Broken without my home

Fuck... I hit a new low and it's the absolute bottom. A fair warning: this entry is very dark, sad and upsetting. It will likely worry you, but please read it all through before you panic.

This pain... it's soooo strong it makes my chest physically hurt. I can't bear this. I literally can't bear this anymore. I got angry at another useless shit thing again but it led to something else... something much worse. I realised that the reason every little shit thing pisses me off so bad is because it makes me feel like I can't do anything at all and that everything is completely hopeless. That's why I get temporarily suicidal when I get angry. But this time... that feeling stayed. Cause I looked into it, and it opened quite a can of worms. It's breaking me.

It made me feel this intense pain that's pushing extremely hard inside but it can't get out. It's locked inside. It all made me realise, after the anger was gone again, that I don't wanna live anymore. Cause it's too much. Now it broke the seal, and tipped me over the edge. I can't carry this weight anymore. I can't even lift it.

I don't wanna do any suicide attempts, don't even wanna plan it. But I can't live either. Not like this. I know I've done good. I know I've tried my absolute hardest to stay above the surface. I feel grateful towards myself and how well I've done. It's not my fault that it got too much. I almost expected it would someday. These past couple of weeks or so I've felt I've been getting worse very rapidly and losing the grip.

This is NOT a suicide letter, I'm not going anywhere. I've only just admitted to myself that this is how I feel. And I'm just venting it now. I've no intentions or plans. If or when I feel even the SLIGHTEST hint towards actually killing myself, I'll run fast to the psychiatric emergency. Because I want help and I want to be able to live. First and foremost that is what I want. I want to live but I just can't. So what I'll do now? I'll vent, I'll talk, I'll sit on my ass and continue doing nothing in my apartment that's slowly becoming a health hazard. I've more important things to worry about than some clothing piles and nasty but dried up dishes. I'll try my best to just stay calm, rest a lot, try to take care of my body as well as I can, listen to myself, just try to let these feelings exist in me and if I can release them in some harmless healthy ways that would be very good. That's my plan. And if I can't manage it, I'll call the psych.

I don't want for this detrans shit to kill me. I really really don't. It feels like it's literally sucking all the life force out of me, draining me until there's just nothing left, like I have no control over it, and it's killing me. But I keep trying to fight it and find ways to stay alive and cope. And I will continue trying.

Oh god I'm glad I didn't go to Uppsala to see my friends there this week. I kinda had a hunch I was too mentally unwell to manage it. Guess I was kinda right. Yeah, they invited me to a party there (which is tomorrow, but I've known about it for 2 weeks) and I guess that was a hint that I was invited to stay at their place and hang out, but I just couldn't. Couldn't even handle the thought of packing a bag. Let alone actually traveling. I fantasise about seeing them again. Maybe by spring. Maybe who knows what. I don't think they care or think much about me anymore. That makes it practically impossible for me to even send a fucking text message to them. That too hurts too much.

My best friend is irreplacable, and my broken heart knows that. We were soulmates. Soulmate sisters, we used to say. And we were gonna stick together forever, inseparable. Whatever happened to that? I dunno. It happened before I moved here, some 7 years ago. I love her to death and beyond, but I can't pick up the phone to text her. Cause I think she gave up on us. It hurts more and more by the day. Especially this week when I got that party invitation but no message. I didn't know what to think. And she never even likes or replies to any of my facebook posts, but she does to the friends we have in common. I always like her posts and check her page. Makes me wonder if she unfollowed me. If I'm dead to her or something.

But anyhow. That probably exacerbated my mood plummeting. And my hormones being whackier than ever since pms-ing, then period happening with extremely painful cramps and a complete inability to regulate my body temperature. Yeah, I know full well that this suicidal thing could just be cause my hormones are literally all over the fucking place right now. I've no idea what either my estrogen or my testosterone are doing, but it's not nice whatever it is. Not surprising at all if they fuck up my mood massively as well. But holy shit this isn't an okay level to be at. It's just really not. I got a doctor's appointment on the 10th, if I can hang on until then without having to go get myself locked up somewhere safe, I can bring up my issue with moodswings or what's going on to that doctor. I don't think it's really mood swings though, more like mood dip and it's not getting back up again. It just keeps plummeting.

Oh god I just wanna disappear... just lie down somewhere soft and warm and fall asleep and not wake up again. That would be so sweet. Just rest forever. I'm cold again. Soon I'll overheat. Whatever. Somehow I can't be bothered to care about that anymore. This pain of detransing is choking me, it's suffocating me. I don't wanna care about my looks anymore. I don't wanna feel this way. My chest grief spread out to include my testo changes as well, and that grief completely consumed me. Swallowed me whole. I think that's why I hit this breaking point. It felt like the chest grief alone was getting too much. Then it grew massively. And that totally tipped me over the edge.

