Save me once again

I haven't been writing here in a while because most of what I write is just the same nonsense or too private or too private nonsense. I have nothing new to report. I've a had a couple of lousy days of weight gain and desperation, binging and self hatred. I feel like I'm losing all control. Having an eating disorder is supposed to make not capable of eating, right? I wish, I so fucking wish. Instead I am eating and hating myself for it. I'd rather not being able to eat at all.

So I have no idea what to do at all. I'm stuck in this awful binging cycle even though it's not technically binges, cause it's too little. But I wrecked my metabolism so the smallest thing makes me gain. The day before yesterday I was at 54,3 kg, ate around 1.000 calories, yesterday I had gone up to 54,9 kg and ate around 1.000 calories and today I was at 55,6 kg. I eat half of my daily recommended intake and gain steadily. I hate myself so much because of this and I have no fucking idea what so ever how the hell I'm supposed to lose weight now.

I'm just stuck in self hatred but I do get support from all where around so I'm feeling a little bit better now. The crew, K, strangers on tumblr, the eating disorder forum. I'm not entirely alone and people do care. So yeah, this is me feeling better, I was quite a mess earlier today. I couldn't even tell the crew why I was so upset, I just didn't want to talk about it and what would that have brought anyway? They were just curious. And I hate it when people want to know my problems just out of curiosity, like I'm not here to entertain you.

And it wouldn't have made me feel any better, I've learned that now, some people are ju better off not knowing what is bugging me. Look, if they want to comfort me they can just as well do that without knowing what's up. I can tell when they try to mask their curiosity with care.

A few hours later and I still haven't posted this. I'm living on oatmeal porridge and nuts for today and praying to Satan that it won't make me gain. I've thought about it lately, or well, it just struck me earlier today, that about me selling my soul for a better looking body. What if I'll get it, that perfect or close to perfect body, or even worse, what if I already have it, but I'm too eating disordered to be able to enjoy it?

He's so fucking shady, Satan. Yeah, and I have noticed that before. Like how precise do I have to be about my prayers exactly?! He can read my mind, for crying out loud! Shouldn't have to give all the details. That I want to be able to not hate my body, I want to be thin and look good, I want a proportionate sized ass, I want to look like a dude even naked.

He did save my life but he hasn't been doing much of that as of lately. Perhaps because I haven't been wanting to be saved. Not by a shady entity who's too busy fucking up the few prayers I send his way, anyway. I haven't been much into practice of my shady religion lately, or well, for over a year now. No practice at all actually. I totally skipped Halloween for instance and that's a very important Satanic holiday. I was too fucked up to care anymore. I still am.

He's still my one and only god though, even though he's fucked up more times than he's saved me. But he has saved me and that's what's most important, right? When will I need him again? Probably right now, but I don't care. I'm lucid now, no psychotic symptoms in a long time, so I haven't heard him speaking to me either. Don't know if that's a shame or a relief. Perhaps a little of both.

Speak of the devil (haha, literally this time) he shows up and offers me to pay up if I want that change. Of course I said yes. He also told me that my eating disorder is not what's gonna kill me. That's a comfort, I guess. But it still leaves me with that horrible fate that apparently still awaits me in the future: suicide.

Ah well, I suppose it is a comfort. Now I can starve however much I want to. I sort of knew it though, or I kinda felt it somehow. But still, it can lead me to end up almost dying from it. Like being dangerously close to the edge. I hope so. I really fucking do. Am I that bored?

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...

Faith in delusions

I haven't been practising much Satanism lately, have I? Yeah, living by it's "virtues" or what to say, but I always have, more or less. I don't even know for sure what it even means to me yet, or what I build my belief on.

There are people who talk to God and hear their lord speak back to them, but I don't know how literally they mean. But if it is literally, and other people don't consider them insane, that it's just their faith... Could that justify the fact that I hear Satan speak to me? Or am I just bonkers?

He still fulfil my wishes, even when he says it might not be possible to do so. He knows I'm so devoted and grateful that my wishes shouldn't go to waste. At least I think so. But the thing is, some times when I hear him speak to me (it sounds a bit like my own thoughts and at the same time not, cause his voice is much different from my own) I can't help but wonder if it's the real Satan. Though he always manages to convince me.

