Spilling ink

So, I just figured I'd give you a bit of an update, seeing as I keep disappearing from the internet all the time and then needing to explain my behaviour. I don't know exactly where I go when I'm offline. I disappear into other worlds instead. Into WoW, drawing, movies, music, Grimston Estate or some other imaginary world that I create in my mind.

It can truly be a blessing, having my writing that lets me create entire universes better or worse or just different from reality. The only reality that is considered a real world, although I don't quite believe in that. I believe there is more to reality than the material world that I see on the news or outside of my window.

I never liked that reality, the one I've spent most time in, after all. All I see is awfulness and not even nature, not even the true beauty of nature, can inspire me. To life, to art, or to anything. Other fictional worlds inspire me, and the world inside my mind. Yes, there is what I can call a specific world in there, from which every imaginary world I've made come from. It all originates from something.

In that world I am the ruler, the god or the king, however you'd put it. And Anna would be my twisted idea of a queen or goddess. Sometimes there have been other people visiting, like Frank, Satan and Vargyl. There are basically no rules to follow, and if there are, they constantly change. I want to tattoo the text "My world, my rules" in blood spatter across my chest one day, and it refers to the world inside my head, but also in a way the one within my apartment, and also a little how I perceive your reality and a tiny bit referring to my anarchism.

It's also taken from the movie "The Cell" which has a special meaning to me as well. Carl Starger's world reminds me of my own, although, his might be even slightly darker than mine. Like, he's a king in a twisted kingdom there, and he has this voice, like a god above him, who says "Me God, boy" and somehow that reminds me of Anna.

Although, I'm not a serial killer and I don't have an invented form of Schizophrenia (to my knowledge, that is), but we do have a few things in common here and there throughout the movie. So, also that tattoo would be tribute to that movie, because I find it to be a great master piece just packed with an imagination that I wish I had myself. The idea about the blood spatter doesn't have much to do with the movie though. It's just me, loving (human) blood and I think it would look awesome.

First, I just wanted to wait until after I had my mastectomy before having that tattoo done there (it would be above my scars and nipples, so not in purpose of actually hiding my scars, but perhaps to draw attention away from them) but then money has always been an issue too. If I find a decent tattoo artist my guess is it would probably cost somewhere around 5000 kronor. Or anything from 3000 to 7000. I don't know, but it's a lot of money.

And also I'm a bit scared of misspelling the words, haha. I'm not the most picky language police you can find among language nerds, but I am picky about it being right when it comes to my future tattoos. For obvious reasons, perhaps. And I'm still haunted by the thought of maybe wanting to tattoo K's name like on my hip or somewhere not so visible. Only for myself, it wouldn't even show if I so only wore swimwear during summer.

I try to reason with myself, of how stupid it would be to have his name on my body for literally the rest of my life. I don't even know why I want it. But when it comes to tattoos, I am in fact fairly laid back about it. I mean, the dragon I have now did not become perfect, it's simple and I did it when I was 18 years old, and I still love it like madly. I don't think I would regret a few mishaps here and there, or getting a small tattoo with his name on my hip, why would I even regret that?

Maybe that's what's haunting me, thinking that I wouldn't regret it no matter what. Only one thing... if K himself saw it and would be repulsed by it. I would need to get his permission or something. I mean, I would probably be a bit offended if someone who's in love with me that I didn't love back would just suddenly get a tattoo with my name on their body. Like, we're not dating?! But how can I know that K would react negatively when I really don't know?

For crying out loud, he doesn't even know that I'm in love with him... although, mentioning that would probably give it away quite easily. That would be the kind of tattoo I could afford though, would likely not even cost more than a few hundred, tops. And the artist would not have to be super skilled either, just fairly good with words/letters, sober and able to do straight lines, basically. I'll think about it some more...

I mean, I wouldn't do it if he'd be uncomfortable with it, it's not that important to me. It just haunts me, that's all. Anyway... I've forgotten what I wanted to say.

But I'm back online again for at least another week or two before I go back to my family to celebrate my birthday somehow. I'll be turning 26 and I have no idea how that happened. Already pushing 30 but I don't feel like I'm old at all, physically. Maybe cause I still look like I'm 18 or something. Mentally, I'm still 45, but more about that another time.

My world vs. your society

I'm trying to watch another quite horrible transguy documentary, as they keep misgendering him and viewing him as a freak of nature, almost. I would never have a documentary made about myself. Never. No matter how interesting my life might be for the public eye. In that case they can make one when I'm dead, cause that I somehow wouldn't mind.

I don't know, the whole media representation of transsexualism is disgusting to me. It's always been, and it's partially what made it harder for me to eventually come out for the first time, about the time I was 19 years old. Cause the media representation that I found when my first thoughts started coming when I was 15 was horrible.