I feel so horrible, and utterly horrified, about my body. I've destroyed it. That's all my feelings are telling me right now. That I destroyed my own body, permanently, and I can't restore it... ever again. That feeling is pure pain and it's currently digging a hole in my chest. I think most of that pain comes from the result of what my body became like, it comes from that feeling of regret and that I know I shouldn't have done it... it comes from what I can't get back... I just shouldn't have fucking transitioned! Sex change, my ass! It didn't make me a man... it only ruined my womanhood. Tore it to fucking shreds. Like a meat-grinder. It ruined me, it literally ruined me. What the fuck have I done?! What have I done to myself... how could I? How could I... I just want my body back... the way nature made it for me. How could I ruin that gift?

I did know I had natural beauty, back in my teens. I don't think I've ever told you this... or anyone for that matter... Cause as a trans guy I was ashamed of it, and now as a detrans fuckup it just really REALLY hurts to even just think about it... but I was really confident about my body when I was around 13-17 years old. I loved showing it off and took every chance I could to flash it cause I was so proud of its beauty, I loved my curves, I loved my boobs, I loved my face, even my big ass... I loved the completeness of it. I did feel complete... for but a fraction of my life... before my rapist and R destroyed that feeling. Before I destroyed my own beauty... and here I am, grieving my fucking heart to pieces.

Yeah, my gender is "fuckup" now, cause I don't deserve to be a woman. Wow, that sentence really hurt to write. I love being a woman, I truly do... it's the sweetest, most comforting thing ever, to truly love my womanhood like that... it's such a warming and genuine love... and being a woman is the best, most beautiful thing ever in this dark cruel world... that's one of the truly good things I saw and can't unsee, the amazingness of being a woman... but I can't forgive myself for what I've done. I erased my womanhood. And what's left is a fuckup. I don't have a woman's body anymore. I have a fuckup's body. Cause I fucked it up.

Be careful what you wish... cause it might just come true.

I don't know how to possibly survive this. It feels like I can't. Like it's just not possible. Like the tragedy that is my life has no end. It will just keep getting worse until I stop it from becoming even worse ever again. Before I pull the breaks on life. I can't find any solutions to anything. I'm just barely even here. Stuck in survival mode. I can't just sit and wait for "better times" my entire life! Cause I've never done anything else than waiting for things to get better. I've never actually enjoyed life. It makes me wonder what's really the point of it all.

And oh god... Last time I was in a psych ward for being suicidal... was because I hated my pre-transition body and couldn't live without getting to transition! Realising that now just broke my fucking heart. No, it fucking shattered it! Will I ever find peace with my body? I love my body... I want for it to be well. It's a good a lovely body that functions so well and doesn't look bad... considering its circumstances. It's very comforting and warm to hold it, the smooth skin and little hairs on it that feel good to touch... the way it responds when I touch it... but it's broken and I can't connect to what I've done to it. I can only connect to what's original/natural about it. That is what I feel is the real me. The unaltered parts. That's what truly clicking with me. Those parts are sooo amazing I don't even have words to describe how much I truly, genuinely love them. I treasure them so much, and hold onto them so hard, cause I still have them and they're mine and I need them so much. They comfort me. But the rest, the altered stuff... I can't bear it. I feel so sad for how I've hurt my body... Transitioning saved my life back in 2013 but now my treatment is killing me. Was it worth it then? If it does kill me... truly hoping it won't... was it ever worth it?

I can't think clearly. This pain is blocking my mental pathways. This pain has dug enough holes in me for me to feel it almost constantly now. Everything trans triggers me, to either sadness or anger. I don't know what to possibly do to distract or amuse myself online or anywhere. I don't have any creativity or interests. I don't know for how long except from the few random spurs. It's just me and my pain. I can't draw, I can't write. I can't unfocus, I can't breathe. I'm stuck in this quicksand and I keep sinking. That's a very good description of my situation actually: quicksand.

I read your reply to my previos blog post, X. Thank you, it was really good things you brought up. I read it on my way to see my therapist yesterday, I was just on my way to leave when you told me you wrote and sent it. So I didn't have time to tell you I was gonna read it and was happy you wrote it. Then I've just been too miserable to talk to you at all. Also got my 5th present from you today. Thank you. This one actually is wine red.

"We've fallen deep so far inside
behind the walls we choose to hide
We cannot love, we can only feed, the liar inside
Our heavy heart died long ago
We shut down truth, claimed we didn't know
and then we smiled into the face of the liar inside"
- the chorus from "The liar inside" by Human Drama.

Maybe these feelings won't lead to any actual plans or attempts. Maybe it won't get worse than to just wishing I was dead. That's bad in itself, but not as bad as actual actions in that direction. Me being suicidal doesn't always lead to actions. Sometimes it's just a feeling. Let's hope it's like that this time, and that I'll get better again soon. I do want to get better.

Can I end this entry on that note, without worrying you to panic? I hate it when anyone is worried about me. I hate it so much. But I just have to vent and maybe it's good for to know. But please just see it for what it is: me admitting to feeling this way. Nothing more. It doesn't change my actions. But I will be more careful and more keen. I will try my absolute hardest to prevent any actual attempts. That much I can promise.

Luck and chance

I don't know why I let other people's problems get to me. I have enough problems already. I'm always annoyed with people nowadays. Never compassionate, sympathetic, empathetic or any of those fancy words. Not the slightest glimpse of care. I've gone bitter and selfish. Don't care about anyone's well being except for His. My love, and only him. It's like everyone else have just faded into the shadow, and I walk away from them.

