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September 8, 2013

My story is a very sad one. The part that makes it the saddest, is that no one knows it. My history and its cruel character is one only I feel. You know when girls get raped, or beaten, it’s easy to relate to them feeling really small. Unfortunately there is nobody in this world who gets me, and I don’t think anyone ever will.

It’s impossible to convey an emotion when you don’t have the words for it. And it’s impossible to convey an emotion when its source is so outrageous that nobody will ever acknowledge it. If you fall, and are in pain, people will console you. If you don’t get what you want, and feel that pain, people will tell you to suck it up.
The pain’s there, but you’re alone with it.

From a very early age, actually as far back as I can remember, I was taught that voicing discontentment was complaining, and it wasn’t okay. Crying, being angry, raising my voice, it was all absolutely forbidden. It was immature and selfish, and I shouldn’t say it out loud. Just find a way to deal with it. Keep it contained though, by all means. Think about others first, they are always more important than you.
I feel spoiled, continuously. And I act that way, even though growing up I wasn’t actually spoiled. But I behave like a first class spoiled rotten child. I’m demanding, and needy, and entitled, and I can’t stand it when people don’t pay attention to me.
Every time I’m not happy about something, I feel guilty. As soon as some kind of wish pops up in my head, guilt comes right after it. Whatever comes at me feels like it should be enough. And when it’s not enough, I struggle to assert my own opinion about it.

It’s easy to make material decisions; I want this bed. I want an iPod. I want a smartphone. I want a tv. I want this and this food. I want to drink this juice and eat these dishes. But don’t ask me what I need from other people emotionally, please don’t ask me what I deserve. Nothing, I don’t deserve anything. Leave me behind, please, I can’t stand this closeness.
People tell me I’m strong, and it makes me tired. I’m tired of explaining that I’m not. Does anyone ever consider how rejecting it is when everyone tells you you’re wonderful? All my feelings and beliefs about myself are being denied. No, you’re wrong, you’re not what you think you are. YOU ARE WONDERFUL WHETHER YOU WANT TO OR NOT.

I wake up wishing I was someone else. I go to sleep hoping I’ll wake up with a new personality trait, or less of the ones I have and hate. I breathe regret, about what I am, did or said. I browse the internet looking at pictures of people who seem happy, sorted, I read blogs of people who have a little house with furniture and projects. Hours are wasted with this sick ritual of peering into strangers’ lives, wishing I could somehow be in there, instead of here. Not because they’re careless, they’re not. I even love their problems, the appeal is in the sheer fact that it’s not mine.
There is no escaping my skin, except for substances. Substances numb the discomfort of my existence.

Abuse is the only relationship I can suffer. It’s the only one that acknowledges me, the way I truly know that I am. The way that everybody refuses to accept me. It’s amazing what the lies people tell themselves, can do to you. Let me tell everyone this; showering someone with compliments is not helpful. It hurts. It puts someone down even more. Disregarding someone’s flaws as if they’re not there, never even naming them for fear of making them real, it doesn’t help anyone. It induces shame, guilt and depression.
The household I grew up in pretends everyone’s perfect. There are no flaws and if they somehow show through the cracks, it’s good form to ignore it. It’s absolutely smothering, and disables any and every opportunity for wholesome acceptance. Both to muster and experience it.

I’m intolerant. I have no patience. I have very little self control. I’m impulsive. I’m very critical of others, and myself. I’m competitive, and get very angry with myself when I’m not the best. Sometimes when my animals do something I don’t like, I hit them disproportionately hard. I’m afraid I will hit my children, like my father did. I’m jealous when I see a beautiful girl, but at the same time I want to be around her to feel that inferiority because I like punishing myself for not being perfect. Rejection drives me up the walls. I treat my mother with utter disrespect, same with my older brother -both are better people than I will ever be. I absolutely ignore my father unless I need something from him. When I’m angry with someone, I enjoy being able to hurt them back. I think in extremes and my understanding of the world is childishly divided in black or white. I tell myself I’m helpful to others, but it doesn’t ring true when you realize I just want to be accepted.

