Falling apart

I bought booze, I just don't care anymore. I'm just bored without tumblr and facebook, I want nothing to do with those sites, nothing to do with the people there. Only K but I haven't heard as much as one word from him in almost a month. I still have skype open, but what does it matter? My own presence disturb me.

I can't focus on my book, or anything else but the music I hear and the vodka drink I'm having. Cause fuck everything, that's why. My contact person is not gonna be happy over that I drink again but whatever. If I even tell her about it. I don't like her, she's annoying and she doesn't know me very well.

It's not that I'm holding back, as much, but more that she's just interested in what damage I do to myself and basically nothing else. I'm so tired of the psychiatry, I want to break free. To not have people constantly worried about me and trying to change my behaviour. My life sucks and I just don't care anymore.

Don't even care about getting thin anymore. All I want to do is suppress my thoughts and drown my feelings. Or the other way around. If I'm still drinking in whatever month from now, I might check out the AA or something. My life is falling apart and I know that drinking won't change anything for the better. But I just gave up, and I don't think anything can make me change my mind.

I think I'm breaking apart also because K more or less abandoned me. I can't function without him. I know, I'm without him whether he talks to me or not, but this is horrible. The complete silence. No melodies from skype about new messages, no melodies from my phone either, although we rarely chat that way. Nothing on tumblr, and nothing on facebook.

It feels like I'm dying without him. Like my life force is just slowly slipping away, the flickering flame in my heart slowly dying. My spark goes out and leaves me lingering like a shadow between being alive and being dead. I'm in the twilight zone, slowly moving towards giving up entirely.

Yet I'm not there, but it's like I can just feel the end getting closer. I don't invite it, but I don't try to shut it away either. Maybe you could say that I'm just leaving the door open for whatever wants to come in. Life, death, hopelessness, love. Anything.

I need to have something on my mind in order to stay alive, and these past few days of not doing anything self destructive have not been good. I ached for it, longed even. Just needed it so very desperately and as I've been opting for either cutting or drinking the whole day, I chose the booze because it doesn't leave scars, because it's easier to hide, but I haven't decided if I should hide it or not.

It feels like I'm locked in somehow, meant to suffer what I cannot possibly suffer through. One dream, one reason, and it's slipping away. K, where are you? I miss you terribly. No, it has passed that state, I more than miss you, I ache for you. The pain in my chest grows prominent and permanent.

Worth living for

I wish the crew would stop complimenting my hair. Seriously, they've been doing that almost constantly from when I started bleaching it in January. Sure I like getting a compliment every so often, but this is getting ridiculous. What are they trying to achieve? Making me indescribably happy?

I started to scratch myself uncontrollably under the bandage early this morning, half not aware of what I was doing. Not supposed to do that, and I know that in an awaken state, but it's different when I'm half asleep.

I do all sorts of things that I wouldn't normally do then. It's strange, but also understandable. That I'm less inhibited in a way. But it's annoying when I do things that might interfere with the healing process.

My muscles are sore after yesterday's work out. It's annoying and the part I dislike most about exercising. Not quite enjoying it the way most people seem to do. So I'm gonna take it easy today, just gonna have a little walk soon enough. Need to buy vegetables, bread and cigarettes. Mostly it hurts in my shoulders and arms, so a walk couldn't possibly hurt. Not that it would either way though.

But despite the pain it still feels good to finally have gotten myself to the gym. Only took me about three years... Seriously, I think the last time I set my foot in such a place was in Gottsunda during 2011. But then I lived in my parents' house for a year after that, and there were no gyms or likewise facilities nearby. And then I just talked about it for almost two years.

I really hope I'll keep this up now and not get lazy again. As of now my motivation is on top, but of course it can change with time. So hoping it won't. I just won't allow myself to give up again, cause I so need to live now. More than just being alive, I need to actually live my life. It would be so pointless otherwise. Like just wasting air instead of using it, or taking up space instead of needing it.

Living without hopes must be the most painful thing I've ever experienced. What people say isn't possible, that you'd always have hopes left if you're still breathing, but it's not true. I'm living proof that isn't true. But now I have hopes, lots of hopes and dreams and goals in life. Still scared to fail them, still overly cautious about them and always watching my step so that I won't shatter them. But they keep me alive, cause now I depend on them.

Losing you

It's like I've lost a part of myself, when I lose myself completely and can't find my way back without guidance. Maybe not even with, cause maybe there is no way back. I look at him and I wonder. For the first time, a thought slipped into my head: why can't I stop loving you? I've never wanted that, I didn't think that I did. Perhaps the pain is finally exceeding what is wonderful about it.