But I'm in his shadow. I'm lingering, just close enough to be noticed, but never too close to a bother. I've been cast into a land of shadows. Cloaking my vision, this lovesickness has impaired me even more. I'm living for that impossible dream, for hopes that will probably never come true. Not in this life, not in this reality.

It's tearing me down, just a little more each time. The smallest thing can make me fly or fall apart, but for every fall I break a little more. I think a miracle needs to happen if I should survive this. I'm waiting, just waiting for something to happen. At this point I don't care which. Die or live, I cannot choose. So I let fate decide it for me. Roll the dice and wish me luck.

Like I said to my mother the other day, about my sleep and all. I said: "I don't want to be awake and I don't want to sleep, so I let my medication decide it for me". It's like I'm on life support, like I wouldn't survive without all those components that keep me together. Pills, psychiatric care, the crew, my parents, my love. Cause the truth is that I don't live for anything: I'm simply alive because of these things.

What I'm trying to survive

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I cannot cope at night

Is it gonna be like this every night, or what? I get more sensitive with the darkness, and somehow my loneliness becomes more potent. As of now that is a bad thing. I hate that I'm so fucking sensitive. Toughen up, already! Crying like a little girl, I should be ashamed of myself... but this anxiety is eating at my soul, this sadness is tearing me inside out.

I fear that I might start getting afraid of sleep again. Afraid of dreams and nightmares, of waking up in distress several times a night, of not waking up at all. Afraid of losing control I jump out of bed as soon as I'm awakened by the crew in the morning. Won't allow myself to sleep the day away. I fight to stay up as late as possible and I fight to get up as early as possible. It's a viscous circle.

And this fucking lovesickness. Ripping, tearing, aching, hurting, screaming inside me. I'm out out of words for it, cause I've already explained it a thousand times. A thousand tears each for my inability to cope, for the dream that can't come true, for the painful reality that he'sd taken and lives so far away and why would he even glance in my direction the way I want him to?

A thousand words to describe what I cannot put into words. I'm full of paradoxes and ambivalence, but this is so crude, so through and through. Filling up every space in my heart until no one else matters. No one else and nothing else. I neglect my friends, I neglect my family for an impossible dream, for a guy I cannot have.

I so hoped this was all just temporary, I wish that I would have died from it much sooner. Cause then I wouldn't have to suffer. Isn't that what death is, that you no longer have to suffer? Eight months in this mess, it's like a tangled cobweb I can't get out from, I just keep entangling myself deeper and deeper. And nothing makes any sense anymore.

I don't know who I am, I don't know what sort of life this is I'm trying to live. I live in his shadow. Cautiously following him around every corner, trying to hide my true feelings, always afraid of coming off as either too cold or too creepy.

Aching for his presense, his spoken words in my ear, his gentle touch that I can never have. For him to notice and find out that we have more in common than he realised. My endless thoughts are spinning aimlessly, devoured by too strong emotions, too much of everything that I cannot handle.

I just don't know what the fuck to do. I'm so lost and I feel as though I'm just getting more and more lost every day. I just have to get out of here, just have to get out of here...

Fate and reason

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

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

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

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

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

Don't let it kill me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not today

Death is freedom. I can't let go of that thought. I'm serious when I say that I want to be murdered, cause then I won't have to kill myself. I'm fantasising about it, I'm looking for people who could possibly be murderers, wanting one to find me. They say every person generally meets 36 murderers in their lifetime without knowing it. I want to find mine.

Perhaps I've told you already, but I doubt that you believe me. I doubt that you would think that if I was to end up in a situation like that, I wouldn't fight for my sad excuse for a life, I wouldn't beg. I would invite it. It doesn't matter in what manner. Quick, slow, peaceful, painful, graceful or humiliating, or excruciatingly humiliating. Hate crime or bar fight, including torture and or rape, I don't care.

I just don't know how to find someone like that, who isn't dead or in prison, or lives way too far away. It's not like I could just "pop the question" about something as serious as murder. I could get in trouble, I could put someone else in trouble.

Other than that I'm absolutely obsessed by the thought of suicide even when I'm not suicidal. I romanticise it, glorify it and it excites me. Other peoples' suicide, their letters, they way they died, everything revolving around it. I love suicide.

Today hasn't really been a good day either. Now I'm drunk on Jägermeister and can't put down the razor blade for more than five minutes at a time. Trying to figure out what I'm gonna do when I'm running out of space on my arm.

I can't even talk to my mother. My mouth just closes up when she talks about everything I have to look forward to. "Yes, of course that will be nice. I'll try to hold on" I say. When in reality I seriously doubt I'll even be alive when those things will supposedly occur.

I'm giving up on life a little more every day. I won't tell you if or when I choose to die, I don't wanna worry you. Right now I'm safe, that's all I can say. Besides, I haven't even found a good spot yet. I know I say it every time, but the next time will be the last. I can feel it inside me, really deeply, that I only have one more attempt ahead of me. But I don't know when that would be. Soon, but not today. Not today.

