Society and addictions

I don't know if I like my purging or not. I guess I like having that ability but hate the act. It's so gross and it's sometimes scary too. Three things that have or should have scared me about it: 1, when I almost passed out from it. 2, when I couldn't stop puking even after I stopped trying to. 3, when I threw up blood. Yet, despite those three things, I do find comfort in it. It's definitely an addiction too and I wonder if I can abstain from it for these two days now. Or if I'll have something small just to purge it.

I don't know if I should still count it as fasting if I get it all up. Probably not, causing eating means breaking a fast, not necessarily being on plus minus zero of eaten calories. So I'm not counting yesterday as a fast, but I do count today cause I haven't eaten anything yet. Just had a cup of coffee, some diet coke, some but not enough water and some of this vitamin drink. I could never do a water fast with my caffeine addiction.

Me and my addictions... some come and go, some always stay. My smoking feels like a permanent addiction, my caffeine habit more or less stays, and now also purging. One more horrid than the other. Other addictions I've had/gone through are cutting, alcoholism and painkillers. Am I an addict? I would say so but a fairly functioning one. I don't do any heavy stuff and I've never been hooked on actual, illegal drugs. I'm thankful for that, but I've always been curious to try.

There's a lot I've been wanting to try, I don't really have any limits when it comes to danger. I want to live a short and dangerous life, but instead I'm stuck in this rat hole with a declining eating disorder. Maybe my experimenting days are over, or maybe there will come more opportunities. Benzo... I've always wanted to try that. And I don't mean the tiny Sobril that I got ages ago, I mean the heavy stuff that has a definite kick to it. And at least that is legal, if that matters to anyone.

But mostly I've just had to make do with what's been available to me. Anyone can get a hold of razor blades and coffee, and everyone over a certain age can get a hold of alcohol and cigarettes, and everyone can get an eating disorder. Pills are harder to get but potentially you could get a hold of basically anything legal from a doctor. I've just had bad luck in that department. I think my overdosing days are over. I can't get anything more dangerous than antihistamines these days.

Right now I stick to those three previously mentioned. Cigarettes, caffeine and my eating disorder. I still don't cut. I don't need it and why just create scars for the sake of nothing? Maybe I'm done cutting myself with that realisation, I don't know for sure. But addictions of any of the already mentioned kinds have been a huge part of my life for the past 10 years. It started with cutting when I was 15 years old.

It's all just been a long escape from my own brain and the monsters living in it. An escape from my curse, actually. There's only so much I can take of it. Has it ever worked? No and yes. If it was utterly useless I wouldn't have continued with harming myself. But it was never enough. I've always been one step behind my curse.

And still I won't stop as it's still chasing me. Still making my life hell as I desperately try to control my own mind. But I can't. I know that much but I still need something that's effective enough to at least make my life somewhat livable. I don't exactly want to live a long and happy life, I've just been trying to survive for as long as I need to, or have to. To keep myself somewhat sane in this insanity of a life.

Sex has of course also been an addiction. How could I forget? Mostly with myself, it's a compulsive habit I haven't been able to break for the last 17 years. It was awful starting that when I was 9 years old, and I did it only to punish myself for what had happened to me. Once a day is apparently a lot, but I've been at it for up to 5-6 times a day when I was at my worst. And slept with strangers only because they liked me and they were available. Slept with anyone who wanted me.

Now that was never an infinite amount of people, but I think I've been with 13 or 14 different people between ages 17 and 24. It was mostly self destructive and repeating the abuse I've been through, so I wouldn't call it just an active healthy sex life. Not even close, not at all healthy also because the number of times I used protection are very easy to count. Luckily I got away with it, no diseases, no pregnancy.

Ah, the good old days! I don't even know how many different addictions I'm up at now. It's almost every addiction you could possibly have, but it hasn't been all at once. Usually I feel best with three at a time. More and I just feel like I'm completely losing control over myself, less and the darkness devours me.

I don't even know how much I can write about sex addiction here, with the new blog rules that I haven't read. Don't want my blog shut down for downright indecency but I think it's a problem more common than most people would think and it should be addressed. I'm not all that ashamed of my past and present behaviours, it's just that there's so much freaking hush-hush about it. It drives me crazy. Why shouldn't we be able to talk about it?

Perhaps if we did not so many would fall for that way of life, or they could get help for it. I don't know, but what I do know is that keeping quiet is rarely a good idea. I mean, like at school we're not even allowed to talk about alcohol, like mentioning a drink and the whole room goes crazy. Like seriously what the fuck? Okay I know there are more than just one or two previous addicts going there, but come on? I think some rules are just made because of convenience. That anything that could upset someone should be kept quiet about.

I think that's the wrong approach entirely. Banning words? What, do we suddenly live in the 1950's?! I try to follow the rules, but I'm a compulsive rule-breaker since early childhood so it doesn't exactly come easy for me. Perhaps some people need rules, but I've always only felt hindered by them. To not be allowed to express myself my way mostly, that really bothers me.

To not be allowed to talk about and discuss things that are of importance because some dickhead thought it was a good idea not to. Maybe that's why I prefer alcohol combined with parties instead. Where words can flow almost completely freely and never once have I gotten in trouble for speaking my mind. Maybe once or twice in my whole life time but then I was too drunk, pushed into a corner and didn't know what the fuck to say, so it was hardly my fault.

The point is, freedom of speech is so important like oh my god. Sometimes I miss the old me that was less hindered by stupid rules and social codes. That me got friends for life, that me had some fucking stamina. Now... it's like this awful society finally managed to shrink me. I do still have my moments, but my words don't flow as easily anymore. Afraid of stepping on toes, afraid of getting banned, kicked out or hit in the face.

Now my only place is this blog. My only fucking place to say exactly what's on my mind at all times. That's why I let anyone read it, that's why it doesn't have a password. Cause I think you need to hear some of this honesty from time to time, whoever you may be. A friend, a stranger, a former friend, who knows. Only people I'd like to keep out of this blog are my family members and my shrink, basically. I don't want to shock them with way too much TMI that they most likely don't even want to hear about.

I don't even have an off-button when I'm on here. I could literally go on forever cause I have so much to say that can never pass my lips. Maybe this is a petty attempt to make the world a better place, at least to let some people know that there's nothing I'm scared of mentioning here. Except maybe just a handful of things, I'm writing down more than 99% of all that's crawling around inside my brain.

Sometimes I wish I could do more, other times I think I do enough. I do pull my weight in society too, even if it is just a fraction of what I could do. I live on your tax money with no intention of ever getting a job, I go to school which you also more or less pay for, I live on medication that you also pay the most of, I go to psychiatric meetings and doctors appointments that you also pay the most of.