Of what I know about delusions this is a very sticky web I'm in. Cause the exact same thing, that of voices convincing you they are real, occurs. It's tricky because they actually do convince me and I believe they are real. In my heart I believe it, and in most parts of my mind. It's just that my subconscious or some other partially hidden part of my mind tends to wonder some times.

I'm a very rational person, and it does seem a little weird hearing the voice of Satan, right? Cause how can I tell how many screws I've got loose if I can't count? I still haven't told my mother about these extra voices I've been hearing since the summer. Maybe I'm a bit embarrassed, or maybe I just don't wanna hear what I think she would say about them. I wanna keep them to myself, what they say and what they promise me.

So what do I really base my satanic belief system on? Is it a delusion, a book or something so strong inside me I just can't describe it? If I would somehow get confirmation that the voice I hear is entirely a hallucination, would I then question my choice of religion? I honestly don't know. Cause what if I swore my life over to a hallucination? That... would really be quite an inconvenience... talking about letting my illness take control over my life. Whatever it is that I have.

If it's not Schizophrenia I still have hallucinations and deeply embedded delusions that I most often can't tell apart from the reality. Most of them I've had since childhood. That's why they're so deep and complicated. They've had years and years to develop and poison my mind, heart and soul.

The scary thing though, is that there might be more delusions that I live with every day just that I can't tell them apart from reality. Ever.

When I listen to Funker Vogt's song "Schizophrenia" and recognise myself so painfully much in it. Some times I can't even stand to listen to it because of that. Here's an example:

"I'm living in a real nightmare
my two worlds will collide
I don't know who I am

You will never understand
the way they think and act
a schizophrenic person
we treat without respect"



It's not so strange that I choose to flee from reality, but it's not your reality that I want to escape from.

Power of gods

I'm taking too much sleeping pills now, cause I can't wake up in the morning, at noon, or in the afternoon. I didn't wake up today until my mother called me at ten in the evening. I'm spacing out the dosages too much, as I took the second Imovane at six this morning and it took two hours to reach full effect. The effect isn't supposed to last for twelve hours, so I can't conceive of why I couldn't wake up despite several alarms and the crew calling me multiple times. People must have almost declared me dead...

I can't remember if they went in to my apartment and woke me up that way though. It's possible, since that's what they're supposed to do. Besides, the lid to my cup of water at my bedside table was taken off but not put back on it, which I always do, so I have my suspicions that I actually did wake up and took my pills some time in the morning.

I'm thinking so much about self harm and preferably cutting these days. It can't be healthy. Thinking about it, I mean, though I'm sure the act of doing it isn't so healthy either. It's like I'm triggering myself. Right now I'm in an uneven state of anxiety and hopelessness, it's scratching and tearing inside me, and alternative rock band Manic Street Preachers from Cardiff in Wales takes the edge off it. I remember they were a part of a question/quiz in the Swedish tv-show "På spåret" a year or so ago, and I was the only one in my family who could answer them. Got no credit for it though.

Sad to say though, I discovered this band after looking up famous people who self harm, and found out their former guitarist Richey Edwards was one of them.

I got "homework" from the smoking cessation doctor I saw yesterday. I'm supposed to write down a little information about every cigarette I smoke until our next meeting in a week or so. Like when I lit up, what I'm doing at that time, what I feel and how important I find the cigarette to be. Taken three in the last hour, so I think there will be a lot of scribbling on that sheet. I'm back to chain smoking again... Damn this anxiety is intolerable.

That relieved the pressure, doing a satanic ritual at this midnight, Halloween. Ain't no better day for it, right? It was quite powerful, and not just that the wind started blowing outside my window as I preprepared the ritual and it increased during it to suddenly just calm down again right after - but the power in the words (Enochian, I think) as I read them out loud, over and over I read them, and the power I felt grew stronger each time. Just wow... It felt like the god above tried to interfere, even though that might sound stupid in a way. I suddenly feel more religious than ever before in my life.

Believe

I realise I don't really quite tell people up front about how I consider myself a Satanist or the real reason behind it. Especially not curious strangers, but I suppose my faith is a bit, erhm... unconventional even among friends, and I’d definitely not be honest about it to my family. I only told them the basic guidelines of LaVeyan Satanism, which isn't even the kind I’m following. I suppose I didn't even wanna tell them to begin with, it just slipped out of me and I had to think fast. But even now I don't want to tell them the truth.