Live or die

I've been in distress the whole day, and fighting to not lose it when I had to be social. My mother and sister came by, and it was clear to me that I needed their support and guiding for my shopping of various necessities. I faded out in the car when they were talking about something they thought was funny. I couldn't hear it, nor did I care. My mother asked me if there's anybody there (in me, as in was I present), and I just couldn't take my eyes of the air in front of me, but managed to say "no". That must be the closest thing to truth I've ever spoken these last few weeks.

I think I need to tell my mother about that part of me being suicidal and all, but I just don't want her to worry. I've started thinking that if I die everyone would be better off without me. I'm such a mess, causing everyone to worry. I can tell you have all given up on me. That I will never be happy, never have a career, never learn to drive, never start living. I can't even imagine how hard it must be to have a friend, a brother or a son who has repeatedly tried to commit suicide for a decade. All I am is failure, my life was a mistake. I'm not saying you don't care, cause I know that you do, and that is why you worry, cause if you didn't care you wouldn't be worried.

No, I'm not yet planning anything. My thoughts of suicide are tangled in webs of incoherent words and brutal pictures in my head. I visualise how it could be like to jump, or rather just fall. Or would I faint? My fear of heights is extreme, you see. I imagine I would feel so dizzy and nauseous and that my heart would beat so fast. I can't imagine anything more scary, so why would I want to end my life that way?

These thoughts give me a headache. Beyond the fact that I already hurt inside cause I think my heart has tied a knot around itself. I don't want to die, I don't want to leave everything to never be able to go back. The problem is that I don't want to live either. I really, really don't want to live like this. What was it I said? That I have nothing to lose by staying alive because sooner or later we all die.
What kind of crap is that? As long as I'm alive I will always have something to lose. But the most ironic of it all, is that most of all, right now, I fear for my future. I fear that I will kill myself. That must be the definition of ambivalence. That I want to kill myself at the same time as I'm scared as hell that I'll actually do it. What a paradox I've gotten myself into.

I'm torn apart between them. Of not wanting to either live or die, being just as scared of living as I am of dying. But this little voice inside my head (not Anna) says: make up your mind, live or die. And a part of me so silently whispers that I can just barely hear it: I choose to die.

Breaking down

Okay, this mood of mine is making me wanna sink through the floor. What the hell am I supposed to do? And why the hell can't I wait with breaking down until I can see my shrink? I don't even know where to begin. With depression and suicidal thoughts could be a start, and then try to explain why. This time I don't have to plan my method of dying anyways, but I try my best not to perfect the plan.

For so long now I've been holding back my emotions, suffocating what's been suffocating me. But it always wins sooner or later. But I've held on this long, so why can't I keep holding on a little longer? Because sooner or later broken things patched together will fall apart again and again until they can no longer be repaired.

All I've been doing is waiting for this to happen. Unrequited love this strong is only destructive, and too heavy for my heart and soul to carry. I've been waiting for the scale to tip, cause as soon as I fell for him, I knew this was gonna happen. It was just a matter of time. Honestly, I thought it was gonna happen a lot sooner.

But a part of me still can't see me dying before I'm 27. My deceiving perfect age. Too high to be perfect? Well, the higher the better, because it's only two more years. It's only two more years. So will I try to keep holding on at least until then? Yes, I whisper yes, because right now I honestly don't think I will last that long. I've always known that I won't reach 30. Always. And it has always felt real to me. As real as the winter nights are dark, as real as snow falls white.

Invisible tears

It's been a long time since I wrote about my crush. Perhaps my words are ending, but I'm not thinking in words about him. There are pictures, snap shots of memories, a split second's smile, his mumbling voice, the way it felt when his fair stroke my face. I'm thinking in pictures, sound and sensation in a way I've never done before. Usually all of my thoughts are conversations. With myself, Anna or made up conversations with other people. So these wordless thoughts are completely new for me, at least to this extreme.

Besides, it's all just repeating. It's the same thoughts since October, November and December. Over and over, and over again. That I miss him. And I miss him more and more every day. I dream of curling up in his arms, that he whispers that he loves me, plays with my hair, kisses my cheek. I'm still lovesick. I just haven't been bothering you with the same old, constantly repeating in circles.

I've been listening to this song, "Kola lake vellari" by a guy named Himesh Reshammiya, for hours and hours since I found it on Spotify yesterday. I even fell asleep listening to it on repeat on my cell phone last night. Somehow it reminds me of my love. It sounds a bit sad to me. Like he's longing, lost in that woman's eyes. That he can't have her. The one he's dancing with in the video to the song. I have no idea what he's actually singing about, so it's just a feeling. And no, I can't find the lyrics via google either.

I still sleep with his picture just a few inches away from my face every night. Imagining that he's actually there. It's a sad comfort, and it feels like this dream of mine will never ever come true. And I don't know for how much longer I can endure this lovesickness. I'm slowly losing my will to live, as my will to disappear forever increases. To take my stupid dreams with me to a better place, without heartache and invisible tears.

"And still I fall apart
for this dream will end
and leave me with wounds
that cannot mend"

Unliveable life

I don't know what to say. I feel cold inside. Empty. Apathy has come to stay. I don't know if this a form of depression, but I have a sensation that it could be. My inability to get out of bed. The way everything is hollow, tasteless, dull, empty, colourless, meaningless. I'm still creative though. Still able to draw, write poems, and enjoy playing WoW. But everything is half hearted. It's like I just "have to" do it to get it off me.