I don't have any money. I'm a scum of society but at least I'm not intentionally making it any worse than it is. Except from those few laws I've broken. But I try to do what I actually can do, which is trying to talk to people and communicate, and I also do these kind of research questionnaires that the state or whatever randomly send to people. I get "randomly" selected about once a year since I was about 14 or 15 and I've done them all, except two cause they didn't apply to me in the least.

So yeah, I do mostly sit on my ass being half a financial crisis to society but I also do try to do good things. You can't just tell a poor, mentally handicapped person to just get their ass of the couch and start doing volunteer work or whatever. Or well, some people really do think they have the guts to do that. In which cases I usually just let my jaw drop slightly and then proceed to stare at them for five minutes, before I manage to get a grip on myself and gently explain to them why they're a complete dickhead.

I'm not doing anything wrong by just being me with the disabilities I have. I didn't choose to have them. I will never earn my own money, I will never have that kind of capacity to do so. It doesn't bother me, the one actually suffering from it, so why the hell does it keep bothering everyone else?! It's the society that's fucked up, not people like me just trying to live a decent life when we can't.

Wow this turned into ranting I could never have foreseen... I guess I'm just mad at people who are mad at me for stupid reasons. Am I a burden for society? Heck yeah, one of the worst kinds even. But you know what? I don't care cause I don't consider myself a property of society, I'm merely borrowing this body in this little phase called life. I don't care how many people has to work around the clock just to keep me alive, it's their fucking job. And I don't care how much tax money I waste on diet coke and cigarettes, you know you have to pay tax money, I do too.

Really trying to end this rant now... feel free to stop reading at any point cause I doubt it's gonna get better or more coherent than this. Maybe I'm just complaining that I'm being looked upon as a piece of useless trash. You would too if you were in my situation after a bunch of years. I've never been a productive member of society, never going to be. It's my life, and I neither can nor want to change it. I'm comfortable and I don't like taking huge risks that can make all hell break loose. I'm stuck, but not willing to move. I've given up and just counting the days, weeks and months.

I think I'll stop here, before this ranting becomes something else. I've covered a lot in just one blog entry today. I might come back later on to write more shit, but probably not on this topic.

But not scared enough

I just broke my 110 hours long fast with vegetable soup. I finally dared stepping on my scale and it showed me 61 kg. Not too bad considering. I mean, I had hoped for somewhere along the lines of 58 but at least it's less than 63. Oh shit I feel dizzy... maybe I ate that too quickly. I guess I'll just give it a few hours to land before I go shopping. Gotta give my body some time to adjust.

I just googled BMI 15 just to try and get an idea on how I could look on roughly that BMI. It's not thin enough... damn it. But I guess I'll just try to get to it first and then deal with the consequences if I still think I need to lose more weight. I'm still at a BMI of 21 so it's a long way to go. Would it even be possible to lose 17 kg in 6 months? And I know it just gets harder the lighter you get.

But it's October 4th and I'm officially starting the ABC diet. As I stated before, the first day is 500 calories. Then 500 again, then 300, then 400, then 100, 200 and 300 the last day of the first week. I know some people just see those numbers as maximum for each day but I'm gonna try to be as exact as I can be. And exercise or purge if I over eat. It's a 7 weeks and one day long diet, which means I can breathe out with a sigh of relief on November 23rd. And hopefully will have been able to stick to it and have lost some weight.

So, my starting weight is 61 kg or 134 lbs so we'll see how much I can lose on this crazy diet. It's only about calories so basically I can eat whatever I want during it as long as I keep it within the calorie limit, but I'm gonna try to do it as healthily as I possibly can. Lots of vegetables, lean meat and fibers, mainly. Also gonna try to cut down a little on the caffeine, mainly because having 55 calories cups of coffee 6 times a day is not gonna work. Especially on the days where the limit is 200 calories or less.

Wow, I've had my dreads in for 2,5 weeks already. They almost feel like a part of me now. Have to wash them/the roots of my own hair today. That was what I shouldn't forget. I really had to start eating today, I have so much to do that I need to function for. So I set a new record of 110 hours just before I had my soup. I'm feeling much better now, almost a bit energised even.

It feels like my ED has gotten a new kick start, with purging then fasting then starting a crazy low calorie diet as of today. I'll try to only purge if I over eat, or go above my calorie limit for the day, and not binge/purge every single day like I did before. Cause it's so addictive and compulsive like damn... I don't mind the danger of it this time, but I do mind how addictive it is and I just don't want to feel the need to do it several times a day.

Besides, it is a pretty horrible experience, much more than what can just be imagined. If you haven't done it, you just don't know how horrible it is. Cause it's nothing like puking after a night of heavy drinking or having eaten way too much or from being physically ill. It's damaging the soul. With that said I will still continue, just not as much as back in January/February when I did it 3 to 5 times a day, every single day. Now maybe... I don't know, at most a few times a week.

My main methods will still be restricting and fasting. Purging only if I binge or "binge" on what isn't technically an actual binge but too big a meal for me. Like if I do have that pizza or just lose control over my hunger. It will be my escape route that I'll take as seldom as I can. I know it's bad, I know it's a horrible thing to do. Not even on the ED forum they recommend it, but they sure do recommend decreasing calories and doing more exercise on a basically empty stomach so yeah. Purging must be so, so bad.

Although I hardly even understand half the danger about it, since my body just barely reacted to it back in February. I almost passed out at one point, but all my blood values were tip top and that's it.

And I'm sorry for last night's entry if I scared you, I just had to get it all out of me. I'm sorry.

I should try to take it slow and easy and I know I really shouldn't set such a low ultimate goal weight but it's just that I can't settle for less. No one except those on the forum and those reading this blog knows that I want to weigh 44 kg. It's just 97 lbs and after being on that forum for over a year, I know how low any weight under 100 lbs is, and how much everyone there wants to get below that weight.

There, I have to translate every kilo to pounds to be understood and it's almost starting to come naturally to me now. I keep mixing up kilos with pounds in real life and as a classmate told me about someone they knew who weighed 150 kg and I thought, oh it's not so bad, until I realised they said kilograms, not pounds.

Cause it wasn't all that long ago that I weighed 150 lbs which is 68 kg, but I've never ever been even remotely close to 150 kg. Thank god for that! I would likely have killed myself for less. Sometimes I still try to look back to how it was like to weigh 80 kg, or 176 lbs, and what is the difference from now? I feel much lighter, I don't feel quite as gross, my feet don't hurt as much at all anymore, I can sit/lie in positions I couldn't back then, I can walk around without feeling like I'm gonna pass out, I can wear skinny jeans, I get compliments for my weight which I didn't back then.

Here in Sweden having a 10-15 kg overweight is pretty much the most normal weight wise, or so I've heard. But I just hated it so much that I even risked getting an eating disorder just to lose that weight. I don't regret it even for a split second. If I could go back in time and not get an ED, I never would. Perhaps I do see it as a life experience and perhaps, even just perhaps, that's why I want to to tip the scale the other way around as well. That when the day I die I will have been in every weight category except from obese and morbidly obese. To have been overweight, normal weight and underweight.

