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.

One hell or another

If it wasn't suicide, I would kill you right now. I'm that fucking sick of you. I know I shouldn't think the worst, but we haven't been fighting like this for a long time. I think it's war again and I don't know why. We've been through every imaginable tragedy, we swore a truce. To never start bickering without good reason, to never start a new war. What the fuck happened to that truce, my frenemy?

Yeah, me and Anna again. I hate her so fucking much right now. Cause these last few days or so I've been cursing and screaming at the top of my lungs at her quite a lot and right now I just grabbed the razor blade and dragged it across my skin because I couldn't make her shut the fuck up.

She's annoying me with questions and insults she knows hurt me when I'm the most vulnerable. No one gets underneath my skin, except her, because I literally have no other choice. She's like a fucking virus in my mind and there's no escape. Ever. There never has been.

For 16 years I've put up with her crap and if this goes to hell again, I'm telling the shrinks. I'm legally male now, it shouldn't be an obstacle anymore, whether they think I'm trans enough or not because of her. If only she was male... maybe I should lie and say she's male and say another name? No, I wouldn't be able to stick to that kind of lie, "Anna" is a name permanently imprinted on me. And I want to unprint her. Get some peace and quiet for once.

Cause if this is war again... I certainly can't handle yet another war between us two. I need to do something constructive about this situation, but I don't know what. For 9 years I've kept quiet about her before the psychiatry, for 6 of those years because of my transsexualism, do I even dare telling about her now? What if they would do everything in their power to make sure I won't continue to get treated for my absolutely genuine transsexualism? Do I really have to choose between one hell and another?

Would I regret it if I open my mouth about her to my shrink? Cause if we're really going to raise a hell of our own again, me and Anna, I don't think I could stand it. All I know is that I'm not rational or thinking clearly when I'm upset, and I'm upset a lot lately. And she's just on and on me constantly, I can't shut her up, I can't get her to leave me alone. What the fuck happened to our truce?!

No. If this gets to any degree of worse, I'm opening my damn mouth about her. I've had enough. For 16 fucking years of being controlled by a voice in my head, I've had enough. Yeah, I'm drunk and I hate my fucking life. I can't even get drunk alone. I can't do anything alone, not even going to the bloody bathroom, cause you guess what? I'm never ever alone.

I don't even remember what it was like before her. I was so young, just 9 years old. I've sobered up now, and I'm a little less angry. But the fact still remains, I still have to deal with this situation somehow. I know taking pills doesn't help against her. All those kind of pills ever did was making me fat and stupid. I'd rather be dead in that case. But maybe there could be some other kind of help to get. I don't know, I really don't know if I'd even dare talking about her. Like ever.

Last and first time was such a disaster I regretted it with everything I had in me for years. Well, we'll see what I'll decide for, but talking about her openly like that is not a decision that should be taken lightly. It could still have devastating consequences. I have to be careful, my whole life depends on my secret. I just have to reach a point where nothing else matters, where her words are more likely to kill me than forced de-transition ever would.

Hell is living without you

This joyride cannot last if I can't find a way to hold on to it. It's been two months and all I do is sit on my ass cause I'm afraid I'll break down again if I got up. And I don't know what I want to do. I'm afraid that I might not want anything at all. There's the war in my heart as well, that as long as my only wish is to be with K it's not gonna be easy to find something else to aim for, if you know what I mean.

I've been in this situation before, when all I see is that one person and they are my whole world. Blinded, so totally blinded by love for someone who is or might as well be unobtainable. If only I lived closer, then it would be easier. Even if he isn't interested, it would be easier still. Easier to meet, to talk and to know where things are going.

This is more like an internet crush, just that "crush" isn't exactly the right word for how I feel. But living so far away, it's not like I'm in love with someone I can just meet to hang out with on a Wednesday afternoon for a chat and a coffee or whatever. We can't even meet up as friends, class mates or colleagues, go partying together or just pass each other by on a street on our separate ways to somewhere.

I'm locked inside my computer. Cause no matter where he is, I know he always comes back online and there is where I am. And there I always am, staring at his pictures, waiting, hoping, dreaming, longing. I can never be further, I can never be closer.

