6 days till Christmas

This close to the Winter Holidays* I always get a sense of dread making a nest in my innards, and this year it's no different. I don't even really like the holidays. It used to be a time for me to spoil the people I like with gifts, but I have more and more started to resent that notion.

Why? For a few reasons.

1. I like to give people things I think they'll like. I will send these things out whenever during the year. The people who matter to me know this about me. I just feel like a fraud for stressing about getting things for a specific day, so this year, I don't care that my gifts won't be there "on time". Like Dr Seuss wrote "Those who matter don't mind, and those who mind don't matter."

2. It pisses me off to no end that so many people think that giving someone something nice for Christmas/Easter/Valentines/holiday of your choice gets you a Get Out Of Jail Free Card for the rest of the year. News flash - It doesn't. Example - My parents have been married for 30 years. My dad still brings my mom flowers at random whenever he finds flowers he thinks she'll like, or gets her her favorite candy when he's shopping, without her having to ask. My mom can make his favorite food just because she feels like it. That is what love is about. Doing nice things for people because it's a nice thing to do. Not blowing a fuse because your partner didn't get you anything for Valentine's Day.

3. You can't buy love. The price tag on the gift does not and should not dictate how much you care for a person. Personally, just being remembered is more than enough. A "Hi" is worth more to me than diamonds or expensive gadgets.

4. The pressure of "Holiday Cheer" is seriously getting on my nerves. There is such pressure to kick back and take it easy on certain days that many people hit a wall and have mental breakdowns just because they're pressured to be happy ALL THE BLOODY TIME.

5. Not everyone is Christian. Stop assuming that. And stop getting pissed off when people wish you Merry Christmas. Just say it back and move on. I am a Shintoist, and I appreciate when someone wishes me Merry Christmas, because they're being kind. Get the stick out of your ass and stop being a cloaca.

This year, I am going to chill out and relax. I am going to send gifts to people I want to send gifts to. I am going to make some food and bake cookies, because I want to. I have my tree up and my stars in the windows and that's all I need in way of decoration. Boy and I will have friends over one of the days between Christmas and New Year's and it will be amazing.

Just have fun and be yourself. 


*This is not including Hanukkah and Ramadan, since both have already past for 2013.

A Woman's Choice

Yesterday, years of waiting, longing and planning met its climax and I finally went through with the sterilization procedure.

For the last five years, people have been on my ass about "settling down and getting a family", not realizing that I already have the family I need and/or want. When I've told these people that I'm not having children, they would have one out of three reactions:

1. They would get angry, and accuse me of being inconsiderate of those who want children but can't have them.

2. They wouldn't believe me and tell me that I'd change my mind.

3. They would ignore me or dismiss me, possibly adding #2 as an afterthought.

When I mentioned that I wanted to get sterilized, all three reactions immediately turned into one, and people would get angry and accusative. That eventually merged into annoyed acceptance, but it still stung to know that so many people could send so little thought and respect in my general direction.

I am now 28 years old and I have finally followed through with the biggest decision I have ever made, and it feels amazing. It was completely my choice, it was completely for my sake, and I feel so happy about the whole thing, even though it's slightly tinged with a bit of meh.

You know stuff is about to happen when you get an official looking letter in your mail box, including a long list of things you need to do before even going to the hospital.
I had to remove my pretty pretty green sparkly nail polish, my earrings, my engagement ring and my necklace.
I wasn't allowed to eat anything after midnight, in much the same way as Gremlins, but less furry.
I wasn't allowed to drink anything 2 hours before the procedure, excluding the half mouthful needed to swallow pain killers and my wenlafaxine.
I had to scrub hair and skin extremely clean.

I got to the hospital at 9.15 am. I met a nurse at 9.30 am and she did some tests, which all turned out fine (Hah, this overweight woman is still healthy. Take that, body shamers) and then I got down to Surgery.

If any of you have been lucky enough to never be in a hospital, let me just add that those gowns are NOT comfortable. This time, someone had used their brain cells and there were two gowns, first an unflattering white one and then a thicker blue one.

Also, apparently, telling a patient that they might have to stay the night is not necessary until they get there on the day of the surgery. I was so angry that I cried while waiting for my doctor. Then my doctor showed up and she was just amazing. I might have a small crush on her, she was that amazing.
She ensured me that I would not be staying unless something majorly bad happened during or after the procedure. Then everything turned into a whirlwind of IV needles, blood pressure machines, weird instruments and carts and sterile tables with extremely uncomfortable gynecology leg rests.

And there was pain the likes I have never felt before and water and plastic, and the nurse injected pain killers in my IV and the world was alright again.

At 1 pm, I was ready to go home. At 1.10 pm I was allowed to get up and walk around. At 1.15 PM I got sandwiches and coffee, a warm blanket, and comfortable arm chair, and a cooking show on TV. At 3.20 pm I was finally allowed to leave, so I got dressed and met up with Boy. Then there was dinner at my parents' because it was my mom's birthday. I was home again at 7.40 pm. It was a really long day.

I am so happy that everything went so smoothly, but it feels slightly weird since I've wanted this for so long. So now I'm sitting here, two tiny metal spirals in my fallopian tubes and in three months time, they should be completely closed (the tubes, not the spirals).

I have done something for myself and it turned out great. No more worries, and hopefully no more nagging.

A series of weird happenings

I am somewhat waking up again. I have hot coffee and I'm about to launch Sims3. My feet still ache slightly and I have "The Phantom of the Opera" stuck in my head since last night.

And what an amazing night it was. It actually started around lunch, when Niclas told me he might have a ticket for me for the Christmas Metal Symphony concert later in the evening, if his contact follows through to the free tickets. I somewhat reluctantly agree to go, expecting to be alone, since Boy and Niclas would be doing computer things and Erik was working stage-building-things already.

I get bored around 5pm,  knowing full well that the doors won't open until 7 pm, and walk down towards the venue, making a detour to pick up a cheeseburger to tide me over blood sugar wise. I meet Boy and Niclas at the lobby of the venue and suddenly, in a whirlwind of motion, I am backstage, eating with Niclas while Boy is trying to fix wi-fi for none other than Joey Belladonna (Anthrax). Niclas managed to fix the wi-fi problem by hotspotting his phone, so for about an hour, he was ISP for Joey Belladonna.

Suddenly, I have been gifted with a Security pass and got told to stand guard by the gate separating the crowd from the backstage area. And that's where I end up standing all night. Perfect view of the stage, in perfect range of the speakers. Just me, my gate, and hair-raising good performances by Joey Belladonna, Floor Jansen (Nightwish), Chuck Billy (Testament), Udo Dirkschneider (U.D.O, ex- Accept), and Michael Kiske (ex- Helloween).

Not even the cold rain on the way home could ruin the evening for me. I fell asleep with a smile on my face. Today should prove to be another great day, with The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug waiting at 5.45 pm.

Winter Chills

Maybe it's because I just don't understand fashion at all, but it seems a bit silly to dress to impress instead of, you know, not freeze to death. I'd rather look like the Michelin Man than a well dressed icicle.

As I was waiting for the bus this morning, I saw two people, High Schoolers by the looks of it, and they were shaking from cold. The female was wearing super thin leggings and what looked like a baby mammoth. She was pulling her head in to her shoulders like a tortoise, because apparently a scarf would just ruin her make-up. I swear, the thickest thing she was wear was that make-up. But that's her problem, really.
The male was wearing shoes I would have questioned the wisdom of in Summer. In Winter, they are just stupid. His jacket was obviously too thin and the baseball cap did nothing to shield from the wind.

I hope I'm not alone in finding it increasingly funny that people like this take time out of their day to sneer at my fashion sense, or lack thereof, when I dare stand next to them in a glittery green Santa hat, a warm black Winter coat, cotton scarf, and two year old warm boots. I might look like a Thrift Shop Queen, but I am warm and cozy in my layers of clothes.

