I see it. That I'm scared and believe it could happen soon but I don't want it to. Suicide, is it in my hands, or out of them? Is it all just fate, impulsion, or do I have any say in it?
My life is slipping away with all my hopes and dreams, and it's getting harder to hold on. All I have is my mortal fear and wishing for a sodding chance to have a life. I'm just 25 years old and I don't want to die. Not because of K, that would be terrible. How my heart can be so controlling, it completely drowns me in feelings I cannot fathom. I'll hold on to wanting a child even if K doesn't ever want me, I'll hold on to the future that I still dream of, I'll hold on to... something, anything.
Monday, 16 March 2015
Becoming darkness
If only I had you, this wouldn't be so hard. Living, just living without you is so fucking hard. I don't know how to form simple friendships without them falling for me and without me lying and deceiving. My darkness and chaos tie tightly together and I can't help but blaming this on my demonic nature.
Is my fate just a gnostic chaos, am I turning into a monster? Untrustworthy, liar, deceiver, manipulator, evil, darkness, darkness, darkness... It's taking over me and I feel helpless beneath it. It all started so very long ago, I was 9 or 10 and did the most awful thing I've ever done in my entire life, I still haven't been able to tell a soul. Who it was or what it was. Then, I mostly kept to theft at school and that was it, when I was still a child. Then years passed and I wasn't really doing anything bad.
Then I think I was 20-22 or something fucking late like that when I did the second most awful thing in my entire life and I was really scared by my darkness by then. Of what was becoming of me. My own mind is the scariest fucking place I've ever seen. I regret it, I do, and for long I wanted to believe that that regret made me not evil, that it almost even made me believe I was truly a good person at heart, despite of what I've done.
And then, my love, I started lying to protect my own skin as my memories started coming back to me. I don't know if you can ever forgive me, I know I can't. My lies turned to trickery and deceit, even took it as far as to manipulation. And sometime around there I started realising my demon identity, or what to call it, that I'm otherkin, and then started to be able to name the darkness within me.
But not all demons are evil, and I've been desperately stressing that, desperately wanting to believe I was one of the good demons. But I'm doubting. I'm seriously doubting and I'm becoming all the more scared of the monster I'm becoming. I just broke another heart because of such an incredibly stupid and thoughtless thing I can't even... fathom it. What the hell am I doing? For the second time?
The thing is, my love, that I'm so so scared of one day breaking your heart. If you ever let me in that close, I would do absolutely everything I can and more to make sure that never happens, but what if, baby what if...? I cannot breathe just the thought of it. I seriously forget to breathe and I might choke myself on cigarette smoke and pure pain cause I can't handle having that thought in my head.
Yes, I am saying that I fear of becoming evil. I'm falling down a very dark and twisted road and I can't help myself off it. I have no one to tell these things, no one I trust enough to be able to say exactly what I've done and where I think I'm heading without this incredibly strong fear that I might lose them for saying that.
I'm losing touch with humanity, and right now K, you're the only one keeping me in touch with it. You're the only one not a victim of my lies and deceit, the only one I've never purposely hurt or drawn myself away from. But I'm losing touch with you too and not because of that, oh god I hope not that, but for other reasons. And I believe my loneliness and extreme longing for you (I have only myself to blame for that) is the cause of my erratic behaviour lately.
As I try to keep a distance between myself and the whole world, I still cling onto it so desperately, like wanting to just let go but I can't. What I'm trying to say in more specific words is that I'm constantly forming new relationships and connecting to people, but do it all wrong and weird and only end up hurting people to left and right like never before.
I'm not helping damaged people anymore, I'm the fucking damage that I'm causing them. I don't know who I am anymore someone please help me. I don't want to be like this. The comfort and care that I need and crave, I'm not worthy of it anymore. It hurts to say that sometimes, damaged people do turn to become the damage themselves. I used to think, not that very long ago, maybe five years or so, that nope it doesn't have to be that way. But what if it has...?
You're too good for me and I don't deserve you. I can only hope that I will never hurt you on a significant level. Yes, I'm still selfish, no matter how much I fear hurting you, I simply cannot stay away from you. I don't think you even want me to, not yet at least.
This last event just tore up a hole inside of me and I don't think it can ever heal or be filled. It's a tear in reality now, an empty void. Someone please save my soul.
Is my fate just a gnostic chaos, am I turning into a monster? Untrustworthy, liar, deceiver, manipulator, evil, darkness, darkness, darkness... It's taking over me and I feel helpless beneath it. It all started so very long ago, I was 9 or 10 and did the most awful thing I've ever done in my entire life, I still haven't been able to tell a soul. Who it was or what it was. Then, I mostly kept to theft at school and that was it, when I was still a child. Then years passed and I wasn't really doing anything bad.
Then I think I was 20-22 or something fucking late like that when I did the second most awful thing in my entire life and I was really scared by my darkness by then. Of what was becoming of me. My own mind is the scariest fucking place I've ever seen. I regret it, I do, and for long I wanted to believe that that regret made me not evil, that it almost even made me believe I was truly a good person at heart, despite of what I've done.
And then, my love, I started lying to protect my own skin as my memories started coming back to me. I don't know if you can ever forgive me, I know I can't. My lies turned to trickery and deceit, even took it as far as to manipulation. And sometime around there I started realising my demon identity, or what to call it, that I'm otherkin, and then started to be able to name the darkness within me.
But not all demons are evil, and I've been desperately stressing that, desperately wanting to believe I was one of the good demons. But I'm doubting. I'm seriously doubting and I'm becoming all the more scared of the monster I'm becoming. I just broke another heart because of such an incredibly stupid and thoughtless thing I can't even... fathom it. What the hell am I doing? For the second time?
The thing is, my love, that I'm so so scared of one day breaking your heart. If you ever let me in that close, I would do absolutely everything I can and more to make sure that never happens, but what if, baby what if...? I cannot breathe just the thought of it. I seriously forget to breathe and I might choke myself on cigarette smoke and pure pain cause I can't handle having that thought in my head.
Yes, I am saying that I fear of becoming evil. I'm falling down a very dark and twisted road and I can't help myself off it. I have no one to tell these things, no one I trust enough to be able to say exactly what I've done and where I think I'm heading without this incredibly strong fear that I might lose them for saying that.
I'm losing touch with humanity, and right now K, you're the only one keeping me in touch with it. You're the only one not a victim of my lies and deceit, the only one I've never purposely hurt or drawn myself away from. But I'm losing touch with you too and not because of that, oh god I hope not that, but for other reasons. And I believe my loneliness and extreme longing for you (I have only myself to blame for that) is the cause of my erratic behaviour lately.
As I try to keep a distance between myself and the whole world, I still cling onto it so desperately, like wanting to just let go but I can't. What I'm trying to say in more specific words is that I'm constantly forming new relationships and connecting to people, but do it all wrong and weird and only end up hurting people to left and right like never before.