Like playing WoW is just a way of making time pass, time that I don't want. All I ever have is time and all I want is for it to go away. Another emotional suicide, killing everything I have inside me, killing all the time I can instead of making it stop permanently. I'm suicidal, but choose to keep on living at the same time as I'm in a way killing my life. Do you understand? I'm killing myself indirectly.

It's killing me. There's so much that is killing me inside. I don't know how much longer I'll be able to endure. I'm filled to the brim with medications, yet I'm just a heartbeat away from being full blown suicidal again. This mess is eating me alive, I become thinner every day, until soon I'm just an empty shell. I'm filling that void with smoke, cause at least there'll be something in there.

It's weird that the more I feel, the emptier I feel. It's like all these emotions extinguish each other. They vaporise before I can catch them and analyse them. But I can tell this pressure from within can't hold much longer. What I want in life I cannot have, and what I have I do not want.

I want to be someone else, a totally different person. Make me his girlfriend, or make me a healthy young adult with his whole life ahead of him, make me loveable and make my life liveable.

Procrastinating feelings

I'm always so tired nowadays, like I could just fall asleep at any given moment. Maybe it's still my three months of sleep deprivation and hypnophobia that I'm not entirely recovered from yet. Maybe it's just all the emotional stress that is still going on. I'm not even awake when I'm awake.

It's hard to concentrate on anything. World of warcraft, movies, writing, anything. It takes hours upon getting out of bed for me to wake up somewhat, and then I get so tired again before I know it. Nothing can make even the slightest bit of alert. Not even caffeine or any of the usual or unusual things that I can't think of right now.

People are more annoying than usual in WoW. They keep bothering me with group requests and duel proposals. I was this close to just yell "fuck off" in chat but managed to keep ignoring them instead.

Other than those occasional anger outbursts that don't really burst at all, I feel completely numb today. Just like yesterday and the day before that, and the day before that. Still fantasising about death, self harming, listening to Emilie Autumn and I'm back on normal cigarettes again. I'm not entirely sure why I'm this numb, but it could be that thing that shook me to that shock-like state a month ago. But it's been a month, for crying out loud.

Would it be okay if I say I'm not suicidal, I just have a constant death wish?

It's like I've built a wall around me, and nothing can come through it. I still don't want to feel anything, but I doubt this is a good thing. Well, of course it isn't a good thing, but I don't know what to do about it either. Or if I even want to do something about it. I don't want to be completely numb 24/7, but I don't wanna feel like crap either. And there really isn't a third choice.

I'm putting off going to the grocery store. Just wanna play WoW and watch Criminal Minds. Almost simultaneously. But I have no food left. That is a problem.

Down there again

Why do I feel that way, why do I feel the need to be broken? I'm tearing myself apart. The will to die, will it always linger in me? Constantly tempting me with freedom and rest, being pain free, at peace, become one with or leave Anna, coming home. Will I be suicidal for life? Intentionally or subconsciously constantly shortening my own life with bad habits, just in case I won't die within those three or four years, or just because of that.

Am I always suicidal, just more or less? Don't I wish for that next cigarette to give me lung cancer, for that next dose of pills to kill my liver, for that next breath to be be my last? That maybe if I starve myself long enough I'd eventually die from malnutrition, or that at some point if I manage to stay awake long enough my body will give out completely. Without taking more pills than I should, or slitting my arms too deep, or anything directly deadly, don't I still have that vague hint of a feeling that I just wish this could be my last day in this hell? Yes...

A memory from when I was in a psych ward in Uppsala two years ago that will never leave my mind. A guy there, he was funny, a truck driver in his late 30's. I can't remember his name, or even what he looked like except from blue jeans and shaved head. He said something, can't remember the exact words, or the word, but I can't forget it. Something about us smokers committing suicide methodically or contemplated. I had never until then thought about it that way, but he was so right.

It's amazing what truly amazing people you meet within those walls. When we are the most vulnerable, broken or uncontrollable. Sharing cigarettes and slipping pills when the staff isn't looking. It's a world of its own.

I'm falling again. Thought I was in bad shape yesterday? Well today it's even worse. I've stopped eating and started popping caffeine pills again. I won't take my sleeping pills or sedatives or do anything that will calm me down too much. I'm feeding my anxiety and sadness instead of trying to ease it. Why? I don't know, but I seem to purposely make myself feel worse.

Maybe it's like when you get angry and accidentally break something that you like, so you get even more angry, but instead of trying to fix the thing you broke, you break it even more.

But I won't kill myself. Not more than I already do at least. I'm satisfied by these means of self harm that will probably harm me in the now as well as in the long run. That was all I was writing about, so don't get any ideas.