Cause that's an experience I really want to have. I collect them, experiences, and preferably the negative and life changing ones. I want to experience all that crap an extremely underweight person typically is going through. And I do want to experience what it's like to live with an eating disorder to the absolute breaking point. At least to get down to a BMI of 15-16. Perhaps I won't be able to take it as far as into the single digits.

Depends on how long I get to live, and at what point recovery will happen. If it's gonna happen, what do I know, I might be able to escape that route, and die before I get to recover. I hope so, as I still want to take my ED with me to the grave. This relapse sure hit me hard, I've never felt so overcome by my ED before. Like it's really eating away at me, changing my thoughts and feelings until I can nothing but recognise myself.

I feel as though nothing can change my mind about this. Yes I'm scared for what my family and close friends would think if I do lose all the weight I want to lose, but somewhere in my twisted mind, I just don't think it's any of their/your business. This is the only way I can live right now, my broken heart led me back here for a reason. Because I wasn't done starving myself, wasn't done losing weight, wasn't done harming myself this way. I was never ready to recover. Perhaps it sucks, but at least now I know what I truly do feel about it.

Fading away

I'm almost 26 years old and still find the swings on the playground fascinating. Will I ever grow old? My mindset sometimes still the child's that I was, my soul ancient and then we shouldn't even mention the remains of my heart.

Once again, the coldness doesn't bother me, and I always know since before that that's not a good sign. It's a sign of that I'm falling apart, when suddenly I can no longer feel temperatures. The swings were not too small for me this time, as I've gotten thinner since last I visited them before the summer. I didn't know how to sit on them this time.

Grimston Estate is finally starting to affect me with big feelings without names. I mourn my characters as I for the last time get lost in the tangle of their tragic lives. I love them dearly, but then I'll have to move on. And I love my imaginary town too. A part of me still lives there, one of my places where I like to escape into.

My weekend becomes a poem of its own, and I regret how cold I was with my contact person of the crew a couple of days ago. She was worried and I just snapped at her, tired of people constantly worrying about me. I'm so tired of being a burden. So tired of being trapped in a mess without an end, so tired in my heart, mind, soul and body. And only the tiredness combines them.

Once again, I think about leaving, but I don't even know if I mean that literally or figuratively, in mind or physically, directly or indirectly. The thought captivates me, and I'm lost without directions. Could he ever love me? I ask myself as I try to decide if I should have more coffee or not.

Light up another cigarette instead, and divide my thoughts on K with my thoughts on Grimston Estate. Is there a connection between the two, or am I just entangling myself completely by thinking that there might be a connection when there in fact might not be one? I can't let go of either of them, and maybe that is the connection.

One month has now passed and I'm beside myself and my thoughts. Has he really left me? I think I'll die without him, and still I can't give up. I don't know how, but as everything is just getting a little more hopeless by the minute, I do want to keep holding on. He's not dead and that's what's most important. No, him being happy and alive, that is what's most important.

And I sigh, for I only want one of us to be happy and alive, if he can never love me. But how can he be happy if I leave? Our friendship must mean something to him. I gave him my world, I was willing to give him my world, but yet again, as always with love to me, it never became that way.

Oh, I'm still hoping, wishing, dreaming. Just not as hard anymore. The good thoughts of such have a tendency to slip away when things stand still. And time is still now. Frozen for just one weekend as I slowly lose my appetite for life.

But I'm still here. Though I don't know what's keeping me here. Except all the 15 failures and a 16th failure is just not alluring to me. For weeks now, I've wanted to just tell him that I started listening to his favourite music band, and that I really like them. I guess... I guess I'll hold on to that confession a little longer then.

And now, I'm also getting to a point where hunger doesn't bother me either, and I don't care about eating. Maybe it's just for today, maybe I'll never eat again, although not very likely. I wish I could stop eating. I think it would somehow benefit me. For the worse, of course.

I have a new appointment at the eating disorder unit, I think on Tuesday, but could be Monday or Wednesday, my mother will surely remind me. And I don't know what to say at that meeting. That I'm falling apart again, or just keep a straight face and lie my way out of it. I can't decide. I'm tired of all the lies, I'm tired of everything. But I can't just say that I'm tired of living without expecting an intense reaction.

I don't want people to know, cause it's still possible that this could blow over, fade, pass. That maybe I'll go back to school tomorrow and get back to my social life and everything will be fine again. Maybe I'm not as close to the edge as I think I am.

That maybe as much as one more day of no word from K could make me fall, or I'll get back on track with getting better again and this was nothing more than just a bad weekend. I can't tell the difference anymore.

Although, right in this moment, I can't help but overthinking. I've thought back at my childhood, how things just generally were. I get glimpses, only glimpses and fragments of memories. I don't hold on to them, they are simply there.

And nothing can calm me down, at the same time as nothing can shake me. I'm awfully stressed but peaceful at the same time. Slowly and steadily accepting my cruel fate. But I have to turn 27, I can't die this year, and I just know that if I tried a 16th suicide attempt now it would just be another failed attempt. I don't want that.

I'm almost 26 years old and I breathe shallowed for I do no longer hold on to my life. It may come or it may go, I don't care. I've been through too much since I turned 25 and the higher the number, the less alive I feel. I've been lingering like a ghost between worlds for some time now, close to 3 years since I moved here. I just fade, a little more each day.

I refuse to choose

I don't want to live forever. It feels like I already have, and forever is a very long time. I know that I thought I was gonna live forever in Dala, that feeling was pretty strong and could apparently pierce through dimensions. When you live for that long, you eventually take everything for granted. Literally everything. In this life I certainly don't, not the truly important things. It doesn't mean I hold on to them extra hard, but that I always keep in the back of my mind that it won't last forever. Cause here, nothing does.

Not even in Dala, apparently. I was there for a very long time, until nothing there was special anymore. Towards the end it had lost its magic, but then I came here and realised that now, I've lost all the things that once meant everything to me. The thing is though, while you can never stop crying over what you've lost, you can always gain something else that you can learn to love equally much. Yes, even here in this awful hell dimension, in this prison of a life.

It took a while for me to understand that, leaving everything I held so dear behind me. For good, or for just this once, I don't know. And it still tears me apart, cause whatever I have to hold on to in this life... it's not enough. It's not enough for miles and it never will be. I can hold on, wait for my dream to come true cause I have nothing else to hope for, wait and wait and just hope that things will turn around. But that's the thing about dreams... they're not real.

I wanted to end there, I really did, but I just can't do that to whomever reads this. I might be chasing my perfect dream like a dog is chasing its tail, but it's not all that hopeless, cause don't I somehow live while that chase is going on? I don't know why I'm still alive and right now it doesn't matter. I don't care. I'm tired of living but I'm not ready to die yet.