I'm not helping damaged people anymore, I'm the fucking damage that I'm causing them. I don't know who I am anymore someone please help me. I don't want to be like this. The comfort and care that I need and crave, I'm not worthy of it anymore. It hurts to say that sometimes, damaged people do turn to become the damage themselves. I used to think, not that very long ago, maybe five years or so, that nope it doesn't have to be that way. But what if it has...?
You're too good for me and I don't deserve you. I can only hope that I will never hurt you on a significant level. Yes, I'm still selfish, no matter how much I fear hurting you, I simply cannot stay away from you. I don't think you even want me to, not yet at least.
This last event just tore up a hole inside of me and I don't think it can ever heal or be filled. It's a tear in reality now, an empty void. Someone please save my soul.
Thursday, 26 February 2015
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.
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.
Wednesday, 25 February 2015
Mortal fear
Today's first purge and I'm a mess. Got up more fluid than I thought I had in me. That's gotta be noticeable later, the loss of all that fluid.
I am beyond broken.
And it feels like I just shatter even more for each purge. It is self violating, and more than just awful. I take the caring words that others have said with me to the toilet, shrug and then go ahead and do it. It doesn't matter what anyone says, only what K says and so far, he hasn't said a word about it. I lay my happiness, my life, in his hands, in his words. His words are the only words that matter.
I'm gonna have my blood tests taken tomorrow already and I worry about the result, but mostly I'm curious, in my own fucked up way. I want them to spike through the fucking ceiling. I want for once in my life to not hear that nothing is wrong with me when I feel like utter shit.
That these heart palpitations, chest pains, and headaches, this dizziness, nausea and weakness are not just anxiety making things feel real. I want my potassium hitting rock bottom, I want them to tell me that I'm more than just moderately dehydrated and lack in every single vitamin and mineral. Why am I so fucked up?
Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of all mental illnesses. I don't know why I just thought of that. But I still don't think it can kill me, cause I have been told so by my hallucination of Satan himself. Suddenly, that sentence made me feel further from sane than I have ever been... Cause yeah, if a hallucination says so! Not.
I'm still struggling with realising that I am in fact a mortal being, I have absolutely no wish to be immortal, I just don't think I can die no matter how much I sometimes want to.
But I believe that the time has come, when I'm starting to realise my own mortality. Maybe a little young for that? I'm just 25 years old, but could die from my eating disorder. I've heard of bulimic's who died of a heart attack from their purging after just a few months of purging. Now, since I'm being supervised/monitored, I'm in contact with doctors and such, I believe I'll have a little longer than that. But I can't know for sure. It scares me, yet I do everything I can to further worsen it.
And maybe, it's possible all those listed physical symptoms that I'm experiencing are just anxiety, mortal fear, catching up with me for real this time. That this disorder is gonna kill me, and that I want it to.
I am beyond broken.
And it feels like I just shatter even more for each purge. It is self violating, and more than just awful. I take the caring words that others have said with me to the toilet, shrug and then go ahead and do it. It doesn't matter what anyone says, only what K says and so far, he hasn't said a word about it. I lay my happiness, my life, in his hands, in his words. His words are the only words that matter.
I'm gonna have my blood tests taken tomorrow already and I worry about the result, but mostly I'm curious, in my own fucked up way. I want them to spike through the fucking ceiling. I want for once in my life to not hear that nothing is wrong with me when I feel like utter shit.
That these heart palpitations, chest pains, and headaches, this dizziness, nausea and weakness are not just anxiety making things feel real. I want my potassium hitting rock bottom, I want them to tell me that I'm more than just moderately dehydrated and lack in every single vitamin and mineral. Why am I so fucked up?
Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of all mental illnesses. I don't know why I just thought of that. But I still don't think it can kill me, cause I have been told so by my hallucination of Satan himself. Suddenly, that sentence made me feel further from sane than I have ever been... Cause yeah, if a hallucination says so! Not.
I'm still struggling with realising that I am in fact a mortal being, I have absolutely no wish to be immortal, I just don't think I can die no matter how much I sometimes want to.
But I believe that the time has come, when I'm starting to realise my own mortality. Maybe a little young for that? I'm just 25 years old, but could die from my eating disorder. I've heard of bulimic's who died of a heart attack from their purging after just a few months of purging. Now, since I'm being supervised/monitored, I'm in contact with doctors and such, I believe I'll have a little longer than that. But I can't know for sure. It scares me, yet I do everything I can to further worsen it.
And maybe, it's possible all those listed physical symptoms that I'm experiencing are just anxiety, mortal fear, catching up with me for real this time. That this disorder is gonna kill me, and that I want it to.
Saturday, 10 May 2014
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.
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.
Thursday, 1 May 2014
1998
I just realised that I don't remember anything from year 1997. Maybe because everything happened during the year after. When everything changed, forever. Did you know I was raped twice? Though it's hardly a record and nor should it be. It just popped up in my head right now, as I was thinking about the number 97 which is one of my favourite numbers.
Rape, sexual assault. It changes you. And I was so young in 1998. Just nine years old. Did I ever have a childhood? I ask myself. I's almost like I was born unhappy and then people went and made my life even crappier. It's not so strange I hated elementary school. But my hatred towards it wasn't actually directed to schools as such, cause I really liked going to other schools later on. I guess I just hated my class and school mates back then. They weren't so friendly.
They did that to me. Children, younger than I was. Though I can't even remember all of it. Don't remember how the rest of that day went by, how I felt directly after. I don't remember the rest of the day my second rape happened either. I wonder why. My mother remembered it though. Apparently I was kinda upset.
I guess I just like ranting about the horrible things I went through. Maybe it's a way of facing it, of dealing with it. Maybe I am just crazy and find pleasure in reliving the truly unpleasant. I fantasise about it, how it could have gone differently. For the worse and for the better. Trying to get some perspective. Trying to understand what actually happened, why it happened. How they must have thought and felt. What went through my rapists' minds when the did what they did? Did they think they didn't harm me, or were they cruelly aware of it?
Wonder why I didn't defend myself the second time, in 2007. I knew karate for fucks sake. And I just lied there and took it. I don't understand why. Maybe my fear just paralysed me. So much for learning self defence.
And it just brings me down. How fragile I am, so easily broken. And I wonder if it could happen again, cause I have a feeling that it will happen again someday. I don't know why, but it's like I think the world isn't done fucking me around. At least it gave me Anna as a sad act of forgiveness or something. Cause I still think this is why she came to me. PTSD with dissociation, or DID. My best bet so far as to why I have a split personality. The whole of me split into two people. And most of you only know half of me.
Don't be your own therapist, you just end up getting more entangled in the memories of your traumas. But they're just memories now and they can't hurt me. My scars that will never fully heal. I don't think I've ever heard of another rape victim who's moved on completely from their experience/-s. Cause maybe it just isn't possible.