I’m a bitch. I scream it, I wish someone finally believed me. Acknowledged me. Let me exist.

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You

February 13, 2013

I was a mess, before I met you. My life before you was like the wildest of William Turner’s oceans. There was always a storm blowing, a ship sinking, a tumultuous sky pushing me down. Unpredictable waves washed away my self esteem, furious coats of foam covered my successes, opaque clouds blocked the light out from my vision.

Turner

My experience with love had been that of an employee; deliver, or you’ll be fired. The only significant relationship I had before you was quite pathetic. A sick, sick man stuck his greedy tentacles in my bare bone marrow and sucked the innocence out of it. I was so low that he found a way in. I couldn’t see, so the dragon wore a coat of feathers. I furtively touched his back and trusted he was a harmless turkey -he sounded like one. Blinded by my youthful insecurities I followed him like a sheep does any man carrying a stick.
He himself was lost though, led me into the barb wire, and fed me to the wolves to save his own skin.

Oh if only I had loved myself more, I wouldn’t have been susceptible to his awful spells.

But it did make me stronger. He taught me that I deserve much, much more. He taught me that loud mouths have skin deep wit.
Your unconditional love and respect have changed everything. It’s only since you’ve loved me that I know that threatening to leave me isn’t a normal way to deal with difference of opinion. It’s only since you’ve loved me that I realize being emotionally blackmailed isn’t an actual punishment for some fault of mine. It’s only since you’ve loved me that I can see my shortcomings without being afraid you’ll resent me for them.

I hate how words fail me.

You are the strongest man I have ever laid eyes on. I used to think strength was power, making other people do things, I used to think authority over others was the externalization of someone’s inner sway. It’s only since you’ve been in my life that my eyes have slowly been opened to what true strength is.
When you are wrong, you can put your pride aside and admit it. I had never been around a man who could do that. You are always on the hunt for things that you could do better, and you consciously make an effort not to look for the same thing in others around you. You rarely complain, and when you do, it’s an aware and premeditated indulgence. You shed light on so many levels I don’t even know where to begin. You showed me that true strength is relentless attempts at bettering oneself. It’s not so much about the result, as it is about the readiness to change. And the acceptance that there is no such thing as a goal, but only a journey and willpower. Willpower is not something you’re given a limited amount of, it’s something you use to relinquish thoughts and feelings that weigh your heart down.
Forgiving without reservations takes honesty and humility, and you have more of that than I knew was possible. I had started to believe men like you were only real in the movies, but fuck me sideways here we are.

You are my example.

Demolition

February 11, 2013

When I was 16, I was diagnosed with ADHD; an attention “deficit” with hyperactive behavior manifesting itself. I’ve been going to a science based group that helps hyperactive people to understand themselves and their environment, I’ve taken behavioral group therapy to learn to listen to others, I’ve read a lot of literature concerning the phenomenon, been very alert to anything appearing in the media about it. Unfortunately, it seems many people don’t think it’s a real Thing. ‘It’s been applied so loosely’, used so often that it simply isn’t seen as an issue anymore. “They’re just busy kids”. Well let me try to write down what it’s like to be a busy kid.
Today, scientific research made it clear that we don’t suffer from any deficit in normal circumstances. It’s only in a quiet, demanding classroom that we become apparently maladaptive; our brain cannot push enough energy to the frontal cortex for us to remain concentrated. There’s an equal amount of glucose in the brain, but it’s indiscriminately repartitioned and the consequences of this are well known behavioral problems; unawareness of the volume of our voice, not being able to block out certain stimuli, having a hard time containing our own bodies, …

Only recently I’ve started to consider that maybe something about my lifestyle is an indicator of my cognitive functions. For instance, sitting on my bed, with the laptop on my lap, the tv on (muted, but the moving images reassure me), a cat running around and usually a documentary playing the background of my internet browser, is the only way I can truly unwind. When it’s quiet, I’m uncomfortable and will make all kinds of noises myself. Slapping hands, singing, talking to myself, throwing objects around.
I tried to find a track of music that can even remotely convey how it feels to be in my body. This one comes fairly close, I must say. Let me warn those who aren’t hyperactive; it’s loud, it’s aggressive and it mows down your auditive hair cells. Personally I recommend wearing headphones so the volume doesn’t have to be exaggerated, but it will probably still sound absolutely horrific to most.