So how much of a chance could I really have? My dream would be a long distance relationship, or that I could move in with him or he moves in with me. Probably that I would move in with him, since I don't really have any connections here on Gotland, but then he would have to take care of me cause I'm in need of LSS and that crap which I won't be likely to get in Stockholm over night. I've always wanted to live in Stockholm, by the way. The big city where everything happens. Where he is.

Yes, I've thought about that too. But my dream is killing me. I don't like dreaming, I hate dreaming, cause the dreams never come true. They are just painful, haunting me like a cruel joke. It's a curse, dreaming. I learned that from early on, that dreams can only be shattered, but I can't stop. I love him so damn much it's just not true, how can it be? I don't even know him that well. I don't understand my complicated heart, it just does whatever it wants and it always gets me into trouble. But I would do anything to be with him, anything.

I would leave this wonderful apartment that I can almost call my home in a heartbeat, I would stop being a Satanist, I would spend all the money I have, I would move to another country or I would even quit smoking for good. I'm not just throwing around those words, I know what they mean, I know what I mean. How much he means to me. He is my world.

I just remembered, that when I started to fall for him last spring, and knew I couldn't resist anymore. The thoughts of him steadily increased and after several tries of not falling in love with him I asked myself: wouldn't life be a little better if I was in love?

Fate and reason

I'm so torn apart inside it doesn't resemble anything anymore. I'm cold, sweating and shaking, but my heartbeats are calm. It must be something wrong with my heart to behave that way. It's almost like it has died. Too damaged to know how to react. Or it could just be my medication or something.

I'm in distress with horrible anxiety and overwhelming sadness - taking the edge off it with cigarettes and razors, but I'm so calm. So what good can it do, except for satisfying an endless aching need?

Fuck, I need to stop whining and do something about this, but it's like I can't. The not so sad and desperate music is taunting me. Food disgusts me. Sleep seems so far away. Movies are so shallow and dramatised. Maybe I want to wallow in this haze. The thick, heavy haze like thunder in my lungs.

I'm getting poetic again. Maybe I can make something out of that. Cause that's all it takes. One sentence, and I could write a whole story on that. What is creativity if not that? It's weird that I'm still so creative even though I'm in a terrible state full of anxiety, on antipsychotics and would rather die than live.

My mother called tonight, five or so hours ago, and I told her about the doctor's appointment mishap. I didn't tell her about my suicidal thoughts though, I just couldn't. Though she must know, you must all know, that that is the way it's some day going to end. I'm constantly chased by that outcome, constantly feeling it breathing down my neck, whispering in an ice cold, hollow voice: you have no choice, you know what to do, your fate is sealed.

Don't let it kill me

Why is it that as soon as I get the least bit of attention from my love my heart starts hurting like hell? At the same time as I just can't stop smiling. Woah, my head is spinning... Isn't this what I wanted? So why do I feel so wrong?

Because it can't be true. I must be imagining things. I want to believe it, I want to believe it with all that is left of my broken heart. An echo inside me tells me that our friendship is getting deeper, that maybe... No. My dreams are impossible. Why would he ever leave her for me?

There's no way in this hell that could happen, right? They seem so disgustingly happy together, and I've never seen or heard of any signs that said they would ever be close to breaking up. It's hopeless.

For a few days my suicidal thoughts took a break. Perhaps I buried them in the excessive world of warcraft gaming. Perhaps I just denied them. I'm on the edge all the time. There's a ticking bomb inside my heart and soul, just waiting to explode. It's been there, stressing and hurting me for months now. Fucking months!

I just can't hold it, can't keep it together, cause it's eating me alive. But I can't set it free either. I don't control the fuse, don't control time and how long it will take. But I want it to explode, cause I can't deal with this. I'm constantly stressed, like I'm being chased.

I'm paranoid as fuck, as if I was literally being chased. Always looking over my shoulder, keeping doors and windows locked and closed. I'm scared of every sudden movement, scared of my own shadow.

I don't have much time, it feels like I'm running out of time. That whatever is chasing me will eventually catch up, when I'm running out of breath. I don't even wanna think of what will happen, and maybe it's best that way.

