Competing with myself

I got a card from school, it's some kind of certificate, at the start of this term and now I see that my teacher has written the wrong personal identity number on it. Sigh, it's gonna follow me forever and ever that old personal identity number of mine that connects me to my previous legal gender. I don't think I'll ever use that certificate though, so I try not to be bothered by it. But I can imagine if I'll ever have to use it, it won't work cause the number on it doesn't match the number on my ID card. I legally became a new person, sort of, so yeah.

It's just so frustrating that that old number is still following me even though it's been over a year since I had it changed. It's like a persistent ghost that keeps haunting and taunting me. And I keep wondering if it will ever stop and just leave me alone. I don't want that shit being dragged up all the freaking time. It's like my past is trying to remind me of the obvious as if I'd ever manage to forget, or something. Like I do know that's something one just doesn't "forget" cause it's a constant reminder every single day.

I wish it wasn't that way. I still wish I had just been born with a male body and I fucking hate being trans. I don't see any pros with it at all, but that's a lie cause I do, it's just that the cons weigh so much more. The only pros I can think of is that I've got slightly more insight in things regarding gender. Like what it's like to be seen in society as both female and male, separately and simultaneously. And also what it's like to be seen as neither. Cause some people just would never accept me as a "real guy" and not as a "real girl" either. I don't know what they saw me as, but probably as some kind of freak of nature or something.

No one's been hostile towards me about my gender. Not even once during my transition. Although some took the opportunity to bully me a bit about it when I was still in elementary school and still trying to figure things out. But that never went that far, luckily. No, the worst kind of response I've gotten as far as I can remember, is people simply not accepting me as a guy. Those that said stuff like "you're always gonna be a girl to me" or "I still see you as a girl" and that shit. But I mostly let that be without trying to change their minds, knowing I wouldn't succeed to.

I mean their opinions might be shitty, but it's their opinions nonetheless and they can have them. What do I care. Then not everyone actually expressed what they thought about my gender/expression/transition and that was fine with me, although I have to admit I was curious to know their thoughts. I never pushed them into telling me though. I never even asked. What I did ask a lot of people who knew me though, was often why I didn't pass as male to them. I wanted to know so that I could change and pass better next time.

Maybe that's sad, I don't know. Like I was trying to conform into something so forcefully, almost as if it was an act. I'm not saying being male was an act, not at all, it's never been, but being masculine most certainly was, most of the time. I wanted to wear lots of make-up, have long hair and androgynous clothes, but if I did, before testosterone, I was not gonna pass and no one would have taken me seriously. So I did wear make-up sometimes but just a little bit of messy eyeliner, I kept my hair long but just long and not in a hairstyle and often in a pony tail, and my choice of clothes was mostly baggy bondage pants combined with t-shirts and hoodies.

So I compromised, picked something between the stereotypically masculine and something more androgynous goth-ish. Mostly it was my body language and my voice that made people think I was female though, before testosterone. And the funny thing is that for a long time after I started with hormones, it was the other way around. Then people thought I was female until they heard my new, deeper voice and they were like "oh, not female then". Maybe cause I ditched most of that masculine clothing style and went more androgynous looking again.

I don't know, but I think, if I really try and mostly I do, I'd say I pass to about 90% now. It's usually young kids and elder people who still think I'm female no matter what I do. Though I guess I pass better when I have some facial hair going on. This time though, as I plan to save that out again, I'm not doing it for the sake of passing better, but simply because I miss it and think it looked nice. Although I think I'll not make it as wide as I had it last time, I think it shouldn't be wider than my mouth. And I wish my hair would get longer so I can have it in a middle parting and save out some sideburns too. That's where my beard is the thickest and darkest and I even get a shadow there when I keep it shaved.

It's still slowly filling in on my cheeks and further up on my chin (like the soul strip part kinda) but still no mustache. I wonder if I'll ever get one. I do want one cause I think it would be nice to have like a 3 days stubble going on but not without a mustache stubble if you know what I'm saying? I just think a stubble looks weird on me cause I have most of my facial hair under my chin. Ahaha, I actually hate shaving the stubble that grows on my chin, that specific area, cause it's sooo thick and coarse it's hard to get it off with a simple razor. So that's like a side-note reason to save it out there again too.

I'll likely dye it dark brown as I did before, once it's grown out a little bit, cause I just think it looks weird/bad on me with those stray blonde hairs in it. I don't think sideburns would look good on me with a sidecut in my hairstyle. So that's my reason for not saving those out as of now, but it has been kind of a dream of mine to have sideburns, ever since I was like 12 years old. It's weird cause I didn't even know I identified as male back then. I just... I was so jealous of a classmate at the time who got facial hair at that early age, or if it was a couple of years later.

I was so envious of the other guys in my class during elementary school. Of their bodies then, certainly not of their (in most cases) shitty personalities. It was mainly other guys who bullied me back then and I didn't connect to any of them in any way. If I connected to people of any gender, it was the girls. I felt I was more similar to them even though I could not see myself as one of them. Obviously I'm not actually all that similar to girls in general, but I don't know, it was a shitty school and honestly I only connected to one other person there which is my best friend.

I can't believe it's almost been 7 years since I came out now, as it was sometime during March 2009. I always keep thinking I should have gotten hormones a hell of a lot earlier than August 2013. Those 4 years was the worst waiting of my entire life, and yeah, doctors really seem to know how to make hell out of your life. It was... painful, to see other trans people that I knew, come out after me and get their hormones and surgeries long before me. I got my hormones years after they had already had their gender legally changed and all I could do was just watch them get more and more comfortable with their bodies and who they were, while I felt like I was rotting internally for something I started to think was never gonna happen.

I think that was one of the main reasons I stopped going to those meetings for trans people back in Uppsala, all those 7 years ago. Eventually, it got too painful watching them get what I never seemed to get. They were on their ways forward in life while I was just... rotting, hating myself more and more until I couldn't stand the mirror anymore. I think, most of all, what that waiting for hormones so kindly gave me, was more self hatred. A self hatred that I'm still fighting to "get over". The doctors' precaution killed a part of my soul, basically, it made everything so much worse.

I still look back and I can't figure out if I hate them or my body the most. What they didn't do to help me when they were literally obliged to help me. I had my stupid diagnosis, I was not too mentally ill, they had zero reasons to not give me hormones, yet they refused. The only thing I truly do hate about Uppsala, and the only really good thing about moving to Gotland, when I switched from Uppsala's trans team to the one in Huddinge in Stockholm. The only thing I don't regret about my decision to move here. If I had stayed... I don't know if they would ever had let me physically transition.

I think my transition was one of the most painful and horrible things I've ever gone through, but only when I still lived in Uppsala, that waiting time when absolutely nothing happened. I was dying, fucking dying inside cause my self hatred had reached a point that I had become dangerous to myself. It reached a point where I had decided I would rather die than continue living with how my body was before hormones and surgery. If I ever get the chance, I'd like to personally tell the team in Uppsala what they did to me during those years, that they caused damage that still hasn't healed. And it's now been almost 4 years since I moved from Uppsala and switched teams.

4 years and I'm still wondering where the confident and self-loving John went. I could have reported them, sued them or something, but I'm more of an eye for an eye type of person. I don't believe in the crime and punishment system and it all sounds very complicated to me as well. Legal issues never made much sense to me. I don't even know if I have/had a reasonable cause for suing or reporting them either. I just think what they did, or rather what they didn't do, was wrong and it damaged me significantly. Also they didn't do what they were supposed to do. Everyone I talked to about this during that time (friends and my parents) thought they did wrong as well. They, as much as myself, couldn't understand why the team refused to give me hormones when I was entitled to that.

But as far as I'm aware, it was because of my mental state, that they didn't think I was stable enough. I don't even know why cause I lied about my mental state in every psychiatric situation ever. I might not have been the best liar back then, but I never spoke of my almost constant suicidal thoughts, my self hatred, or why I was such a mess to begin with. I didn't say much at all, just denied I had anything to do with self harm or negative thinking. I was trying to assure them all of how 100% certain I was about wanting to transition. I felt it was basically all I could do.