If someone would give me that one pill to just end it all, completely pain free and without devastating consequences, I would say no. I don't know why, but somehow I'm still curious about life. I want to see my friends grow older, see what happens to them, I want to see if me and K could ever... and I know that I have to give it time, as much time as any of us have.

Cause I'm running on a low flame and he's not well. It's all I can say about him, if even that. I'm worried sick day and night but he's still the light of my life, he's what keeps that low flame burning at all within me. And I can't give up, for his sake if anything. I still breathe because of him. I think ironically, suicide is out of my hands, and sadly, it depends on him, and us. I don't even know if I should confess such a thing, but seeing as you still don't know who he is, no harm no foul, right?

I'm still trying to figure it out. Why I will kill myself one day and why I haven't yet already. But the answer, I believe, is on the other side. I've given up hope on ever being able to love, or even just like, life.

Life hates me and I hate it back. I'm just waiting for my last gasp of air without actually trying to kill myself. I don't want to live, and I don't want to die. I can't choose. I'm stuck between two options and I refuse to choose. I believe that's why I leave it up to K. It's horrible of me, I know, but that's how I live right now. That's why I'm not suicidal, that's why I at the same time don't care what happens to me. It's the only explanation that I have.

As life flashes by

Will I look back upon my life when I die and wonder why I wasted my youth on loneliness and mending my broken heart? Or will I look back and think, shit I really did manage to live a whole life in barely 28 years? I'm divided by those two polar extremes, one part of me always worried that I'm not living my life to the fullest and then there's this other part that tells me that I truly have lived my life to the fullest.

At the best of my ability, something deep inside me tells me that haven't I cried, laughed, screamed, dreamed and done everything I possibly could have in spite of everything? I'm broken, I was born broken, but it's never stopped me. Taking a butt load of medication every day for years didn't stop me from drinking and experimenting with illegal drugs.

Being well aware of the dangers of STD's, rape and ending up pregnant didn't stop me from sleeping with everyone who ever wanted me. Living with this damaged mind of mine didn't stop me from trying to study and even work for short moments. Not being able of taking care of myself didn't stop me from trying to live on my own for 3 years.

Being a very impulsive person didn't stop me from getting a thought through tattoo, piercings that left scars, and other scars. Being a mental fuck up and a transsexual didn't stop me from dating and going after people way out of my league. I've been dumped and I've dumped others. Been accused of cheating.

Had threesomes, played with BDSM, transitioned from female to male, believed I've had every possible sexual orientation before settling for panromantic grey area asexual, kissed a celebrity, been to concerts, taken loads of medication all with interesting results and side effects, been bullied, been sexually assaulted and raped on Valentine's Day.

I've become a heavy smoker, been alcoholic, lived in the country and in a city, found a soul mate in my best friend since we were 13 years old, fallen hard and hopelessly for people who never even once considered me and thus I have been in love although unrequited, been through an abusive relationship, had pets, rode horses, had virtually every hair colour, been overweight as well as medium weight and soon also underweight.

I've gotten good grades in art and language, learned how to draw and sew my own clothes, learned how to make fake dreads and played with make up, been living both as male and female, tried to learn how to play guitar, I revolted against my bullies in elementary school, had the best teachers, had the most supportive mother... the list can go on forever.

But you could definitely say that I have lived. Despite the constant anxiety, the isolation and the suicidal tendencies which by the way also are life experiences. But have I lived enough? My life could end at any moment now if K really does die cause so would I if he does. And I mean that literally. I will end my life if he dies, that's what I mean when I say that I can't live without him.

I imagine sitting on a very high roof top one day with a final suicide letter in my hand, wearing the best clothes I have and thinking about what happened to my life. Did I really live it, or was I just waiting for that miracle all along and everything else was just empty activities? Did anything ever mean anything at all? Did I come here by mistake, will death finally take me back home to where I belong? Was it all for nothing, or was it everything?

Hanging by a thread

My neighbour, the guy living right on top of me, was just rushed away in an ambulance. I saw it all from my living room window. What worries me is not his health though, but how little I care about if he'll be coming back home from the hospital again or not, that is to say if he survives or dies. By the way, he is old and this place is mostly like sort of a retirement home, I wouldn't think of him as probably dying if he was any younger than the 70-80-ish I would guess that he is.

But shouldn't I care, at least a little bit? Have I lost touch with humanity so to the point that no human life is of any kind of value to me except from those select few that I happen to know and care about personally? I knew I've gotten a little bit colder, but damn...

No, I feel nothing at all but perhaps a bit of curiosity. Will I get a new neighbour if he dies? Someone who spits a bit less off the balcony and doesn't hopelessly try to interact with me when I really just want to be left alone which by the way is 100% of the time?

I have gotten colder, I just don't know what exact degree. First I just stopped watching the news on TV, stopped reading the newspaper. My friends pretty much abandoned me around the time I moved here and I in turn abandoned them. Or was it the other way around? Not everyone of course, but pretty much the majority of everyone I know.

It was already before that, about a year before I moved here. I was pretty lonely in Gottsunda in Uppsala as well, my last apartment there. I don't remember much of 2012, except from the apartment I rented for free. Don't ask me how I got away with that, technicalities. They never sent me any bills. Anyway, from the end of 2011 until I moved to my parent's place on Gotland in June or if it was July 2012 I think, I was in a pretty lonely place.

There were the random parties, but I don't remember having any friends, or my boyfriend at the time, over to my home. I must have visited others though. Yes, I did that. But it always felt one way, you know. Like I was just blending in with the crowds and no one wanted to see me one on one.

Eventually I shut down, shut out the people that I was living for. It's true, I only stayed in Uppsala for the sake of living close to my friends who didn't seem to care if I lived there or not. So the loneliness, I brought it with me when I moved here. But then it intensified, became hostile. It's almost like the loneliness inside me is like a beast, a monster of some kind, that grows more hostile with time as I let it roam free, unchecked.

Not only do I no longer care about anyone except maybe at most 10 people on this entire planet, I came to despise humanity altogether. I want war and mayhem, I want any kind of government in I don't care which country to create massive mass destruction weapons and erase the entire world. Just wipe it all out, me included. I was hoping for the world to end in 2012, but as many others I did not believe it actually would.

Now, there are 5 people that I truly love in this world, perhaps another 5 that I'd care if something happened to them. I don't care about anyone else, I really, really don't. I've become cold and cynical, bitter and tired of life. And I know I'm not the only one feeling this way. I wish I could take you with me and we could go somewhere far from the rest of the world. To another world, in whatever sense I'm not going to specify even if I had the slightest idea. There aren't that many options, but option, we do have.