Why is that, as the temperatures plummet, the length of skirts decrease and pants get thinner? Of course, people are allowed to wear whatever they want, and I have no right to judge them. I just question the fashion industry and its complete lack of anchoring in reality.

Winter = cold. Cold + lack of clothing = sickness.

So, you'll excuse this Thrift Shop Queen if I don't follow your silliness. I have a slope to roll down once the snow returns, and then I'll hide under my Slanket with a warm cup of coffee and Sims3.

TW: We wish you extermination

This post was inspired by this picture, which I find to be one of the most brilliant greeting cards ever.

Anyhow, this post will most likely contain material that can be triggering to some people, most notably self-hate, body shaming, and mental illness.


I like holidays. For years, holidays were a good reason to spoil people I love, since they only have one birthday per year, and many people I know are very jaded and will ask about ulterior motives if I spoil them any other day. I like spoiling people I love, so the suspicions are annoying, but human, I guess.

Lately, though, holidays have become anxiety inducing stress fests where I see moths fleeing my wallet and I fret about putting food on my own table after making sure other people have food on theirs. Don't get me wrong, I like baking and cooking and such. It's the empty fridge, the freezer only filled with ice, and the echoing cupboards that make my insides scrunch into a ball of hate. It's bringing dishes to Christmas Eve lunch and seeing an overstuffed fridge making room for my dishes after the lunch, when I know my own fridge is nigh empty that annoys me.

It's begging for scraps from food I have prepared that seriously annoy me and makes me feel like a second grade life form.

This year it's worse than before. This year, I have an evil troll gnawing away at my chest and mind, repeating a mantra of "You suck. You'll get evicted. You don't deserve a home. You have nothing. No job, no money, no worth." and while I know, logically, that I won't get evicted, that I won't lose my home, emotionally, the little troll is so strong.

I don't know how I'll pay my bills at the end of the month. The lady at the welfare office is being a villain and the employment agency people are taking their sweet time. Boy has promised me that it'll sort itself out, and I trust him. I just need to have control over everything. I need to know things, and right now I don't.

The holidays is also a time when I meet many people I usually manage to avoid, and every year, the stupid comments about food and weight and "feeling fat" come up. I am learning to accept and love myself just the way I am, and I honestly think that all bodies are beautiful. And then there are the people who insist on commenting on my size. The guy who just has to refer to fat people as being gross. The lady who just has to say that it looks like I've lost weight and "that I'm so much prettier now", thinking it's a compliment and not just fat-shaming.

I am not looking forward to the Winter holidays this year.

Thanksgiving

I live in Sweden and therefore this day is not a public holiday. So I'm sitting here by my computer, watching people run around, pretending to be busy. I look at the pile of photos I'm supposed to check against the database and I just can't be bothered taking care of them right now. I'm too tired, too indifferent, and too annoyed with the whole place.

And yet, I have so many things I am grateful for.

I have a wonderful life partner, who loves and supports me without judgement and without wanting to change who I am.

I have amazing friends, who I love above and beyond what might be considered healthy.

I have a nice apartment to return to.

I have a warm bed to snuggle up in, and clothes to wear every day.

I have food to eat every day and a warm stove to cook it on.

I have access to the cleanest tap water in the world, and it's almost entirely free of chemicals.

Physically, I am completely healthy, even though I complain about small aches from time to time.

I have access to some of the best medicare in the world, and it's relatively cheap.

I wake up every morning and no one is threatening my life. I am safe in my home and I'm in no danger of becoming homeless.

Today, I contemplate everything I have and I consider myself fortunate. I have everything I could ever need. Anything else I want is just icing on an amazing cake.

The importance of a kind word

I have previously mentioned what a complete goof my Dad can be. What I didn't realize was how damn perceptive that man is. He hides a brilliant mind behind bad puns and strange behavior.

I have also never really thought about how much his opinion means to me.

Dad has always been the quiet one of my parents. If we asked him for sweets or ice cream, he'd always refer to my Mom. He was the one who built things, who mended things. He was the one who taught me to ski and put up with endless tantrums in the slope. He fixed the bait on fishing rods and taught me and my sister how to safely cross marshes and frozen lakes.
Mom was in charge of the household chores while Dad was in charge of making sure we had a functioning house.

Both of my parents were working while I was growing up. Mom was a midwife, so her hours were not your regular office hours. Dad worked as a communications whatchamacallit for EDS, so he had regular office hours, which meant that he took my sister and me to school and did the bedtime things when Mom was working late.

Seriously, that man has the patience of a saint. Not once have I heard him raise his voice to me or my sister. Not once has he raised his hand against anyone in my family. I can't even remember him getting really angry.

So when he said that he was happy with me when I put my foot down about my future, something warm and tingly came to life in my chest. When he said that he appreciate me being straight with him (and my fears that he'd be hurt were unfounded) I got so happy. It's like I'm no longer a baby girl in his eyes. I am a grown woman, and it feels like he's proud of me.

TW: Once more onto the breech

Trigger Warnings apply for mental illness and self-doubt.

There comes a point when I can't pretend anymore. When all guises fall away and leave me bare and exposed. When my nerves scream in agony at even the gentlest touch and my mind feels like it's about to explode.

Last Tuesday, that point came to visit.

Despite all my raging and groaning and biting at the world, I still felt like it was all falling apart. Now, almost a week later, mind mind is still not on right.
The good thing is that I got new medication, which will hopefully do what the old couldn't. Bad thing is that I get so damn frustrated at set-backs.

Don't get me wrong, I knew it wouldn't be an easy ride back to Functioning Person, but I set so high standards for myself that each step back feels like a major failure.

Logically, I know that I have come miles from where I started out. Just being able to admit when I need to step back and care for myself is a huge victory. And still, the guilt is gnawing at my insides, like so many caterpillars. The guilt born from not being Perfect, not being an Example, a Role Model. The guilt born from not being the Happy, Easy-Going, Daughter/Girlfriend/Friend Person.

Logically, I know I can't be perfect. Logically, I know being me is enough.

The guilt spits on logic. The Conditioning stomps on logic, makes a stamp of it, and mails it to Antarctica.

In all of this, my biggest fears are being judged and giving up. It doesn't really make sense, but fears rarely do.

Being weighed, measured, and found wanting. Being sneered at, glared at, and judged to be lazy, stupid, disgusting.

The fear of giving in to the guilt and the fear and the pain.

How do you move forward when you feel like the world wants you to fail?

Self Care

As I sit here, snuggled in warmly under a slanket and a blanket, watching the soggy snow falling outside, I can't help but feel guilty about taking the time to take care of myself.

Yesterday was the Transgender Day of Remembrance (no, firefox spell check, it's not "transgendered". It's "transgender"). I wanted to write something to put a light on it, but I couldn't think of a single thing that would make it justice.
I have friends who are trans*. No, scratch that. I have FAMILY members who are trans* and my heart and mind screams out in pain just thinking about something happening to them.

And suddenly, I got hit by a wave of resolve. So many people fight to have the right to be themselves. Even though I am a cis female, I can take up the banner and be who I truly am. I am born into privilege just by being cis and in order for me to be an ally, I need to first be strong in myself and my being.

I am living with a mental illness. An illness that will, at times, make me incapable of doing things adults are expected to do, such as laundry, dishes, making my bed, going to work, do anything except looking at a wall blankly etc. In order for me to function properly (read: at all) I need time for myself. Time to do absolutely nothing. Unfortunately, I have been conditioned that self-care is a selfish indulgence. That, unless it benefits someone else as well, it's not to be done. That feeling is causing me stress. Severe stress. So as I am currently chilling out under my warm covers, watching the snow falling outside my apartment, I am also actively using tools I have that help me relax.