Out of my hands

So I’ve been trying to install this PC game “Alice Madness Returns” that I’ve had lying around for a while. But it's so fucked up just trying to install the shit and making it work! I don't understand what I’m doing wrong! Ended up screaming at the top of lungs that I hate it, hate it so fucking much, why can't it be easy, why can't anything ever be easy?  Suddenly understand why I just stick to WoW and never try anything new... it's so much hassle around it, it's so damn frustrating it's just not worth it. But I really wanna give this game a chance. But how am I supposed to do that when everything just keeps buggering? Something or someone is feeding me anxiety, and I think it is God. That fucker.

What he fuck is wrong with me today?! I’ve had three anger outburst in less than 15 minutes, my throat hurts, my fists and fingers hurt, as well as everything inside me. I thought yesterday was a bad day... Today seem to be worse, at least it started off worse, it's still only morning. I can't press the keyboard keys any harder, yet I still miss out letters! It's like those old typing machines you basically need a frigging hammer to make the ink stick on the paper. Yeah I have one of those, from the 60's or 70's I think. Perhaps even from the 50's.

There's just not enough anxiolytic drugs in the goddamn world for what I feel today. Just bloody kill me! I can't even use OpenOffice without raging. It crashed repeatedly (it's never done that before). I guess it's just the document that has gotten too big, or how to say it. However, I won't use it anymore today. There should be a page limit for when it starts crashing. It seems to be somewhere around 30-40 pages.

Fuck it all. All this shit just reminds me of why I never want to do anything at all out of the ordinary. It's not Asperger or any other mental disorder shit, it's because everything just fucks up all the damn time. My ability to be a complete failure just makes wanna crawl into a cocoon and stay there for the rest of my miserable life.

It's just one of those days, huh? There some to be quite many of those, don't you think? I'm sooo damn close to just give it all up again. Say "fuck you and all your shit" to life itself and jump off a roof top. Cause all this shit isn't worth enduring for the few things that are good in life. I can count those on one hand, but the everything negative is countless. Fucking countless!

I don't just have a little anxiety, I don't know what's going on to be honest. A lot of anxiety, so damn much I can't even begin to comprehend it. I know it's out of my hands when I'm popping pills until I'm constantly drugged and cutting myself until I'm constantly bleeding. The anxiety is eating me alive, it's fucking eating me alive. Why can't these damn pills work!? Why am I even paying for them?! I can swear they're all made of sugar, or fake sugar, cause otherwise they'd make me fat.

It's the fear

I have so much anxiety these days, it's indescribable. I remember when I spoke to my psychiatrist back in September, and truthfully told her I had little to no anxiety. Now I’m riddled with it. Not just that I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, but all of the last two or three weeks. What doesn't worry me is a reminder to what does, and it seems there's a filter of worry covering everything around me. Feeling sick about my breaking heart, fear of sleep, worry of not getting better, distress over my self harm. This endless chase for mental relief, a burden which I cannot truly identify. Like identifying broken street lights in the darkest night.

They say that everything has a brighter side, but if that is true, what's the brightness about lovesickness and fear of sleep? I know they are in some way connected for me, because of the dreams that I’m having. Dreams of messing up, of losing him, of losing myself for him. I really should have brought that up with my shrink yesterday, but I guess that either it slipped my mind or I hadn't figured it out yet. Now our next meeting isn't until November the 1^st, after I get back from Uppsala. Will try not to do anything stupid until I go then. Cause I believe I will do just fine once I’m there, but what do I know?

It's not just that I can't let go of the thoughts that bother me, it's that I also think it's impossible to let go of them.

Just got back home after a trip to the grocery store. They didn't have Lucky Strike as usual (motherfuckers...) so I bought Pall Mall, Level and filtered John Silver. Two microwave meals and some milk. Just in and out of there as fast as possible, with music in my head phones. It's Saturday night and the streets are empty. In Hemse there are no parties going on, no drinking at the corner pub, everyone stays home watching tv or reading a book. There's mostly retired people living here. It's the centre of calm and a sanctuary for the lonely.

I guess it fits me perfectly then. I’m also retired and lonely, just that there's a young side of me as well, that wants to party and feel the buzz of a wild city at night. But not today. Today I wallow in my sadness and the emptiness this village provokes. My anxiety holds me down, drowning me, and in cigarette breaths I choke in my fear.

The floor has swallowed my caffeine pills. I accidentally knocked the bottle over and now I can't find it. Maybe I'm fucking blind, but I can't see it anywhere. Believe me, I have looked everywhere. I'm such a mess. I fuck up everything and I can't live like this. I’m starting to think maybe this anxiety will push off the edge again. Lead me to become suicidal again. Can I really go to Uppsala when I’m like this? I can't even go half a day without my anxiolytic as needed pills and razorblades across my pale, scarred skin.

I freaked out completely. As you might understand I was a bit unstable already to begin with, with the dreams I woke up from, and that heart tearing longing after my love being extra strong or whatever. So when I knocked over the bottle and desperately tried to find it, I just collapsed. Eventually crawled up from crying on the floor, to my chair again, and downed three Sobril, each 10 mg. That's no overdosing by my standards, since that's the lowest dose that works on me. Hopefully...

I’m writing a list of cutting triggers, meaning things that triggered me to cut myself. It's not quite after a standard scheme or something. It seems to be different every time, and sometimes rather weird things. But mostly it's about Him. Sometimes I can't even think of a reason as to why I do it, other than that I “felt like it”.