I’m not ashamed or anything, it's just that I feel uncomfortable explaining and defending myself for something that is to me highly personal. This is exactly the reason people frown upon modern, newly converted Satanists. Especially the ones who wears black and listens to non-stereotypical music. Because it's something people just can't understand, so what's the point in trying to explain?

If my family knew it would only further increase their idea of me being a complete looney. Sooner or later I probably will drop the “S-word” (schizophrenia), as an indicator that I know I’m not completely sane but also that I don't always know what is real or imaginary in the world as I perceive it. That I have doubts about things they assure me are real, and strongly believe in things they assure me are figments of my imagination. What this could have to do with my faith I don't know. Perhaps that I on some level might think that my perception of Satan might be false due to hallucinations or even a delusion. That I’m aware of the fact that everything I say or do could be my messed up brain making up stories, but it isn't my intention cause to me it is as real as the grass is green in the summer.

Though I’m sure my family knows that already, but do they know that I know that? Would I invalidate not only myself but my true beliefs, by mentioning that I think I have Schizophrenia with a reasonable cause, while at the same time expressing my extreme devil worship? Would I create a link between the two by doing so, or does it even matter what I tell them? I’ve lost all my hopes or thoughts that I could look my mother in her eyes and tell her my truth and know that she would believe me. It's not that I don't trust her, cause I do, it's just that I’ve stopped believing in her. Because it feels like she stopped believing in me.

So what is the point of ever telling her anything that is important to me? Cause nothing I say seems to be important to her. All she says nowadays is “sure, sure, if you believe that...” and when we discuss things, or rather argue, all she does is trying to prove me wrong. I’ve become distant to her lately, and it almost kinda feels like I’ve lost a friend. Now she's just a mother to me, and I know it might sound horrible, but that is not enough. I have no one else on this island, and she's always been more than just a mother to me.

I will talk to her about this, as soon as I find the words, cause I need for her to listen to me. Not just hear my words, but listening and focusing. We know each other so well, so what is this sudden gap between us? Sometimes I’ve thought of just saying: “You think that I’m crazy. That every single thing I believe in is a figment of my imagination. You've given up on me, that I’d ever become anything or succeed in life. You don't appreciate my creativity: the only thing that keeps me alive. It feels like everything I say just goes right through you and you don't even listen to me anymore. I still trust you and I know you want me no harm either, but when did you stop believing in me?”

How to have fun in misery

I'm not sure whether the pictures I take of myself actually have become better lately, or if it just feels that way. Does the pictures look better cause I think that I'm actually looking better or is it the other way around?

Things are starting to look strange again... I’m torn between the fear of sleeping and the fear of hallucinating. I can't escape both, and I don't think that I can choose. What an obvious choice, perhaps, but it's never quite that simple when it comes to me. My fear of sleep is equally strong as my fear of hallucinating, thus making the decision impossible for me to make. I just wish I didn't have to make such a choice. But stupid as I am, I can feel it in my gut that I will choose to rather fight off imaginary insects to going to bed tonight. That's how far off the edge I am right now.

At least I got an appointment to see my therapist on Wednesday, so maybe I can get a tip or something on how to straighten myself out a little. If I will have to be admitted it will have to be a short visit cause I’m heading off to Uppsala the week after that! I really think I need that “perk me up” and it's better than any medicine or hospital bed. I even feel as if I have a slight case of energy going on these last few days. I’ve been taking a walk once, sometimes twice a day and my walk is light, steady and even faster than usually.

I’m making some stuff, sort of a Halloween outfit, but it's not a full costume. It will just be few items, quite outstanding ones, but still. Things I could, if I wanted to, find in one of those crappy stores selling cheap costumes, but I just want it to look right. And a little eye-catching perhaps. I know it's silly, but this will be my first Halloween as a Satanist and according to their bible it's the one holiday to be celebrated. I've always loved this holiday and so I thought, why not actually go out as something a little less boring than a vampire or zombie?

I’ve been planning on making something for Halloween all summer, even if it meant I was just gonna stalk the streets in Hemse wearing it. If I could just get it right... need to buy some light steel wires/net or something for my next part of the project. And lots of more fabric. It would have been neat with thin, smooth leather, but I haven't found any such. All they have on this island is rough sheep skins the farmers themselves fixed up, and that won't do. So I’ll just go for fabric that might resemble it a little. Maybe I’ll even mix up different materials... ah, the ideas are many! It's amazing what you can make out of simple pieces of cloth you have lying around in the house, if you just put your mind to it. Though I’m running out of such items, and I can't trash any more clothes for that purpose either.