Logically, I know that, in order for me to be productive, I need to be strong in my own self first, but years of conditioning have left me with a heavy sense of guilt when it comes to putting myself first. Part of it is how I was raised. For example, I have a hard time eating anything in front of someone unless they're also eating. Doesn't matter if they turned down an offer of whatever it is, I feel selfish for enjoying what I have when they don't.
Part of it is my extreme fear of being abandoned. Logically, I know that I have to be a right jerk for my friends to abandon me, but phobias don't listen to reason.

Today, I will care for myself in any way I can think of. Today, I will play Sims3 until it's time for my doctor's appointment, and when I get home, I'm taking a long luxurious foamy bath, complete with my vanilla crystal foam bath. Today will be all about me, so I can be helpful to someone else tomorrow.

Moving on out

This past weekend, I spent my time upside down in boxes. It's really depressing how few things I've managed to scrape together over almost 28 years of living. I always thought I had so many things.

Some context perhaps.

I got my last things from my parents' house on Friday. On Saturday I started to Sort All The Things (thank you, HyperboleAndAHalf), and Boy isolated himself in the attic and in the basement. All in all, we had a very productive day, which ended in six boxes donated to charity, four huge bags of trash thrown out, and three runs to the junk yard with broken stuff, electronics, broken furniture, and old mattresses.

During the course of the sorting, I came to realize that I have less stuff than I thought/feared I have. Boy and I don't have that much stuff, really. With a combined age of 56 years, you'd think that we'd had managed to gather more things, but really, it's almost depressing. And in a way, it feels really nice. When we/I are/am finished with the sorting and evicting of things, the total of our worldly possessions should be no more than 12 boxes, of which five or six will be books in various forms (you can never have too many books).

Growing up and living in pre-AdultApartmentLife apartment, I always felt that I had collected too many things. Too much stuff was clogging up my life and I felt bogged down. Last night, however, I felt light and free for the first time since moving out from my parents' house. My apartment still looks like something exploded in my closets, but most of the stuff is either sorted laundry or things that will get thrown out the next time I have access to a car.

There is something very cathartic about getting rid of old things, be it to charity or the junkyard.

TW: The Saintity of Your Lair

Wow. I just realized it's been weeks since I wrote anything here. Or it feels like weeks, at least. I feel somewhat guilty, and yet not. This is my space, after all. My little corner in which I can deal with the world using writing as a tool.

Anyhow, I've been going through a lot of bad things lately, and some day, I might feel comfortable writing about it (I need to deal with it, but not right now). Today, I'd like to touch on the subject of boundaries. This piece will contain stuff that can trigger many bad memories. If you or anyone you know needs help, there are a host of hotlines you can contact, some of which I have listed in a previous post.

MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNINGS: predator behavior, self-hate, guilt, self-harm, ignored boundaries, rape

This post was inspired by this article over at CaptainAwkwardDotCom. Please, check it out. I totally love CaptainAwkward, by the way.

OK, on to the ranting bit of this post:

I have long struggled with boundaries. Not other people's boundaries, but my own (I would never willingly/knowingly compromise someone else' boundaries). What are my boundaries? How do I feel about my boundaries? Have my Self been compromised and/or violated? Have I imagined being compromised? Am I being oversensitive?

Thing is, I have let myself been walked all over for almost my entire life, all in the name of acceptance. I told myself that I would never be a person who would end up in an abusive relationship. I would never accept being subjected to violation of my boundaries or compromises when it comes to my comfort zone.

But!

I have.

I have let people walk all over me. I have let people trample my sense of self, my dignity, and my self-respect. I have been physically abused and raped by an ex-boyfriend. I have been emotionally abused by the people who are supposed to care for me.

The clearest sign of a social predator looking for a target is the search for someone whose boundaries can be tested with no/little resistance. They will charm their way into your social circle, then push you until you break. Usually, we think about these predators as strangers or acquaintances. Rarely do we realize that these predators also come in the Biological/Adopted Family, Lover, and/or Friend varieties as well.

There are people in my life who make me question my own memory and my sanity. Who will push me into Guilt Territory if I put up any resistance. Every time I try to shut these people out, they change, making me believe that this time, it will be different (see a pattern here?), but every time, they switch back as soon as they think it's safe to do so. This switching pattern have caused me to do very bad things, mostly to myself. I have cut myself. I have scratched myself with sharp objects. I have starved myself, and I binge-and-purge on occasion. If I didn't have Boy by my side, I would have crumbled or freaked a long time ago.

A predator will weasel their way into your life and under your skin, using imitations of caring and love in order for you to drop your guard. Some predators have it easy, especially in the case of Biological Family. The love for parents is conditioned into a child's brain from birth and society makes damn sure you don't question it as you grow up. The guilt of standing up to a parent and calling them on bullshit behavior is overwhelming and extremely hard to fight.
Other predators have to work harder, such in the case of Lovers, Friends, or Adopted Family, but the pattern is the same. They will make you care for them, then jab you until you believe that they are the only ones who matter. In extreme cases, the predator might kill you (as with the serial killer in the linked article). In other cases they will violate your sense of self, your self-respect, and/or your body in ways that will leave scars and wounds that will never heal properly.

When I moved out from my parents, I thought everything would be great. My own home, my own responsibilities etc etc. What happened was an apartment that looked like a storage unit and boxes filled with stuff I've never used clogging up my attic and closets. Now, six years later, I finally have an apartment I feel at home in, and I'll take that one way ticket to Hell before I let anyone breach the sanctity of my home. In my home, I want to feel safe. I want to feel loved and secure. And right now, I do. Just me and Boy, living together in something that's starting to feel like a home. That's all I need. Outside forces are trying to rob me of my sense of self, by making light of my beliefs, by telling me that I can only be liked if I change things about myself. These people are no longer welcome in my home. My home is my sanctuary and no social predator will destroy it for me.

Am I a demi-goddess?*

I read this article and started thinking.

I have never really felt sexual attraction to people, unless there has been an emotional bond at the base. Looking back at old relationships, I have never really felt a sexual attraction towards anyone except my current partner, which makes life both easy and complicated.

Easy in the sense that no bothersome attraction can derail my thoughts.

Complicated in the sense that I seem uninterested/bored/aloof when I hardly even look at people my friends are drooling over.

I mean, really. How do you explain to someone that while I find many people aesthetically attractive, I have no interest in going on a "bumpy ride" in the bedroom with them? I don't even get sexual fantasies about people around me, so how am I supposed to respond when someone goes "Check out that person. They're so hot!" Do I nod? Do I make a comment? Do I tell them that I don't really find anyone sexually attractive? Do I tell them that they can oogle all they want, but that I'm not interested?

Another bothersome thing is the insecurity I feel when it comes to my partner. I love Boy, I like having sex with Boy, and I think he's gorgeous. It's just that the times when I want sex are few and far between. I guess the confusion comes when I know that I enjoy sex on a physical level, and I enjoy the post-coital connection we have, but as I mentioned in the last sentence, the times when I want the D are few and far between. Sometimes, I feel that he's getting frustrated with me, but Boy is such a wonderful person that he'd never coerce, force, persuade, or goad me into having sex if I don't want to. The annoying thing is that sometimes, I want to do sexual things because I know he likes it, and I like seeing him enjoy himself, but the conflict there is wanting the do sex things without me actually being in the sex thing.

Ok, end of TMI.

I guess, what I am trying to put in writing is that sexuality can be such a confusing and frustrating thing when one is not hetero-romantic heterosexual. As for me, I think I'm more pan-romantic demi-sexual. Just having a name for things helps a lot when building a foundation, but I am still so full of questions that I need more research to feel confident in my own self and my sexuality.

Then again, if you want to believe the conservative forces, being a demi-sexual woman is the ultimate perfection. Women aren't supposed to want sex, after all. *epic eyeroll*






*Title taken from "Does that mean they only sleep with demi-gods?" from this article.