It was only information about transgirls that I could find and it was always this "she used to be a man" or "look at what gross things he did to his body" when referring to a transgirl. It's just disgusting and awful. And that was what I was exposed to and probably what made me reconsider, to try and live as a girl instead of embracing myself and my true gender identity.

Society is so fucked up. Like what the hell?! I still sometimes get reminded of all the young transgender people who have killed themselves recently. Especially a transgirl named Leelah Alcorn (and of course the media used her male birth name, but I have actually, completely honestly, forgotten what that was now.)

She was all over tumblr and I tried to not be bothered by it, but it's just awful and she posted her suicide letter on tumblr. In it she said to fix the society. She killed herself because her family could not accept that she was trans. I think she was 16 or 17 years old, though I might remember her age incorrectly, but something around that.

Anyway, my point is that society is still so very fucked up when it comes to transgender people and how we are being treated. The laws that strap us down, cisgender people not accepting us, hate, discrimination, violence, murder, sexual assault, suicide. The list is too damn long. Also, specifically transgender women of colour have been murdered left to right lately. I honestly have no idea what's going on.

And that makes me almost even angrier because that involves racism too. I really hate racism, it just makes me so fucking angry. Like I have a classmate who is not white and she opened up about being called racist slurs by a teacher when she was a kid. I could almost not contain myself when she said that. I don't know why I almost react stronger to racism, but possibly cause I hate being white privilege myself.

It's stupid and I shouldn't dislike myself for being white. It's just as unimportant/important as any other skin colour. But I do hate that I am privileged in a way that makes some people look down on me. I hate that somehow my opinion matter less because I have that privilege. It's hard to explain, I come to realise.

But lately, I have become more aware of my privilege. As a mentally disabled, gay transgender person, I do have a lot of things going well for me. I have access to allowance, transgender care such as hormones and surgeries, I'm white and I'm male, I live in a country that tolerates my kind of people and I've never had a real reason to fear for my life. I'm middle class (brought up that way, at least) and I've never gotten in any kind of trouble for liking people of the same gender.

A lot of things are good. And I try to embrace that, somehow. Almost all of my problems are mental and has little to do with society. I'm a burden to it though. I am health care resources, living on allowance full time and I can't take care of myself. I'm not independent or smart enough to get a cool job. I am also lazy and selfish. I take up space but do nothing useful with it.

I don't often feel bad about being a burden to society, but more often I feel bad about society being a burden to me. Cause I'm also (kind of) a human being and should be treated as one. Transgender people have right too. Gay people have rights too. Crazy people have rights too. Because underneath all that I am an actual person and society has a knack for forgetting that kind of thing.

I'm not just pills in a bottle, a hospital patient, someone cared under LSS or a guy with girl parts. I'm a person and society just doesn't treat me that way. But I can say fuck society because I am that privileged. I can and do most often choose to turn off the outside world and stay inside my own cozy yet scary little world.

I mostly only blog about myself and that's what this blog really is about, but I just wanted to tell you that despite being too stuck up in my own little world, I do care. I just can't handle it. I have enough going on already in my life, I just can't worry about the lives of others too. Except from K, my best friends (to a certain degree), my family (also to a certain degree) and occasional other friends.

But the world at large? Not a chance, it would be too much. It was too much. Cause as I grew up in my teenage years, I was told to start opening my eyes to see the world outside too, and I tried that for a while, a good amount of years or so, but then my own reality caught up with me and the only way I could sort it was to shut out the real reality.

Then I forgot to care. Reality left me too. I was no longer holding on to it as I realised that there's no place for me in it. I just don't belong in the real reality, in your reality. In the reality where transgendered and people of colour get murdered or end their own lives. In the reality where women get attacked and brutalised, where men get killed by cops for no reason, where sexual assault and child molestation is more than just common, where war and total destruction is.

I have no place in it because I can't react to it right or because I don't react at all. I made a choice and your reality is just not where I want to live. No, I'm not touching the suicide topic again, just the isolation topic, I think. Okay, getting too tired to write, so I guess I'll just post this then.

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.

Where I stand

I know I don't put up much of my thoughts regarding the EU selection that is going on a lot right now. I do have an opinion, and I do also know how I'm going to vote. I am not ashamed over my views, I just don't like picking fights or create a lot of reactions. I'm not very educated, and I don't plan to become either. I'm lazy, and politics bore me half to death. I do however put in a comment or two about SD and their shit on other people's statuses on Facebook, but that's it. I do that because I know it's something we agree on, something that won't lead me to be attacked.

I'd rather keep my mouth shut about everything, but I suppose I can't help myself when it comes to that. Cause maybe it feels more important for me to let my friends know for sure that I'm not your enemy, even though that should be self explanatory since I chose to be your friend for a reason.

I don't particularly like discussing politics or reading up on it. I do however, try to understand most of it, the whole picture you know, so that I can form a somewhat reasonable opinion. Does that mean that I shouldn't have a right to vote, because I might make a faulty decision based on how I interpret a specific party's propaganda? I sure hope not. Maybe I am buying some shit, and maybe that's why I hesitate to discuss it. I can't defend my own opinions, but I know my rights.