Just thought of something stupid... those pills I take for my anxiety that are supposed to melt in my mouth but they taste really disgusting so I don't take them anymore... what if I can snort them? Should be sort of the same thing I mean, but maybe that could hurt in my nose instead. Well, nothing feels like cotton to snort, but anyways.

My mind is moving in strange directions lately, my thoughts are more scattered and incoherent than usually. Now where was I? I’ve lost my train of thought, for like the twelfth time while writing this... as I said, scattered thoughts. They are cut up, disorganised and get lost somewhere in my dulled mind. Six tiny puddles of blood on the floor by my chair, I’m cutting deep enough for the blood to run from my arms for minutes after. I’m getting greedy and careless with my self mutilation. Leaving scars that will last, and I scar so easily.

Darkened thoughts

01:12

I can feel the vein in my left temple pounding when I put my finger on it. The headache is worse now, pounding on my left side. A moment ago I started screaming, hitting my forehead and threw the embroidery across the room. It isn't going so well right now, I keep messing up my calculations and I don't wanna start making stitches on a whim. It's frustrating, so I put the embroidery away for a while. The energy drink tastes strange and sticks to the gum in my mouth. There's even a fly in it. Disgusting, but what else am I gonna do?

I’m more scared of sleeping than ever now, thanks to this headache. That's just great, make me hate myself even more why won't you!? What's your next move, night terrors? I ever allow myself to sleep again. I will stay awake until Wednesday when I’m off to the meeting with my psychiatrist, that's one and a half day, or 33 hours to be more precise, from now. With a mass load of caffeine and sugar I will make that possible with no doubt. I’m also eating again, which makes it even easier. Or simpler rather, cause sleep deprivation is never easy. Chosen or not.

03:19

I think I’m getting suicidal again... well, not so much literally, or how to say it, I really don't know. I have no plans, not even actual thoughts about it. Just this vague feeling that is sort of lingering. A feeling of how sweet death could be, to finally just end it all. All this suffering and despair. But when I think about the only method that I know will work: jumping, my heart starts racing and I get chills or something, that icy feeling in my gut. I look upon that feeling and feel disdain towards it. How horrible it would be to jump from that high. I don't even know where I could find such a place to throw myself from. My house is way to low, and I don't know any other building that could qualify a certain death. I suppose a suicide like that doesn't need much planning but to find a spot, but I don't want to do it, I’m not ready. Not yet.

It's just that I have this other prophecy thing, that I won't ever be lucky in love. I’m not lucky in anything, but I need this. Who doesn't need love? But to get a message like that, a fucking prophecy, saying you will never experience that is a little over the top. It darkens my thoughts, my smiles and every single feeling. That I’m destined to become lovesick every time I fall in love with someone, and in every relationship I won't be in love with my partner. That hurts, and I wish with all of my broken heart that isn't true, because if it is... I don't wanna think about that. But I do, and that's what leads me to these gnawing feelings that it might be better if I just died. But I don't want to give up, I want to prove that prophecy wrong, and as they say in the Angel series, prophecies aren't always true.

Afraid to sleep

I'm starting to wonder if I might have developed some sort of hypnophobia, or somniphobia. It's not that I can't fall asleep, it's something else... I deliberately keep myself awake, though I don't really want to, I drink insane amounts of caffeine, and I slip my sleeping meds. I'm afraid of sleeping, and of falling asleep. It's hard to say why, but mostly I think it's because of the loss of control cause I can't control how long I’m gonna be asleep for. I don't just hate it when I sleep for 24 hours straight, it feels I’m being trapped. That I can't get up no matter what I do. Also nightmares and night terrors aren't so cozy looking forward to... Yeah, I just keep finding new depths of everything. I had this back in June as well, but it got sorted out at the psych-ward when they pumped me full of sleeping meds. Apparently the problem wasn't completely solved. But did my lovesickness trigger this hypnophobia or are they entirely unrelated?

How will I get a better sleeping pattern if I won't even take my sedatives? I'm frigging sitting here with a horrible stomachache, slight nausea, headache and I’m so fucking exhausted but keep gulping energy drinks and watching horror movies to keep myself awake. For some reason this has taken the upper hand now, and it's causing a distress I haven't been able to put my finger on until now. It's got it's own little file in my mind somehow. Jeez... I don't know what to do with this! If I get admitted again the same thing will happen again: they'll stuff me full with pills and force me to bed at night for a week or so, and they I’ll get back to this. Cause they can't medicate my fear away. Wonder if Adelina is still there, by the way?

No, not the time to think about girls. Or any other wonderful people I’m a nobody to. Or anyone else for that matter. Fuck, I’m over her anyway, barely even knew her. I’ve only got eyes for one person and he's not here. And maybe I should just get admitted again? I’m not suicidal but I think I could qualify for a few days rest there or something. It's not like they even provide suicide watch there. Stupid morons. Wonder how many completed suicides happened there! It was like they took for granted you would surrender yourself blindly to their care by coming there as suicidal. Hello? Did anyone there have a medical education?! Suicidal people can't think straight, they're blinding themselves with massive feelings of hopelessness, worthlessness and all the other lessnesses! That's why you go there, cause you need someone else to save you from yourself!