The Child

I have long struggled with what to me have felt like a separation of mind and emotions and today I figured out why.
I was sitting on the bus, getting severely annoyed by the bus driver's jumpy way of driving (I like the Knight Bus as much as the next person, but I prefer my "bumpy ride" to be either magical or in the bedroom) when it struck me that my reactions were very much like a child's. My emotions flare up and calm down much like a pre-teen child's would and it hit me why I have felt distress when it comes to the link between my mind and my emotions.

I have the mind of a 27, soon 28, year old woman, but I have the emotional maturity of a pre-teenage child.

I see the world with wonder and awe, much like the stereotype of a child. I am curious, greedy, impatient, and obsessive, much like you would expect from a child. I think in pictures, never ever in words. I jump from topic to topic, I link things together, and I feel anticipation much in the same way I did as a child. In my thoughts, there are no limitations when it comes to imagination, and so I can find connections other people around me just don't see.

I don't know why my emotions stopped maturing, but I suspect it is because of trauma. The hell I went through started before adolescence, so I guess that, while my mind developed the way that was expected, learning things, my emotions just stopped maturing, leaving me confused and disorientated.

Now, keep in mind that I have no education in psychology. This is just my guess. It just really fits.

My childlike mind has given me a lot of grief in the past.

"You have too much imagination"

"Stop being such a kid"

"Grow up"

All I really have to do is accept that who I am is a strange mix-n-mash of childlike impatience, matured love, eagerness, stubbornness, awe, insatiable curiosity, and a strange sense of frustration. I need to learn to accept what makes me unique, and stop trying to conform to the norm.

TW: Return of the Kermit

I think I try too hard to please. No, I know I try too hard. Part of my problem is fighting extreme fear of abandonment and I will cling to anyone and everything that accepts me, no matter how bad they are for me. There are people in my life who aren't good for me in any way, but I can't cut them out for fear of judgement and being ostracized. I never want to feel like pariah again.

I really need to learn to cope with this fear of being alone. I know that I have people in my life who are good for me. People who care about me, no matter what. People who would never judge me. Who would stop me from doing stupid shit, yet be my partners in crime if asked. Logically, I know that I have to pull some really horrible stuff in order for these people to abandon me, and yet I can't help being terrified of them leaving, of them shutting me out.

Humans are pack animals. Very few of us thrive in total isolation. I am an introverted person with a social phobia and I still need to be around humans in order to feel content. Even people who piss me off are better than none at all.

I am a very positive person at my core. Sure, I can be cynical and sarcastic. I frequently question humans and I criticize most human behavior, but through all of that I still have faith in humans. In life itself. To me, life and the world are beautiful and magical and wonderful. No amount of pain can take that away from me. I try so hard to not make light when I know people find it annoying, but I slip at times. I want so desperately for people to see the wonders I see, to feel the awe I feel.

And at the same time, I am so very afraid that I am annoying and that they will throw me out as so much garbage.

I think that a big part of the Trying Too Hard thing is the downplaying of my own self in order to make myself more appealing. I have recently discovered that this makes me seem distant and aloof, so now I try to say what I think instead of pretending that I don't care. Now I let myself be happy when I feel happy, admire beauty when I see it, and be in awe of the world, even though many people probably think I should find the world to be a crappy place and a pain to live in.

This conflict of interests - trying to please and be what's expected, and being who I am - has caused and is causing me a lot of stress lately. I don't want to be a bother, even to the people who are payed to "fix" me, so I downplay how I feel and I try too hard.

Last week, I fainted and I have tried to play it off as low blood pressure. While the blood pressure is probably true, the cause for it was and is stress. I should see a doctor, but again, I don't want to be a bother, and now it feels like it''s been too long since it happened to be relevant.

Why is it that on the outside I look bright and calm and awake, but on the inside I feel drained and so very very tired?

Warning: Fluffy toothache ahead

This post was inspired by this song by Tim Minchin.

Firstly, I don't believe in love at first sight. I believe in attraction at first sight. I believe in interest at first conversation. I don't believe in love at first sight. Some people tell me stories of meeting someone and knowing you'll live together for the rest of your life. I am impressed by these people and their knowledge and confidence. I don't have that confidence.

October 9 of this year Boy and I celebrated 7.5 years of living together/dating. Yes, we kind of moved in together as soon as we decided to start dating, after knowing each other for two months, and it has worked so far. Still, I don't claim to know what will happen in 20 years, 10 years, or even tomorrow. I know that I can't picture life without Boy in it. I don't want to experience life without Boy in it. I won't stop living without him, but I will be destroyed without him.

We piss each other off. We argue and we have amazing make-up sex. We snap at each and we cuddle and we bitch at each other about who does the laundry and the dishes and the vacuuming. Life is far from perfect, but you know what? I don't want any other kind of life.

A couple of years ago, I didn't think we would celebrate our fifth anniversary. My mind was a shambles, my insides were as dead as I could imagine, and every breath he took pissed me right off.
Then he went off to study Network Engineering and was home for only a week each month. I felt like a part of me had been amputated and the phantom pain was driving me loopy. I have never missed anything as much as I missed him. Sure, we he got home again, it was a hard transition. For a year, I had only taken care of myself. I had done whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and now there were two of us.

In March of this year I hit The Wall. I don't think I could have made it without extended hospitalization if he hadn't been there for me. It's now, when my mind is healing and my nerves are no longer exposed that I can finally appreciate what he means to me. I feel like I'm back at those first lovey-dovey months again and it's amazing.

OK, I've caused enough toothache and cringing for now. You can forget ever reading this, if you want.

Problematic Living

I was playing Sims 3 the last few days and while I love that game to pieces, especially with all the achievements one can reach, I've run across a few things I find to be problematic. Some trigger warnings might apply.

1.1 Broken Careers.

This is really just a performance issue, and isn't even on my list of problematic things other than a warning to other players out there. 

Don't try to become Emperor/Empress of Evil or Master Thief in Midnight Hollow. The whole Criminal Career is broken in that town, which saddens me greatly, since it's my favorite career in the game.

1.2 Impossible Opportunities

Another performance issue really. Some Teen opportunities are impossible to fill if the teens have jobs, because there's a conflict. Again, this only really occurs in Midnight Hollow.

Now on to the SERIOUSLY PROBLEMATIC BIT.

2. Reputation

In Sims 3, your sim gains reputation based on what they do while interacting with other sims, just as you would in real life. Unfortunately, it seems that the Reputation Calculator was built in the 1940's, because some of the things your sim gets a bad reputation for are just extremely outdated.

For example, one of my sims had sex and got pregnant without being married to the guy and guess what? Once the twins were born, she got a reputation for being Inappropriate, all because she gave birth out of wedlock. Really, EA? Really?  And to top it off, she had the audacity to find herself a boyfriend after her fiancée died, and got an Indecent reputation for it.

I'm not one to be picky about in game stuff, but really? People stopped being shocked about unmarried parents about 30 years ago. Time to wake up and follow reality.

3. Parental Leave

I am now on the third generation in my sim family and I noticed something odd. Let me give you some background to help this make sense.

I created the sim Phoenix Isevi. She married Hyun-Moon and they got four kids (two sets of twins - Aimee, Roneve, Morax, and Agares). Now, the only one who got parental leave was Phoenix. And she had no choice in the matter. I could not send her to work as Ruler of the Free World no matter how I tried. Not even when the older twins became teens and they had a butler could I send her to work. Hyun-Moon on the other hand refused to take Paid Time Off.

Again, wake up and smell the 21st century. Phoenix was clearly the one be paid the most of the parents. Let her work.

4. Skinny Dipping

Here is when the difference in values really shine through. You can't go skinny dipping if there are Babies, Toddlers, Children, or Teens on the lot, which is fine. You can, however, go skinny dipping with the previous age groups present IF you have the Insane personality trait. And IF you are a guy. Any female Insane sim I've tried to skinny dip on a lot with youngsters on plain refuses.

Now, I like to kick double standards when I see them, but the game algorithm in Sims 3 makes it impossible without hacking or modding, and I don't like to do that. testingCheatsEnabled is really as far as I will take cheating in Sims3. 