Rape, sexual assault. It changes you. And I was so young in 1998. Just nine years old. Did I ever have a childhood? I ask myself. I's almost like I was born unhappy and then people went and made my life even crappier. It's not so strange I hated elementary school. But my hatred towards it wasn't actually directed to schools as such, cause I really liked going to other schools later on. I guess I just hated my class and school mates back then. They weren't so friendly.
They did that to me. Children, younger than I was. Though I can't even remember all of it. Don't remember how the rest of that day went by, how I felt directly after. I don't remember the rest of the day my second rape happened either. I wonder why. My mother remembered it though. Apparently I was kinda upset.
I guess I just like ranting about the horrible things I went through. Maybe it's a way of facing it, of dealing with it. Maybe I am just crazy and find pleasure in reliving the truly unpleasant. I fantasise about it, how it could have gone differently. For the worse and for the better. Trying to get some perspective. Trying to understand what actually happened, why it happened. How they must have thought and felt. What went through my rapists' minds when the did what they did? Did they think they didn't harm me, or were they cruelly aware of it?
Wonder why I didn't defend myself the second time, in 2007. I knew karate for fucks sake. And I just lied there and took it. I don't understand why. Maybe my fear just paralysed me. So much for learning self defence.
And it just brings me down. How fragile I am, so easily broken. And I wonder if it could happen again, cause I have a feeling that it will happen again someday. I don't know why, but it's like I think the world isn't done fucking me around. At least it gave me Anna as a sad act of forgiveness or something. Cause I still think this is why she came to me. PTSD with dissociation, or DID. My best bet so far as to why I have a split personality. The whole of me split into two people. And most of you only know half of me.
Don't be your own therapist, you just end up getting more entangled in the memories of your traumas. But they're just memories now and they can't hurt me. My scars that will never fully heal. I don't think I've ever heard of another rape victim who's moved on completely from their experience/-s. Cause maybe it just isn't possible.
Monday, 28 April 2014
When to stop and start
I don't know why, but it's like I just wanna lose weight for the sake of losing weight, if that makes any sense at all. Like the thought has possessed me somehow. Been thinking about it for too long perhaps. When was it I first tried to start losing weight last year? April, May, June? Sometime around there. I remember being so eager to lose it as fast as possible, all 20 kilos or more.
Cause I do wanna be thinner, and in my heart I don't want to stop at 60 kg. 55 would be closer to my actual goal, but not less than 50. Cause that is underweight and I don't want to be scrawny. Just thin enough to not be able to have any sort of curves, you know.
I envy the really thin transguys, cause they have it so much easier in a way. They have a better start than I have/had. I have to work so much harder to get rid of my curves. And it's like I'm willing to do basically anything for that. Now more than ever, cause now I have most of my crazy brain under control, or I'm not so bothered by my craziness, and I can focus on what matters most. What has always mattered most.
Am I really that vain, that the way I look is my number one concern? The question answers itself, or I wouldn't have put it there. Maybe I'm just finally doing what I should have started doing years ago, or maybe I am getting a little obsessed. When the war in my mind is replaced by another kind of war. Me and my wars...
Cause I do wanna be thinner, and in my heart I don't want to stop at 60 kg. 55 would be closer to my actual goal, but not less than 50. Cause that is underweight and I don't want to be scrawny. Just thin enough to not be able to have any sort of curves, you know.
I envy the really thin transguys, cause they have it so much easier in a way. They have a better start than I have/had. I have to work so much harder to get rid of my curves. And it's like I'm willing to do basically anything for that. Now more than ever, cause now I have most of my crazy brain under control, or I'm not so bothered by my craziness, and I can focus on what matters most. What has always mattered most.
Am I really that vain, that the way I look is my number one concern? The question answers itself, or I wouldn't have put it there. Maybe I'm just finally doing what I should have started doing years ago, or maybe I am getting a little obsessed. When the war in my mind is replaced by another kind of war. Me and my wars...
Saturday, 19 April 2014
Changes
Slept fairly well tonight. Apart from the dreams about embarrassing conversations, illegal immigrants, molested nuns and a guy torturing someone.
So how long am I gonna have nightmares for? It feels like I don't really get any rest from sleeping, like I wake up exhausted in need for some real rest. Though I know that they reflect the fears that I carry. Fears for the present and the future.
What are my fears? I'm not sure. But I think it's about the complications after my surgery, of not passing, of never being able to be anywhere close to happy, about dying. Those are the general, I suppose. The biggest fears that haunt me today.
Anxiety about what may or may not happen. How things will turn out and how long it's gonna take, what is out of my power. I rarely fear what is in my power to change, things that I can change. I'm willing to change now, just give me the possibility to do that.
It's like I think I have the means, but not able to use them. Like I know what to do but have to wait until I can do it. The thought has occurred to me, that maybe I'm willing to take the risks and start anyway, without waiting. Cause I've waited too damn long already.
We'll see what I'll do, if I can figure it out. Cause I've gotta change, while the energy is still in me, before I collapse and give up again. I don't want to allow that to happen, but it's not that simple. It just happens, you know. And I want to remember this year as the year when I finally turned things around. Yes, this year, not the next or the one after that.
If that means beating odds or risking things, I don't care. So be it. There are always risks, with everything that is worth fighting for. But is my life worth fighting for? Well, technically it's the only thing I have to fight for, and that's enough of a reason. I'm done waiting.
So how long am I gonna have nightmares for? It feels like I don't really get any rest from sleeping, like I wake up exhausted in need for some real rest. Though I know that they reflect the fears that I carry. Fears for the present and the future.
What are my fears? I'm not sure. But I think it's about the complications after my surgery, of not passing, of never being able to be anywhere close to happy, about dying. Those are the general, I suppose. The biggest fears that haunt me today.
Anxiety about what may or may not happen. How things will turn out and how long it's gonna take, what is out of my power. I rarely fear what is in my power to change, things that I can change. I'm willing to change now, just give me the possibility to do that.
It's like I think I have the means, but not able to use them. Like I know what to do but have to wait until I can do it. The thought has occurred to me, that maybe I'm willing to take the risks and start anyway, without waiting. Cause I've waited too damn long already.
We'll see what I'll do, if I can figure it out. Cause I've gotta change, while the energy is still in me, before I collapse and give up again. I don't want to allow that to happen, but it's not that simple. It just happens, you know. And I want to remember this year as the year when I finally turned things around. Yes, this year, not the next or the one after that.
If that means beating odds or risking things, I don't care. So be it. There are always risks, with everything that is worth fighting for. But is my life worth fighting for? Well, technically it's the only thing I have to fight for, and that's enough of a reason. I'm done waiting.