And now as I see clear, or clearer at least, I think new insights are possible. That I'm not so blinded anymore. The risk of becoming "safe" with emotions is that they may fade. I don't want them to fade, it would be like losing you. Though I never had you to begin with, and with no intention of owning you, it still feels like I'm losing you somehow. When in fact, I'm only losing some of those feelings. I hope not, I want to cling to them, I need to whether I'd like to or not.

I have to because they are my life force now and they always were. That thing that I wrote earlier about them being essential for my survival. And even though I'm much stronger now, I can't take the risk. I may fear the weirdest things, but I think I have good reasons to. Past experiences, for instance.

Though I didn't die last time, it was a hell to get through and I know I did everything wrong, but I did what I could at the time being. I might as well have died, you know. Cause something inside me did. It was like a part of my soul was brutally ripped out at the same time as my heart was broken. When suicide was the only option. Five times I tried, but I don't know, it was like I gave up after that. Like I just understood that it was out of my power, that I couldn't control destiny or what happened to me. In the past or the future. The destiny that I never wanted to believe in, cause it was so cruel.

That little relapse into the suicidal drama I had last summer really had nothing to do with love. It was only fear, and I tried to escape a horrible future. I was in love already, as I clinged to his picture and hesitated to mention him in my suicide letter. Thinking I didn't want him to know if I died, that it would put a terrible burden and sorrow on his part. I'm considerate that way.

No, it's like love is my drug to survival, ironically. Cause it's also my ticket to death, but it's two sides of a coin, you know. I think a lot of things work that way, that you can always turn them up-side-down and they become their opposite. The cure becomes a poison so easily. Love is so fragile that way, I've come to realise. And dreams are too.

So what can I do, but to hope that my love for him won't become my poison? I still have so much to learn, and I want to know about the good sides of love. I crave it so intensively, but all I've ever had are impossible dreams and chanceless hopes. Hence why I almost always tag these kind of entries with both "hope" and "hopelessness" cause it's always a sting of both.

Yeah, I feel as though I will never experience that. True love. Cause no matter who I fall in love with it's always the wrong person, cause either they have the wrong sexual orientation or they're already seeing someone or they live 100 miles away. Or heck, why not all three for a change?

No, I will never fall in love again. If that means cutting myself off from humanity all together, then so be it. I've had enough of unrequited love for a lifetime or maybe even two. I don't even know for sure if this is unrequited, I leave that option open for just a little longer. Cause you never know until you know. And I don't know, not for sure. The problem is though that I don't want to know. It is not an option that I want to cross over on my pending list of eternal doom, you know what I'm saying?

Perhaps I'm not so clear in all my scribbles sometimes, I can get a little fast with the keyboard sometimes, now when I write as fast in English as in Swedish it can get kinda wild. What I meant is that if he was to tell me it's never gonna happen, I'm sure that I will fall and I won't be coming back. Ever. That last fall which of course will be both figuratively and literally meant and I will make sure I won't survive it. Jump high enough and there will be nothing left but meat loaf. But enough about my wild fantasies, which I shouldn't share that often, it's creepy.

So yeah... I'm planning my own death but at the same time I don't want to do it. It's just that I know that it has to be done. That there is no ther way. And I hope that I won't need to in a very long time, but I don't think it will be in such a long time. I've been keeping that part from my shrinks, but only because I don't want to be marked off as another hopeless case. I know I need whatever help they can give me in the form of pills and meetings. And I've been meaning to take up that dealing with past traumas kinda shit, but I just can't muster it. It's tearing me apart just thinking about it, so how the hell can I bring it up? And no, I can't tell my mother to tell them, cause I can't muster that either. One day... one day I might.

I got off track, sorry. I just can't find a way to finish this entry, cause there is no finish, there is no punch line. It just goes on and on and sometimes on hold and sometimes stronger, but it never ends. Maybe all I can say is that love will tear me apart, one day or another.

I cannot cope at night

Is it gonna be like this every night, or what? I get more sensitive with the darkness, and somehow my loneliness becomes more potent. As of now that is a bad thing. I hate that I'm so fucking sensitive. Toughen up, already! Crying like a little girl, I should be ashamed of myself... but this anxiety is eating at my soul, this sadness is tearing me inside out.