Please, EA Games and Maxis. Patch away the stupid outdated norms. I want to get the Faithful moodlet for more than just sticking with one partner for my sim from high school to their dying of old age. Like, sticking with your sim children as their father became a ghost in front of their eyes. Or calling your family every day. Or... I don't know.

TW: Ego sum qui sum*

I am left here, resting in the dark.
Listening to you breathing, feeling your hand in mine
There's a warmth settling in my chest
I am smiling

The sheets are cool against my skin
A skin I used to hate and want to destroy
A body I hated with the fire of suns
A life I wanted to escape by any means
And now I am smiling

Because as I lie here in the dark
I have everything I want
A roof, a bed, a seriously unhinged partner
Friends and food and warmth

I am no longer alone

Because I don't have to be perfect
I am beautiful the way I am
I don't have to prove my worth to anyone

I am me.

I am not perfect.
Flaws and cracks and scars
Wrinkles when I smile
And bumps and lumps

As I rest here in the dark
I am complete and content

I am me and that's enough



* Inspired by this song by Tim Minchin.

Size-ism - The Boogey Man of Civility

I came across this wonderful article earlier this week, and felt that I wanted to write my own take on it (This is usually how I work. I read, I get an idea, I write). Also, anyone who's seen the later seasons of Supernatural should get a kick out of someone being called a Dick.

First off, judging anyone by the size of their body is not only extremely shallow, it's also hurtful, limiting, and straight up stupid.

Secondly, I know that many skinny people struggle with gaining weight, and many women, regardless of size, have people in their immediate surroundings who like to come with what they call "friendly advice". Sadly, I cannot relate to your struggles, so you will have to excuse me if I don't include you right now.

This post is about some Do's and Don't's I have experienced in my soon 28 years of living. Please remember that these are my experiences and thoughts, and it will in no way be true for everyone.

Here we go:

Do Not:

- Think you have a say in my life, in what I eat or don't eat, or my exercise schedule.

 - Believe I need health advice. I am perfectly healthy, physically, so no need for hurtful remarks about diabetes, ulcers, cholesterol etc.

 - Comment on my weight. I don't need you "expert critique".

 - Call yourself fat unless you are. For a skinny person to call themselves fat, especially around fat people, is extremely rude and hurtful. It makes us fatties feel anxious and ugly and disgusting. I don't care if you feel sweaty and bloated. Unless you have a BMI over 27, you're not fat. At least not to me.

- Equal fat with disgusting. Really, who are you to judge another being? Go and play with a man 'o war.

- Give me "advice" on what to eat and not to eat. Food should be enjoyable, and if that means cake 5 days per week, that is what it means.

- Tell me I need to go on a diet. My body is none of your business.

- (and this one pisses me off the most) Question me when I say I am happy the way I am. How DARE you belittle me? How DARE you think you have the right to police my body?

Do:

- Help me find clothes for my size. And no, I will not wear a mumu, unless it comes with a really cute belt and nice shoes.

- Comment on my hair/nails/new clothes, if you notice any changes.

- Give me recipes of yummy food, no matter if the food's "healthy" or "unhealthy". I love cooking and baking and I love trying new things.

- Stop me if I ever make hurtful comments about my own and/or anyone else's body. It's so very easy to fall into a destructive pattern if others are making comments, and while I try to avoid it, I fail a lot.

Every body is beautiful. All sizes are beautiful. Do not let anyone make you feel less than you are. Life is a miracle and the human body is a beautifully complicated machine. Wrinkles, rolls, curls and wiggles are all part of the wonderful diversity of life. Celebrate what makes you unique. Your body is wonderful and beautiful. Never let anyone feel less that brilliant.

Being me

Absolute peace
The feeling I get when I look at my future, at my friends.
At my family, the people I have chosen to include in my life.

The darkness taught me to feel fear.
The loneliness taught me to love unconditionally.
The harsh words taught me to never take anything for granted.

Because everything changes, ever turning, evolving, becoming new

Being here and now
I am at peace.
I can see my dreams unfolding, an endless path stretching out in front of me.
As long as I don't fight it, I'll move forward
At my own pace.

I needed the break. I needed to slam into the proverbial wall
Just to see what I was doing to myself
The way I was hindering my own developement

The longing is gone.
The hunger and fear and frustration burned away
All I feel is peace and gratitude and happiness

I can be myself in the eyes of my friends
I have nothing to prove.
My dreams are mine
My body is mine
And I make my own future.

Curse of the Cineplex

There's this one movie theater in West Las Vegas with which I have a pretty odd relationship, if two visits can be counted as a relationship.

First time I went there, me and Jackson went to see "Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl". I remember a dark movie theater and weirdly sloped settings. The movie theaters here in Trollhättan used to have this really odd seating arrangements, in which you would stare mostly into the person in front of you's head and just occasionally see the screen. The seats in the theater in Las Vegas were set in a amphitheater way, providing viewing enjoyment for everyone not on the absolute front row.

I think we annoyed the people sitting closest to us, but really, you bring two pirate liking Johnny Depp fans to see a movie that has both, you should expect some noises.

My host dad had driven us to the theater and was supposed to pick us up after the movie. When the movie ended, however, he was stuck in whatever he was doing and couldn't pick us up. Jackson and I were left pondering what to do to entertain ourselves until we could get picked up.

Let's just say that watching the same movie twice is funny on multiple levels, one of them being the look on the ticket seller's face when we bought new tickets not 20 mins after the previous showing had ended. I also got into trouble with a woman I had never met as well. Apparently, Jackson's grandmother thought me a bad influence at the time. That got sorted out later, though, but looking back, it's quite amusing.

The second encounter with the same movie theater was a little more stressful.

Jackson and I had made plans to go and see "Troy" and we imagined that it would be fine since I was 18 and Jackson had turned 17. Turns out, that you have to be 21 to accompany a person without ID to see a R-rated movie. Much talking and waiting later, we were allowed to buy tickets, but we had to wait till the commercials had started. We seriously had to be alone with the ticket seller in order to get tickets, all because the guy didn't believe that Jackson was 17. The movie was worth the trouble, though.

I have one more funny movie theater adventure, but that will have to wait for another time.

TW: Relapse

Trigger warnings apply for: depression, self-depreciation, anxiety



Some days, the hopelessness burns through all defenses and leaves me feeling weak and so very tired.

The feeling of living life without purpose is a a warm feeling, but not the comfortable warmth of a bed or a soft blanket. It's the warmth of a humid, overcast day. Of waking up in a too warm room or being stuck on a train without air conditioning. It clings to everything and drags down all sense of accomplishment, and even the motivation to do anything except just breathing.

My legs struggle to keep me upright and my arms are so weak, making it hard to hold or lift things.

If I were to describe how longing feels to me, it's the burning sensation of warmth returning to frozen fingers. It's the tingling feeling limbs "waking up" after being deprived of blood for too long. It's the feeling of someone pushing on your breast bone, except I can't push anything off to make the sensation stop.

I look at this blog and all I see is a lazy sod who started writing to create the illusion of a purpose. I look at my life and I see no point to it.

I am just too stubborn to do anything but trudging on. In the back of my mind, I've already made the decision to keep living, but some days, I wish I had more than what's around me to keep me occupied.

There has to be more than this, right?

I get so incredibly frustrated with myself. I am steadily getting better, but then I start to push myself, and my fragile lead window of a life shatters into a myriad of colorful fragments, softly cutting me to shreds.

I am so afraid, so very afraid, of going back to what I used to be, I keep driving myself into the wall over and over. I would do anything to never feel the frozen burn of frustration and depression again, and yet I know that no one can help me if I don't stop myself from going too far.

Hostility and violent thoughts jab at my mind, and I get even angrier at myself, because I know that I am not a violent person.

I need to focus on evicting individuals who take up residence in my mind, but when I have to see them every day, it is really hard.

Anyone have any good coping tools for anxiety induced rage?