I don't know what I'm getting at, you have your own lives now. I'm just a part of them, not the reason why you go on living. I wouldn't even want that much, it's way too much to ask of and a huge responsibility that I wouldn't be able to handle. No, you go on live your lives. I just try to matter to some degree at least.

But it's hard. I feel like I'm stuck here now. Not on this island, but in this situation. I won't let anyone in, I certainly won't let anyone out. I cling to, hold on to old memories, fantasies, a future that may or may not be real some day. I'm not living. I haven't been living for a long time now. It feels like I left something else behind me that day I moved here from Uppsala, something that I won't be able to find just around the corner. My life. Any kind of purpose to go on breathing.

No, I'm still not suicidal, but you know me, I wouldn't tell you if I was. I have my reasons for never telling you. But right now... now I'm just breathing, exhaling and inhaling without much reason at all to do so. I'm trying to kill myself slowly while waiting for a miracle to happen, waiting to be saved. The only thing, or person rather, that could save me. I'm waiting for him, and in the meantime, I'm just hanging by a thread really. Maybe you already knew it, that I'm falling back again, slowly drowning in what I call the darkness.

A neighbour might die tonight, and I'm worried about a miracle that may never happen, that I might never get to truly live, I worry about my own life that is slipping away at the same time.

Open

I'm bored and can't think of anything to do or write about. Should look into my autobiography again. Been starting to write about last year. Since a lot of shit happened then I put it in a chapter for it alone. Dreading when I'll have to read it all (all of it) through and edit things, put the chapters in a decent order and see if I've missed something important or of there's something I want to delete. Probably gonna take me days. But I will finish it someday, I promise!

I don't intend to shock people with my story, but it might appear that way cause it's gonna be pretty graphic. I just want to get my story out. Though I'm not including absolutely everything, just as much as I'm comfortable with, and that is a lot.

Some people might not realise that, that I'm comfortable with sharing even my darker thoughts and things that I'm apparently supposed to be embarrassed over. I've always been like that, even when I was bullied I wasn't afraid of making a fool of myself. There are very few things that are too personal for me to discuss openly, or at all, and I can easily count them on one hand.

Some things that I've done, thought or felt. Things no one would even want to know about, or even if they would want to know they would most definitely not like it. Most of what I carry around is darkness with a few exceptions, but those things that I hide... they're pitch black.

Maybe that's just the way it is. That if I was more inhibited or cautious about how open I am, I would have less to hide, and the other way around. That maybe because I'm so comfortable being open about my trans identity, the rape I went through, self harm, mental illness, the bullying, suicide attempts and so on; I have to hide even darker things. Like no matter how open you are about your bad sides, you still have something that is even worse inside you that you don't want anyone else to know about.

No one is completely open because of this. We all have our levels of tolerance, like how much of our insides we can tolerate for the world to see. I happen to have very high tolerance, but I think that is only because I know I can draw the line further to easier hide what is really worth hiding. I'm not just talking law breaking, I'm talking really awful things.

Yeah, there is something that is nagging at me there, wanting to tell but it's like I just can't. Want to push that tolerance even further, be open about exactly everything. And then that crap just showed up from deep in my memories last summer, and I suddenly understood why I've always been a bit uncomfortable around cops. I've been good these last few years at least, so I don't have anything to hide from then on... So yeah, that recent. 2011 I think. My god, what the fuck was up with that year!?

Some years of my life, just saying. Those are: 1998, 2002, 2005, 2007, 2009, 2011 and 2013. I'm starting to see a pattern... so what atrocities are gonna happen to me next year then? There's always something new that sort of strikes me like a lighting from a clear sky, so with a little anticipation I'll look forward to 2015 to see what more crap I'll be getting. Yes, I said anticipation. I'm ambivalent about my future.

But as I said, I'm open about almost everything. I'm comfortable talking about things people don't want to hear. I discuss deeply personal stuff at the dinner table. I'm the one who opens up at a party even before I get my first drink. The only reason I've been holding back IRL lately is because I know people become uncomfortable with me sharing absolutely everything like it's perfectly normal. I'm trying to add in some decency in my life, though I'm not a very decent person and I don't live a very decent life.

Wow, this became a very long entry about openness. The bottom line is that I don't know where to draw the line. Of what is okay or not okay to share about my life. I never tell other people's secrets or even things that I don't know if they are secret or not. You just have my trust completely even if we're just acquaintances. I will take your secrets with me to the grave.

It's when it comes to myself that I just can't keep my mouth shut. It shouldn't be a problem - cause how the hell can being so very open about oneself be a problem? - but it is. Not necessarily a problem I'll take into consideration, but still. People can be embarrassed because of me or even ask me to shut up. Sorry guys, but it's my fucking life and if you don't want to hear it, just shut your fucking ears.

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.

The inevitable

I'm still without painkillers and it's working fine. I'm more careful with my movements which is probably good regardless if it hurts or not. It doesn't hurt that bad, at least not when I'm idle. It's hardly more noticeable than my headache, it's actually almost like they're competing with each other.

When I was seeing my doctor today I also got to meet my new "contact person" rather forced upon me, within the mental health care department, something odd struck me. That contact person said something about that I should try to slowly "let go of" my mother. As if I was clinging to her (do I?) because she won't live forever. And it just suddenly struck me, that I think she knows, and I think we both have a mutual, but very silent, understanding that I won't outlive my mother.
It's not something anyone of us can know until the day comes when one of us dies. But it's more of a sensation of sorts. Like yeah, I've survived three serious and twelve half assedly suicide attempts in less than ten years... I'm not gonna just snap out of it and live to 80. My suicide risk is extremely high. You can't just take that out of the equation and give me false hopes about getting better and live a long and happy life ever after, as that contact person of mine supposedly tried to. This is me being clinical about it, just so you know. I'm still rather euphoric since the surgery, I'm just talking out of perspective. (Euphoria, isn't that like the opposite of dysphoria? How interesting.)

During the car ride from Visby after the meeting my mind started to wander again. As the rain fell hard against the wind shield for 38 minutes, I fantasised about driving myself. That I had once, not so long ago, told my mother that one day I will drive a car, whether I'll have a driver's licence or not. And the thoughts led me to summer. That I might not have so long left and I don't want to waste time anymore. I have for a long time now felt as if I'm living on borrowed time, like I'm being chased by the inevitable with the number 27 etched into my mind, knowing it's only two or three summers left.

But enough about my death. In my fantasy I had stolen my mother's car, drunk half a bottle of rum (or something like that) and driven full speed ahead through the dusty streets on Gotland this summer. Cause why go easy when you can break a few more laws while you're at it? I've had that fantasy for so many years now, and of all my dangerous and illegal fantasies this one could actually come true and not cost me the rest of my life. Just stay away from cops and speed cameras.

Just raging over a documentary film

I just saw this really bad documentary about transmen, on Youtube. There's so much wrong with it, I don't know where to begin. But they really made transguys seem like total freaks in a horrible way. Just no. It's exactly this kind of thing that makes it hard for any trans* identified person to be taken seriously. And it wasn't just the sex scenes that made me want to look away...