The best way I can explain waking up inside my scalp, is to compare it to a continuous impending explosion. My body feels too small for what is happening inside it; I feel a million things, thoughts shoot through me at the speed of light.
These words fail to adequately describe it, this won’t do it. Let me attempt to break it down, for someone who has organized thoughts. This should be extremely difficult, but it could be an interesting exercise (this took me like 2 hours of editing, reading, having it read by my mom and deleting parts that just went off on a huge bender that was neither here nor there).

Although I’m convinced I miss 80% of what happens around me, due to failing neurotransmitters and poorly distributed glucose in my brain, it feels like I see more than anyone. My nerve cells are continuously aroused, they have a firing rate that well exceeds their biologically efficient threshold. My frontal cortex, that should allocate energy to certain clusters of brain cells, does nothing of the sort. Instead, it is constantly focusing on keeping the impulsive, nervous activity of the body contained sufficiently to not get negative feedback. My legs feel like they are constricted in a cage, they need to be kept still. I want to run from one place to another, but know now that it makes me look completely insane and therefore I shouldn’t. Inhibit, inhibit, inhibit. Don’t raise your voice, don’t lose your patience; not everyone is like you. Don’t throw things, take the time to walk to where they need to be and place them -GOD it feels like for ever, WHAT A WASTE OF TIME.
The animal my mind is contained into, is much, much too small for what it’s thinking. My brain has this little monkey-like being at its disposal to externalize some of its thoughts, but it just doesn’t cut it. The monkey gets burnt out very quickly; by 4 PM it’s exhausted, and even less focused than it was in the morning. It gets worse towards the evening; by 10 PM it’s all over the place. Cleaning up its room out of pure despair, in a fruitless attempt to feel tired. Please, be tired!

When I lay down in the evening, the covers feel like they weigh a thousand pounds. My legs want to kick all over the place, and I need to put effort into not moving them around all the time. Try to relax, apply some mindfulness exercises they taught you when you were a child. Don’t bite the inside of your mouth, don’t chew your nails. Don’t grit your teeth, relax your leg muscles. It’s only right before sleep that I realize all the tiny muscles that were still completely locked up.
Watching tv is the only way I can force my brain into a sleep-like state, that can maybe drift off into true rest.

A conversation can be torture. Especially when people are talking in long sentences, or are slow to get to the point. I forget 30% of all the information given to me at all times, if it’s not written down. Especially numbers are usually lost on me. But I can’t force people to speak to me in ADHD-adapted communication, that’s not very realistic. I’ve constructed ways to register, like listening to the tone of voice to know what’s the emphasis, paraphrasing to check if what I heard is accurate. I’ve also taught myself to use empathy to remember what people said; I put myself in their shoes as they speak, and remember the emotion rather than the specific information. Or I play what’s being told in a video in my head, and the image can be kept more easily than the dry facts. It makes it much easier to recall what they meant.

Also, I feel harder, deeper and more strongly than anyone I’ve ever met. This may seem like I’m boasting, but it actually turns me into the least mature, most deficient and least controlled person in the room, so no, this isn’t boasting. The way my emotional curve vibrates throughout 24 hours is like some kind of seismic bulldozer. It’s… awful. Just awful.
Anyone can say I’m just indulging myself, but I have gone through hell and back trying to learn better ways to cope with all of this. I can tell myself a million times that I’ll be calm today, by 10 AM I will still be giggling, talking loudly and disturbing the class. There is absolutely not a single thing that can be done about this, the only solution is to take interactive classes and try to channel the energy into a constructive thing. Like being the student that gets to come to the front after the teacher showed us what to do. By the end of the school year, every teacher knew that they had to let me move around some in the classroom, or I’d be impossibly nervous. There’s no willful disrespect there, it’s something I would change in a HEARTBEAT if I could.
I cannot even begin to explain how many times I’ve gone to bed wishing I was different. Less impulsive, less loud, less of a bull’s eye. But no, these are the cards I’m dealt, my brain doesn’t work like yours. It’s not my fault. I don’t care what the media say, it’s just not.