But looking back, I should have switched teams already when things started to get out of hand, sometime after spring 2010 when I had gotten my diagnosis officially and then nothing more happened. It was during the summer of 2010 that I got testosterone off the black market sort of and started self medicating with it. That was when I had started giving up on that trans team to ever give me hormones legally. I should have looked it up and at least tried to switch teams if at all possible. Cause you're always allowed to get a second opinion. And I should have gotten one.

Yeah I know all of that is old shit by now, but obviously I can't seem to let it go. So much suffering and pain just because my body somehow decided to develop into the female direction before I was born. And I hate nature for what it gave me, but I do believe it would have been easier, at least a little bit, if I had gotten help earlier. I believe this is one huge reason as to why I was a complete mess while living in Uppsala. With all that self hatred and constant insecurity and never getting the help, it's not so strange nothing else worked out in my life.

From one thing to another. It suddenly struck me as a little odd that I haven't either dated anyone or had sex for almost 3 years now. I am so safe from sexually transmitted diseases and pregnancies it's almost ridiculous and a little sad. I'm fine though, but I do get a little romantically frustrated at times. And by "a little" I mean so freaking much I think I'll dissolve. I'm still in love with K and I think that's one of the reasons I haven't really been interested in anyone else. I seem to switch between being polyamourous and monogamous, and for the past 3 years I've been more to the latter, but still somewhat "open minded" about it, or what to say.

Like I just know K probably won't ever want to give me a chance, but I still don't want to let him go, but it's like I can be open for something else while still loving K. Of course it would have to be someone who could at least somewhat accept my half obsessive love for K, which I believe wouldn't be so easy to find such a person. And I'd have to be interested back as well, so yeah. I'll probably die single and heartbroken. But I don't always see myself as too lonely to deal with, I mean, I do wish for some romance but it would have to be under certain requirements. Like most likely little to no sex, and that possible future partner must not be suffocating me. But if they would be male, female, both neither, cis, trans I really don't care.

But all in all if anything I'd just aim for finding someone I could love and who could love me back preferably without any obsessions involved and I really don't care much about what gender they would or wouldn't be of. Let's just say I have a tiny preference but it's really not a mandatory one. Personality and chemistry always, always comes first for me. Just that it's a lovely person who could at least tolerate me. And I usually have no problem finding lovely people left to right, but finding someone I could like spark with is indeed difficult for me.

Especially since I'm already in love with most of my heart and soul occupied. Although I do believe there's infinite space for people in there, but yeah. Maybe my love for K is blocking the entrance or something, I don't know. I just miss good company and romance, I suppose. I miss sharing all of me with someone that way. And part of me is still hoping for just one time having a decent relationship with someone. Which doesn't involve abuse of any kind or a whole lot of misunderstanding. It doesn't have to be perfect at all, just plain fucking decent.

A healthy relationship, that's all I ever ask for. It can involve fights, in can involve difficulties of almost any kind, as long as we'd get along in the long run and accept each other for our flaws. I usually have no trouble accepting other people's flaws, it's just that they usually can't accept or even understand mine.

I still think about the future and I try to not only be negative in my thoughts. Things I still wish would happen within a reasonable time from now and things I wish would just happen at all. Some things can take literally forever and I don't mind, while other things I'm calmly impatient about. Like not showing my impatience outwards, but it's still there. I still wonder what dating could be like post transition. I've never had anyone touch my flat chest, and that somehow makes me... I don't know, feel stuff. I wouldn't let just anyone that close to me either though. But it's something that's been on my mind from time to time, that I've never been with anyone since before the surgery.

And I guess it's something I'd kinda want to explore, in lack of better words. It's a thought that excites me and makes me a little sad too. Like I know I didn't have the surgery for anyone else but myself, but still, it's something I would like to share too, in a way. Well, it's only been two years (in a month) so I guess I shouldn't worry or anything. And I don't, it's just that the thought is there nonetheless. And I wonder about other aspects too, regarding dating someone post my transition. Like being seen as male in a relationship for example. I thought I was back when I was with my latest ex, or how to put it.

Back in 2011, the non-abusive relationship but I don't think I was in love with him. However, I though he saw me as male or I just wanted to believe that he did, but there were a lot of indications as to him not seeing me as male. I had been on hormones for about a year (self-medicated) but still looked very feminine and well, all of my female parts were still intact. Ew, but however that was the way it was back then. And I could tell, that even though he never really said it, that he wanted me to keep those parts. I had no interest what so ever in keeping anything the way it was and I still don't by the way, but I couldn't even tell him that.

On the other hand he told me several times that "when he got rich" he would pay for all of my hormones and surgeries if the doctors still wouldn't give me that, since all that stuff is basically free here in Sweden if you have the diagnosis and stuff like that. I don't have the words to explain it in a good and or understandable way, but it's free cause the state or something pays for it with our tax money, like any other health care. However, my ex at the time literally offered to pay for all of that should the doctors not help me, but he was undeniably broke and we both tried to scrape by on my allowance and my parents' money as he was trying his best looking for a job.

He did, at least on some level, see it as we were a gay couple, or at least anywhere outside in the world. I think he mainly had all good intentions but that he was struggling a bit with accepting the whole thing about me being male but still looking like a female. So I don't see it as that I did experience what it was like to be seen as male in that relationship, because there were just too many indications that I wasn't. And I don't want to go into too much details, but yeah, I had some real struggles with our sex life and I did not feel accepted at those times. I felt as if he wanted me to be what I was not because of how my body looked. It disgusted me and eventually, I could simply not deal with it at all.

I know, I know, I should have talked to him about it, but I never really did. I tried a few times, but very subtly and carefully. He didn't take the hints and I was just frustrated and lacked words to describe what it made me feel like without hurting him. It was just something that I felt was hanging over us like a dark cloud and that it ruined things. I both blamed him for not listening to me when I had tried to talk to him and I also blamed myself for not daring to speak up. I don't feel as though it damaged me on a significant level or anything though, it was just hard to deal with back then and I still think about it, but it's not like it traumatised me or anything like that.

I know he had good intentions and never wanted to hurt me, it's just that the whole relationship was built on misunderstandings and bad communication and that just never ends well. Although, that relationship did end well. We're still in contact and we don't think bad about each other or about that the relationship ended. I don't really regret anything, or well, I don't regret entering the relationship or ending it. I might regret some of what happened in between, like that about me not speaking up about what really didn't work out between us, for example.

And I don't know, but I think it's still sad that that was the best relationship I ever had so far. It felt so empty, so shallow and half the things never worked out, it was like none of us really gave it a chance, and it was the best I ever had. So yeah... I do feel as though I'm missing out on something. I'm just not done with romantic relationships, even though it might seem that way cause I've been single for so long. Like, those I tell about that I've been single for 4 years now, they all seem to think I've given up or something, but it's not true. I just haven't found anyone to be with during all that time.

It's been harder for me to connect with new people lately and well, I still don't know anyone on this island except from my family, and I'm not gonna date them, ew no. But I've been slightly starting to connect with new people, meaning my classmates and teachers. Now I don't particularly see any of them as dating material or how to put it (cause that sounded gross but I can't think of a better way of phrasing it) mostly cause 1. I'm not attracted to them in any single way other than to have them as friends, and 2. most of them are already married or dating someone else. But maybe I'd be more likely to connect to other people too now, I don't know.

So I just rested on the couch (fell asleep there eventually) and thought about all the plastic surgery I'd like to do if I had the money/got offered to have it done. And how unfair I find it that trans girls get so much such offered to them in their transition but trans guys do not. Like, where is my facial masculinisation surgery option? Not here! And all that extra fat on and around my hip area that does not belong there, why wasn't I offered to have that removed as a part of my transition? As if I could ever afford that myself, now or in any kind of future.