I fear that I might start getting afraid of sleep again. Afraid of dreams and nightmares, of waking up in distress several times a night, of not waking up at all. Afraid of losing control I jump out of bed as soon as I'm awakened by the crew in the morning. Won't allow myself to sleep the day away. I fight to stay up as late as possible and I fight to get up as early as possible. It's a viscous circle.

And this fucking lovesickness. Ripping, tearing, aching, hurting, screaming inside me. I'm out out of words for it, cause I've already explained it a thousand times. A thousand tears each for my inability to cope, for the dream that can't come true, for the painful reality that he'sd taken and lives so far away and why would he even glance in my direction the way I want him to?

A thousand words to describe what I cannot put into words. I'm full of paradoxes and ambivalence, but this is so crude, so through and through. Filling up every space in my heart until no one else matters. No one else and nothing else. I neglect my friends, I neglect my family for an impossible dream, for a guy I cannot have.

I so hoped this was all just temporary, I wish that I would have died from it much sooner. Cause then I wouldn't have to suffer. Isn't that what death is, that you no longer have to suffer? Eight months in this mess, it's like a tangled cobweb I can't get out from, I just keep entangling myself deeper and deeper. And nothing makes any sense anymore.

I don't know who I am, I don't know what sort of life this is I'm trying to live. I live in his shadow. Cautiously following him around every corner, trying to hide my true feelings, always afraid of coming off as either too cold or too creepy.

Aching for his presense, his spoken words in my ear, his gentle touch that I can never have. For him to notice and find out that we have more in common than he realised. My endless thoughts are spinning aimlessly, devoured by too strong emotions, too much of everything that I cannot handle.

I just don't know what the fuck to do. I'm so lost and I feel as though I'm just getting more and more lost every day. I just have to get out of here, just have to get out of here...

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...

Broken

I'm so tired. Didn't wanna get out of bed today, but did it anyway. Still haven't broken to pieces yet, still waiting for it to happen. Fighting to drag it out, pushing it away for as long as I can.

Yet again, I'm trying to run away from myself. I know that doesn't work in the long run, but even if just for a few hours, or minutes... I'm fighting this as much as I can, cause I'm dreading what will happen when I can't anymore.

I'm just so fucking sick and tired of my brain, and what it does to me. Feels like it actually wants to kill me. Just wanna isolate myself completely. Not answer any calls, not going online anymore, not inviting anyone. Barricade the door, shut off my computer, shut off my phone. Cause I think being around other people is making it worse. It's people I get mad at, that I feel guilty about, that I miss, long for, fall in love with.

Nothing will solve this, it's just gonna repeat itself again. What am I supposed to learn from all this? That love is death and will eventually kill me? That no matter how hard and real I love someone I will never experience true love? Or that once I give up, completely give up, that is when I will find true love?

It's hard to think clearly. And I keep blocking out certain thoughts, certain words and memories that harms me emotionally. Things I won't allow myself to think about. They're there, in an underlying layer of thoughts, I just keep them from coming up to the surface. To form into words, pictures and reminders, emotional wounds.

Am I damaged beyond repair, or will I somehow come out of this? I know that I will, or most likely to. But the question is bigger than that. I can't allow for this to happen again, or we'll be talking about self fulfilling prophecies again. I'm in too much pain to cry, but I've been crying inside non stop since yesterday. Sometimes my eyes get a little wet, but dry within seconds again. Maybe I'm holding that back too.

Falling for you is like falling to pieces

I feel like shit, for various private reasons. I would like to write about it, the specific reason, but I can't take the risk. So I write about how shitty I feel instead. But isn't that just the typical me? Constantly ventilating, because I don't really want anyone's opinions, just want people to know. But isn't that hypocritical in a way? I dunno. Sometimes I think it doesn't matter if I write it here or in my paper diary.

I've become more careful with what I choose to make public, maybe you've noticed. That there are more secrets now. Mostly cause I don't want anyone to find out who it is that I'm in love with. It sort of goes against my morals to tell everyone except for the person it actually concerns. And I can't tell him, cause that would spoil everything. Or it could, I can't know for sure of course.

I shouldn't give up, should keep on waiting, it's not too late yet, it's not... but it feels that way. My god, has it already been this long? Six months ago I was nervous about congratulating him on his birthday, and now... Well, time passes, but I didn't think I'd still be sitting here waiting, after all this time. Still clinging to dying hopes, patching up cracking dreams, repeating the same wishes, stepping on the same "K-wells" but it's fading away. I can feel it fading away. He's getting further out of reach, even more unavailable, and my days of hopelessness are becoming more and more frequent.