There are upsides to this; I can get done single handedly what would take 10 non-hyperactive people. And yes, I do finish what I start, generally. There’s obviously always the odd enterprise that never goes anywhere, but like I said, it’s odd.
When I was 17, one day I decided that I didn’t like the floor in my room. I went to a department store, bought wooden planks and put a new floor in there in one afternoon. Sometimes, on a randomer, I clean out, declutter and reorganize an entire room in the house. Other days, all I can do is sleep. There’s no telling.

What I’m saying is, a lot of people seem to think that ADHD is a term we hide behind to justify our busy, impulsive behavior. But it’s also an extremely tiresome thing, it’s like an engine pushes us despite our own limits. When I’m truly tired, it’s even worse! All I want to do, is to fall asleep for 3 days straight, but an energy that seems to be fed externally keeps pushing me. It’s really not all that *fun* or comfortable. Nobody chooses this. The resistance I hit when I walk into a room is not anything you may know. You can just walk in, inconspicuously sit down and do what you intended. It happens to me too, but usually I swing the door open too briskly and it makes a loud noise banging the wall, I sit down with too large a swing and something tumbles out of my purse or I elbow someone, or I walk so fast and so energetically my heels tap the floor like some Godzilla is thumping in –and I don’t even fucking notice the noise. Heads turn, voices mutter things about me, I get shushed. It makes me want to apologize for existing, if I could only do something about all this, I would!!

Cocksucker

January 12, 2013

The title refers to me, but mostly the moment in which I just realized what a fool I’ve been. Some guy’s blog just made me see it, I guess his writing just made it very clear, even for an incredibly dense mind like mine.

I’m also very happy I follow the right blogs, that’s a score on my part.

He basically explained to me, in a very clear way, that Jesus is indeed for the weak, for the resentful, for the bitter, for the angry, for the scared. And that there’s no shame in that, because someone who’s humble isn’t preoccupied with shame or image. At least we are trying to better ourselves, and that counts for something.
My inflated ego keeps getting me, that motherfucker is fucking hiding in every single bush I walk past I’m telling you.

How bad must I really be, to keep getting knocked in the face like this? Can’t help but feel really stupid and just… spoiled, to keep repeating the same errors and hurt people around me. Or even hurt God, if there can ever be such a thing. I am a piece of shit, what the fuck am I doing.
I’m still angry, but this is a different kind. This is on me, and it’s alternated with shame, guilt and relief. I’m finally moving forward, there’s a solution right there. When I’m angry, when I feel overcome, I can hold on to this; I’m weak, and I can’t withstand emotions like other people maybe can. Deal with it bitch, these are the cards you’re dealt. And that’s where faith comes in. Extra health for the weaker player.

How did I not figure this out on my own? And how did I drift off so far from myself and my intentions, to get to a point where I was actually removed from all my belief in my own cleanness? That was way too close.

Teeth

January 8, 2013

He just called me for two hours before work again. It does me so much good to hear him happy. He says that’s thanks to me, which makes me feel flattered and proud of myself. I must be doing something right, and I must be doing well on making him feel accepted. That last part is pretty much my ultimate goal at all times. Spite and anger sometimes fight to get through, and it happens that I react too slowly to prevent them from slipping out. But he forgives me, and my mistakes maybe make him feel more equal.
Returning to him what he gives me in terms of unconditional love, is my most important endeavour. And I’ve not done a good job of that in the past, at all. There’s some mending to do.