They talked about that all trans people were of a third gender, which I think is total bullshit. First of all, you don't get to decide what gender someone else is, no matter what you think of them. I've had people telling me that I'm some sort of third gender or "in between" but fuck that. I'm a man and no one gets to tell me otherwise! Doesn't matter what my body looks like, or anyone else's body for that matter, it's what you identify as.

At least I had a lot of backing up comments to that video, a lot of people agreeing with me. You rarely see that on Youtube. There was transgendered and cisgendered people stating that we are not freaks because we are trans, and they are so right.

Maybe you don't think I'm the right person for that opinion, but in that case you might not know me so well. I am a freak, yes, but not because of my gender and definitely not in the way they insinuated in the film. They were perverts taking pride in being as different and queer as they possibly could (no, that's not an exaggeration!) stating that every transgendered individual was also a pervert and a freak. Now that is crossing the line.

Of course they can be as queer or perverted as they like (heck, I might be a little pervy at times too) but it's a totally different thing forcing that on someone else. An entire group of people for that matter. A group that has already gotten way too much shit shoved down their throat for way too long. I've had it with that crap. Stop dehumanising transgendered people for fucks sake.




If you want to see the documentary, just search "enough man ftm" on Youtube and it should pop up.

Where it hurts

Went a day without painkillers. Shouldn't have done that. Yesterday, right before bed it hurt so much I could just barely fall asleep (pain makes me tired so eventually I did fall asleep). And as I woke up this morning, around 9:30, I had trouble just getting dressed and move my ass to my computer. May I say instant gratification as soon as that OxyNorm I took kicked in?

It helps reducing my headache as well, at least the part of it that is not imaginary. However much of it that is "real" I do not know though. Psychosomatic stuff is always kinda complicated. But damn sweet it is when the pain in my chest slowly fades and I can breathe without it hurting. Cause I use my chest muscles more than my stomach muscles when I breathe, so yeah, it literally hurts to breathe nowadays after the surgery.

Pain. It has become a huge part of my life and the only way I know how to deal with it is to inflict more pain. That, or stuffing myself full of strong opiates that still just make me more high than pain free. I cannot cure my headache, and after ten years of carrying it with me every day, I've come to accept that I just have to find ways to live with it.

I've kept my circadian rhythm since I got back from the hospital by the way, except for one or two days when I slept until afternoon. The time before noon is always the hardest. I like playing WoW when there aren't that many players online, and I like the soft sunlight making my apartment brighter without strong beams of light shining through the window blinding me.

But I hate that I get so nauseous, and sometimes I like or dislike that I feel so empty. Before existing becomes hard with all the thoughts and feelings invading my mind and body as the day progresses. I like forenoons, but they are the worst part of the day.

Wake up, society!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pointless

I bleached my hair in a dream tonight. Wonder what that's supposed to mean. Maybe that I made the right choice in bleaching it for real. I've had recurring dreams where I'm blonde, it's almost like that's the way it's supposed to be somehow.

World of warcraft is having issues again. They're working on that, but I don't know how long it's gonna take. I'm trying not to get hysteric about it, telling myself I can embroider, write or knit instead. That it doesn't have to be so very upsetting. Not that it works though.

Everything seems so very pointless. What am I really doing with my life? Escaping it. I'm trying my hardest to escape from my horrible life without killing myself. Yeah, yeah, things are going well and I don't really want to die. It's just that I don't really want to live either. But embroidering things that I never finish, writing a lot of crap, playing video games without an end or any sort of real achievements... isn't that a bit pointless?

I don't know where I'm getting at, cause apparently I only like to do such "meaningless" things, which means that I actually bring some meaning to them. Nothing is simple though, is it? Cause they aren't totally meaningless, since I enjoy doing them, and by enjoying meaningless things they aren't per definition meaningless anymore.

So if there was a point with this entry, it would be that even though everything seems pointless sometimes, it doesn't have to mean that it is.

What we live on

I have never heard of the English word "agape" before. Apparently it's some form of love. I find it a beautiful word. Think I'll keep it. I have collected quite a few words now that I find extra appealing. Some are ordinary while others are not: sovereign, downtrodden, fanciful, hindsight, seep, sift, solace, insipid, disdain, whimsical, livid, sobriety, murmuring, reminiscent, limerence, tarnished, delirium, gash, laceration, suicide, mere, linger, gloom, wolfs-bane, slender, lithe, ardour and now agape.

I think I'm just trying to convince myself that I'm not just wasting time, that I actually do live a little. That it's not just "nothing" that I'm doing in my timeless loneliness. Time is all I have. I have 24 hours every day to find something I want to do and do it. There's no pressure, no deadlines, no demands but my own.

Well, I am sort of retired, and you know how most old people who's stopped working spend their days. They too have all the time in the world to just do whatever they find is meaningful to them. Of course, it's never literally "all the time in the world". Retired elders might not have a long time ahead of them because of their age, and I don't have all the time because I'm a mess with an expiration date.

Many people seem to think I want to have a job like everyone else, but the truth is that I don't. I'm not saying I wanna live on social welfare for the rest of my life, I'm just saying that the expected way of living is kinda repulsive to me. I'm a rebel, not because I want to, but because there is no other way.

It could be nice to have a part time job, something simple and creative without a lot of pressure on me, while still getting paid for all the time that I don't work. Like part time retired and part time working, if you get what I mean. But the thing is that I'm very, very picky about what kind of work I could do. First of all, all the service professions are out of the question. So are dirty jobs like cleaning or construction.

And then there's that it's not so much that I can handle mentally. When I get put into pressure, however small or little, my mind goes into overdrive and basically all of my mental problems exceed beyond reason.

Worst is the combination of extreme headache, panic attacks, dissociation, delusions and voices talking so loud that I can't hear what anyone else says. You wouldn't want me at a "normal" workplace. I get severe stress symptoms close to psychosis in a matter of minutes, no matter how medicated I am.

Oh, well. Work is overrated. Besides, I do spot quite some ambivalence among those people promoting working for money. They say it's important and meaningful to them and what not. But then there is this Monday-hate and Friday-love, which totally makes me wonder what's so fantastic about working five days a week, if you just wanna get back home again.

I could never do that, force myself to a workplace where I don't find the work I do meaningful or rewarding in some other way than pay-checks. In a way that really says something about how high I value my life. That I'm not willing to waste it on a boring day to day job, just because I "have to" or that it's expected from me. That it has to be meaningful if not entertaining, something that can make me grow as a person.

Another thing is that despite the fact that I'm scared I'm gonna kill myself in the sort of near future, I don't want to rush into things. Even if I don't have enough time to get a job like that before I kill myself, at least I don't wanna waste the little time I got left on a shit job. I'd rather be living on social welfare with minimum wage for the rest of my tragically short life. Because it's really not that bad.