I live in my own little world, the one that mostly goes on in my fucked up brain and not so much in society/reality. (What is real, anyway?). I'm selfish, a socialist and I only care about the now, the moment of here and today, and not the least about the future or the parts of the world I'm not directly affected by. Besides, I hope for this tragic world to come to an end. I don't think it can ever get better no matter how I vote.

Just let it rest, the world won't fall apart if your favourite party won't win the battle. Did I mention I was selfish? Sometimes stupid as well. I know that it's a sign of weakness when one shies away from expressing one's opinions about something, anything really.

But you know what? It's private. I'm not private about much, but I am private about my political views. I don't know why, it just doesn't feel right to be open about it. I'm okay with discussing it with those that I trust. Sorry if it comes as a shock or something, but I don't even trust half of all my friends. Most of you, to be honest. And I'm not so keen on telling everyone about it. Unless I'm drunk, then I might.

The ghosts in my mind

I'm feeling misplaced. Like I'm supposed to be somewhere I can't remember, like I'm supposed to do something, be something that I cannot become, have something I cannot retrieve. I feel so lost. Wandering, echoing like a shadow in the distance. Floating, detached, lonely. I don't feel like myself at all. Where am I? Who am I?

How much better am I really? I can't tell what's real anymore, I still can't differ dream from reality, am I dreaming? Maybe it's not my dreams that are so real, but my reality that is so dream-like. I can't put my feet down, it's like I can't feel the earth no matter how far down I try to reach. Do you ever get that feeling, like you're so detached you've forgotten how to re-attach yourself?

I wonder. Am I happy somewhere inside, am I really gonna give life a chance? Yes, to the latter. But I don't know how. I know what I need to do but I just can't. Can't, can't, can't, can't. I'm so scared I don't know what I should do. What would be right, should I try to hold on without help? I can't keep this up much longer. If I don't act, I'm afraid I'll fall apart again.

But that's the thing: I know I have to fall apart again, really hard, for the doctors to take me seriously, for them to understand how fucking serious this is. And I'm depending on their understanding, I always have been. I'm depending on their opinion because how else are they gonna help me? But I'm afraid it will be too late by then.

That I know I will need to stress myself enough to trigger a psychotic episode, get into the emergency psychiatric ward again and then get some sort of diagnosis and help. It's a sick world we live in, believe me, but I do know the psychiatric system pretty well by now. I've been involved in it for ten years after all. I know that is the only way, to let them see it with their own eyes.

When that day comes, whenever that will be. I have a sensation that it will be sooner than I can wait. I don't think I'll die from it though. No, what I fear is worse than death. Death would be freeing, a solution to an endless problem. What I fear is imprisonment in my own mind. That I will make it worse by not getting any treatment for it. It started already about a year ago, (not counting in Anna) and though I have been feeling fine in longer periods of time, it has struck me out of the blue several times and I just had to pretend it was just anxiety, worry, too many "thoughts" (yes, read voices) and that my actions were self harm alone.

Cause it wasn't, you know. I have come to my doctor saying I have anxiety when I was delusional and fearful of things that weren't there. I have harmed myself to get rid off bugs crawling under my skin, worms in my eyes and mysterious tingling feelings allover my body. I told people that my head was filled with more thoughts than usual when it was voices I was hearing. Even in a meeting I had to bite my lips hard to not scream at the voices to shut the fuck up because I couldn't hear what my doctor was saying.

Desperately popping more pills in an attempt to control all those things, thinking more anxiolytics could control my fear of the scary unknown territory of my own mind. My head hurts like hell, I can't stop chain smoking and I just took some Zyprexa. But does it help? Well, it does sometimes, for a little while. Zyprexa is also an antipsychotic medication, I can't do much else than hoping it has some effect on my ghosts. Shit, I really need to get to a doctor... hopefully I can hold on until June, it's not so long after all, just a few weeks...

The darker half

I had a meeting with that welfare officer again today, and I was pretty blunt with her. She noticed my personality change and said I was different this time. I don't know what to think of that, didn't think it was actually that noticeable.

Anyway, I finally asked her why we're having these meetings, what's her role in this whole deal. She said my doctor (who left me) wanted me to have someone to check up on me meanwhile I'm waiting for another doctor. Especially regarding self harm and suicidal thoughts. She got worried, that welfare officer, that I wasn't gonna see my shrink until August again. I told her I could just get in contact with my shrink whenever if I needed her. She still didn't want to let go of me.

Fucking cunt, I despise her. I don't need more people who think they need to look after me. My whole life is care takers and shrinks and doctors and I'm so sick of it. So sick of being treated like I'm a fragile little glass doll. I might not be able to take care of myself, but I'm very capable of making my own decisions.