I cry almost every day. Cry and cut and cry. Write, but I have no words to write. It's just this. Meaningless scribbles that's been typed over and over and it never means anything. I've lost the spark in my words, lost the belief that they actually mean something. What the hell kind of writer am I then? If I don't even believe in my own words?

Everything seem to revolve around him now. Depending on what he writes or says or does is so strongly affecting my mood, my thoughts, my deeds, my life. It's like I can't exist without him. Yet he's not even mine. Not even breathing the same air, speaking to me, hearing me, seeing me. He's not actually here. It feels like I'm depending on a ghost, I'm on life support and his ghost is keeping me alive.

I seriously don't know what would happen the day I lose the grip of my dreams, hopes and wishes about him. I think I would disintegrate. That I will once again relive all that agony, insufferable inner pain of being heartbroken. I think it will happen soon. Sooner than I can afford. Way too soon. Within months, perhaps only weeks. It's already been six months, I realise. For six months I've been pining for him. Maybe longer, but my diaries don't contain any useful information.

I tried to deny my feelings for him for some time, and it wasn't until late July that I let myself fall for him. But I was already in love, already in June, but perhaps even earlier. Yup, found a picture of him on my computer saved there the 31st of May. So then it's seven months. For seven months I've been pining for him.

For all this time... I'm surprised I didn't reach this state sooner. Total devotion. It stings inside me, for I hate falling in love. I truly, most utterly hate being in love.

Why can't I feel love like everyone else does? Fall for someone who falls for you, not lose yourself completely over an acquaintance you hardly even know, not wanting to kill yourself because you don't stand a chance with the person you're so painfully in love with, for someone who barely even knows your name.

I don't want to feel love like this. It's not right, it's wrong in so many places I don't know where to begin. If this pushes me over the edge, and I start planning my own death again, maybe I'll tell him someday. Tell him that I love him so damn much, no words can describe it.

In my mind I have told him a million times, in different words every time. But it's not gonna be the same in reality. No matter how many ways I can think of saying it, reality always turns out differently. Someone once told me that "if you can imagine something, it is more likely to actually happen". I hope that is true, cause I've already imagined up a whole relationship with him.

Strawberry gashes and basic needs

I know my anxiolytics are working when I get so numb and distracted I forget my cigarette and can't hold up my arm. I really gotta eat. I hate eating, I don't want to. Wish there was another way. Another way to shut up my growling stomach, another way to regain my energy and make it last. Have you ever thought about how stupid eating is? You have to shove in a lot of shit into your mouth and then the body is only satisfied for a few hours before you have to do it allover again. And most of it you only shit out anyway.

Maybe I am just crazy, but I think the whole process is so... stupid. Like how did evolution think there? Appetite. I think maybe that is why I can't get around this issue. I have no appetite and haven't had that for a really long time, and therefore I start thinking about it in weird terms.

I just wish someone in my circle of friends could understand this. How I think of food and eating. How I only do it to survive, because dying from starvation is just not such a tempting thought. How I only two or three times a year can enjoy food and all the other times it's just a necessary evil. And of all this I seem to dislike vegetables the most. Hard to eat healthy then. And I'm lazy. My thought around cooking food is this: why spend time and effort on something I'm just gonna shove into my mouth to get it over with?

Ugh... I just hate this so much. It's this thing I just can't understand why people like so much. Maybe I'm just programmed wrong or something. As if anything was programmed right. I'm so tired of never working as intended, complexing my life and life itself just keep fucking me over. Cause nothing is ever simple, especially these basic needs, I just can't do it. I can't eat right, I can't sleep right. Well at least I can breathe on my own, I have that to be thankful over. But not for long if I keep on smoking like a chimney.

And I believe this one really big reason why I can't start living a better life. I don't need the crew or my mother a phone call away, I need fucking room service. Someone who literally drags me up from bed every morning, force feeds me my sleeping pills so that I will fall asleep at night and cooks me three meals a day.

I've given up. That is why I stopped trying to sleep better, stopped trying to eat better. At least I'm awake at all, at least I get some sleep at all, and at least I eat something at all. And that's the best I can do for now.

What do anxiolytics do really? They calmed me down, but I was calm already to begin with. Had enough anxiety to cut my whole arm up and think of how miserable I am with this lovesickness situation and that I keep fucking up my life with sleep and food. But I was calm. I took the pills, felt the effect and then I wrote this. After the effect kicked in. Not long either, just a minute or so. I just don't know what to do. Distraction! Distraction, of course! Let's watch a movie or something.