I wouldn't want to do anything terribly invasive about my face, I guess. But I do hate my weak chin and lack of jawline. Sure I would like some kind of eye lift too but I just wouldn't trust anyone, even a skilled surgeon, to get that close to my eyes with a scalpel. And I do think my nose is too big but I like its shape and I don't even know if it would be possible to keep its shape just make it like, closer to my face or something, and also I think it would look better as it is if I just had a stronger jaw and bigger chin.

So well, I wouldn't be unrecognisable if I could get any surgery I wanted, just slightly different, I guess. And of course, from my perspective, slightly better. And I've been so mad at how I could not get any surgeries except from top- and bottom surgery. Like maybe I'm demanding/asking for too much but it's my body and my genes completely suck. I don't think my hormones did a very good job in changing my appearance and yeah, it still pisses me off.

But yeah, I'm trying to stop wishing for impossible things to happen cause worst case scenario, they make me cry and hate myself even more cause I'm so damn concentrated on what I consider to be my flaws.

Ended up on youtube watching make-up videos again. I can assure you, that if you're ever looking for foundation tips, contouring and such, there is an ocean of tips there. I mostly look at videos of very light skinned people with acne doing tutorials on how to cover it. Simply because I might be interested in the products and if the person in the video has much darker skin than me, chances are their products don't even come in my shade. Most products don't.

Oh my god, this coffee is revolting. However, I do mostly put on make-up just to hide my acne, but I also do a fair bit of shaping with contouring and highlighting, getting us back to the topic of my not masculine enough face. I do contour my cheek bones in what's considered a more masculine way, like in a downward curved bow instead of straight (diagonally) or an upward curved bow which is considered more feminine, apparently, according to make-up artists. Then I also bring out my jawline quite a bit with pretty harsh contouring and highlighting. And then also I highlight my chin to make it pop and seem like it stands out a little bit further.

I do also contour my forehead and nose but that's just cause I think it looks better for no apparent reason. I don't think my forehead is too big and I'm not really trying to make my nose look smaller. Maybe I'm just giving it a bit more dimension, I don't know. Oh, and I do highlight my cheek bones too but I just don't think it makes them pop or anything really. Don't know what I'm doing wrong there. Maybe it's because I literally don't have prominent cheek bones at all and it's hard to create something that just isn't even there to begin with. My face is so flat like why...

I wish I could do my make-up a lot better than how I do it right now. I still think my pores look huge, it looks cakey and far from natural in daylight. It looks much better in photos, trust me. I can't show a picture of how it actually looks in real life, and I would want to. Cause it just feels... I don't know, but sort of fake to show my make-up and it doesn't even look half as good in reality. Reality sucks and I wish to escape it, alright? But instead I have to put up with its crap.

It's like, really not that much about how I look that I feel okay with. I do basically everything I can to look a certain way because I hate my entire body. I alter my clothes to fit a certain way to make my hips look smaller and my upper body look bigger, to hide my fat stomach and give me a more straight and slim silhouette. I put on a crap load of make-up cause I hate my acne and facial features or lack there of. And I guess my hair is the only thing that becomes more of a creative outlet than something to alter my over all looks.

I realise I put in sooo much time and effort in all of this, from what colour pants I wear to how I contour my face and literally everything is so extremely and carefully planned out just to make me look a little bit better. I don't think I would pass half as good if I didn't put so much effort into it. I know it's worth it, but damn. It can take literally weeks for me to just think of and make a new outfit that I haven't worn before, also hence why I hate shopping for new clothes. Because everything has to work in this insane harmony to make me look that certain way.

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.

Wasting away

This winter is gonna be a nightmare, trying to lose 1 kg a week until Christmas, it should put me at 50-51 kg. I know fasting is the only way to lose weight that rapidly, and I might fail. I'm gonna need to fast at least 2 days a week and restrict the other days, careful not to gain with a crashed metabolism. Cause it's gonna crash, if it hasn't already. I skipped the ABC diet, it's not working. I need to fast to get off this set point, the weight my body wants to be at.

Although I already screwed that up with 5 calories of cabbage, but if that's all I'm having today then whatever. I also had 2 cups of tea and 1 cup of coffee, adding up to 92 calories so far today. I lost my motivation but think I regained it when I started thinking more about my goal. Oh god, how I dread Christmas! I can't even go 2 days without purging and I'm scared shitless of gaining on all that food, so I'm feeling kinda screwed.

I'm all numbers today, just counting and rambling them. Calories and kilos is all I see. I try to picture my goal, what I could look like weighing 50 kg. It's not my ultimate goal, but a smaller goal on the way. I'm likely gonna scare my family once I hit that goal, when they see me, cause it's something I can't hide from them, but I don't care. I do what the fuck I want with my body.

My mind has become so distorted, and starving it doesn't exactly help. Am I so far gone? I guess I was an easy target. 50 kg... it would give me a BMI of 17,7. Underweight but not enough to get anorexia. For that I'd have to be at most at 17,0 which is about 49 kg. I'm not exactly taking it easy, no I put all the energy that I have into it. Starve as much as I can, fast as much as I can and purge everything I "overeat". Just hoping I can reach my goal before purging kills me. How often would be enough to kill me? A few times a week, a few times a day? And for how long? I guess I'll just notice.

And when I'm bored I start singing out loud not caring that it's past midnight, I just don't care. That "keeping up appearances" -thing won't work any longer when I get to a new lowest weight, which is anything below 53 kg. They'll notice my relapse, they'll all notice. But that's good too, cause then I won't have to pretend anymore. But I'll keep it secret for as long as I can.

Damn I feel so weak and tired and drained. That diet really took the best out of me. I'll try to fast this weekend, or at least stick to less than 100 calories a day, then eat more during the weekdays when I have school. But not more than at most 700 and never always that much. Hoping that will work. Cause if I haven't lost weight by tomorrow I'm gonna cry. I'm gonna cry so hard.

And you know not many things can make me cry these days, or ever. Once I did, just a few weeks ago or so. I was thinking about K as I knew he was suicidal again and I just lied down on the couch with a cigarette and cried silently. That is very recent for being me. The time before that... I can't remember. Spring or last winter, I think. I've been so dead inside, bottling up the little feelings I've had.

I'm still dead inside. Still can't feel much at all, and when I do, I usually can't control it that well. It runs over, basically. Usually only very strong things can make me cry, and although I don't know if my weight can be a strong enough reason, I have no doubt that it can be.

I started restricting about 2 months ago, when I relapsed in the end of August, but I haven't lost much weight at all. About 2 kg, but I don't know for sure cause I only started weighing myself about a week ago. Ahah... talking about crying and 2 minutes later I'm sobbing to a song I've heard a million times. "The Rose" by Bette Midler, during the phrase "And the soul afraid of dying that never learns to live". It gets to me every time, but I don't always cry.

Well, my eyes just barely watered and only slightly it ran over, but still. If anything should make me cry it should be my horrible body, but somehow it doesn't. It makes me scream though. Sometimes. I react more often with anger than with sadness for some reason. Maybe it's the testosterone. Heck what would I know.

Now I think I understand, on some level, what you meant when you said to me that 50 kg is pretty thin already, K. When I told you that was my goal weight last autumn. I didn't want to alarm you, but 47 was already then my actual goal weight, before it dropped down to 44. Looking at thinspo made me realise that neither 50 nor 47 was ever gonna be enough.

And now I wonder if 44 is gonna be thin enough. Secretly I have, for about a week now, wished that I could one day weigh below 38 kg. Not so secretly anymore. Oh my god, that would put me at a BMI of 13,5... For your sake, I hope I never get quite that low. Cause I do still care about you, I do. And I don't want you to see me literally become just a skeleton. I think 44 is low enough, which is a BMI of 15,6 if I remember that correctly. It is super thin, but not skeletal.

I'm just a disaster today. Memories from the past week are haunting/following me. A classmate, the one I like the best and almost consider a friend, we can call her G, tasted one of my cigarettes and then excitedly said she could definitely understand why I'm smoking Lucky Strike, but for 55 kr/pack? Yeah, I'm a bit crazy when it comes to my cigarettes. It's a good memory.