I'm on a waiting list to see my new doctor, which will probably be sometime in June. I really need to see her, cause I think I need to up my Abilify, but don't know how to handle that. I need it for my psychotic tendencies, but I can't mention that. Seriously, I'm shifting personalities and seeing signs and messages everywhere. I'm on the brink again and I really don't want to fall down into that black abyss again.

So I don't know how to handle that. I finally succeeded to get antipsychotic drugs, but they're not doing shit and I can't tell doctors that I'm psychotic. Someone please kill me now... I don't know how much longer I can handle this on my own.

Shit, I'm still the dark me and I can't shift back. What if one day I get stuck like this? If I one day can never shift back? I realise that when I was reckless and didn't care about anyone, when I had thoughts of cannibalism and murder with sociopathic tendencies, when I was cold and heartless: I was the dark me. I don't want to fully become that. It scares me. Maybe I have no reason to worry, but it still scares me.

Even if I don't need to worry, I still believe there is a small chance of that to happen. I've heard about it before, in other people's cases. So I have heard about it before then? Not necessarily personality shifts as such, but of people who have been through traumas that they start to shut down eventually, gradually, until they're not themselves anymore. I'm afraid of that happening to me.

I'm just making it worse by not doing anything about it. I'm getting desperate. I'm not even sure that antipsychotic drugs can help me with that. I need to talk it out with my shrink, but first I need to survive the summer and the autumn and possibly the winter as well. Yeesh, things are going so damn slow and I'm falling so fast.

I really hoped I could meet them in Huddinge and fill out the papers for Rättsliga Rådet already this summer, but of course they're all on leave/vacation. I really hoped I could get my gender reassigned before the autumn, but no. And then things will take even longer after that. I have don't have all the time in the world, okay? Don't think they realise that, cause I won't tell them why. Just hurry the fuck up you fuckers, I don't wanna be stuck like this forever.

Hell is living without you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Open doors

I finally brought it up with my psychologist. That I wanna talk about my traumas. Only took me about eight months to muster that... I lightly (well, maybe not so lightly) write about some of those ordeals, what I'm okay with sharing, but it's a whole different thing talking about it face to face with someone. Especially when I'm sober. I might even tell her not only about what I've been put through by others (which I have shared here and in real life) but also about what I've done to other people.

I'm not such an innocent little flower, you know. Or well, I don't know what got into me exactly at those times when those things happened. Probably must have completely lost my mind for a day or two. I still don't know why I did what I did, it's beyond me. I'm kind and caring and would never harm another living creature on purpose, would I? Except that I have.

And I can't wrap my head around that. Maybe there is evil somewhere inside all of us, just that I happened to be one of those who acted out on it. There's so much I don't understand about myself, but those things... I really wonder what the hell is wrong with me when I think about it.

Maybe I shouldn't, you know, think about it. If it pains me so much and I just get nowhere when I'm trying to sort it out. I just entangle myself in it and the problem only grows bigger. The problem that I can't accept myself for the awful things I have done, and I wouldn't accept anyone else for having done the same things either. There was a time when I thought "those people" should be locked up in prison, or even be executed. Would that justify a suicide? I don't know.

But I wouldn't wanna kill myself as an excuse to society, and those I've hurt by my deeds would only become devastated if I die. That is a problem. I suppose you're figuring out that it's someone I'm still in contact with, someone who knows me. Then you're right, but I won't say more than that. There's only two people by the way, that I hurt, if that's of any consolation at all. Better than three or five or ten, I mean. Though I'm not diminishing it.

I don't want to kill myself, and especially not for something that happened several years ago. I've had reasons, millions of reasons for suicide, but this has never been it. Is that wrong of me, thinking that I don't deserve to die, but that I have in my past thought that people who have done the same things rightfully deserved to die?

I mean look a society. We have a criminal justice system, and the state or something decides who should be locked up or not. I was too young for my first deed but had I been older and gotten reported I would most likely have ended up in prison or a likewise place depending on age. But then my gender would also likely have been confusing so you never know. Cause "girls don't do that" kinda crap, not that I was a girl, but you get it. There are certain things you wouldn't accuse a girl of doing. All I know is that most sane people don't want creeps who have done such things walking around on the streets. I could do it again, right?

Isn't that what the criminal justice system is made for, to stop criminals from acting out again? I can safely say that I will never ever lose my mind like that and do something like that again. Ever. But the thing is that I have already done it and once things are done they cannot be undone. I would if I could though. Oh, I so definitely would undo it if I could...

But back to where I was going with this. I'm very divided around the subject of right and wrong because of this. Cause if I would firmly stand by my words I would go against my own deeds, if that makes any sense. My sense of right and wrong is colliding. I'm the kid in a candy store telling everyone it's wrong to steal but still has stolen candy before in that store. But now we're talking much worse things than stealing candy. Very hush hush.