Okay, enough about that. I’m not suicidal, I just forgot how to survive. They say the summer is over now, but mine isn't. If I keep saying this is an awful summer, can't the autumn just wait until I get a little better? So that I won't have to say it's been awful summer and autumn? Cause that is too long, two seasons awfulness is just too damn much.

Entangled emotions

The tiredness is coming to me again. It's only been 18 hours, it's not that long. But my body is getting weaker everyday. I get that chilly feeling in my body, like being too cold and too warm and the same time. Like if you had been running around and stressing for hours without rest and then finally get five minutes to catch your breath. Or waking up really early a winter morning and clasping your hands tightly around a hot, steamy teacup. It's a vague feeling I can't really put into words. Weak, stressed, exhausted, almost feverish. Sometimes even close to delirium.

That's my body's way of complaining. Yeah, I’m not done yet. We'll just have to see for how long this will go on. Hey, I was like this for almost 6 months back in 2010, and I (barely) survived that! And I don't drink now, or go to School, so my survival rate is a bit higher this time.

I’ll let you in on a little secret though, I’ve been collecting pills in a special box on my desk. A small, octagon shaped, metal box with a German brand for pins made for sewing. The pills are my own and completely legal, so no worries there. Lergigan, Mitrazapin, Lamotrigin and some stuff I’m not entirely sure what it is. I don't know exactly what I’m saving them for. Some sort of overdose I suppose, or maybe I just didn't wanna take them and kept them instead of throwing them away. That it's “good to have”, whatever that means.

If it will be overdose, it will most likely just be a self harm thing. When I get tired of being awake in this miserable world and just want a little rest. I’ve done that quite a few times, sort of a halfway-suicide when I take an overdose of a quantity I know won't kill me, but I’d get a little nap and I’d be glad if I didn't have to wake up again. Just in case it would for some reason be fatal, death would merely be a bonus. I’m kinda pathetic that way, and scaring the shit out of everyone who cares about me, when I swallow down a toxic amount of pills just because I “want a little nap”

No I don't think I’ll be napping for a while now, not those heavily intoxicated naps anyways. Just the usual, medicated ones. Though the ever so lingering thoughts of suicide will always have a special place in my heart. Something I fear, yet romanticise and fantasise about, long for, hate and feel sick about. Love, fear, anger, resentment, joy, all of the major human emotions. Me and Self Inflicted Death have a chaotic, toxic relationship. It will always be that way, and I can never know before hand know when my abusive partner SID will hit me in the face and force me off the edge again. Or for that matter, reach out to me as a comfort and a saviour in times of crisis. Well that's some fucked up way of dealing with crisis, don't you agree?

My mind is on overdrive but my body is practically dead. Totally out of synchronicity with each other, and I strongly believe that this is why I can't sleep or eat barely anything at all these days. My mind never shuts off. It just keeps on going and going and going until my body finally gives. But what do I do about it? Not much, let my mind control my miserable life. But the thing is, even if I was to listen to what my body wants, it still wouldn't be that much of a difference. I don't understand its language. I wouldn't say that I’m trying my best, cause that would be lying, wouldn't it? I'm saying “Fuck this shit, I'll do what the fuck I want!” and that's the truth.

Between living and dying

I'm not technically suicidal, but I don't know really what I am. Is my life worth living? No, but I just don't care about that. Live or die, who gives a fuck? If it was a term for it, maybe I’m passive-apathetically suicidal. That I wouldn't be upset but rather welcome it if I would die today, but I won't and that's fine with me. I don't try suicide, I just don't try living. I'm somewhere between living and dying. Let's keep it that way. It's better than actually being suicidal.

I’m starting to get a little better, I think. Was only up for 20 something hours until last night, fell asleep and slept heavily for 24 hours. Got seven missed calls from the crew this morning when they tried to reach me, and I just slept it through. And I’m eating again, or well at least one normal meal a day. Still gulping coffee like an obsessed and cutting just as much. Not so much hallucinations lately, just vague things flickering in the corner of my eye, and my vision is acting weird in another way. I lose focus completely sometimes, everything gets blurry and my eyes move like some sort of awake REM-thing going on, but just for a few seconds.

So I’m obviously not fine by far, just a little less of a mess. When did this start? I can't remember the date. A day or two after I fixed my hair, was that Thursday? Well, it didn't “just start” but I think it was after that I was awake for 40 hours or whatever how long it was. It seems I have some sort of two days limit when it comes to how long I can stay awake for. After that I have to push it, and don't ask me why I’d wanna do that. I just get weird ideas every now and then for no reason. Sometimes it really is that simple: There is no reason behind it. I'm like: “I have an awesome idea!” and then Anna says with a sigh: “Why would you wanna do that for?” and I'm like: “I have no idea!”

It's the same with my cutting. People often ask me what triggers me or why I do it. Not altogether, but why this laceration, why this moment? I don't usually know what that supposed trigger is. For some reason I just get the idea into my head and then I do it. It's a little like when you want to have candy. You don't really need a trigger or a specific reason to have a sudden craving for candy, it just comes to you.