Memories and irony

I hate it that when I sleep for a whole day and two nights and I have like 500 unseen posts on tumblr... Somehow I feel smarter and more connected when I've been awake for 24 hours or more. My brain is a bit slow started. So this is what it's become of my circadian rhythm. I'm not sure if I like it, more apathetic about it. Like I don't care that I'm pulling three or four all nighters, and sleep two or three days in a week, every week. I can't even remember for how long this has gone on.

I'm thinking about my eleventh suicide attempt again. I do that quite a lot lately, just that one. When I could have died. Thinking about that if I hadn't gone to the hospital I would have died that night. Thinking what I should have done instead so that I wouldn't have to be here today. Should not have gone back home, should have taken shelter at McDonalds or something, just until I started to doze off, then walked away to die somewhere secluded where there were no people. In the middle of Uppsala, yeah I probably wouldn't have gotten that far. But still.

So in that sense I guess I kinda want to die. In the sense that I wish that I had died then and there. Still going over it in my memory, replaying every detail. How cold it was, how I sat there on the pier writing suicide notes to my mother, my boyfriend at the time, to my best friend and to the authorities; while eating a sandwich and downing pills with cheap wine, how I lied down and wrapped my leather coat closer to me.

And when that weird domestic worker from where I lived came by and started talking to me. He had a crush on me and wouldn't leave me alone. I lied there dying from suicide and he sat there unknowing, talking to me as if it was just another lovely day. I didn't have the guts to tell him to fuck off. He had just a few days earlier tried to kiss me, and I thought he must be very lonely, that not many people wanted to talk to him. He a was kind man of African heritage in his 50's or so, though I could only understand a few words of what he said with a broad accent. Can't even remember if we talked in Swedish or English. Can't remember what we said at all. You could say I had other things on my mind at the time. Though he was quite peculiar and I couldn't understand what he saw in a young androgynous goth with obvious mental problems.

When I think about that day, I think of a few parts of that memory more at one point, and other parts at another point. It's seldom I think about the whole day and following night. I don't remember at what time I went down to that pier, but I think it was around 6 or 7 pm. And I don't remember when I ended up in the hospital, but they were done at 3 am. So yeah, it was more a night than a day. Mostly I try to remember what I blacked out. The ride in the ambulance, what they said in the hospital, things like that. If I try hard, I can remember when they arrived at the apartment I lived in, and when they helped me down the stairs. But I must have passed out somewhere around there, cause the next thing I remember I'm on a gurney in the intensive care unit, and my memories from there on are very vague.

Why do I keep going on about this particular memory? It holds a certain significance, like the first time I was actually close to dying, so close that some days I even think that I actually did die that day. And I'm just a ghost now. Cause it feels like I am just a ghost and I've been so ever since then. And I can't let go.

So maybe that's why my twelfth suicide attempt doesn't bother me that much, cause of course I couldn't die, I'm already dead. Silly, really, cause I know that I'm still alive. Don't I...? No, I still doubt. There was a risk, but not so high, that I could have died that time too. When you stop breathing by your own hand, like I did, you pass out and let go of the grip, your body automatically starts breathing again. But it's not a 100% chance of it doing so. So that's what I mean, I could have died, but it wasn't likely, and I knew that. I knew that when I took that choice of trying it anyway. So I was more desperate to do it as soon as possible, and thought I'd give it a shot, even though I knew it wasn't likely going to work.

And maybe that is also why I don't think so much about that attempt. It was deadly, but my intentions were a bit wacky and so was my choice. It wasn't even thought through, but alas, my choices were a bit limited because I was in a mental institution.

My opinions about that ward sank a bit after that night. I mean come on, a patient of theirs tries to kill themselves and what do they do? They didn't even notice. I had a huge fucking wound across my neck and spoke with a sore voice that barely held and they didn't say anything. I eventually told them and what did they do? Nothing. So it wasn't so strange that I tried it again the next night. And again the night after that. And again. Four times all and all, until I just gave up on that. I'm just glad I didn't have a room mate!

So I never think about that, huh? I obviously do. But I don't even know half the stuff I'm thinking about, so I guess it just slipped my mind or something. It's so weird though, the psych wards just seem to get worse and worse. "Back in the day" when I was admitted as a minor in 2005 it was really good. They took good care of me and they noticed whenever I was upset, had cut myself or cried. In 2011 I was admitted thrice and they were from bad to worse, but at least they noticed if something was terribly wrong with me. This time... I had to become mute for them to even notice, but nothing bothered them. Not my muteness, not my self harm or my four suicide attempts.