What I'm trying to survive

Starting to get more tired now, feeling as though I can never fully rest. All there is now is worry, nightmares, anxiety, sadness and self harm. What my lonely days and nights stand on, balancing on this rumbling foundation. Sleep and food come second, if even that. To me, survival is much more than just that, it's about surviving my own mind.

Cause no matter what you believe, the mind controls everything. It controls what you eat, when you sleep, everything you actively do, think and feel. If you have no control over your mind, you have no control over your life.

I'll try whatever means possible, and I have tried every means possible. Good, bad and those somewhere in between. Everything from music or walking, to coffee or drugs and all the other things I can't remember right now. The list is endless.

One good thing about me being suicidal and all, is that I feel as though I have nothing to lose. I can try those stupid but probably good advices and tips that will most likely only make things worse or become a disappointment, cause it doesn't matter if I fail.

I told my shrink, when I saw her yesterday, about this ticking bomb inside me. Figuratively, the "bomb" that I believe is waiting to explode, yet doing the best it can to prevent it from doing so. This lovesickness that tears me apart. I told her that I want it to explode, so that I won't have to be in this painful state anymore. When she asked me what I thought would happen if I'll let it release, I was honest and said "I'll probably die", implying suicide.

So there it is, I'd rather die than keep going on like this. But there is a part of me that thinks it's possible I could survive it when this chaos inside me breaks out and becomes real. This is the sort of survival I'm talking about, all this chaos that is controlling me like a puppet. The chaos that I know will break me beyond repair one day.

Keeping it locked in is a way of surviving, like a sort of self defence when faced with something you cannot fight. I feel a bit like my WoW character fighting that boss yesterday, only healing and trying to stay alive for as long as possible without actually standing a chance against its attacks. Just like him I'm desperately trying to heal myself while life is beating the crap out of me, unable to strike back. And I think I'm running out of mana (the power resource needed for casting healing and other spells), as another WoW reference.

I don't know if I'm even close to fall apart, it could be days, or weeks, even months or worst case scenario it could be fucking years. But I feel it somehow, that I'm running out of power resources. I'm tired in my heart and soul, tired in mind and body. All of my four entities are worn out tired of living like this. I'm always given more than I can handle...

It's not even living, I'm not actually alive, am I? More like a suicidal wreck unable to cope with even the simplest things, just barely holding on. Clutching at the last remaining hopes, but they're slipping away. They are unreasonable, too far away, too perfect. I aim too high and fall too hard.

And all the time it intensifies, grows stronger and more powerful, as if some higher power wants me to suffer. I don't know what to do, I've never known how to handle myself in a crisis. I break apart and do everything I can to escape it, running away for the sake of my life. But suicide has always been my last resort.

The way it is

I realise that the way I sit, considered masculine or feminine, has more to do with my state of mind at the moment than just what is most comfortable. Some days I feel more together and safe, and then I spread out in more relaxed poses. Other days I feel more broken and in distress, and then I sit more curled up. Like I have to hold myself together so that my body parts won't fall off. Another delusion, perhaps? Cause I really believe that could happen. Though I don't know whether that is a weird belief or not.

Maybe that is saying a lot about my androgyny as well, and non conformity to society. Like, the way I sit, stand, talk, act, behave or whatever says more "fuck it, I do what the fuck I want no matter what you think about it". Cause honestly, does it really have to matter that much?

But of course there is some ambivalence in that as well, as with most things about me. Cause at the same time I'm terribly nervous and worried about being read wrong. Especially if I'm not dressed up, but even then I'm uncertain. Mostly about the way I walk, and the way my ass look. By mentioning that, I might attract the attention that way, but don't matter.

One of the most best things about living here on Gotland is that no one here knows about my background. Except for my doctors and shrinks, family members, my uncle and his girlfriend who sometimes visit, that is. So I have become a lot more stealth than I appear to be here on my blog. Because it's different, you know. How open I am online and in real life outside the internet world.

That is what I go with. IRL I'm stealth, haven't told anyone on this entire island. Though I've been close a few times, but then came to my senses and reasoned: why do they have to know, are we gonna have sex? No, I don't think so.

So people can think that I'm weird and totally aloof, hard to peg or whatever. But then I firmly tell them I'm a guy, without a doubt, and that's all they have to know. The rest is just none of their business however curious or open minded they might be. I'm my own kinda guy.

Holidays and mental illness

I think I know now why I often (not always) get much worse over holidays, such as Midsummer and Christmas. It could be because I don't have any connection with the psychiatry at those times. They are all on vacation. And lately, I can't even rely on my medication to keep me above the surface. Something is constantly increasing, decreasing, new or old coming up and I have to change my meds again.

During this autumn and winter so far, I've had to see my psychiatrist every month (that is a lot in my life) cause there's always something new going on. Anxiety, sleeplessness and mood swings are the most recurring reasons these days.

So, my theory is that because I don't have any shrinks or doctors to go to on a regular basis around those holidays it causes emotional overload. It's sad cause it's a time you're supposed to enjoy life, but it's also proving the point that mental illness doesn't take a break just because it's a time for celebration. For long I had to convince my parents of that, that I don't get to choose when my anxiety hits the roof or when I get suicidal. That delicious food and presents don't make the voices more tolerable, or that candy and cake don't chase away my irrational fears. I wish it did though. God, I wish it did.

For so many Christmas holidays I have curled up in my room with razor blades or stuffed animals, trying to hide what horrible state I was in so that my parents wouldn't notice that their celebration didn't ease my misery. And it all just made me feel even more horrible. Ungrateful. They were doing everything they could to make it a good time for me and my sister, and there I was banging my head in the wall to make the voices stop saying mean things to me. It felt like it was my fault, that I was ungrateful and selfish. That I somehow demanded more, which of course I didn't, if not only from myself then.

No one should have to feel that way. Cause I can't be the only one who's had it like that. I seriously thought it was me doing something wrong, that I didn't appreciate the seasonal celebration enough. But that's not true, it's not your fault if you can't make yourself feel better just because you're supposed to.

While you probably do get told that you can't reason with psychological problems like anxiety, it should be more informative of the fact that it can be extra horrible during holidays. But it never says anything about that anywhere, as far as I know. So I'm saying it right now. Because you have more demands on yourself, and feeling the pressure from family and friends that you should be happy. I wish I would have known that in my teens and late childhood.

Although, that is what you get told as a child, isn't it? That if you suffer and complain with no visible reason for it, you're obviously ungrateful and whiny. Though I had no word for anxiety when I was ten, and Anna was very keen about me not uttering a single word about her constant nagging voice in my head. So even when I eventually did complain I didn't really say anything about what was actually going on with me.