Saturday, 29 March 2014
Wishes and wisdom
I just saw this episode of Torchwood, one of them that I remembered most vividly from the first time I saw the whole series. In that episode there's a device that can show you glimpses of the past, the future or your own death. It just shook me so strongly this time, something Jack said, but I can't remember it now. I remember thinking that was a cool device to have first time I saw that episode years ago, but now... all I could think of is all the despair such a device could bring mankind.
Perhaps I am too old for this young body, cause I always seem to recognise myself the most in fictive characters who are way old, immortal. Characters like Jack Harkness, vampires, wizards, ghosts and so on. I don't even know if I'm that wise or anything, it's more of a vague sensation. That I know stuff I'm not supposed to, like I know too much, about things a 24 year old shouldn't.
I wouldn't consider myself that old, not in my mind at least. It's more like I've transcended age completely and now I'm neither young nor old, beyond time. And maybe that's why I my conception of time is so fucked up, why I take things so slow and can keep calm in situations others panic over. It's like I just know without knowing what it is that I know; does that make any sort of sense at all? That things will sort themselves out eventually and turn out the way they're supposed to, no matter what you do.
Those things that I know I don't know how to share, because either no one's listening, or it's something they have to find out for themselves. Mostly it's the latter, and some things I don't want anyone else to find out. Not that I want to keep anyone in the dark about it, it's just that it's most likely too much to handle. You know I've been struggling with it. The meaning of life, how I'm gonna die, things about how time works, memories from past lives and so on.
I'm divided, if I would want to keep my knowledge as it is or to never have gained it in the first place. It's an awful burden, yet a wonderful gift. Not very comforting and terribly upsetting. But also an asset and helpful in understanding the world and to accept it as it is.
Some things I have already accepted. Like that life is unfair and that I can't possibly stop myself from killing myself that one day when it will happen, hopefully far in the future. So yeah, I think I have accepted my self fulfilling prophecy, cause there's really no way around it. Somedays it's hard though, thinking that it's like I'm trapped in a maze with only one horrible way out of it. Cause how can I make myself die in another manner than suicide? I can't. My fate is sealed. So why not accept it?
I'm finally gonna try and live my life to the fullest at the best of my ability. I'm gonna get my gender reassigned legally, finish writing my autobiography, change the way I look, get my damn tattoos even if I'll need to steal money to afford them, drive a car, travel to London and all the little things on that endless list of things to do before I die.
Everyone should do that, no matter if you are/think you are going to die sooner than you hope for or not. Everyone should try their best to live their lives to the fullest. I'll hit you if you don't agree with me on that point! I just hope I'll actually do it this time, but I think so, cause never before has it felt this real. The cruelty of the prophecy and the vitality of life itself awakening within me. I think it's a good balance, as good as it can get. That I want to live and that more than ever, at the same time as I'm terrified to die before I'm done living, if you know what I mean. Life and death is cruel and unfair, but I can't let that ruin me. I can hope and dream, carefully so, but I can't change what's beyond me.
I just hope that I'll be able to continue like this, with this urge in me to change things to the better, with a will to live instead of just a will to escape anything related to living in the real world. Just wish that I won't fall back into the darkness.
Perhaps I am too old for this young body, cause I always seem to recognise myself the most in fictive characters who are way old, immortal. Characters like Jack Harkness, vampires, wizards, ghosts and so on. I don't even know if I'm that wise or anything, it's more of a vague sensation. That I know stuff I'm not supposed to, like I know too much, about things a 24 year old shouldn't.
I wouldn't consider myself that old, not in my mind at least. It's more like I've transcended age completely and now I'm neither young nor old, beyond time. And maybe that's why I my conception of time is so fucked up, why I take things so slow and can keep calm in situations others panic over. It's like I just know without knowing what it is that I know; does that make any sort of sense at all? That things will sort themselves out eventually and turn out the way they're supposed to, no matter what you do.
Those things that I know I don't know how to share, because either no one's listening, or it's something they have to find out for themselves. Mostly it's the latter, and some things I don't want anyone else to find out. Not that I want to keep anyone in the dark about it, it's just that it's most likely too much to handle. You know I've been struggling with it. The meaning of life, how I'm gonna die, things about how time works, memories from past lives and so on.
I'm divided, if I would want to keep my knowledge as it is or to never have gained it in the first place. It's an awful burden, yet a wonderful gift. Not very comforting and terribly upsetting. But also an asset and helpful in understanding the world and to accept it as it is.
Some things I have already accepted. Like that life is unfair and that I can't possibly stop myself from killing myself that one day when it will happen, hopefully far in the future. So yeah, I think I have accepted my self fulfilling prophecy, cause there's really no way around it. Somedays it's hard though, thinking that it's like I'm trapped in a maze with only one horrible way out of it. Cause how can I make myself die in another manner than suicide? I can't. My fate is sealed. So why not accept it?
I'm finally gonna try and live my life to the fullest at the best of my ability. I'm gonna get my gender reassigned legally, finish writing my autobiography, change the way I look, get my damn tattoos even if I'll need to steal money to afford them, drive a car, travel to London and all the little things on that endless list of things to do before I die.
Everyone should do that, no matter if you are/think you are going to die sooner than you hope for or not. Everyone should try their best to live their lives to the fullest. I'll hit you if you don't agree with me on that point! I just hope I'll actually do it this time, but I think so, cause never before has it felt this real. The cruelty of the prophecy and the vitality of life itself awakening within me. I think it's a good balance, as good as it can get. That I want to live and that more than ever, at the same time as I'm terrified to die before I'm done living, if you know what I mean. Life and death is cruel and unfair, but I can't let that ruin me. I can hope and dream, carefully so, but I can't change what's beyond me.
I just hope that I'll be able to continue like this, with this urge in me to change things to the better, with a will to live instead of just a will to escape anything related to living in the real world. Just wish that I won't fall back into the darkness.
Monday, 24 March 2014
Maybe
I want to be with him, but will I ever? Will I ever? It's the question that only one answer will suffice for. One, not the other. I don't even want to imagine the devastation it would bring me if the answer is "no". And still it hangs in the air, the only answer I have that isn't actually an answer. That "maybe" is the only thing I cling to.
A simple maybe to answer all of my questions regarding him. The void it leaves me, like a shallow breath that neither warms or feels cold. Like a space between time and room, perfectly still.
What is it to hold on to? The resemblance of an answer, something not completely whole, so fragile yet unbreakable. Like a soap bubble it is, perfect in it's own atmosphere, but so easily breaks. But it cannot break by its own, because only the real answer can.
A maybe is like a middle ground, it is safe between yes and no, because it leaves all the doors open. But with a maybe you get nowhere. Stranded in that safety, it won't get you anywhere. And I'm lost in it, I lose myself in it on purpose because I'm afraid of choice. Most of all I'm afraid of the choice another person has to make. What I cannot control, and I sit patiently and wait. Waiting for what may never happen just because I'm too afraid to act.