I have serious trust issues these days. I'm different from who I was back in Uppsala, I've changed. Became stealth, hiding my eating disorder, I rarely see people, I rarely open up. And it's hard... even when I see some of my old friends, to open up. I've become so used to keeping everything bottled up, so used to do what I think of as protecting my own skin. Lying, cover it with a smile or a faint giggle. Telling only half the story and then saying "that's pretty much it" and lie if I get questions, or simply just leave out the truth.

About me being stealth: first off, it's because I can. Secondly, someone once told me to be careful who I tell it to. It's an important person to me and those words just stuck with me. Did they push me into being stealth? Oh heck no, they would never have such intentions. All I'm saying is that it got me thinking but the decision was entirely my own, when I moved to this island.

It feels like I'm bleeding internally today, but I won't purge, I won't eat. No more than the little I already have, at least. I'm just trying so hard to focus on my goal and the few things that are good in my life right now. School is good, but I'm ruining it with my eating disorder. Talking to K is good but it can't ever be us. Just the two of us against the world. I would love to be next door neighbours with him. I'd have my privacy but still be able to just walk over and knock on his door. That would be perfect.

Two and a half years and I'm still madly in love. I don't think I'll ever stop loving him. I think that is my old record, that I've never loved someone like this for such a long time before. By the time I'm supposed to die, it will be 3 years. So as long as I'm alive, I can never be in love with him for more than 3 years. But I'll keep loving him after I die. That is for sure. Maybe I'll even try to watch over him for a while after, but what good would a ghost be for someone living?

I hope I can be a ghost for a little while after I die, to just watch over the ones I love and see how they're coping or not coping. But I don't know if that could be my choice or not. To just linger here for a few months or so before I take off to Dala. But still I wonder... will I leave K when I die, or will he leave me the same way before then? It's something I can't let go of. I don't know how badly he would take it when I die. I don't want to think about it but yet I try to imagine it.

Cause it's the last thing I ever want to do, hurt him like that. I don't know how many friends he's still in contact with, I don't know many carefully listen when he's down, how many wish they could do more than comfort him with words, how many care endlessly much about him. But I'm guessing it's not hundreds of people. I know I can't love myself, but I'm not dumb, I know other people can love and care about me. And though I've never heard him say it, I think he on a friendship level might love me. He might.

It's 2:05 and I'm digging too deep again. Eating disorder, suicide and K is literally all I ever think about these days, and the three topics entwine into a god awful mess that is sometimes hard to separate. Like tonight. I want to starve to death making it my suicide while I'm worried about how K would react to it all. So far, he's the only one in my real life who knows about my relapse. I didn't even think twice about telling him. I'd tell him everything, but I'm not spewing everything out just like that.

I don't know what will become of this night. I'm always in need of my psychologist but I just can't. Afraid I'll say too much, or not nearly enough. I want to tell her about my prophecy, that I'll die soon after my 27th birthday, and that I want to die, that I feel ready but not before then. Could I? Would that be too much? What if she'd think I should be sent inpatient until those thoughts go away? They never will go away. I'm either right or too crazy for a simple stay at the hospital to help me. Besides, if I go there they'd notice my eating disorder and I don't want that. I don't want anything.

But I don't want to lose my psychologist just because I've given up. I still need her, just not to get better. I can't really explain why I need her, but perhaps just for some kind of comfort. I'm just wrapped up in sadness and I can't think clearly. I'm just wasting away, wondering if I even have that long.

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.

Thoughts spinning

Suddenly I'm so numb and no music can make me feel anything, not even "Misty mountains" from The Hobbit and that's serious. Maybe I don't ever want to stop cutting? Maybe it's the only true fucking comfort that will always be with me? That will never leave or abandon me, that I can't abandon.

Cause I do, leave and abandon what is my comfort for god knows what stupid reasons. And I violate my own sanctuaries over and over again. I make sure that I'm not comfortable. I make sure that I'm suffering. There's something self destructive etched into my subconscious mind, I do it without even reflecting.

How I seek comfort and then ruin it, find a sanctuary and violate it, get help and abandon it, find peace and leave it. I don't want to go into details, but I hate how I'm constantly doing it.

When I listen to certain songs that K wanted me to hear, around last summer, I can't believe that he never felt anything for me. As I hear the lyrics and I just can't help but thinking... that he meant them for me. Maybe I wasn't wrong, and it terrifies me, that what if he did feel something but then those feelings faded away? What have I done? The silence that follows that question echoes in my head.

My worst nightmare would be that if I die and then somehow later find out that he did love me, or felt anything along those lines. That's one reason I'm holding back, and because I don't want to hurt him, that he would lose a friend if I died. It's all so focused on him, my whole life right now is just revolving around him and I'm so fucking blinded. All I see and hear and think and feel is K, K, K, K, K.

Though it's true and it's not. Cause I do think about other things too, but it's true that I feel nothing else than what I feel regarding him. The pain has taken over every other emotion. Oh gosh, if only people knew that. What a shell I've become. Nah, I don't want them knowing.

I'm becoming my darkness, the light is drowning and it feels like I can't save it even if I cared to even try. Once again I "learn" how to live in total darkness, solar eclipse, as I just stumble around blinded. I stumble and fall and fall and fall until I can't get up any longer. Until every bone in my body is broken or shattered and I can't do anything but bleed and lie there. That's what life feels like right now.

And I'm too tired to fight. Too tired to say no to the psychiatry's life saving instances, too tired to do anything on my own. Too tired to say no to razor blades, pills, booze. I shift back to listening to my second favourite song of all times, "Demons" by Alaska in Winter. I love it that damn much, it just fills my soul with something other than emptiness for a little while. But it can't last, nothing can, and there's both sadness and comfort in knowing that.

Cause if nothing lasts, then that means even the good things that may come my way won't last either. How is it for humans, are their lives worth living knowing that, or do they simply not know that? Ignorance is bliss, I never once doubted that. Knowing a whole lot of truth about the world, mostly spiritual/wisdom related stuff, gives me such an overwhelming sadness. The more I know, the more awful and hopeless life just seems. So pointless, stupid and dull.

Like, I know the meaning of my life is that I'm here to learn about humans, but I'm so fucking sick of them by now I can't fucking stand it. I can't stand my own purpose to life. I know too much. And knowing how I'm gonna die is also one of those "too much information" things. It gives me a lot of pressure. It tells me "you have this long to live your entire life and do everything you want to do but you can't cause you're a mental wreck cheers have fun" and it literally drives me mad.

Cause if only that prophecy had been a tad more clear from the beginning, that would have been neat. I lived my late teenage years and early twenties in constant fear thinking I was gonna die before turning 22. What was all that about?! Thank you, sincerely, higher powers whatever the fuck it is you want with me. What do they want with me? Am I a messenger of sorts, on a test run for something great or just plain delusional?

I so have a Messiah complex. It's not very visible these days, not very "in your face", but it's there. I know that I was a very important, rich, powerful and famous person in my previous life and thus, I still am that person at heart. I don't believe that I'm God or Jesus, but a demon and according to some sources that counts in too. And a part of me believes that it's possible that I will become a god one day. Not "the" god of Christianity, but like maybe one of Hinduism or something. I believe all gods are real, as real as they can be, not really existing in our plane of existence, but I'm not a religious person. My faith is all over the place.

I only chose Satanism because I like Satan and pray to him, I follow him. I'm not really a practitioner of that religion, I just follow Satan. I've been dipping my toes into every religion (well, almost) and nothing fits. I've given up. My god has my soul now, so I can't change my mind. I wrote a blood oath, so there's no going back. I don't really regret it, but it's sort of, I don't know, it lacks devotion.