TW: Fear

Trigger warnings apply for: phobias, anxiety, self-hate, self-harm

This post was inspired by this photo found on Facebook and the group "Beauty, Brains, and Beyond"

This picture is extremely simplified and does not apply to everyone. It just made me think about my own fears and anxieties.

I am not afraid of the dark and usually not what's in it, though at times, my mind tries to convince me that there are ET's and burglars out to get me when I try to sleep.
I am terrified of falling, but I really love sitting on the edge of a cliff, watching the ground far below.
I am terrified of rejection. Being rejected and abandoned is the most acute of my fears. It easily trumps my fear of drowning and my fear of burning alive.

I freeze up and get troubles breathing if I have to talk in front of people.
I really do fear stagnation. Getting stuck in the same place for too long a time makes me antsy, anxious and frustrated.

I have gone through loads of tools, good and very bad, to control my fears in the past.

I have avoided getting to know people, because I didn't want to get attached to people who would leave me.

I have tried to change myself with extreme methods in order to lessen my anxieties and get accepted. I have starved myself, I have cut myself. I have denied my own worth, just to bring a stop to the fear of rejection. This doesn't work, trust me.

I have bought a fire extinguisher, I am a perfectionist when it comes to fire safety, in order to lessen my fears. Don't get me wrong, I love fire and fireworks and explosions. It's just the thought of being burned alive. I guess, it's really the pain and helplessness I fear.

I am so afraid of drowning, that I have hit friends who pulled me under, yet I love swimming and diving.

If you take a crane fly near me, I will make you deaf before punching you in the face. I don't care who you are. Some people have issues with arachnids. I have problems with crane flies.

Fear is an ice pick in the chest and a complete lock down of reasoning. You cannot have a logical discussion with anxiety. There are people who have no phobias and they can't possibly understand the blind terror that shoots through the entire system.

It's frustrating, crippling, and completely uncontrollable. It's a feeling of getting crushed and ripped apart at the same time. It's the feeling of the heart stopping and getting choked.

There is help to get, but it will not work for everyone. People are different. What works for some doesn't work for others. Just remember that trying to reason with someone who is living with a phobia will only add guilt, shame, and frustration to the fear. Instead, help eliminate the object of fear.

You don't try to reason with a cat who's afraid of fireworks while the New Year's celebration is ongoing, so why try to reason with a human with a phobia while they're in the middle of a freak-out?

Revisiting Choices

A while back I stumbled upon, thanks to Boy pushing me face first into the right direction, a TED clip on youtube. It featured a man named Barry Schwartz and the idea that the more choices we have, the less satisfied we'll be with what we ultimately pick. Because really, something else could have been better, right? It intrigues me to no end that we seem to be less happy when we have more options, since logically, it should be the other way around.

Then I really started thinking, because I have way too much free time and not enough things to fill it with. Or I have too much to do and I end up crashing, which leads back to too much time to think.

Maybe it all boils down to only two choices? If you really look at our options, our choices, maybe there are only two options in every scenario - To Do and To Not Do.

That thought in itself gives birth to a whole slew of headache, because if you believe that each option is divided into two choices, the choices explode in a whirlwind of fractals increasing at an exponential rate and it all gets very confusing very fast.

But isn't that reality?

Say that we're going to the grocery store to buy ketchup. First we have to decide if we want pants on or not, then shoes, then the rest of our clothes. Then we make the decision to step out the door instead of turning back. Each step is the decision to keep moving forward.

Let's fast forward a bit.

We finally find ourselves standing in front of the shelves with ketchup bottles. Once we settle on the brand and bottle we want, we have made the choice to not pick any of the other brands and bottles. Do we decide to actually buy it or do we put it back? Will we pay for it or try to steal it?

The paradox of choice talks about decreasing satisfaction in the face of an increase of choices, speaking mainly of picking one thing over another. Imagine instead the thousands of tiny choices we make every day, every hour.

Imagine being held accountable for every choice we make.

And we are held accountable for our choices. That is what it means to be in control of your own life.

Of course we cannot be held accountable for the butterfly effect, but it stands to reason that we should be held accountable for the immediate consequences of our choices. There is after all a difference between deciding to launch a nuclear attack and picking a different brand of diapers in the store isle. We can't be held accountable for the treatment of factory workers in the Third World, but we can be held accountable for deciding to buy products from the companies mistreating Nature and people.

Life, and living, is another one of those Do or Do Not choices. I am very aware of the fact that every day I choose to live. Ever since I decided that I did not want to be dead that day when I was 13, I have actively chosen to live. I do not ponder the Why's, because they are not relevant. I chose to live, because I wanted and want to live. I don't need another reason.

Donna Noble decided to turn right.

I choose to be alive, to walk proud, with my head held high. I choose to live my life on my terms. I choose to walk the path of least resistance. I choose to not worry about my very complicated relationship with my family.

I choose to be me.

Playing the spaceship, or Stockholm part2

A few weeks ago I posted part 1 of my adventures in Stockholm. Here follows part 2. Enjoy.


After we finished our lunch at Formosa, and getting exhausted just by watching the triathlon competitors pass us by now and again, we went strolling through Old Town. If any of you have the opportunity to visit Stockholm, I highly recommend spending a day in Old Town. There are hundreds of things to see, loads of tiny shops and stores selling everything from  home made candies to moose antler hats, from sex toys to Bukowski teddy bears. Most of the streets are cobble stone and the alleys are really narrow and steep. The buildings are from the 15th and 16th century or earlier, they're really tall and most of the old signs are left.

Old Town contains the Royal Castle, the Parliament, a slew of coffee shops, surprisingly many churches for such a limited area, and the scene of one of the worst mass executions in Swedish history (the mass beheading of Swedish aristocrats in the early 1500's). It's right next to the port and yet it's surprisingly void of seagulls.

As we were walking around, we came across the German Church and a strange sound floated through the air. It sounded like a harp making out with wind chimes and was strangely compelling. It turned out to be a strange instrument that looked very much like a flying saucer, complete with dents all over it. If the Piper of Hamelin ever needed a new instrument, this would be perfect.

When we finally managed to pull ourselves away from the sound, we made our way to the subway station, passing a candy store, filled with homemade candies, and more old houses on the way. The sun was slipping through tree branches and between walls, reflecting softly on the water of the bay. All in all, it was a great day.

While we were walking through the hallways to catch our subway train, we saw another one of those odd looking instruments, but the guy playing it was far from as skilled as the woman who had played outside the church. While her music was enchanting, his was mostly clonking on an up-side-down teapot.

We got back to the hotel without much adventure, except the extremely colorful group of women who stepped on the train two stations from where we got off. I haven't seen such an assortment of feathers, neon nail polish and gaudy plastic beads since the last time I saw the fans of a jrock band the last time.

That night we went to see the opening of a new venue, right next to the Globe Stadium. The shows were amazing, even though only the last band was one I actually enjoy listening to. I got some really nice photos of the shows, color jumping from every frame and people acting like shadow puppets against the shining background. One dag I might post them for people to see.

After the concert we fought with 35 000 people and some of the most reckless bikers I have ever seen as we made our way back to the hotel. The night was a bit chilly, which felt nice compared to the heat of the venue. Once again my GPS was being an ass and refused to work, but all in all it was a great day.

Maybe one day I'll learn how to play the UFO instrument. And perhaps also the name of the thing.

TW: Dreams and mud

Trigger warnings for: bullying, self-hate, self harm, attempted suicide, phobias

First of all, I would like to point out that this is my experience. I can't speak for everyone who has experienced bullying. I just hope that I can shed some light on the subject and perhaps plant a seed of understanding in those who have never been through this.

Secondly, if you EVER need anyone to talk to, I will post the links to hotlines at the bottom of this post. Do not hesitate to contact these hotlines. Their job is to listen and you can be completely anonymous.