I’m high on caffeine. Gulped down three large cans of energy drinks since midnight. If it wasn't for them I would not be awake by now. Sometimes when I’ve forgot to drink for a little while the tiredness comes right back at me, and I desperately drink half a can to “shape up” again. Oh, this week... it's been a whole week now, can you imagine? I don't know if it's worth any sort of comfort or anything, but just so you know, it's not a game or a world record competition for me to stay awake. Seriously don't know where that idea came from. It's an endless chase from an irrational fear that is somehow connected to my sleep. That's as much as I know at the moment.

(This is why self psycho-analysis is so addictive: it gives results.)

I keep mistaking objects in my apartment for cats. I wanna paint my nails, but I wanna finish my crafting first. Can't do that with newly painted nails. Oh well, I suppose I’ve got all night for that... but now the anxiety is starting to catch up with me again, at every time a day I went up last time. Now it was almost two nights ago I got up from bed, and the anxiety hits me again, counting the days and hours of awaken time passed. Cause I know that the longer I stay awake, the harder it will be to not fall asleep. I’ve been having such awful anxiety around midnight almost every night this week, cause that is when it hits me. When I have been awake for 18-23 or 42-47 hours and the tiredness hits me in the face and I feel like I can't stay up any longer. The feeling is so powerful, it's like it eats me alive. And I don't even know what it is I fear so badly I’ve been popping Zyprexa like a maniac just to stop hyperventilating and the feeling of being close to fainting. Feelings like that shouldn't come unnoticed.

At least now I know what I’m dealing with, approximately what it is I fear. But how the hell can one be afraid of sleeping?! Isn't that against human nature or something? Well, all of me is apparently in some way or another against human nature... though at least I’m not the only one with this particular problem. Just hoping my doctors will take me seriously this time. Not just the obvious sleep deprivation issue, but the fear that lies behind it. Cause it doesn't matter what pills they give me for my sleep when I won't even take them.

I feel like a train of misery, passing or picking up every nasty experience I come by.

I live just a website away

Okay... so I had 8 followers on tumblr just yesterday, now they are 28... and a picture I posted of myself has gotten 55 notes! Not sure how that happened, but you should have seen my face when I noticed! Like woah! I don't even post that much stuff myself, but mostly just reblog what the ones I follow upload. Did I mention that I love that website? Kinda need to say it again! My sister has a blog there somewhere, or at least I think she said that a while ago, and I’ve been meaning to ask her if I could follow her there. But I never see her nowadays and I don't even know if I would want to have any contact with her online.

I live on the internet! At least that's what it feels like. I'm not addicted to it, I moved into it. Facebook is my kitchen, tumblr is my living room, Dayviews is my bathroom and the rest are my bedroom which I don't visit that often. I sit by my computer with Firefox constantly on display every waken hour. Well, I do embroider or draw a little now and then, but take breaks for smoking and then I’m back by the screen. Oh, what a life... but considering how single tracked or dull it might seem, I’m never bored. Never, ever bored. My secret? I'm insane! Okay, not exactly a secret, but that's what's keeping me busy. All the million thoughts, undefinable emotions, hallucinations, delusions, psycho-analysing, anxiety and self harm.

Satan really does answer to my every prayer! I appreciate it very much, but it is a little creepy. Well, we all know about the first one when he saved my life in late June, and the second time I asked him for how long I'm going to live and I got the answer “for three or four years from now”. Now that one I can't know if it's real or not though, not yet anyway. But then again a few days ago I asked him if he could perhaps give my crush a little nudge in my direction but I didn't receive an answer, until later. He told me that I can nudge my crush myself, I don't need divine powers for that! As for the next one, I prayed yesterday and asked him to help me get through this tough period I’m having right now. Today I feel a lot better. Like I can eat and sleep again and don't have so much dark thoughts. I just know he's got something to do with that too!

So this is how I will know if a prayer is worth saying or not: if it's something I can do for myself, he won't bother doing it for me, no matter how much I’d rather he did. If it's a question, I can get a straight answer right away (though that is the part where I might be hallucinating). This is so fascinating! I really picked the right religion, I know it, and I’m gonna keep babbling about it, so get used to it.