Gods are such complicate being to me, although I only know two personally. And I don't know how much of my faith is pure delusion, but there's even a saying about how hearing gods talking to you is crazy shit. I haven't actually told anyone, a shrink or whatever, that I sometimes hear God and Satan speak to me. It's rarely now, although maybe I need some divine help right now. Maybe a Christian person would agree with that, or possibly they too would think I'm crazy.

I hardly know what is crazy or not, but I do know what is normal and not. It's not always the same thing. And people always telling me that I'm not crazy, I wonder where they draw the line. Cause I'm pretty sure I've crossed it. Ages ago. If it's because of Anna, hearing God and Satan speak to me, believing I'm a demon prince, actual hallucinations, my constant depression that never qualifies as such, my suicidal tendencies, my mood swings, my way of defining real, other voices I've been hearing, or simply that I can't tell real from dream. I don't know.

My reality has always been so different from others. It's like I've got a lot of symptoms of Schizophrenia and Borderline and Asperger (obviously), Dissociative Identity Disorder, Dysthymia, ADHD, Body Dysmorphic Disorder and so on I could literally list everything that exists and I have no doubt that I would get most of it if I took the tests. Am I crazy? Fucking yes, but that's not the problem. The problem is that I'm the only one who thinks it.

I wouldn't want to be normal, but I don't want to be like this either, cause I can't survive this way. I wrote a whole book about my sorry life at 26 years old and it's so fucking packed it's crazy. I'm just saying my whole life is too much for me to handle. So I have to write it down, as it's the only thing I can do.

Stay alive

So... this night turned out to be an adventure that I can't remember. Wat I did was taking 3 Imovane and drank 6 vodka drinks. I read up about it yesterday and it warned me about getting blackouts and sleepwalking and well...

When I woke up I had some kind of mysterious stain on my jeans that I slept with on, same kind of stuff under my nails, the cream cheese tube was on the kitchen worktop (instead of the in the fridge) and I realised that's what was all over me. Also there's a glass of juice on my desk that I have no memory of what so ever. Oh, I used a plate too, but I have no idea exactly what I ate except from that cream cheese. I must have been sleepwalking, and eating in my sleep. Or I went up to eat in an awake state but then blacked it out, but probably the first considering the mess I made.

I don't seem to have done anything serious in that state, however. No new cuts on my arms, my hair is intact and so on. Also I didn't call anyone, according to my phone.

So no, I didn't die, just like I thought I wouldn't. A part of me wanted to die and that's probably why I wrote that letter and kept beside my pillow in my bed. I even slept with my clothes on just in case. Would not want to be caught dead naked. Literally. But I didn't die and now I'm myself again. Sigh. Was this a suicide attempt? I don't know. A very ridiculous one in that case. I mean come on, it was just 3 Imovane and some booze. No one dies on that little.

I found spilled out juice on my desk, but seems my keyboard is alright. I can't help but wonder exactly what and how much I ended up eating during my sleepwalking. Like I managed to do the quite complicated procedure of pouring up juice concentrate and water of decent amounts in a glass, but then smeared cream cheese fucking everywhere. I have to clean up my jeans and my desk and I had to wash my hands pretty thoroughly to get if off my nails. I will so do this again sometime. Yeah, I'm crazy.

I'm still bummed over that I didn't die last night. Although I didn't even try to, and I still don't know if I should count it as my 16th suicide attempt, but maybe I should, cause I did dress up and wrote a note and everything. Ugh, I don't know.

I'm dying on this island. I'm literally dying and my mother thinks I shouldn't return to Uppsala again. She doesn't understand, but I will explain it to her one day. If I survive this year, I'll try to make my mother help me get an LSS apartment in Uppsala or somewhere nearby, so that I can move there next year or the year after that. I just won't stay here longer than 5 years and that's final. I'll probably not even be alive for that long, but still. I try to still do future plans despite knowing that I'm gonna die.

I'm pretty sure that I'll skip having a child and go for surgery right away instead. There's no regretting, I'm not meant to be a parent. How can I? I skip that thought and leave it forever behind me. I don't need a child, I truly don't. It was just an obsession that came and more importantly: went. If I survive this summer, I'm gonna have my mother call the right people to see if I could go for check up for surgery or get a meeting with my surgeon or whatever is required. I'm pretty sure that some kind of consultation would be important.

I just want to be one step closer to complete. I don't want this horrible dysphoria and self hatred. I don't want to look like I'm somewhere between male and female, I want to look completely male. I need it, I think I need it to survive, if I can survive long enough to get to that point.

I don't plan suicide, but my impulsive behaviour could lead me there one day. I always try to hold on, even now, but sometimes I can't. Then I do reckless and stupid things. I want to say that I try as hard as I can, and I want you to not worry about me, but I just can't lie. I don't want to live and I'm constantly on the brink between life and death. I see no future, yet I do, cause my hopes are still not dead. I think those are what's keeping me alive most of the time, the hopes for something better.

But I don't believe in a better future, not really. I think that if I stay, life will continue like it always has. Without the heartache, maybe I could manage that, but not with it. Definitely not with it. I just have one more weekend to survive on my own, since my pens will likely show up on Monday or Tuesday (yes, I finally managed to order them), but if I can't, I'll get my mother to call the hospital and see if they can arrange a bed for me at the psychiatric ward before then. My mother will then just have to come with my pens after I've been admitted in that case. If that's possible. I mean if I lend her my ID-card or something.

But hopefully I'll make it through this weekend. I'm gonna see my psychologist tomorrow, I think, and then talk about all of my annoying feelings. Of course she won't think they're annoying though. I am incapable of finishing this entry. It feels like I needed to say something more but I don't know what that would be.

Oh, now I remember! I had the crew coming over today and apparently they've talked to the person in charge (more or less reported me) because I've refused help from them so much lately. Apparently that was wrong of me, but they didn't even warn me or anything first. That's shitty. I'm feeling like a mess and then they're doing everything worse. Sorry, I'm too shut off by now to even being capable of reacting.

I was close to crying though, when my contact person of the crew told me that. She said she was gonna warn me but she's been away/sick, and that she didn't approve of her colleagues' method. At least she's on my side. I don't know what to expect, cause they have already reported me. I'll probably somehow bring my mother into the mix and then just try to explain that I've been feeling seriously horrible lately and that's why I've been ignoring the staff. I just couldn't handle them. At all.

Yes, I finally let her into my apartment and she helped me with the dirty dishes, swabbing the floors and I vacuumed the floors and put my clean clothes away in the wardrobe. It was tiring, but I think I had a slightly better day and could finally just get it over with.

Long entry becomes long, and you should know that I deleted quite a large portion of it. It doesn't even show. I'm divided. If I talk to my shrink, won't she think that I actually do care and want help, which I really don't? And if I shut up I'll suffocate cause I think I really need to talk it through with her. She's not nearly as annoying as my contact person at the eating disorder unit is though. She's more laid back and understanding, although we do have our misunderstandings sometimes.

Like she once thought that I was actually in a relationship with K, or that she thought I wanted to get instantly better from my eating disorder as soon as I told her about it. But it's okay, it's understandable misunderstandings. So maybe I'll just have to be clear, that I've lost it, my ability to give a fuck about how much I'm ruining my body for a peace of mind I can never get. But also that I'm thinking about the psychiatric ward and possibly also mention my half assed suicide attempt last night.

I might not mention exactly what I took though, in fear of them taking away that medication from me. I might not even mention the sleepwalking for the same reason. Just say that I took an overdose with alcohol, put on make-up, dressed up, wrote a suicide note and went to bed. It sounds very much like a suicide attempt if I tell it like that. But oh, well.

I only have 1 Imovane left now so can't do the same thing this night. Next time I'll take 4 or 5 pills instead of 3. See if I can get an even better/more interesting effect. But not tonight. Tonight, I don't know what I'm gonna do. But I'm not gonna try suicide cause I want to be alive for that meeting with my shrink. I need to be, I just fucking need to be.

Hints from the past

I want to write a book about myself, but lately I've been hesitating to put so much information about myself out there, you know. It's a lot like this blog, what I've written so far in it, but more in order and less rambling about random days' events.