It's the only things I have never ever told anyone about. That's why I'm so nervous and hesitating to tell my shrink. I don't even know if I should. Things could get worse, if she decides she needs to "save" or whatever, the persons I hurt, then it could get really complicated. Really, really complicated. Of course I'll ask her if there's any chance she would do that first. Really push it out of her if I have to, cause I just can't take that risk. It would mess things up not only for me, so I'm not completely selfish.

I know of only one other person I would possibly tell, and that would be K, if he wanted to know that is. Cause that is how much I trust him, even though I don't know him so well. Though I bet you're all dying to know what horrible crimes I've committed. Or maybe you just want me to shut the fuck up about it already. But here it is. Maybe I am revealing more about it each time, I don't know. It's like it's trying to claw its way out of me, like a crazy bird or something. I have to force myself to shut up.




Maybe why I'm always so open... what if it's compulsive? That I'm sort of forcing myself to the brink, constantly pushing it a little bit further each time. Until literally my whole life is on display. No, I won't include those things in my autobiography. I'll leave a hint in the end of the chapter about when I was in 1st to 3rd grade, but I'll also say that it's not just my story to tell. I'm still trying to control myself as much as I can. I re-read and edit all of my posts and I ask myself, "would I be okay with everyone reading this?" before I decide if I should post it. I think that's it for now. Just needed to vent a bit.

The body we share

I suddenly feel a bit sorry for my body, what it has to go through. It's the price of dealing with its unkind hosts. Me and Anna, colliding and end up damaging our poor, shared body and mind.

She is a bit upset about my surgery by the way. She says I shouldn't have done it, and I know that she misses the tits. She is female after all, and through all of my transition she's become more and more detached from our shared body. It's unfamiliar to her. But my well being is more important than hers. I try to comfort her though, that she can still be a woman even though she won't look like one.

In all of our life together she's always been the cisgendered and I the transgender, but now the roles are reversed. I might be selfish, but there really is no way I could compromise with that. What I can do is to make her comfortable with the fact that I do want to and will let her express her femininity from time to time. Been thinking of buying a wig for her, something cheap, with straight, long, light/medium brown hair that I can style to fit her needs. Buy a simple brown dress for her. Maybe even a bra if I feel brave enough. It wouldn't be a problem for me, just every once in a while, to let her live a little.

But yeah, I want people to be able to get to know her, if she is in fact is the second half of me, that we two together combined would create the real me. And if that would ever happen, or if not, I still want people to meet her. Yes I'm thinking something like a body switch, and I "become" her for a little while while she's exploring the world and get to know you guys who she really is.

I can't believe I've waited so long to come to that decision! Maybe because we hadn't figured out how to "switch" until rather recently.

When she's steering the wheel, I would be the voice in her head and mostly not be able to speak up loudly, so all I can do basically, is only guiding her from inside our mind. It's kinda creepy and a bit scary to be locked inside my own mind like that. But I believe it could be worth it. After all, I am the one who's got the upper hand in our unusual situation.

Though to others I might seem just as crazy as I try to tell you that I am. (I mean I don't just throw around the word "crazy" as a fashion statement, I really am, you know). "Me" running around in a dress and a wig, constantly complaining, afraid and curious about seeing the whole world in a completely new perspective. Talking in a higher pitch that doesn't really hold, with obvious feminine manners. And then I'd change back to the real me again. I would look and seem like a total fail drag show with strong tendencies to being bat shit crazy.

Maybe I should just take her out for some shopping first. Letting her pick something she'd wanna wear. Cause I just want for people to see who's been invading my mind for the last sixteen years of my life. Wouldn't you like to meet her? I mean, like really face to face? I'm sure she'd have quite some stories to tell. What we went through through her perspective, things I might not even know about. You'd have to be careful with her though. I don't think she's ever interacted with another living person before.

Her body image is very far from my own, so the way I look now is way far from how she pictures herself looking. And well, she's not comfortable with the way I've changed with testosterone and the surgery I had done. But I'll try my best for her to look as feminine or not she wants to be.

She's my polar opposite. She hates what I love and loves what I hate. She's not very tactic, more extrovert than me, more feminine in her manners than I've ever been. She's more logical than emotional, lacks empathy and has a bit of a superior complex. She's drawn to nature and living an as healthy lifestyle she possibly can with me completely ignoring it. A little towards that new age kinda thing. She would probably be living in a forest or at a farm if we didn't share bodies. She's a bit of a hippie, vegetarian, against smoking, drinking and sex. She can be a total bitch but she's smart and curious about the world around her. I think you'd both love her and hate her.

It's hard for me sometimes when I try to understand that she is a part of me, that all of her was once just a part of my personality. She's the light, believing in being healthy and stay true to the nature, she's logical more than emotional, though a bit narcissistic and self absorbed. I one the other hand am dark, into self destruction and indulgent. I'm creative and rely more on my emotions than logical thinking. We're a bit like yin and yang.