There’s something about drunks who go to meetings. My partner used to think of himself as the source of all evil, a damaged man who couldn’t be trusted and was irrevocably lost if he ever picked up a drink again. A weakling, surrendered, belly-up. It’s like he confused humility with defeatedness. I’ve only met one drunk at a meeting whose words really made sense to me, who was talking with strength, determination and proactive advice. And that’s what he said. Humility doesn’t mean being a fucking doormat.
Of course I’m not a drunk, so I don’t rule out confusion or my judgemental nature clouding my vision. Or even in some ways my spite.

Next week he’s supposed to get his teeth fixed. In an aggressive drunk episode he lost the two teeth that aren’t the actual front teeth. Yes, he looks like a rabbit. Someone punched him in the face, and the other one was falling and landing on some curb. I wonder if they didn’t just rot in his mouth because his bodycare was nonexistant for several years, but I’ll never know those things. He was going to get them fixed last year, but then got into a weird ass fight where his back got burned on an engine. Seriously?

The reason I want him to get that shit done, is because I’ve been waiting for over a year now for him to shed his skin. Sure, he has a ton of family and friends who remember all the appalling things he’s done while intoxicated. That’s hard, he’s constantly faced with the shadows of his past. People say they forgive, but they never truly forget what you’ve been up to.
But people aren’t likely to believe his new attitude towards things, if he doesn’t believe it in the very essence of his being. I can’t help but feel he doesn’t just need to act on it, he needs to become it. It needs to be more than a continuous effort he puts in (that will always remain too superficial), it has to be completely and permanently internalized.

It starts with taking care of yourself, respecting yourself. Giving a shit about your looks. Walking straight, with wide shoulders who could take some weight if they had to. Breathe, deeply, slowly. Sitting up straight while eating or behind the computer, taking up some space in the room or on the couch. Believing in every cell of your body that you have as much right to be there as the next person.
Is it wrong of me to even have an opinion on this? Should I leave him to his own devices? Is this a textbook partner-of-an-alcoholic-mistake?

He looks like a man who’s lost his pride along the way. Since he’s been feeling better, a lot of his movements and habits evolved to a more assertive kind, but the missing teeth are a remnant of this terrible episode he’s just struggling out of. Or maybe episode isn’t the right word. Maybe the teeth stand for his entire childhood, too. They are a symbol, to me.

And he looks a thousand times more handsome when he doesn’t look like a hillbilly.

Worm

January 8, 2013

Where is all this coming from? Every time I finish a post, I have to write a new one, I know there’s shit in there still.

The best way I can put it, is that it’s like there’s an incredible worm living inside me. If anyone ever read Perdido Street Station by Miéville, that’s the worm I would choose.

The grubs were astonishingly coloured, beautiful dark reds and greens with the iridescence of peacock feathers. They floundered and wriggled to keep themselves on their stubby, sticky legs. Thick antennae poked from their heads, above a tiny mouthpiece. The hind part of their body was covered in multicoloured hairs that bristled and seemed coated in thin glue. The fat little creatures undulated blindly.

Obviously, by now, the worm has grown into a much bigger one, and in my mind, it’s mostly a dark dark red. Like very old, thick, venous blood. It’s in my chest, mostly, and it’s undulating and spasming in there. It feeds off my dark thoughts, devours me from the inside. I have no control over it, and certainly no defense against it.

The only time it quiets down, is when my man kisses me, or is deeply asleep and his warm hands still grab me under the covers. The feeling that someone does love me, even though I am the most resentful, bitchy and generally ugly person I can think of. Mostly ugly inside, though when he says I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, the only response I got ready is a dismissive snicker.

This is not how I feel every day. Like I said, when he’s close and supportive, and I feel connected with him, I feel okay. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I will never have a stable or even realistic image of myself, and that my body will be a continuous source of and bull’s eye for my fears, my stress and my anger.
But right now, I am small. The worm swells up inside, it pushes it’s warm, tingling body up against the inside of my chest. My heart is squeezed together, my lungs are unable to gasp for air. The fluid in my body is pushed out through my eyes, my nose and my sweat glands. My vocal chords are tightly shut, so I can’t talk about this with anyone. I do, sometimes, when I can find the words and the right time, talk in a broken voice to my boyfriend. But it’s rare. I hadn’t been in this state really since we’ve been together.