The number one thing that I need to decide if I want to disclose is my transsexualism. Without it, I simply can't write that book. And I've been meaning to finish it before I die. I have had the thought that I could just write it, finish it and then not let it be published until after I'm dead. That would solve my problem of it being too revealing, since if I'm dead, everything could be revealed and it wouldn't bother me, whether I'm still here as a ghost or something or not.

If my prophecy is right, which I believe it is, I will be dead in less than 2 years so I'd better hurry up and write that book. I want the world to know me, who I was, and I've been inspired from a movie called "The number 23" starring Jim Carrey (one of his few serious roles, maybe I should add) and in it his character wrote an autobiography that started out as a suicide letter.

I think mine will go the other way around though, and end as a suicide letter instead. The thought has followed me, as if it might be the only way I can write such a book. Cause I can't hold back. I've so far written about my past up until I'm about 17 years old and it's very graphic, very detailed and includes close to everything that I've been through. I suppose up until about age 15 it's mostly focused on the bullying, Dala, Anna and school in general. It includes my family too of course, but not so much as I'm not actually writing about them, I'm writing about myself and that has to be the main focus.

I didn't have any friends up until age 11 so obviously I didn't write about that. Then I did write about my best friend who still is my best friend to this day, and I can only hope that I didn't write too much about her. I don't want to reveal shit about other people. I'd likely use a pseudonym but ask the people involved if that is necessary. I don't know.

I don't know how "famous" that book could possibly become either. My life is quite interesting, but there are a lot of young writers who write autobiographies these days. I guess I'll never know if I do decide to wait with getting it published until after my death. Force someone else to send it out there for me, or do it as a last thing before I go. And then fail my attempt and see the horror of being famous for everything that I'm mildly ashamed of... ah, life, I guess.

So I don't want to be famous then? It's a tricky question to answer, cause on one hand I'd love to be seen and heard, but on the other hand I don't think I'd like the attention. And with an autobiography, I can't really pick and choose what to get famous for, it would be literally everything there is to know about me. People would feel sorry for me, feel sad for me, be revolted and pick and poke like crazy. I can only imagine, but to me, it kind of is bitter sweet.

As a kid, I dreamed of becoming famous for what I loved doing: drawing and writing, singing and something more that I've likely forgotten. During the very early years, singing was my most favourite thing to do. I mostly sang in my forgotten language of Dala, in Swedish I called it "dalariska" which could be translated to "Dalarian" or something. To other people it was gibberish or fake English. If only they knew.

As I grew up I learned that my singing was dreadful and I couldn't carry a single tone, they were mean to me about it so eventually I stopped singing. I stopped singing completely, couldn't even do it in the shower. And even to this day, I can't sing in public. It's a nightmare singing "happy birthday" to people. I keep my voice low and quiet. I had actually not sung that melody since before my transition when I finally had to at some random place about a year ago. It was weird, hearing my own voice, now on testosterone, for the first time in public like that.

It greatly affected me, those mean comments, but I still love singing, and I do try to practice it on my own within my own apartment. I try to learn how to sing with real tones, although I still can't really hear the difference between real tones and false ones. I blame it on my hearing impairment, as everyone else in my family don't have the same problem.

Where was I? Yes, fame. Maybe every kid at least once dream of fame, I don't know. But I suppose that when I was about 12-13 or so, that dream became less appealing to me, because of the attention. As I was being bullied, attention in itself has never really been something that I truly sought after. But to be heard and seen for what I've always loved doing, or since I learned how to use a pen at least, it kind of seems appealing to me. To be half famous for the right reasons.

To have readers; to let the world, or at least some of Sweden, see my art. Or to just let them have the option to. Because I care more about just sharing my work that I've put so much effort into than to get praised for it. Or money, for that matter. Sure, I too would love having something close to a real job that I love doing, to get some extra money so that I can... I don't know, fulfill my dreams sounds so stupid.

What I mean is maybe things like learning to drive and have my own car, move back to Uppsala, get tattoos and plastic surgery, buy more expensive art supplies and what not along those lines. Can money buy dreams? I don't know, but it could take you on the way to some of them. It depends on what your dreams are. If they involve practical things like those above mentioned, or if they include more, I don't, "vague" stuff like love or what not, it could be harder to buy.

I do dream of getting rich enough to afford those things, but I don't think I'll live long enough to get to that point. I don't even know if I'll survive this summer. Although I'll be sure to try to. I'll once again celebrate my "new" chest and buy neat swim shorts that fit and swim/bathe as much as I can. I don't need to be half as careful with my chest this summer as it's not as recently operated on now. It will have been almost 1,5 years ago when summer finally arrives.

I'm not like other goths, I love sun and swimming and enjoying those really warm summer days wearing nothing but shorts. Drinking soda with or without vodka in it, writing at an outdoors cafe or on a lawn somewhere. Gotta get myself a cheap laptop so that I can do that by machine instead of by hand and then writing it all again to get it into my stationary computer. Such a hassle. I love writing outdoors during the summer season. And of course, smoking outdoors is also quite pleasant compared to the cold seasons.

Maybe then I'll finish my autobiography, when I can get a laptop that I can bring with me basically everywhere I go. I would use it mainly to write, check online forums/websites and listen to music. Just the simple stuff that won't kill it, like WoW would. It doesn't even have to have that much memory space, since I'd mostly be saving my stuff on external hard drives or those little pocket things.

Ah, yes I dream of simply having a laptop by summer. I'll spend whatever money I have on it if I can't convince my family to get one for me. Like a couple of thousand kr. would be enough. Also, then I'd also want a decent camera at some point. So that I can take better pictures of my art, my own ugly face and maybe, just maybe to also record videos with. I'd like to become a useful member of youtube one day, or to make vlogs here on this blog. Speed drawings, is also something that I've had in mind lately.

So, I'm not entirely depressed/sad today, I've got something like close to a spark within me. Almost energy, I feel restless, like I want to do something but can't figure out what. Oh, by the way, my autobiography is still written in Swedish, because I'd most like to get a Swedish audience for it, then it can be translated later on. If only I can figure out how to translate the school years, like they don't have lågstadie, mellanstadie, högstadie in English. Or gymnasium for that matter. It's an entirely different school system, so yeah. That's mostly why I decided to write it in Swedish, as so much of it is focused on what schools I went to, all from ages 6 through 22. That's a lot of school.

I've never once had a job in my life, so yeah. I've either been studying or just living on allowance. Sometimes both. So no, I don't have any studying allowance dept, it's all for free. Well, I got another type of allowance up until I was 16, it's called "barnbidrag" in Swedish and everyone gets it. Then it was something similar but more of it up until I was 18 years old, then I got what I have now, which is called "aktivitetsersättning" and is mostly or only for mentally disabled people. So no, I've never made my own money, if not selling a few random artworks here and there counts.

I went to the bathroom and then I forgot what more I wanted to say. Then my thoughts started spinning and somehow I ended up in an imaginary threesome with K and his partner. Nope, not gonna tell you any details, but actually it was just a discussion and I never came to the actual sex part. I guess it would hurt too much to even think about. But if they asked me, I don't think I would say no. I've done similar things in the past, so yeah. It could even be nice, if it wouldn't hurt tremendously.

But I don't know, I've almost gotten hints about it before. Or maybe I just wish that those were hints, that he would somehow want to include me, even if it meant being with his partner too. I mean, it likely wouldn't be awful, I like her too. Not even remotely as much as I like him of course, but yeah. Maybe I'm just trying to mentally prepare myself for that ever possibly happening in the future. And I would set rules and be very clear with what's okay or not, as I've had some disastrous threesomes in the past. Maybe I'm revealing too much now, I don't know. You can just, uhm, shut your eyes or something.