A simple maybe to answer all of my questions regarding him. The void it leaves me, like a shallow breath that neither warms or feels cold. Like a space between time and room, perfectly still.
What is it to hold on to? The resemblance of an answer, something not completely whole, so fragile yet unbreakable. Like a soap bubble it is, perfect in it's own atmosphere, but so easily breaks. But it cannot break by its own, because only the real answer can.
A maybe is like a middle ground, it is safe between yes and no, because it leaves all the doors open. But with a maybe you get nowhere. Stranded in that safety, it won't get you anywhere. And I'm lost in it, I lose myself in it on purpose because I'm afraid of choice. Most of all I'm afraid of the choice another person has to make. What I cannot control, and I sit patiently and wait. Waiting for what may never happen just because I'm too afraid to act.
Tuesday, 25 February 2014
Dysphoria
I'm making tail space when I sit on chairs, I've noticed lately. You know, leaving a gap between my lower back and the back support. So I put on my fake (obviously) tail just to prove my point, and sure as hell, that's exactly what that gap was for.
Phantom limbs doesn't have to be missing human body parts, though I doubt I will walk around in public with a fake tail made from silk-like fabric and pillow filling material like some sort of prosthesis. I know some otherkin do, but I don't know... maybe it's cute on a teenage girl, but it sure would look a little funny on me. I've thought about it, but then people would stare and have opinions, so I don't think I'll actually do it. Alone at home sometimes, sure, but that's an entirely different matter.
I've been meaning to finish making my horns as well, but I'm stuck on trying to figure out how to fasten them on my head. I can't make authentic wings though, cause they would be about the size of my whole body (each wing) and that is just too much to make and to wear.
I don't mean to say that I'm not human, cause I know that I am. It's more that I so strongly identify with demons, they feel like family on a very deep level. I was one in both of my two past lives (that's as far as I can remember), it lies embedded in my soul. Imbued with it. I don't remember being anything else than a demon. I'm so used to it, and there's so much I miss about it. Maybe it's a delusion, but if it is then I am nothing. Cause I cannot exist if I am built without a foundation. Maybe that too is a delusion, that I think I don't really exist, sometimes. A delusion build on a delusion... interesting. Impossible, likely, possible, probably? How will I ever know?
However the case, I have a dysphoria. Gender and species dysphoria and both are clawing inside me today. Ripping and tearing and screaming, like a wild animal in a cage. I get no rest at all. There's something else too, but I hush it before the words reach my lips, or in this case before my fingers reach the keyboard. I'm afraid, but I can't tell you of what. That fear is both painful and exciting. I guess you might already know what it's about though.
I should go to bed, but I haven't even taken my sleeping pills yet. I slipped them when my mother called to make sure I got my whole cocktail of drugs swallowed down around ten o'clock this evening. Saved them "until later", sort of. Maybe now is later.
Phantom limbs doesn't have to be missing human body parts, though I doubt I will walk around in public with a fake tail made from silk-like fabric and pillow filling material like some sort of prosthesis. I know some otherkin do, but I don't know... maybe it's cute on a teenage girl, but it sure would look a little funny on me. I've thought about it, but then people would stare and have opinions, so I don't think I'll actually do it. Alone at home sometimes, sure, but that's an entirely different matter.
I've been meaning to finish making my horns as well, but I'm stuck on trying to figure out how to fasten them on my head. I can't make authentic wings though, cause they would be about the size of my whole body (each wing) and that is just too much to make and to wear.
I don't mean to say that I'm not human, cause I know that I am. It's more that I so strongly identify with demons, they feel like family on a very deep level. I was one in both of my two past lives (that's as far as I can remember), it lies embedded in my soul. Imbued with it. I don't remember being anything else than a demon. I'm so used to it, and there's so much I miss about it. Maybe it's a delusion, but if it is then I am nothing. Cause I cannot exist if I am built without a foundation. Maybe that too is a delusion, that I think I don't really exist, sometimes. A delusion build on a delusion... interesting. Impossible, likely, possible, probably? How will I ever know?
However the case, I have a dysphoria. Gender and species dysphoria and both are clawing inside me today. Ripping and tearing and screaming, like a wild animal in a cage. I get no rest at all. There's something else too, but I hush it before the words reach my lips, or in this case before my fingers reach the keyboard. I'm afraid, but I can't tell you of what. That fear is both painful and exciting. I guess you might already know what it's about though.
I should go to bed, but I haven't even taken my sleeping pills yet. I slipped them when my mother called to make sure I got my whole cocktail of drugs swallowed down around ten o'clock this evening. Saved them "until later", sort of. Maybe now is later.
Saturday, 21 December 2013
Getting the message through
I feel a bit better now. The dizziness has decreased and so has the cold sweating, but I'm shaking instead and feel very weak. If I could take it more easy than usually, I would. Meaning there isn't much more calmer things to do than doing nothing, which is kinda what I always do.
I've realised that I can't really show emotions, and that has lead me to trouble all through my life. Sure I'm good at explaining what I feel, I'm good with words. But I can't show it. Well, anger is the only exception. I believe that is why things haven't exactly been successful in my processes of seeking psychiatric professional help over the years. Especially in emergency psych-wards. They don't take me seriously, they never have. I get this huge vibe that their attitude is something like "it can't be that bad, you don't look upset".
And that's usually when I resort to serious self harm or suicide attempts out of sheer desperation and hopelessness, thinking no one and nothing can help me. Cause no matter how hard I try, I can't get the message through. It shouldn't have to be that way, I shouldn't have to risk my life in order to get help to survive. My terrible communication skills has lead me give up on ever getting the help I needed, which in my past has lead me to take matters in my own hands. Literally.
Language is so insufficient, when spoken only with words. It's hard to believe someone who looks neutral but talks about how overwhelmed by emotions they are. I wouldn't go as far as to say they think I'm lying, but more as if they think I'm exaggerating. Could it have something to do with my asperger syndrome? It doesn't seem unlikely to me.
This might sound stupid, but I've seriously considered "faking" a reaction to the emotions I feel. Like when I am very sad I'll force myself to cry or snivel. Or if I'm very scared I'll force myself to hyperventilate and just apply whatever appropriate body language to the emotion I'm experiencing. A fake smile when I'm happy might not be such a good idea though. Damn, this makes me feel like a robot or something...
Another stupid idea that sometimes gets to me is that I should stop communicating with words at all. Willingly become mute, that is. I thought of that just after I unwillingly became mute that one day in late June. My thought behind that is: that way I would be forced to communicate with my body language much more, and that would in time make me better at doing so. It's a stupid idea because it would probably do more harm than good.