They started when I was about 8, and started to run away from home. It would never be for long, I was a child and had nowhere to go nor the ability to plan any very real getaways. I never knew what they were, or why they happened, but they did, and I grew up a very scared and hypersensitive child.
They got worse over the years, and as my brain developed, I started to gain the ability to see that maybe my environment was a contributing factor to these feelings. Around 10 or 11, I grew aware that my parents were flawed, and that my father especially was a very selfish, dominant individual who would never accept me for who I was.
This added to my anxiety, and translated to aggressive and antisocial behavior in school. I tortured animals in our home, incapable of controlling the hunger for that satisfaction of always having the upper hand. I would hit them, throw them around, chase them or otherwise terrorize them. All animal lovers might hate and judge me now, and rightfully so. There is no excuse for what I did, and it is a terrible memory I shamefully live with.

I remember having brief episodes of being stable enough, or being something along the lines of ‘okay’. Looking back now, it seems my life has been a chain of unfortunate events, poor choices and destructive behavior. I wasn’t miserable all the time, or conscious of the magnitude of what I was going through. On E I had the most life-altering surges of pure, pure happiness. I had never known that before using XTC.
Will this stretch in my life turn out to be an “unfortunate event”? Will my relationship not last, and will it be looked back at with a shaking head? Will I not be happy with this person? Am I maybe meant to have a mediocre life, and is this romantic, awe-inspiring love I think I’m experiencing something that never really happens? Should I kill myself preventively?

Usually I’m pretty good about facing the future with a fair amount of self confidence. Whatever God puts in my path, he wouldn’t put it there if I couldn’t handle it. But it’s not one of those days. Today is a bad day, and even though I’ll get through it, right now I need to feel it. It’s through these lows that I learn, come to insights and ultimately find humility.

Volcano

January 7, 2013

Wow, there seems to be a lot that I need to get off my chest. Lately I’ve been suffering from pretty bad insomnia, I’m not sure why.

This is my last year of my bachelor’s. I love what I do, but after three years, I’m finally almost there. There’s a very ominous feeling to that, because this is the usual point where I fuck up. And if I do, I think I won’t have the strength to take on anything else. So that would mean I’d have to work at like, a clothing store or something. Honestly, that even sounds pretty appealing. Folding clothes, telling fat girls they look amazing and just standing around gossiping with my colleagues. Not half bad. Brainless, but not half bad.

I’ve always been struggling with anxiety. It’s like an inner flow that periodically needs an outlet. My man isn’t around right now, so I have to deal with it on my own. Usually when I get to cuddle up to him and he can wrap an arm around me, it goes away pretty quickly because I’m not alone. Even if we’re both in a shit mood, if I’m not alone that doesn’t touch me. Alone, I can be pretty fragile.
Feeling insignificant is a torture in and of itself, and it’s one I regularly encounter. To be fair, I kind of inflict it on myself because I let my mind go down that path. Some days I’m stronger than others, sometimes I manage to be firm and avoid it.

What if I die, never having done anything worth mentioning? What if I die alone? What if I die, never having overcome my own hurdles? What if I die without having let go of all the anger and the fear that lives in me?

I’m afraid that more loneliness is in my future. Maybe the conclusion is that I have to be stronger, so that inevitable possibility doesn’t have to be so scary. How do I do that, though? I’ve never been independent, I’ve only ever roamed the streets aimlessly. But I knew the home was still there, however crappy.
Should I really rely on my alcoholic man this much? I love him, with my entire being, but am I safe? Maybe that’s where the problem is; I’m scared because I’m dependent, not because he’s an alcoholic. How do I fix that between now and six months though? One thing I am determined to do, and that is to always work. Build my own career, make my own money. Is that enough? Should I be more independent in spirit? Will I feel less small and meaningless if I do?

Man, it had been a long time since I had felt so tiny. I don’t know what just came over me.

I think I need to watch some Free Willy.