I don't know how much of my sexual adventures I'd add in my autobiography, as they are at least somewhat important, at least those that were incredible, traumatising or shaped me in one way or another. Like with my first boyfriend, sexual assault, almost getting paid for it at one point, some one night stands, picking up people online and the threesomes. Those that left me significantly confused, amazed, horrified, scarred or empty. It's a part of what I've been through, a part of what shaped me into who I am today and therefor I deem it important enough to include.

Though, I haven't gotten quite that far into my writing, or I precisely have, as I had my sexual debut(s) when I was 17 and that's how far as I've gotten into my writing. I don't know what to count as my debut, as for me, sex is more than just intercourse. It can be so much more, and as a pansexual transgendered person, I really know that. I have 3 major events that I count as some kind of debut. The first being everything but intercourse, the second being the rape and the third being the first actual consensual intercourse. I was in the female role and he male, so that's that. I don't know at what point I lost my virginity, but I was 17 at all 3 times. No, I just remembered, I had turned 18 by the third event.

I also know that despite being so (relatively) old at those times, I was pretty eager to lose my virginity from around age 13 or so. I was just too damn unpopular that I simply could not get laid. Is that tragic? And then it all went so horribly wrong, and I do blame myself, but I also don't. It wasn't "my fault" but it was a choice that I could have not taken. I let myself be allured into a definite trap I could no longer get out of. Dependent on that train that he had to take me to. Yes, that's me talking about the rape. Of course it's gonna be included in my book, very detailed, vivid and horrible. Simply because it's such a major event in my life and it still haunts me to this day, even though it was now over 8 years ago.

It was 8 years ago, and it was also yesterday, in my mind, heart and soul. My body doesn't remember how it felt, but my mind remembers the helplessness. It shaped me in so many ways, and I'm not even sure if I can, but I do, at least partially, blame my asexual tendencies on the sexual assault that I went through, both when I was 17 and 9. I also blame some of my self hatred on it, my insecurity, my periods of sex addiction and a greed that I can't control, my shyness, my trust issues, my huge personal space and so on.

It fucked me up on more levels than I can fathom. I wrote about my first sexual assault, not in detail, but sort of what went on, and everything that happened to me afterwards. All of middle school (or mellanstadiet, ages 10 through 13) I was a complete mess. I started revolting against my bullies, I was pissed almost constantly as I covered my fear with anger to an almost ridiculous point as I was so scared. I started hearing voices (except or beyond Anna) and dissociated a lot. I started some minor forms of self harm like banging my head into walls, hitting myself until I bruised, ripping off the skin of my lips (dermatillomania?) and scratching myself with my nails.

Also, it was about that time that I realised that Anna wasn't real and her behaviour started changing for the first time. She became cruel to me and yeah. Everything was a mess and I didn't think that it actually fucked me up as much as it did, before I went back into my past and also uncovered a lot more memories during the summer before last. I still don't think I can remember exactly what happened when they assaulted me, my bullies, that I've blocked some of it out. Anna has hinted that there is more but she keeps it from me. She still protects me, carrying my most awful memories, those that I can't carry myself.

So I couldn't disclose the whole event even if I wanted to. There are very few things in my life that I am not prepared to talk about. Those are that first assault when I was 9 and then 2 things that I've done myself after that. I can hint, but I just can't really, actually tell anyone what happened. If I'm too ashamed, or just have an ounce of dignity, or even because I feel the need to protect the people I've hurt, I don't know but it could be that.

Damn I should eat something, but I just can't leave my computer. Just can't stop writing. But maybe, when or if I finish this huge, massive text, I'll go back to my autobiography and continue where I left off almost 2 years ago. Dig out my old diaries again and start researching my past. Back to my second gymnasium (upper high) school and those more or less traumatic experiences, those first sexual ones and then get into my first real relationship with the guy who also hurt me so badly.

There's so much trauma in my life from then on, so much darkness, as if my childhood and early teenage years were bright in comparison... Maybe they were, I don't know. It's hard to compare. But I wasn't bullied anymore once I changed schools, I just happened to end up with one jerk after another. It's my bad luck, and my desperation for that one true love, that lead me constantly in the wrong direction.

I'm glad that I do have all my diaries though, I've kept every single one since I was 8 years old and got my first one. They're all sorted chronologically in my book shelf, so, easy access and everything. I don't write directly from them though, only major events and dress them up a little bit better without lying or anything like that. Just tell the truth in a different way. Now, I can finish up this entry and go back into my past once again.

Creative energy

Yesterday was quite dull, I was dull, wrote only about nightly dreams, food and exercise. Hoping it will change into something more interesting today. It was so dull that I didn't bother posting any of it anywhere.

I just finished my third illustrated poem, it took me about a week to make, or I don't know, maybe 10-15 hours altogether? I want my new promarkers to arrive so that I can continue my drawing of the goth couple's background. I need shades of green!

Holy... I just posted that illustrated poem on tumblr and it got 15 notes in less than an hour! This makes me want to draw more. But I don't know what exactly. I just want my new pens right now! Fucking impatient.

Also, I'm starting to get tired of how my hair looks. I want to change the colour but don't know exactly how or even if I should. I want it blonde again, with parts of it blue, but it's gonna kill my hair and I still want it long. Or for it to get long. I was thinking I could bleach it but not so hard, leave it orange and then dye it all blue (has worked in the past, so) and then just keep bleaching the roots, letting only the lengths be blue. Could work? I don't know.

I need to order some blue dye then. And now I want to do a slightly massive order from BluFox seeing as they have studs that I want for some DIY as well. For a jacket and some pants, mainly. For when I can wear that jacket, that is. Needs to get warmer, I mean. It fits me perfectly these days, size wise.

I've already started a little DIY on it, added some patches to it. Just some things I've embroidered. An ankh and the Men Without Hats logo. Then I want to paint it with like white bats or something. I've got fabric paint and brushes. And add some more studs to it. It feels like I can only be goth during spring and summer, like winter jackets just cannot be goth.

But yeah, I've gotten really bored with my black and green hair now. It was fun while it lasted, now it's boring. I miss the blonde and I miss blue too. It was... 4 years ago I had blue hair and 1 year ago that I had blonde last time. Still want to keep it in a mohawk though, although I might need to trim the tips/endings/lengths or what the fuck to call it, since it was a long while ago and it's probably gotten a little damaged.

So, time for my summer hair already? It's mid April, for crying out loud. Well, it will probably take a while for me to get that blue dye after ordering it, and I should probably wait until my next "pay check" comes before I start online shopping again. It got a little expensive this month *cough* around 1000 kronor *cough*. Aaand I don't really have that kind of money.

But I haven't even been able to do any kind of internet shopping for months while my computer was bitchy, so I'm making up for it now. My things haven't even arrived yet. Bloody annoying when ordering from American websites, it takes ages for the things to show up and the shipping is so damn expensive it's crazy. As if the items themselves were any cheaper...

I hope that when I'll move back to Uppsala I can get more independent again. Travel without needing anyone to drive me, because the traffic is so much better on the main land compared to here on Gotland. I could take buses or trains. I would opt for another LSS apartment and the only help my parents would do is calling people for me, which they can actually do from afar.

I hope I could make that work, and possibly also get a guide or something when needing to travel around to unfamiliar places. There is help for lost people like me, if you just know how to get it. If you just try. And I don't want to be bound to this island forever. I regret moving here so, so much and wish I had stayed in Gottsunda until I had gotten a real LSS apartment in Uppsala. And just skipped studying since that obviously was too hard.

I don't need an education or a job to fulfill my life or to feel fulfilled. I don't know if that's a thing about being human that just I can't relate to, or if simply my art and writing is enough for me. If I didn't have that, I'd probably feel empty without having anything else to do, but I do manage to make my life liveable without having a job or study, because I have my creativity.

Maybe in Uppsala I could have a chance of making success too. I haven't thought about that before. I could contact galleries or something for my art, I could contact publishing houses for my writings. You know, if I didn't have my telephone phobia then. That fucking sucks too. Basically, what that means to me is that I just can't call people.