Wouldn't be able to talk on the phone, have a meaningful conversation with someone face to face, speak up when someone says something mean to me, wouldn't be able to explain myself really. Now that would be quite a strife, if you think about it. I would most likely either crawl in under a rock somewhere and stay there, fall into depression - or become violent. Cause what would you do if someone is mean to you and you can't defend yourself with words? I think I'll skip that idea, but it is tempting somehow...
I've realised that I can't really show emotions, and that has lead me to trouble all through my life. Sure I'm good at explaining what I feel, I'm good with words. But I can't show it. Well, anger is the only exception. I believe that is why things haven't exactly been successful in my processes of seeking psychiatric professional help over the years. Especially in emergency psych-wards. They don't take me seriously, they never have. I get this huge vibe that their attitude is something like "it can't be that bad, you don't look upset".
And that's usually when I resort to serious self harm or suicide attempts out of sheer desperation and hopelessness, thinking no one and nothing can help me. Cause no matter how hard I try, I can't get the message through. It shouldn't have to be that way, I shouldn't have to risk my life in order to get help to survive. My terrible communication skills has lead me give up on ever getting the help I needed, which in my past has lead me to take matters in my own hands. Literally.
Language is so insufficient, when spoken only with words. It's hard to believe someone who looks neutral but talks about how overwhelmed by emotions they are. I wouldn't go as far as to say they think I'm lying, but more as if they think I'm exaggerating. Could it have something to do with my asperger syndrome? It doesn't seem unlikely to me.
This might sound stupid, but I've seriously considered "faking" a reaction to the emotions I feel. Like when I am very sad I'll force myself to cry or snivel. Or if I'm very scared I'll force myself to hyperventilate and just apply whatever appropriate body language to the emotion I'm experiencing. A fake smile when I'm happy might not be such a good idea though. Damn, this makes me feel like a robot or something...
Another stupid idea that sometimes gets to me is that I should stop communicating with words at all. Willingly become mute, that is. I thought of that just after I unwillingly became mute that one day in late June. My thought behind that is: that way I would be forced to communicate with my body language much more, and that would in time make me better at doing so. It's a stupid idea because it would probably do more harm than good.
Wouldn't be able to talk on the phone, have a meaningful conversation with someone face to face, speak up when someone says something mean to me, wouldn't be able to explain myself really. Now that would be quite a strife, if you think about it. I would most likely either crawl in under a rock somewhere and stay there, fall into depression - or become violent. Cause what would you do if someone is mean to you and you can't defend yourself with words? I think I'll skip that idea, but it is tempting somehow...
Friday, 20 December 2013
What I can't control
I've recently figured out that I'm a bit of a control freak. But at the same time I have no control to begin with. I think they are related though, rather than opposing. That because I feel I have no control over anything, I have this insane need to find that control. Cause it scares me, just how out of control my whole life is. That I can't even control what to eat, when to sleep, my self harm addictions, my (in)ability to function in society. I'm trying to reverse it, to gain the control I've never had.
I just asked myself: what do I most fear? and the answer I came up with was: being this miserable for the rest of my days. But in that case I don't have anything to fear, right? Fearing something that already is to continue, isn't that rather about enduring and not being willing to accept things as they are? I really have nothing to lose in that sense, cause I don't fear losing something. I fear not gaining something.
When I woke up this morning it was from a dream. In the dream my teeth were falling out one at a time because I had not taken care of them for a long time. It was so realistic. Abruptly I awakened and instantly yelled out: "That's it, I'm gonna start brushing my teeth more often!" My dreams are like that now. Super intense and so realistic that they wake me up instantly and as a result I'm either horrified, inspired, disgusted, heavily confused, angry or sad to tears. Usually I'm additionally yelling something out, anything from a simple shriek to a whole conversation with myself. It's a bit disturbing to say the least.
The bridge between my dreams and the awaken world is shattering, blurred. Somehow I'm worried that one day I won't be able to wake up from those nightmares, that they will continue after I wake up, forever. I don't even know if that's possible, but in my world, absolutely anything is possible. I believe in everything, you know? Including literally getting stuck in an eternal nightmare.
*
I just asked myself: what do I most fear? and the answer I came up with was: being this miserable for the rest of my days. But in that case I don't have anything to fear, right? Fearing something that already is to continue, isn't that rather about enduring and not being willing to accept things as they are? I really have nothing to lose in that sense, cause I don't fear losing something. I fear not gaining something.
*
When I woke up this morning it was from a dream. In the dream my teeth were falling out one at a time because I had not taken care of them for a long time. It was so realistic. Abruptly I awakened and instantly yelled out: "That's it, I'm gonna start brushing my teeth more often!" My dreams are like that now. Super intense and so realistic that they wake me up instantly and as a result I'm either horrified, inspired, disgusted, heavily confused, angry or sad to tears. Usually I'm additionally yelling something out, anything from a simple shriek to a whole conversation with myself. It's a bit disturbing to say the least.
The bridge between my dreams and the awaken world is shattering, blurred. Somehow I'm worried that one day I won't be able to wake up from those nightmares, that they will continue after I wake up, forever. I don't even know if that's possible, but in my world, absolutely anything is possible. I believe in everything, you know? Including literally getting stuck in an eternal nightmare.
Wednesday, 27 November 2013
Keep my head on
This will be one of those cryptic entries, I think. Cause I don't know if you'll be able to figure out what I'm writing about, or if it remains a what the fuck sort of thing. You tell me, I'm just the writer.
I just got this messed up thought in my head. How would my crush look like dead? No matter what would be the cause of death, I wonder what he would look like. Why do I wanna imagine him being dead? That's absurd! Oh, wait... just remembered that isn't such a weird thought for me. Never mind. I think I'll keep that reason to myself, or at least I won't spell it out, in case you've figured it out I mean. Cause some taboos are meant to be taboo.
Though they're just thoughts and fantasies really, I would never actually want him dead of course. That would be terrible, beyond terrible, the world would stop spinning, or it fucking should. This is me writing about something I don't think I'm actually prepared to or think that I should write about. One of those things I'd rather lock up in a little black box and throw away the key. And then throw away the box. But of course I can't throw away my feelings, no matter how much I want to.
Even I don't parade everything I have, and this is one of the things I really don't want to admit to having. I might "joke" about it at a party, or discreetly discuss it on an internet forum from the darkest, most secret society pit of the world wide web where I'm super anonymous.
Though I think it's rather rare. Well, I've seen a few on Flashback, but I can't be sure how serious they were and I didn't interact. People don't understand it, heck even I can't bloody figure out why I'm wired that way. Though I would never go through with actually doing it in reality, or at least that's very unlikely due to it being illegal and stuff. What is it with me so damn morally corrupt?! Anyways, it's something that's been joked about a lot, but you rarely see someone admitting to actually having that fetish. You just don't. If you wanna keep your head on, that is.