My mental problems have never given a damn about the circumstances around me. It can be winter, summer, autumn or spring - rainy, snowy, sunny or cloudy - Christmas Eve or just a normal Thursday - when my emotional chaos starts storming again. It isn't dependent on the weather or the season at all. I call it "chaos" for a very good reason: it is undefinable, unpredictable and seemingly uncontrollable.

Right now I settle for just calling it "chaos" rather than trying to shove it into a specific diagnosis. As I use to say (not that often I think though) is that I believe I will some day have a mental disorder named after me. But... if I'm the only one with that new disorder, maybe it won't be named at all? I've gotta find myself some followers!

Cause seriously, I could be considered "completely healthy" by psychological standards: not fit into any diagnosis at all. But having at least one, or several, horrible traits of almost every disorder known to man is making me mentally disabled ...and undiagnosed. I have considered that option before, it's just that it would be so painful. Cause that would doom me. Doom, damn and condemn me for the rest of my days. There's a reason why they shuffle me between different departments all of the time. I'm allover the place, my problems are allover the place, and I don't fit in anywhere. It's confusing, but apparently I'm worse off without that circus, I notice during those times of celebration.

Conclusion: Maybe this is the reason, maybe it is not. Maybe I just still, since childhood, have those demands on me that I'm not allowed to be an emotional chaos just because we're opening presents and eat special food.

*

Okay, this turned out a whole lot longer than I intended it to. It's these words, they never end. I could go on and on on the same issue for hours and even days, and still be able to go back to it later and continue ravaging it. I'll try to cut it a little. There. Much shorter.

This awful year 2013

This year has been awful. Overwhelming, pitiful, tedious, dark and filled with sadness. But also happiness, small glimpses of fulfilment and friendship, but mostly a whole lot of disaster. It started off bad, as I tried to study at Folkhögskolan here in Hemse and failed miserably. I damaged my knee seemingly permanently and started isolating myself again.

DBT went horrible as I started that soon after I left the school in February or March, I felt painfully alienated in the small group and my cheating on the diagnostic tests for Borderline Personality Disorder started to unravel. I started taking hormones again on my own in early summer/late spring and unleashed a disastrous chaos I had never seen a likeness of before that would come to last for several months.

After that I fell in love, and soon became painfully lovesick all the while the stagnation in the psychiatric departments led me to several suicide attempts during the two weeks I spent in a psych ward during Midsummer. I was also mute for a day in there. Then came alcoholism, increased smoking, caffeine addiction, starvation, more extensive self harm and sleeping disorders.

I got scared of sleeping and avoided it at all costs, then I made it a game in trying to stay awake for as long as I could. Somewhere in that mess I managed to get to the main country to visit my friends in Uppsala and Stockholm, for about a week. Adding to all that I've had four psychotic episodes and got more imaginary people living in my head.

Yeah, it hasn't been a very good year. I sure haven't been bored much though. It's always something going on in this mess of a brain I carry around wherever I go. It's like I do nothing but taking it easy and trying to relax and taking things slow - but yet I'm still constantly stressed out, tensed up and on my guard. My own mind stresses me to the brink of how much I can handle. Sometimes it pushes me over the edge and gives me too much. I've never been very good at living, but seeing as I'm still here after this horrible year, I'd say I'm pretty good at surviving.

Lost in the world

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

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

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

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

Who I was supposed to be

I hate being so dependent. On things, people, money, schedules, society, anything. While most of those things I can't just break the connection with (though I've tried), some of them I've on and off been believing I could break off with. Like medicine, for example. Why should I not be able to live without that? I'm not terminally ill, I can't die from some unspecified, undiagnosed mental illness, and I'm handicapped either way. What if it would be better? What if I could think clearer, crawl out of my shell?

And people. Everyone is more or less dependent on other people; your boss to give you pay checks, your landlord to not kick you out of your apartment, your dentist or doctor, and even your friends and family to be there for you. But I'm a little bit more dependent than the average joe. Definitely more than I would like to be. That's where my "running away" -thoughts come in, when I think I should just get away from everyone and try to live completely on my own for a little while. Because sometimes it just gets too much.

I just don't want to be so dependent on others taking care of me. That I need to rely on strangers from a special service residence to help me wash my clothes cause I can't manage it on my own. I suppose that really bugs me.

Ever since I was a kid I've always wanted to be able to take care of myself, live on my own terms, drive my own business company, get a driver's licence and go wherever I wanted and do whatever I wanted. It never turned out that way, and a part of me just won't accept it.

Still dreaming of that perfect house close to a town, have my own car (a Jeep would be nice) and a freelance job or no fucking job at all, writing and painting all days. Being happy, pill free, living completely alone and not having to as much as talk to a doctor too often to be able to consider myself healthy. Of course I would have a romantic partner living with me as well though, in a good but not perfect relationship where we grow together as people and sometimes bicker over trivialities.

It would have been an almost realistic dream if I hadn't been a mentally handicapped lunatic. Of course I don't hate myself for being a weirdo, sometimes that can be a real asset, and it does make me kinda interesting. But it costs me my freedom. That, in that dream, that is who I was supposed to be. The eccentric, philosophical artist with a little crazy ideas of a good life, independent and possible to live with.

But something deprived me of that possibility, that life. That freedom and independency that I so much crave. I feel constantly trapped in my own body, in my own mind. And there's no way out. I will most likely just continue to deteriorate and even if I don't end up taking my life, I doubt that I will live to 80. Perhaps to 40, or 50 if I'm "lucky" considering smoking shortens one's life span by 10 years, severe mental illness such as Schizophrenia shortens it by 20 years, and my other bad habits will probably also shorten it even more. Maybe it's not so far off thinking I might not even live to 30...

But it is not living a long life that I want, cause what good is a long life if you suffer? I'd rather have a short life. A short and miserable life or a short and decent life are both better than a long and insufferable life. Of course some things can get better, and I do hope that I'll be able to turn it all around to a brighter path, but deep down I know that my chances of making that happen are very slim.

So I don't really hate myself. I just hate my life and what I've become. How it all turned out, and what it's leading to. I see and hear about my friends getting permanent jobs, finishing their studies, talking about pay checks, moving to their own apartments, getting pets, keeping steady relationships for years, getting engaged, getting married, having children.

And I'm just withering away. Still dependent on my parents, can't live entirely on my own or with anyone, probably wouldn't be able to hold a job for more than five minutes, can't even study as of now, wouldn't be able to care for a pet, I've been single for two years and I'll probably never be able to have a child.

I try to tell myself that I'm still young, and most of my friends who have gotten that far in life are older than me. And who knows, maybe things will be different in five or ten years? But I don't believe it. The problem is that I don't believe in it because it's so damn unlikely.

*

Sorry for the super long entry. I just go on and on on the same topics. When I try to finish it off I just think of more to add. I'm hopeless in that area.