Wow, the weather is so nice today, it's giving me a lot energy that I can't figure out what to do with. Do I want to draw, write, take up some sewing project or? I don't know. Okay, I just painted my jacket a little bit with white fabric paint. A few lines, a few bats. It's very lumpy and grainy that paint, so it was hard to work with. Hm, now I want to add cobweb to it as well... After this cigarette then.

I don't have enough energy to sew anything though, I'll stick to painting and drawing today, I think. Possibly write something if I can come up with an idea of some kind. My god... that illustrated poem, you know? It's up at 24 notes now. And it's a new record. Okay, it's 25 now and the number just seems to be increasing. It just makes me smile, knowing that so many people like my art, even if it's just one piece.

And now I really do want to make another one, but I don't know what about. Maybe more about the character? I don't know. Apparently, it seems my sad and dark poems are more popular than the lighter and more hopeful ones. And I do want to bring my red haired character into more of my darkness, but I'm having a good day so that seems hard now somehow, if I can't get the mood right.

Aha! I thought of a text for it. It will be a little bit different, more abstract and reflective sort of, but hoping I won't disappoint my fans. Haha, me, having fans? I don't know what else to say, really. Those who seem to appreciate my art, that is.

29 notes and still counting. Wow. Just saying wow cause I'm at a loss for actual words.

I've now gone back to my jacket and added a cobweb to the right shoulder. Now I'm so done with that lumpy paint. I'll get a decent one if I want to do more. Making thin and straight lines? Forget it. It was fairly easy doing the bats though, since I cut out a shape in paper and dotted in paint in the space that formed the shape. It got a little messy though but I fixed that with a black Promarker. The jacket is not supposed to be washed or anything, so I can do whatever I want with it, really.

Next up I want to fix a pair of black jeans to look more trashy goth somehow. I would love to paint cobweb and those too, but not with that damn paint. And or add pieces of white, trashed pantyhose. That could look neat, but then I have to find such pantyhose too. Might be able to find that on BlueFox, or the grocery store for that sake. And also add studs to them. Maybe keeping the pantyhose in place with studs? It's an idea.

Since I have 3 pairs of black jeans I thought it wouldn't be such a waste to fix up one of those. To match the jacket, is my thought. But I'd have to hand wash them when they're done or simply never wash them. Jackets and pants can technically still be used even if never or rarely washed, which is neat.

I just want to look more goth again and I'm so tired of everything either being simply black with no details or "normal" looking clothing. Next up would be getting decent looking shoes. What I have for spring/summer now is either simple black gym shoes or equally simple black sandals. Utterly boring.

Like, I do favourite boots, but I was thinking something lighter and not so very warm to wear. It's usually expensive and I don't know if I can modify or make a pair from scratch. That would be a bit too complicated for such a hobby artist such as myself.

Nope, gotta go scavenging somewhere. Like find something second hand to modify with studs and chains and straps or what not, or suck it up and buy something new. Damn, I wish OdiumClothing was still in business! I miss them. But alas, I have to turn somewhere else. Maybe go to a real life store in Stockholm when next I'm on the main land or something.

I want to start drawing again. Or fix more with my clothes. Was hungry so just had a sandwich. It will have to do, as I'm in the middle of modifying that pair of jeans. Found pieces of fabric, straps with studs on and my old studded leather belt that is completely broken beyond repair. I take tips from what other people have done with their DIY projects and try to think of somewhat original things myself.

Like the pieces of simple, black fabric that I'm trying to think of something somewhat original to do with. I haven't figured out what exactly yet though. This is so much fun. Like really, why didn't I start this sooner? Winter was a problem, as my energy levels tend to go below zero when it's cold and dark and generally uninspiring weather. Now it's like almost warm and spring and it's been a sunny day. Then my energy has been and is on the plus side for a change. That does not happen every day.

It's up at 32 notes. This is insane! I didn't think it became quite that good, but must have been then. Okay, now my energy has run out and I can't do anything. Too tired to exist, I just crashed. But I drink more coffee, hoping I can draw a little more at least.

Wow, this is like the longest blog entry ever and it took forever to edit. It's my whole day, that I've been writing a little every now and then. Don't care to chop it up into shorter entries, so I'll just post it all at once instead.

Out of control

I don't want to play WoW, I don't want to do anything. I think I'm shifting again. But what can I do about it when there's nothing I want to do? Should take a walk. Buy a sandwich. Eat it. Smoke some more. Write some more. Maybe draw something, I don't know, anything.

Well, that didn't make me feel better. I'm kinda sad today, though not dark, not yet at least. I worry a lot. About the present and the future. I rarely worry about the future, but now I apparently do. There's something nagging at me, something I can't control, that I can't do anything about. It pains me, that it makes me feel so helpless. I can't control my fears and they are rising.

I wish I could just feel better sometime and not having so much to worry about all the time. All that anxiety that will probably never entirely leave me. And because it keeps changing all the time it's so hard to find a way to deal with it. So many different things causes my anxiety, like it's a life form of its own. And as soon as I think I understand it, then it changes again.

The reasons change. One day I'm having anxiety over one thing and the next day it's something else. It's very confusing. And to be perfectly honest, I'm not even sure if it is anxiety. It could be something else. Despite how it may seem, I can't even define half of all my complicated emotions. They are in control over me, and I'm just desperately trying to tag along wherever they lead me.

Oh, I'm not done yet. I feel so lost, and I realised that much of my pain today is because I miss K. I miss him more than ever before and if I let my guard down I think I would break down and cry. But I don't want to. I'd rather stay strong, trying not to switch to the dark me again and just hold on to the here and now. I'm such an asshole when I'm the dark me and I don't want to be that. That cold and confident, it sickens me. So I resist it as far as I can, even though I know I would feel better if I shift.

*

Suddenly I'm just cold. Defence mechanism activated. One of them many. But this thing, I don't even know if it's new, or that I just realised it very recently. How new can it be? I don't remember shifting like this before. Not with such a clear difference between these two polar opposites, as it is now. Maybe it has just become this way gradually. It's possible, cause I think it yet is to become even worse.

I hope it doesn't turn into something like DID, that wouldn't be good at all. I really hope I won't get that divided. I'm trying to gather all of me and put into one jar, somewhere confided where I can just collect myself and become a whole person again. How many am I now? I don't really know. Am I me and Anna or are we divided and I am light and dark? And the voices I hear, are they me too?

Such a complicated mess and I don't even know half of it. I'm still pondering, wondering if I should come clean to my shrink about this. Still very much hesitating, but I don't want it to get even worse. I fear for my mind, the seams that are ripping, the tear in my soul. I'm breaking apart and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

How my whole personality just keeps on splintering into smaller parts. All those parts by themselves are easier to handle, but together make a mess out of everything. It's hard to describe, this way of falling to pieces. Like I'm literally falling to pieces and I can't put it back together again. I'm losing control, I'm losing my mind.

This is very confusing. It's like I'm becoming two different people, yet I already am two different people. That my soul got split the first time when I was 9 and the other half of me became Anna. And now what, the half of me that truly is me is also splitting up in two? I don't know who I am anymore, where I end or begin, what is me and what isn't.

And if this is true, what could it mean for my future? If I'm suddenly three people and I shift between two of them, this could just go on forever and I could keep splitting into more personalities. So do I really have Schizophrenia or DID or do I very much unlikely have both? Just bits and pieces of both conditions and I can't figure it out. I'm dissociating as well as hallucinating with delusions. I'm quite a chaos.

This is a very long entry, but I think it is important. I've never written an entry first as the light me then continued writing as I shifted to the dark me. If not else, I need it for some documentation. To see how much I change, if the difference between the two will grow or fade or stay the same over some time. I know I'm thinking far ahead, I'm just worried.

I was playing WoW when I shifted, and I felt it the entire time. It's hard to describe it, but it was a bit like walking into another room. It might not sound very special to you, but believe me, it was quite interesting. Though having Anna constantly bothering me during the process was a bit annoying. It was almost like she was scared of it.