I just got this messed up thought in my head. How would my crush look like dead? No matter what would be the cause of death, I wonder what he would look like. Why do I wanna imagine him being dead? That's absurd! Oh, wait... just remembered that isn't such a weird thought for me. Never mind. I think I'll keep that reason to myself, or at least I won't spell it out, in case you've figured it out I mean. Cause some taboos are meant to be taboo.
Though they're just thoughts and fantasies really, I would never actually want him dead of course. That would be terrible, beyond terrible, the world would stop spinning, or it fucking should. This is me writing about something I don't think I'm actually prepared to or think that I should write about. One of those things I'd rather lock up in a little black box and throw away the key. And then throw away the box. But of course I can't throw away my feelings, no matter how much I want to.
Even I don't parade everything I have, and this is one of the things I really don't want to admit to having. I might "joke" about it at a party, or discreetly discuss it on an internet forum from the darkest, most secret society pit of the world wide web where I'm super anonymous.
Though I think it's rather rare. Well, I've seen a few on Flashback, but I can't be sure how serious they were and I didn't interact. People don't understand it, heck even I can't bloody figure out why I'm wired that way. Though I would never go through with actually doing it in reality, or at least that's very unlikely due to it being illegal and stuff. What is it with me so damn morally corrupt?! Anyways, it's something that's been joked about a lot, but you rarely see someone admitting to actually having that fetish. You just don't. If you wanna keep your head on, that is.
Saturday, 16 November 2013
The danger of love
It's been a busy night inside this tormented skull of mine. My lovesickness is taking turns for the worse, as I stated an hour or two ago in my paper diary: he, my love is starting to become my reason to live. He's reaching into my soul, slowly creating a place to permanently stay at within me. This... when it has finally gone that far, that's when lovesickness is becoming dangerous. But I believe that I'm "safer" this time because I have known already from the start that he's unavailable, that I really have no chance as of now or ever before now.
That's what broke my heart last time, but this is no guarantee at all, you should know. I could lose my hope of ever getting together with him in the future, or he could get engaged, or move far much further away like to another country. When I am at that point, the point when I only live for him and would die for him and my whole world completely revolves around him - basically anything, even the smallest little thing, could push me over the edge. The thin line between lovesickness and heartbreak.
Although heartbreak is perhaps not so obviously much worse, the pain and hopelessness is increased massively. Along with the feeling that I have lost my only reason to live. And that can happen in less than a split second. With that said, I hope you understand the real danger here.
Now I cannot tell for sure just how close I am to reaching that state, or even if I ever will. All I know is that my obsession has begun to turn into something like worship in it's true sense. My feeling are kinda creepy, but I can't deny them.
That's what broke my heart last time, but this is no guarantee at all, you should know. I could lose my hope of ever getting together with him in the future, or he could get engaged, or move far much further away like to another country. When I am at that point, the point when I only live for him and would die for him and my whole world completely revolves around him - basically anything, even the smallest little thing, could push me over the edge. The thin line between lovesickness and heartbreak.
Although heartbreak is perhaps not so obviously much worse, the pain and hopelessness is increased massively. Along with the feeling that I have lost my only reason to live. And that can happen in less than a split second. With that said, I hope you understand the real danger here.
Now I cannot tell for sure just how close I am to reaching that state, or even if I ever will. All I know is that my obsession has begun to turn into something like worship in it's true sense. My feeling are kinda creepy, but I can't deny them.
Friday, 1 November 2013
Hating this addiction
I hate it that I cut so much nowadays. Hate it, hate it, hate it. Hate that I'm so dependent on it, that I can't hack it without it, no matter how much medicine I take (no, not over dosing). Fall in blood pressure, the fuck?! I haven't bled that much... or have I? I'm not counting it in millilitres, but it could have been a drip or two too much today. Damn it.
Also I'm a little anaemic all the time. Barely noticeable for a doctor, but I'm this hyper sensitive sort of person, so I notice it quite much. Besides, it's bright red leaning to pink in colour. So what I'm saying is that me bleeding just a little more than any other person would think is "not a big deal" could technically make me a little dizzy and cause fall in blood pressure. But I'll survive though, don't worry, I always do, don't I?
I'm fighting this war against myself, so much I'm really starting to wonder who the hell is gonna win. My body usually does, one way or another. There's only so long you can resist your body's needs until the body gets what it needs no matter the fuck what. Sleep deprivation? Crash on the floor 75 hours later. Starvation? Pass out wherever you happen to be after around 3 days. Blood loss? Faint. Over all the crashing part seem to be the first logical choice when I've been abusing my body to the absolute breaking point. Just "sobering up" no matter what shit I've been doing, seems to do the trick.
This anxiety is eating me alive, tearing my insides apart and I can't get rid of it. Like a virus infecting my every cell and fibre. For almost 24 hours I've been awake and roughly 20 of them have been riddled with anxiety. It glows in neon on my face. No it doesn't, none of my feeling ever show. Or at least very seldom unless I really want them to be seen.
I feel like I'm trapped in a maze and after looking for a way out for hours and hours I'm starting to try climbing up the walls. I don't know what to do with myself. It hasn't been this bad for a long time now. Or well, a few weeks tops, but still. I'm gonna stop saying "this fucking summer" and start saying "this fucking year" instead...
Also I'm a little anaemic all the time. Barely noticeable for a doctor, but I'm this hyper sensitive sort of person, so I notice it quite much. Besides, it's bright red leaning to pink in colour. So what I'm saying is that me bleeding just a little more than any other person would think is "not a big deal" could technically make me a little dizzy and cause fall in blood pressure. But I'll survive though, don't worry, I always do, don't I?
I'm fighting this war against myself, so much I'm really starting to wonder who the hell is gonna win. My body usually does, one way or another. There's only so long you can resist your body's needs until the body gets what it needs no matter the fuck what. Sleep deprivation? Crash on the floor 75 hours later. Starvation? Pass out wherever you happen to be after around 3 days. Blood loss? Faint. Over all the crashing part seem to be the first logical choice when I've been abusing my body to the absolute breaking point. Just "sobering up" no matter what shit I've been doing, seems to do the trick.
This anxiety is eating me alive, tearing my insides apart and I can't get rid of it. Like a virus infecting my every cell and fibre. For almost 24 hours I've been awake and roughly 20 of them have been riddled with anxiety. It glows in neon on my face. No it doesn't, none of my feeling ever show. Or at least very seldom unless I really want them to be seen.
I feel like I'm trapped in a maze and after looking for a way out for hours and hours I'm starting to try climbing up the walls. I don't know what to do with myself. It hasn't been this bad for a long time now. Or well, a few weeks tops, but still. I'm gonna stop saying "this fucking summer" and start saying "this fucking year" instead...
Wednesday, 30 October 2013
Sleepless tonight
I think maybe my arm warmers will grow stuck my arms in due time. I didn't even notice I have them on today, until now. And being without them, even for just a minute feels weird and sort of naked. Dreading the day I will have to wash them. Three whole hours that I won't be able to wear them! Catastrophe!