I'm not trying to seek attention. Well, I do, but in the sense that I seek medical attention. That wasn't fake, anything that I did or that happened to me there. It was all real. And after all that had happened I wanted their attention so they could help me. But they couldn't. I hate that damn place, and I see no reason going back there. Everything is out of their jurisdiction and all they can do is talk and change my meds. I already have a psychiatrist, a shrink and a supportive mother, so what can they offer me that I don't already have? I was in for being suicidal, and I was very suicidal, and they couldn't even be on suicide watch. Couldn't help but wonder how many patients there had killed themselves. In that ward, in that room where I slept. It's not like in the movies, you should know.

I'm slightly obsessed with suicide I realise, especially my own futile attempts. This day disappeared too, it's dark for so long and so much these days. I went up at 8:00 after I had slept for 30 or so hours again. I don't remember when I went to bed, nor do I care. Around midnight to the 10th I think. I didn't really want to get up, but I couldn't sleep any longer and I thought that if I was gonna get up, I wanted it to be daylight. So I did get all daylight that I could today, yet it wasn't enough. I'm tired of all the darkness. Do you realise just how much darkness it is when you're awake around the clock and you only get 5 or 6 hours of light a day? Most of my time I write, listen to music, surf on the web, eat, drink coffee, embroider and so on in darkness. I barely turn off the lights before I have to turn them back on again.

Just made myself this insanely strong cup of coffee. I've had like two gulps and I feel dizzy. I bought these kind of powder cappuccinos you mix with hot water. Alright I took one of those in a smaller cup, and mixed in two spoons of regular instant coffee, more sugar and more cream. Like four cups in one! Now that oughta keep me up tonight.

I realise that I really like German as of lately, or for a few months or so now, and especially in music. Many nice industrial bands seem to have a few songs in German, so I whipped up a playlist for that on Spotify. I really do make playlists for everything, don't I? Well, every mood deserves its own music. And I still have many moods.

Maybe it's not so strange that I suddenly like German, cause that's the kind of language I like, in general I mean. Now "that kind of language" is a pretty loose concept when it comes to me. What I mean is hard consonants, powerful and a little complicated in a way. Like Russian, German or Czech. Not those generally considered "beautiful" languages like French or Spanish, that I can't say I like much at all, and I certainly don't find them to be beautiful. Just another thing people consider me to be weird because of. To me it isn't weird, merely uncommon perhaps.

Now I've written nearly half a novel for a blog entry, but I can't seem to write anything productive lately. My inspiration is on hold, but I know it will come back to me. It always does. Still I can't help but wonder why that is, why I've suddenly lost my inspiration. I wrote and created things before, when I was a wreck this summer, so it can't be that, or can it?

I'm more stable now, my mood is stabilised due to medication and oh, how damn much medication I take for my mood swings... 300 mg Lamotrigin and 200 mg Tergretol a day. So how stable am I really? Taking half a drug store every day just to keep me from going from super depressive to manic to agressive to scared shitless anxious fifty times a day. I'm still feeling a lot, not at all zombified and lethargic. I mean, I could even up the dosage further without reaching that state. Not that I need to though. Even I need to feel something every once in a while. And wow do I feel! But just that now my emotions are controllable, except from my undying love for my crush and my fear of sleep that is. How can I even feel so damn much anxiety every night with all that medication in my blood stream?!

However, even though I'm stabilised mood wise, I do doubt that I'm completely in my right mind now. I'm staying up for days in a row, then sleep for an entire day and so it goes on. I get super anxious every night because of a phobia of sleep. I cut every day (except when I sleep for a whole day that is) and deeper and more severe than ever so I'm constantly on a slight blood loss, smoke like a chimney and don't even care about quitting any more, live on microwave meals and don't care about eating healthy, I've stopped taking daily walks and I'm a caffeine addict.

So yeah... I'm medicated enough to appear more stable and together and all, while I'm actually breaking apart piece by piece. It's like my subconscious or something still knows I'm a wreck and will do any wacky thing I can come up with to simply stay alive. This is so ironic I don't even know where to begin. In order to stay alive I do every possibly damaging thing I can think of, or at least if you would sum up this whole last six months or so, that would really be the case. I've tried every possible dangerous, and even deadly thing I can think of really, and then I complain of why it's so hard to survive? I mean what the fuck is wrong with me?! The definition of crazy: can't think straight, like ever.

Wow, now I've really written half a novel...