Would you want to meet her when I come to Uppsala and Stockholm? I could totally arrange that. If I could only get her out of her shyness for a little while. No parties though, she hates that kind of stuff. Tea in a café or just talking in a park or wherever would be better. Close to nature, but it's not mandatory. I have full understanding for it if you don't want to be seen around people with the crazy person in drag with a split personality.

But yeah, I've been wanting to let her lose a bit more lately. Let her see the world too. Though it would probably feel like walking a dog the first few times. And this is what I love thinking about what shrinks would say about if they were told about this condition, this way of living.

1998

I just realised that I don't remember anything from year 1997. Maybe because everything happened during the year after. When everything changed, forever. Did you know I was raped twice? Though it's hardly a record and nor should it be. It just popped up in my head right now, as I was thinking about the number 97 which is one of my favourite numbers.

Rape, sexual assault. It changes you. And I was so young in 1998. Just nine years old. Did I ever have a childhood? I ask myself. I's almost like I was born unhappy and then people went and made my life even crappier. It's not so strange I hated elementary school. But my hatred towards it wasn't actually directed to schools as such, cause I really liked going to other schools later on. I guess I just hated my class and school mates back then. They weren't so friendly.

They did that to me. Children, younger than I was. Though I can't even remember all of it. Don't remember how the rest of that day went by, how I felt directly after. I don't remember the rest of the day my second rape happened either. I wonder why. My mother remembered it though. Apparently I was kinda upset.

I guess I just like ranting about the horrible things I went through. Maybe it's a way of facing it, of dealing with it. Maybe I am just crazy and find pleasure in reliving the truly unpleasant. I fantasise about it, how it could have gone differently. For the worse and for the better. Trying to get some perspective. Trying to understand what actually happened, why it happened. How they must have thought and felt. What went through my rapists' minds when the did what they did? Did they think they didn't harm me, or were they cruelly aware of it?

Wonder why I didn't defend myself the second time, in 2007. I knew karate for fucks sake. And I just lied there and took it. I don't understand why. Maybe my fear just paralysed me. So much for learning self defence.

And it just brings me down. How fragile I am, so easily broken. And I wonder if it could happen again, cause I have a feeling that it will happen again someday. I don't know why, but it's like I think the world isn't done fucking me around. At least it gave me Anna as a sad act of forgiveness or something. Cause I still think this is why she came to me. PTSD with dissociation, or DID. My best bet so far as to why I have a split personality. The whole of me split into two people. And most of you only know half of me.

Don't be your own therapist, you just end up getting more entangled in the memories of your traumas. But they're just memories now and they can't hurt me. My scars that will never fully heal. I don't think I've ever heard of another rape victim who's moved on completely from their experience/-s. Cause maybe it just isn't possible.

Open

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Worth living for

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bargain

A part of me now believes that I sold my soul to the devil for a nice body and luck in love. The down side would be that I will only live for a few more years, and then I will inevitably kill myself. I accepted that (though it took some time), but it wasn't until recently that I added one plus one, so to say.

Things have gone remarkably well lately, and always when I pray to Satan he fulfils my wishes. But to what price? That's why I didn't understand it before. When I signed that contract in my own blood, things started to change.

Have I not watched Ghost Rider?! Yes, I have and a gazillion other movies that depicts just how much of a bad idea it is to sign contracts with your own blood. Stupid fuck!

I don't know what will happen after I die because of this, but I think I only sold a part of my soul, not the entire kit. I don't even carry around all of my soul. Some of it is somewhere else, and incommunicado, you know.

I couldn't just let myself get ravaged by misery until I break and kill myself because my whole life just became a horrible mistake. I'd rather be satisfied for just two years and then kill myself because I know that my time is up. Leave this world feeling that at least I had something in the end. It's worth it, damn it's worth it.

I realise that for the bargain to work I still have to pray and work my ass off to achieve what I want for the rest of my life. Then what's the point? You might ask. The point is that I will be able to reach my goals without failing. It won't be and it isn't a fairytale magic thing. Satan can't make my scars after the surgery to heal miraculously over night, for example, but what he can do is to make sure that it heals well and without complications. (If that doesn't happen we're gonna have a little chat)

The bargain is about changing two major parts of my life for the better. The trans related stuff, and mostly my dysphoria. My body, in simplicity. Then it's also about my love, K, and my feelings for him. And that's why I still get depressions, nightmares, phobias, sleep- and eating problems and such. Cause that isn't a part of the bargain.

It is much, since my life literally depends on those two things. I can get by with bad habits (especially since I'm not gonna live so much longer) and most of my problems can be helped or fixed with medication and psychotherapy. But my dysphoria, and my fucked up heart... that I really needed some help with.

But of course this could all also be a delusion. It's not normal to believe that you sold your soul to the devil...