I've started another embroidery piece, as I got the tip on making band patches. Found that FGFC820 has a pretty simple logo, so I start off with that one. Besides, they have become one of my favourite bands now. Though I listen to so many different band's music nowadays, it's hard to figure out which ones to make patches of. Maybe it will just come to me.
It's five o'clock again and I'm still awake. Just waiting for the Imovane to kick in, and listening to Sigur Rós that has a calming effect on me. Sad songs, but calming in a way. I just had a re-run on "Vanilla Sky", one of my favourite films all time. I recognise myself so much in the main character, except for him being rich and pretty, and I'm not. So many good quotes in it that sticks to my mind. Like when Julie asks David "What is happiness to you?" and I sometimes try to answer that question myself, but I still can't find an answer.
I'm one of those hopelessly tragic people who could wait a whole lifetime for that one true love, to have a perfect body, to live a happy life. Those are nice dreams for sure, but they're unrealistic. To make this one special person fall in love with me, to change body into looking a lot more masculine, to live on a constant hight rush of creative energy and inspiration.
It's seven o'clock and I'm still awake. Think I broke my record of too much cutting in only one day, today. It's like I can't stop once I've started, and I never really know what gets me started either. But just checking the healing process of my earlier made wounds can be a trigger, I guess. That, and this horrible night time anxiety which is related to my hypnophobia. It's still there, and still making my life shit.
I've started another embroidery piece, as I got the tip on making band patches. Found that FGFC820 has a pretty simple logo, so I start off with that one. Besides, they have become one of my favourite bands now. Though I listen to so many different band's music nowadays, it's hard to figure out which ones to make patches of. Maybe it will just come to me.
It's five o'clock again and I'm still awake. Just waiting for the Imovane to kick in, and listening to Sigur Rós that has a calming effect on me. Sad songs, but calming in a way. I just had a re-run on "Vanilla Sky", one of my favourite films all time. I recognise myself so much in the main character, except for him being rich and pretty, and I'm not. So many good quotes in it that sticks to my mind. Like when Julie asks David "What is happiness to you?" and I sometimes try to answer that question myself, but I still can't find an answer.
I'm one of those hopelessly tragic people who could wait a whole lifetime for that one true love, to have a perfect body, to live a happy life. Those are nice dreams for sure, but they're unrealistic. To make this one special person fall in love with me, to change body into looking a lot more masculine, to live on a constant hight rush of creative energy and inspiration.
It's seven o'clock and I'm still awake. Think I broke my record of too much cutting in only one day, today. It's like I can't stop once I've started, and I never really know what gets me started either. But just checking the healing process of my earlier made wounds can be a trigger, I guess. That, and this horrible night time anxiety which is related to my hypnophobia. It's still there, and still making my life shit.
Saturday, 12 October 2013
It's the fear
I have so much anxiety these days, it's indescribable. I
remember when I spoke to my psychiatrist back in September, and
truthfully told her I had little to no anxiety. Now I’m riddled
with it. Not just that I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today,
but all of the last two or three weeks. What doesn't worry me is a
reminder to what does, and it seems there's a filter of worry
covering everything around me. Feeling sick about my breaking
heart, fear of sleep, worry of not getting better, distress over my
self harm. This endless chase for mental relief, a burden which I
cannot truly identify. Like identifying broken street lights in the
darkest night.
They say that everything has a brighter side, but if that is true,
what's the brightness about lovesickness and fear of sleep? I
know they are in some way connected for me, because of the dreams
that I’m having. Dreams of messing up, of losing him, of losing
myself for him. I really should have brought that up with my shrink
yesterday, but I guess that either it slipped my mind or I hadn't
figured it out yet. Now our next meeting isn't until November the
1st, after I get back from Uppsala. Will try not to do
anything stupid until I go then. Cause I believe I will do just
fine once I’m there, but what do I know?
It's not
just that I can't let go of the thoughts that bother me, it's that I
also think it's impossible to let go of them.
Just got back home after a trip to the grocery store. They didn't
have Lucky Strike as usual (motherfuckers...) so I bought Pall Mall,
Level and filtered John Silver. Two microwave meals and some milk.
Just in and out of there as fast as possible, with music in my head
phones. It's Saturday night and the streets are empty. In Hemse there
are no parties going on, no drinking at the corner pub, everyone
stays home watching tv or reading a book. There's mostly retired
people living here. It's the centre of calm and a sanctuary for the
lonely.
I guess it fits me perfectly then. I’m also retired and lonely,
just that there's a young side of me as well, that wants to party and
feel the buzz of a wild city at night. But not today. Today I wallow
in my sadness and the emptiness this village provokes. My anxiety
holds me down, drowning me, and in cigarette breaths I choke in my
fear.
The floor has swallowed my caffeine pills. I accidentally knocked the
bottle over and now I can't find it. Maybe I'm fucking blind, but I
can't see it anywhere. Believe me, I have looked everywhere. I'm
such a mess. I fuck up everything and I can't live like this.
I’m starting to think maybe this anxiety will push off the edge
again. Lead me to become suicidal again. Can I really go to Uppsala
when I’m like this? I can't even go half a day without my
anxiolytic as needed pills and razorblades across my pale, scarred
skin.
I freaked out completely. As you might understand I was a bit
unstable already to begin with, with the dreams I woke up from, and
that heart tearing longing after my love being extra strong or
whatever. So when I knocked over the bottle and desperately
tried to find it, I just collapsed. Eventually crawled up
from crying on the floor, to my chair again, and downed three Sobril,
each 10 mg. That's no overdosing by my standards, since that's the
lowest dose that works on me. Hopefully...
I’m writing a list of cutting triggers, meaning things that
triggered me to cut myself. It's not quite after a standard scheme or
something. It seems to be different every time, and sometimes
rather weird things. But mostly it's about Him. Sometimes I
can't even think of a reason as to why I do it, other than that I
“felt like it”.
Just thought of something stupid... those pills I take for my anxiety
that are supposed to melt in my mouth but they taste really
disgusting so I don't take them anymore... what if I can snort them?
Should be sort of the same thing I mean, but maybe that could hurt in
my nose instead. Well, nothing feels like cotton to snort, but
anyways.
My mind is moving in strange directions lately, my thoughts are more
scattered and incoherent than usually. Now where was I? I’ve lost
my train of thought, for like the twelfth time while writing this...
as I said, scattered thoughts. They are cut up, disorganised
and get lost somewhere in my dulled mind. Six tiny puddles of blood
on the floor by my chair, I’m cutting deep enough for the blood to
run from my arms for minutes after. I’m getting greedy and careless
with my self mutilation. Leaving scars that will last, and I
scar so easily.
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