Thirdly, if you know someone who is being bullied, don't turn your back on them. Something as simple as a quiet hand on their shoulder can save a life and/or a mind.

Lastly, bullying the bullies will NOT solve anything. Usually, bullying is born out of ignorance and lack of empathy. Enlightenment is far more effective than violence. That said, NEVER let a bully get away with that kind of behavior. EVER!


Ok, here we go.

I can't tell you a day when it started, nor can I give you a day when it stopped. I used to think that my personal hell began in second grade, but when I think about it, I can't remember a time in elementary school when I wasn't alone and shut out.

Selected last or not at all in PE.
Ignored, over looked. Made invisible.
Snowballs filled with pebbles raining over my head in winter. Pushed down in the snow and my coat filled with ice and dirt.
My clothes stolen.
My arts and crafts projects destroyed.

Names and insults whispered to me or nasty notes passed to me during class.

In third grade we made a name poem and I wrote "Annorlunda" (Different) on one of the A's in my first name.

Every chance my tormentors got, they put me down, called me names, and hurt me, physically and mentally, until I believed what they were saying.

I shut down, completely. Just going through the motions of get up-breakfast-school-homework-swim practice-sleep. Every day the same.

And then it stopped.

And I changed school when I started Junior High.

I went from being pariah to one of the most popular people in my class (classes in Sweden are divided depending on homeroom teacher, not per year. In my 7th grade year, there were 4 classes). To say that I was confused would be an understatement of epic proportions. My entire world was flipped on its axis and I had no grounding point. My world of freezing, empty darkness was crumbling and I was completely lost.

I had absolutely no idea what I had done to be so popular and I started working like a beast possessed to make sure that the dream wouldn't end. I became obsessed with achievement. I felt I had to prove myself worthy of love. Failure was not an option and every time I wasn't perfect, I was ruthless to myself. The words and actions of my tormentors in elementary school were nothing compared to what I did to myself.

Yet slowly, ever so slowly, I started regain a sense of self-worth, even if it was tied to my achievements. I went from not giving a shadow of a bother if I lived or died to not wanting to be alive anymore. At first it wasn't really a will to die. I just didn't want to live. The summer after I turned 13, I stole some of my mom's sleeping pills and swallowed four or five in one go.
If my mom hadn't called out that dinner was ready, or if my instinctual will to live hadn't been as strong, I could have been in serious danger. As it were, it made me wake up and realize that I really didn't want to die.

My fight to regain my sense of self and self-worth began at that point.

I have been fighting hard to stand tall, to figure out who I am. Falling ill this past March was a result of my extreme fear of being abandoned. I am still terrified of being abandoned. My fear of being burned alive, of crane flies, or of drowning is nothing compared to being alone again.

I bear the scars of years of self-harm, both on my skin and in my soul.

I have finally stopped chewing my nails down to the quick. I have stopped pulling my hair when I'm nervous, and I have almost stopped pulling at the joints in my fingers when I am uncomfortable. If I encounter something I find uncomfortable, I challenge myself to do it anyway. I am learning to love myself for who I am. I am learning to love my body the way it is.

The most amazing thing to my mind is that I have never lost my sense of wonder and childlike curiosity. The world is still beautiful to me.

I will not give you platitudes such as "Cheer up!" and "Get a grip!"

All I will say is, you are beautiful and a miracle, even if you don't believe it yourself (I know I have a really hard time believing it when I get told that). Raise your head. Stand tall. You have nothing to prove to anyone, because you are brilliant just the way you are.







As promised, here are a few links that show hotline numbers to worldwide services.

IASP

World-wide Crises Hotlines

Samaritans

Childline UK

Nervous spiral

This post is partly inspired by this post by Hyperbole And A Half.

There are less than 23 hours to go before I set off on the next stage of my life and right now I am both nervous and exited. Just the nerves is my greatest bane. Much like the famous rage spiral, the Nerve Spiral gets built up over time, one tiny little mishap at a time.

I didn't start getting nervous until about a week ago. Mostly it's because of the fear of being rejected. I know I qualify for the procedure. Logically, I know that there is nothing that can halt the process, physically. I am in pretty good condition, all things considered. My fear is that I will get turned down because of my mental issues.

The social stigma of mental illness is always present, and I really hope that the doctor I will be seeing can look past my depression and realize that I am fully capable of making my own decisions. Sadly, every little thing is setting off and building on my nervousness right now.

Much like the Rage Spiral, the Nerves Spiral starts off with something small, like getting tangled in your sheets or spilling coffee in the morning. I start doubting my own abilities, but manage to reason with myself and conclude that spilling coffee is not a sign of incompetense.

The something else happens, like forgetting to replace the cover of the bike saddle or eating Pringles for breakfast or forgetting words while talking, and suddenly the self-doubt is subtly reinforced.

And so it continues for hours, days, until I am so wound up and nervous that I doubt everything I do, every decision I make.

Logically, I know I am a capable human being, fully able to make decisions and reason my way in and out of situations. Logically, I know that the doctor is not looking for reasons to deny me my wish.

Logic doesn't work on nerves, though. Nerves give logic the finger, then goes prancing through my mind and system, much like Donald Duck prancing around the mulberry bush, and the Nerves Spiral is getting lubed by Extra Strong Astro Glide, making me slip faster and faster.

Deep breaths and working through all kinds of potential hazards might work, but remembering what I want and standing firm in my decision will be both hard and rewarding, in the end.

Random thoughts

This post was inspired both by the book "Under det rosa täcket" by Nina Björk (not sure if it has an English translation yet. If it does, read it. It's really good) and this song by Disturbed.

Everyday we wake with a drive to move forwards, but also with the social norms imprinted in our minds. Some of these norms prevent us from ever reaching our true potential.

Simone de Beauvoir wrote about the role of the woman in early 20th century France and it seems her thoughts revolved around women being denied the right to fulfill their potential as humans. Her dream seemed to be not to push women into being men, or elevating women above men, but to ensure that all humans had the same right to their own dreams.

Women are expected to fill the roles of Mothers, Caregivers, and Wives, and the women who do not want these roles deny their true selves (from the Swedish book "Under det rosa täcket" by Nina Björk, 1996). But who decide what a person's true self is, other than the individual themselves?

I am who I am, with the flaws and good traits and hopes and dreams I developed during my life. It is a strength to know who you are, but there will always be that little voice in your head, repeating every bad comment you've ever heard.

I step into the world each day, looking for new things to discover.
Sometimes I cry and sometimes I want to hide from everything.
You look at me and you see me smile. You look at me and you see no damage, no scars.
I have learned to hide. To protect myself from any further harm dealt to my mind, but in building the walls around me, in creating a nigh impenetrable mask, I denied myself joy and beauty and laughter.

You see me smile, but you refuse to see the pain I try to explain.
I am a introvert who loves social interaction, yet live with social phobia. I want human contact, but I cringe away when people try to touch me.
I have no physical maladies to explain why I become tired and unfocused.

I would never try to force my views on someone else. All I will try is tell you what I see, the beauty I see in a rain drop on a yellow leaf in autumn. The marvel that is a thick blanket of sparkling white snow under a gray winter sky. The wonder I experience when I look at an erupting volcano or a tsunami. I find majesty in disasters. I mourn for the people lost and the areas destroyed, but I will not deny the beauty of Nature, in all Her forms.

My mind is a mine field of pain and hurt and deep gorges of depression. My heart is both jaded and trusting. I would rather get my heart broken again and again than deny myself my true, trusting nature.

I see joy and beauty and smiles everywhere, and I will talk about it, but I also understand that others might not see the world the way I do. I will not tell you to perk up or to be more happy or to "understand" the world as I see it. If I ever do, please smack me, because I do not want to insult anyone by calling their thoughts and ideas inferior just because they're different.

My body is my own and it's beautiful. My mind is my own and it's fantastic. Smile if you want to smile. Cry if you want to cry. Laugh if you want to laugh. Remember, all emotions are wonderful and necessary. Do not deny who you are just to fit someone else's comfort zone.