Losing you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A part of me

I don't write so much about him in my blog anymore, cause maybe it makes me nervous now that I know that he reads it. But I'm still in love, and very much so, I just don't know how to appropriately display that. Cause maybe I should just keep it to myself? I'm not really modest, quite the opposite in fact, I just don't know what to do with these feelings that basically still are allover the place. Maybe love is always like that, allover the place and kinda intangible.

Getting a little nostalgic over when I first fell in love with him, cause even though it was painful and I resisted it so much, it was still kinda sweet. Caressing. I don't exactly know what I'm actually nostalgic over, cause it's better now that I've contained most of those sprawling emotions and kept them safe. Cause now that my love for him has reached in so deeply and become essential for my survival, it's like I've become safe with them. Like they became a part of me somehow.

Cause they are, you know, essential for my survival. I think that the only way I can survive is to keep those feelings alive and well inside me. That if my dream would shatter then so would I. I try not to think about it that way, cause I know somehow that it will happen, sooner or later. Sort of when I will come to my senses, cause however much I deny and deny and deny it some more there's not such a high chance that we will end up together.

It feels weird writing about this like that, too look at it a bit from the outside, to get a glimpse of what it really is, this obsession. Just how it changes me, cause it still does. And I wonder, a little bit, is it more about the feeling than it is about him? No, it isn't. Cause my feelings may be stronger than mountains, but nothing is more important than him. It's the person that I adore, not the love that I feel.

It might appear that way because of how I write, but it's basically just to protect him you know, protect him from being on display on my very public blog. No one else can know about him, who he is and what I know. It stays between us, or maybe just in my head. And I do that because I care so much, not because it's an obligation of loyalty or whatever. (Loyalty should never be an obligation, but to some people it is.) So I simply write about what I can share, which is my stupid feelings, which means that they get more focus, obviously.

So you see, there's still much that I have to say. But it tends to become repetitive, and I can't upload however much shit on my blog if it's all gonna be just the same old rantings. Meaningless or meaningful rantings are also better left in my own head. Cause I don't need to share everything, you know, even though I am like an open book.

But I do want to share a lot, get it out of my system, and to let him know. That I'm still here, and he's not forgotten or anything. And somehow it feels better when I've written and published, as if a part of my burden has been lifted. Well, I could go on with this forever, but that would be too much to edit so I'll just leave it at that.

Where it hurts

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

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

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

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

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

All the time

My anxiety is not gone. There's something else causing it instead, but it feels the same. Yeah, my body is always making the same anxiety overload signals no matter what the reason is. The reason is unimportant. Just for once I don't give damn why I feel like shit from morning to midnight. Cause I take care of one thing and then the next thing is causing the same problem, and then the next, and then the next. Like fighting off vermin on a frigging farm and your carrots still get eaten.

My ways of dealing with this anxiety goes from bad to good to bizarre. The good is focusing on breathing, make sugar cake and things like that. The bad is drinking obscene amounts of coffee and beating myself up. The bizarre ways of dealing with anxiety would be, for instance, making it worse on purpose. Or masking it with anxiety over something else. Like doing dungeons in WoW just for "the thrill" of it. It's like fighting fire with fire. Well, if you're running out of water you have to think of another way to put out the fire, or watch your house burn to the ground, right?

Every day I wake up with anxiety tearing a hole in me, so I'd rather keep on sleeping until the sun goes down. Eventually I do get up, but it takes tremendous efforts. And then the anxiety keeps wrapping itself tighter around me, it's like it's choking me.

Right now... I don't know. Just need to get through what I can't seem to get through. I mean, of course I survive it, but it never goes away. Ever. I don't know what to do. I don't want to, and I seriously can't, take pills for it every time. It's just like my headache now, there is no "every time" it is all the time. Constantly. When I decide to take Zyprexa the anxiety only goes away for as long as the drug's effect lasts. Then as it fades away, my anxiety is taking over again. In order to stay "free" from anxiety I would have to take about ten doses of Zyprexa a day. Can't do that, won't do that.

It's for the same reason I can't take pain killers every time I get a headache. I don't want to become a drug addict, I have enough problems already. But I can't live in pain either. Survive, yes. But live? It's hard to compare physical pain to mental pain, but if I should, then I say mental pain is the worst. I don't know why, but I think it might be because mental pain is affecting the whole lot of you in a non scientific sort of way. Like it consumes you, becomes you.

The advice my shrink would give me is to let go and not do anything. But if I was to do that, I'd probably be sitting in a wardrobe and rocking myself. And no, that isn't so far off, cause I actually happen to do that sometimes. Perhaps not both at once, or for a long time, but I like sitting in a dark wardrobe, perfectly still, so still that I can't feel my body. It's like I sort of... disappear.