In my perception

Just drank a cup of extra strong coffee (seriously super strong) and my heart is beating its way out of my chest, I’m sweating, dizzy and my stomach hurts. Great job, excellent idea! What the hell was I thinking?! I’m lost inside my thoughts and scared of falling asleep. Just wanted to stay awake. I can't go to sleep unfinished, but I never get finished nowadays. My insides are eating me from within. I don't know what this is. I'm lovesick, so I stopped eating and sleeping. Which caused me to hallucinate, get scared of sleeping and completely lose my appetite. The forced upon me insomnia became a chase controlled by caffeine. My imploding mind scared me and now I can't stop thinking about the things I’ve seen that wasn't real. One thing always leads to another, but I won't know where it leads me until I’m there. It scares me and thrills me.

This is exactly the kind of moments I should start gnawing on those Zyprexa pills. Need to tell my mother to bring me more of those, they will be much needed and appreciated. What would I do without tiny little pills with unpronounceable ingredients, to make my inner monsters go away? I’d be dead by now, but I wonder since how long? Not that long, I think, a couple of years or so. I still sometimes think that I actually am dead. Just haven't realised it yet. That I’m a ghost, still hanging around in the world of the living without realising I’m not alive anymore. That thought scares me, that I could be stuck in some sort of limbo. Limbos always scare me, I’ve been in a few. You feel so lost, hopeless and helpless then. Like there's literally nothing you can do, someone else is holding your life in their hands, you're left with two options which each will shatter your world and there is no third option. Of course matters can be resolved, cause they did for me, but I that moment you're so very vulnerable. And I think I am in one right now.

I believe in too much, I believe in everything. Well, not blindly, but yeah, I do think there's a possibility for absolutely everything to be real. Dragons, God, conspiracy theories, other dimensions, time travel, aliens, heaven and hell, reincarnation, demons and angels, luck, curses, magic, spirits or ghosts, telepathy, and oh damn this is my illness talking... I just watched an episode of the fairly new tv-show “Perception” about a Schizophrenic neurologist who sometimes works for the FBI. If anyone remember or have seen the show “Will & Grace” - it is he in the lead role. Anyways, in this episode that I just watched he had found some clinic to help a girl get rid of her OCD, a cure (which was obviously fake by the way, that's the annoying thing about this show. If you have any clue about mental illness and treatments for them, you'll notice there's a lot of shit the creators have made up. Also there was an episode based on a known case of teenage girls getting tics after having some sort of surgery, but in this episode it was about a murder. That annoyed me cause they changed a real story to something incredibly stupid...) Where was I? Yes, he said at the end of the episode that “if there's a cure for one mental illness, there will be cures for others in the future”.

I was close to tears when I thought of that. That a cure would be nice. For whatever it is that I have. Asperger is the only diagnose I know is real. Or no, sometimes I doubt that too. Cause it just doesn't fit with all the other shit. And the likeness between Asperger Syndrome and Schizophrenia is striking. I could have the other and neither Asperger or Borderline. I could have only Asperger and something else altogether that's causing my hallucinations and all the other signs of Schizophrenia... No, who am I kidding, it's spot on. I wish it wasn't, but I can't deny the hell I’m living or my obsessive compulsive psycho-analysis on myself. But I’ve reached the end now, haven't I? This is it, I won't come any closer to the truth. Unless... I should buy some books about it! I might not be able to get in to a psychology class, but I could at least do some research on my own.

Oh my god, pills now! There, taken. I took them last night too, two pills that dissolves in my mouth. They're pretty effective, which is amazing, since hardly anything works on my anxiety. Except for strong benzo and no sane doctor will give me that. Pricks! Well, okay I’d probably OD on them if I had some, but still! Zyprexa is actually an antipsychotic, which I think is very good since I’m closer to paranoia and hallucinations triggering each other, rather than an actual anxiety attack.

Okay, that's enough for now. I’ll give you an update or something when the pills have kicked in. Meanwhile I’m listening to “Schizophrenia” by Funker Vogt on repeat. Just freaking love that song! Too bad I can't hear what is sung in it, and lyrics are nowhere to be found...

I'm praying to the Devil again... feels like I’ve done that a lot lately. Some things he can help me with, others he can't. I just don't really know which, so I’m praying either way. If I was a Christian and prayed to their god, everyone would be all cheerful and say “oh my god, that's so good!” or something. Well, my god isn't so bad either! He's just been judged and hated for going his own way and saying “fuck that shit” when others try to strap him down. It's not so strange why I’m drawn to him.