Just another addiction

Had a little nap. Just fell asleep on the sofa at eight on Wednesday evening and woke up just now, four o'clock in this early Friday morning. A 32 hours nap, breaking my previous record of the longest time I've been asleep for. Of course I woke up a few times during my visit to dream-/nightmareland, but I didn't want to get up. So I just stayed there. I chose to get up at this early hour because I'm going to see my shrink at 11:00 and I want to have some time just doing nothing before getting ready for that. It's not like I need to sleep more.

So this is it then? My sleep habit summed up in a month or two: awake for 30 to 80 hours, sleep for 20 to 30 hours. Afraid of sleeping and addicted to sleep deprivation for as long as my body and mind can take it. Cause yeah, that's what happened this time. I realised that I'm not just hypnophobic, but also addicted to causing myself sleep deprivation. How I figured that one out? I had miscalculated the hours of awaken time, from what I believed was 4 days, was actually only 3 days. I was upset that I had not at all reached something close to 100 hours, but "just" around 75 hours, barely breaking my old record.

"Was I proud over my imaginary extra 24 hors making me believe I'm close to a 100 hours of sleep deprivation? Was I fucking proud?!" I wrote in my paper diary. The anxiety that realisation gave me was a bit more than I could take. So I took 2 Zyprexa, 2 caff. pills and downed them with a solution of 2 Bamyl Koffein. Hoping that all the caffeine would keep me awake while the Zyprexa usually makes me tired. Failed. So I can't even take Zyprexa for my anxiety anymore? Well that's just great.

I gave up and stopped fighting. I felt like shit after what felt like 95 hours but was only 75. I couldn't do it, keep on fighting with all those feelings of being a fucking failure. Something I shouldn't feel like a failure over. So I took my horrible feelings and lied down on the sofa. When misery wins over misery.

Asking for it

This is kinda weird, but I find myself forgetting where I was all of last week. Uppsala, damn it! How can I forget such a thing, like over and over again?! I only remember bits and glimpses. At night I dream that I wake up in the guest room where I slept in Uppsala, and then when I wake up for real in my own bed I wonder where the fuck I am. And where I was. Even when I'm clearly awake (or am I ever?) I start thinking about last week, and I get so confused cause I've forgotten where I was that entire week.

A part of me thinks that maybe that trip to Uppsala never actually happened, and that that is why I keep forgetting it. Another part of me tells me that I was on the verge of psychosis about half the time, and even did have a psychotic episode once, and that's why it's so hard to remember. Once again I'm having a hard time trying to differ dream from reality.

It's true that I did have some sort of psychosis while waiting for and on the bus from Arlanda to Uppsala last Thursday. The main 4 voices in my head including my own had a third world war for an hour and a half or so. Basically I tried to talk to Anna, Vargyl replied, they started fighting, I told them to shut the fuck up and unintentionally called out "Oh my god!" to which Satan replied, and then all three of them started fighting and talking to each other about me in third person. I tried to separate them, but I couldn't make out what anyone said cause they were all talking at once.

Weird thing though, while I was scared, restless and riddled with anxiety in the midst of all that, it was Anna who calmed me down. She said "You don't need to be afraid, we want you no harm". All the while, I couldn't help thinking what the other passengers on the bus must have thought of me. Constantly talking "to myself" and telling imaginary people to shut up, shaking and twitching and frenetically scribbling in my diary while desperately trying to hide myself under my hair. Well, that was one hell of a trip!

So... if I've counted correctly I have had 4 psychotic outbreaks in 4 months. That is just... I don't know. Not good. I really am getting worse, but at the same time I feel stronger, more grounded and hopeful than before. I'm actually looking forward to things in the future, want to work towards some goals in my life and change. So if I really have Schizophrenia it is actually way better than Borderline/Aspie stuck in a limbo that almost killed me. If you look at it that way...

Well, technically I'm still stuck in a limbo of sorts, but as long as I can endure my hallucinations and weird delusions going a little haywire every once in a while, I can manage. I have to, it's that simple. If life wanna fuck me over it's gotta have to do it properly this time if I'm supposed to go all suicidal again. NOT asking for hell to break loose, just saying that I won't go down easy. I may not have been down in this particular road in hell before, but I've seen many of the dark ones, survived them and come out stronger, so how hard can it be?

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 1^st, 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.