In another language

Obsessive love, you've got me on my knees. I know I'm not the only one feeling like this for someone else, but why do I keep lying to my family? I want to keep everyone at a distance. Far enough to not touch my heart, but close enough for them to see me. Knowing that I'm still there, but a part of me isn't. Sure I talk about how I'm doing, but I leave stuff out, like the most important stuff. I talk about anxiety when love kills me, I talk about tiredness when I'm lethargic or filled with sorrow. I let people see the surface, but not what is going on underneath. I tell them what they already see.

Maybe love would drive me insane if I wasn't already crazy. If only I could find someone else who is also feeling like this or has before. Preferably before, and how they got out of it. What I did wasn't exactly a good advice to give anyone except possibly an enemy or two. Cause suicide seems to do the trick, and surviving an attempt did it for me. I could really use some good advice from someone who's been in my shoes. What to do when love suffocates you, when the best feeling in the world is slowly killing you?

I'm watching the Buffy series again, and thinking I'm much like how Spike was in the last 2-3 seasons. What did he do for the way he felt? He died for her, he fucking died for her. Sorry for spoilers, but it just feels important to say that. I'm crying again, and I cannot stop for the feelings remain. I've carried this for almost nine months now and I just don't know what to do.

I can't let go of him, I can't. I've tried and I'm not gonna try again, cause I don't think I would survive it. I think about him not just every day, but every night, every hour, every damned minute. I think about  him when I write about other stuff, when I play WoW, when I watch a tv-show or a movie that doesn't even depict love, when I embroider or do my laundry. All. The. Time.

Some times I don't really notice it, other times it's overwhelming. Gradually increases or decreases. It's become a routine, a habit, something that just is, following me like a shadow, or sweeps by like the wind. And it's constantly blowing on this island, so it's not a bad comparison. Exactly what I think is for me alone, too private to tell anyone. You don't wanna hear it anyway.

It's not just the thoughts you know, or waking up from a dreams about him, or missing him painfully much thirty times a day, or the picture I can't stop staring it, or the poems about him that I can't stop writing; it's the feelings. The feelings that words cannot describe. They're like a silent scream and a gentle hug at the same time. Speaking their own language that I cannot translate, but I do understand it. Oh damn, I understand it.

The tiredness of today has made me more sensitive than usual these days. It's like I'm about to collapse every minute, but I don't. Both physically and mentally, literally and figuratively. I'm on the verge of crashing, but I hold my breath, stop and start again. Pretend that I'm smoking: holding my breath for a few seconds before breathing again. An unusual way of smoking, or so I've heard. Breathing out slowly before I take my next breath. God, I miss smoking. But not as much as I miss him.

It's clawing inside me, like anxiety, but more around and in my heart than the rest of me like anxiety does. More searing and raw. Why do we feel love in our hearts? Cause it's more in the brain really, and for some of us it's in the soul. And where is the soul? I don't know, and I think no one really does. I think it's a bit like the aura though, or maybe the aura is the soul? It would make sense somehow. The way every aura has its own colour, or combination of colours, like it's our personalities in a way. I love the way auras look. Like the northern lights, or an amazing sunset. It's really something. You should see them too, and if you can't, I wish that you could.

I got off track again, but I'd rather think about auras right now. And just like that, I'm back to thinking about him again. Or rather, the thoughts flowed back to the surface again, they were just hiding in a lower layer.

Searing thoughts

Everything tastes like metal since I quit smoking. It's like I'm on Imovane all the time, cause when I actually do take it (it's been twice in two weeks) I don't notice any difference at all. I'm thinking myself to madness tonight. Started with thoughts about my magic abilities, moved on to Dala and Caspian, then got to anxiety and ended up in trains and suicide. In a little under two hours.

At first I thought of posting it here, but it's way beyond too much and I don't wanna go through it again. Nor do I want to put anyone else through it, come to think of it... I've had a lot of anxiety today. My days are in a neat pattern of misery of three days as of lately. Day one: anxiety. Day two: sadness. Day three: anger. Now I'm on day four, which is anxiety again.

It's like every day has its own pretty little colour! Anger should be red, and sadness should be black, right... but what about anxiety? Perhaps yellow, it sort of screams a bit, doesn't it? Sorry, you don't have to answer that.

I don't know why, but I googled my headache, the chronic tension-type. Most of it sort of made me a bit upset though. Because it was to me useless crap. Like self help stuff and about the neck and back muscles being the cause of the pain. Like the fuck? If I meant back/neck pain I would have googled for that!

No, the searing pain constantly eating at me originates from my forehead, temples, sinus and jaws. This headache... it's psychosomatic to begin with. Sometimes I even think it might be only imagined, but then other days I can actually see how tense I am when I look in a mirror.

Mostly it's mild to moderate, so I'm not crumbling beneath the pain all the time. Some days I hardly even notice it until someone asks me about it. Then I check if it's still there and then I can't think clearly cause the pain is piercing my every thought. Agony... too much agony in my life.

What we live on

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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