In which Hedgehog is unemployed

From June 2005 to August 2007 and ever since September 2010 I have been unemployed. That short stint between 2007 and 2010 was me trying my hand at university studies (which I later found isn't really for me. I love the research. I just hate the grades hysteria).

During my time as unemployed I have discovered a few things that have helped me regain my confidence and self-esteem, even though society at large is trying to punish me for not having a job (I still pay taxes on my welfare, you know). Many people still believe that if you're unemployed you don't want a job. This is complete bullshit. I have applied for close to 900 positions and I have finally landed a temp job at a museum, thanks to a friend of my parents. Then I hit the proverbial wall in April and now I'm busy regaining my equilibrium. I still want a full time job and I really hope this blog will turn into that. I'm already spending 4-6 hours per day on it, even if I don't post things everyday, but I'm derailing. Back on topic.

So, I've decided to make a list of things I have learned so far. I hope you'll enjoy it.

1. As unemployed in Sweden, make sure you have at least seven copies of every single paper, because if you're without a full time job for more than 4 months, you will start the New Contact dance. During my five years-and counting I have had 11 contacts at the employment agency, and nine of those have asked me to verify my CV by bringing in copies of my previous jobs, my school diploma etc, because they're not allowed to ask my previous contact for the information. Because, you know, having others do your job for you is so much better and more efficient than having a joint database.

2. You will get summoned to information meetings giving you the exact same information two or three times. Make sure you take notes on the first meeting. That way, you can do more constructive things on the following two. You know, like knitting or making a complicated blue print of Hobbiton on notebook paper.

3. At some point during your time as unemployed people will start to criticize the way you look. You can dress as perfectly as Jackie Kennedy and they will still find faults in you. I got told that no one would employ me as long as I wore blue nail polish and electrically red hair. Two days later I got a job interview and I got the job (Sadly, it was a short term fundraiser that needed extra people, so it didn't last.) My point is, be yourself, be polite, be straightforward, and your hair and nails will become irrelevant.

4. Don't, for everything that's holy and some that's not, tell any officials anything that might compromise your chances. The "anything you say can, and will, be held against you" apply in slews. Do not bring up hobbies. Do not bring up studies. Official hours are 8 am to 5 pm, Monday to Friday. Anything you do outside these hours is no one's business.

5. DO NOT LIE! I have never had this problem, or a reason to deceive, but I know people who have tried it and failed. It's not worth it. Be honest.

6. Come prepared. Drown your contact in options you have produced and they'll leave you alone for a while, while they try to find an option they can justify. If you play your cards right, that will also be the option you wanted as well.

7. Set a schedule. When you are at home all day, time tends to blend together and the days get lost in a whirlwind of self-hate, guilt, and a messed up sleep schedule. My schedule included four hours of job search in the morning, lunch, then 2 hours of sending out applications, and two hours of school work.

The most important thing to remember is that your worth is not based on your job. If you have loads of time to kill, do volunteer work. Help people with homework/yard work/cleaning/baby sitting etc. There are people around me who sneer and huff when I tell them I am a blogger, because to them, blogging isn't a real job. To me, this is what I want to do for a living, so their opinion isn't relevant to my life.

Find something you love, incorporate it into your working life somehow, and if people try to degrade you because you don't have a 9-5 job, politely walk away. Being unemployed is really really tough, especially on the psyche. People who have never been unemployed have no idea how tough it is. The constant sneers, disdain, and disgust aimed at you, without even a pretense of disguise. The guilt gnawing on your soul. The self-loathing burning away any chance at confidence.

A person's worth is not defined by their job. Raise your head and walk tall. Find your thing, be it volunteer work, blogging, gaming, payed work, sports, or whatever, and do that to your heart's content. Everyone is valuable.

Cover of darkness

I realized something rather interesting a few nights ago. It's so much easier to talk about things that really bother me when I'm in bed and the lights are out in the bedroom. If something is really bothering me or I just really feel like talking, I usually plant my head on Boy's stomach and look at the curtains. It's like the darkness makes me free to talk about whatever.

Earlier today I read a column about how children seem to have problems talking to their parents when they sit face to face, but have no problems when riding behind their parent on a bicycle or sitting in a sling on their back. The columnist brought up the thought that maybe the lack of response in the shape of micro expressions makes it easier for the child to share feelings and experiences. When the child can't see their parent's face they have no way of knowing how the parent really reacts and are free to share things they might otherwise be hesitant to talk about, maybe for fear of not making sense or of being hurtful.

Because body language is so important for inter-human communication, micro expressions can be the reason why we feel uncomfortable about certain things, even if we consciously don't notice the change. This article, and also the Swedish "mind reader" Henrik Fexeus talk about the importance of facial expressions when interacting with other humans. In this way we are closer to other animals than many humans would like to admit.

We use body language and facial expression to create rapport with people, to adjust the way we interact, and to adapt to changing moods in others. Some individuals are born with a weakened ability to read body language and have problems in social situations because of this. Others are so adept at reading body language that it's as if they can read minds (see Fexeus' work).

So when I lay there in the dark, words tumbling out of my mouth, waiting for that verbal response, I don't fear the feed back as much as when I can see the other person. The lack of visual body language makes me feel distanced from my emotions and I have an easier time analyzing what I'm feeling and why, what got under my skin, how I can work through it, and how I can store the knowledge for next time. The disembodied response from Boy makes the illusion complete, creating a unreal environment wherein thoughts and ideas are more important that expression. I can't tell if he's bothered by what I'm saying other than through his use of words, so I have no way to be responsible for his reactions.

In the darkness, I can lay myself bare to self-scrutiny and give myself positive and constructive criticism in a way I can't do when the lights are on and my defenses are on high alert. In the darkness, laying in my bed, I am free to be myself.

Lord of the Stick Figures

Have you ever had one of those days, when everything is just bland and dull and boring, then someone or something does something and you break down in giggles and you can't stop?
It's a wonderful feeling, that unstoppable mirth, but it's also a bit dangerous, especially if you're in class, in high school, and the teacher is trying to start the class.

Jackson and I were taking the same art class at Bonanza High School and we usually had lunch just outside the classroom, since art was the class just after lunch. I can't remember how we came to talk about the Lord of the Rings, but it was probably one of those games we played to entertain ourselves. I also can't remember who came up with the idea, but suddenly both of us were drawing stick figures of all the characters in the movies, breaking down in giggles at random.

These giggles and the drawings didn't stop even when the bell rang and we took our seats in the classroom. Passing notes unseen is easy. Passing notes unseen while cackling like Peeves on a sugar high is nigh impossible. Somehow, we managed to let the notes go unnoticed, but the vein pulsing in our teacher's forehead was a good tell that someone, or two someones, were about to get thrown out.

I believe that we escaped the Walk of Shame to the dean's office, and got away with a stern telling, only because we were the best students in Ms Middledorf's class. Well, the most attentive, at least. Usually. When there were no Lord of the Rings stick figures posing on notebook paper involved.

Anyhow, I still have the drawings somewhere, most of them in Jackson's and my book of Game of Twisted Choices. I will post them here as soon as I find them.

Rainbow PedX, or Stockholm Part1.

My sister can be nuts, and sometimes she does something that really reminds me why I love her. The latest example came in the beginning of august this year. The gift in itself was nice, but knowing that she thought to include me as well was even better.

I was fighting a boss monster in the online game AtlanticaOnline when my cellphone suddenly rang. Still trying to survive the little girl called Faust's Failure, I answered and lodged the phone between my chin and my shoulder.
What happened next almost made me kill myself in the game by stopping hitting the little girl trying to fry me. My sister told me she'd got a trip to Stockholm for her and three friends as a birthday gift, and she's wondering if I wanted to join. Without a second's consideration, I accepted.

On august 23, my sister, her girlfriend, and I set off to Stockholm by train and the first amusing thing happened before we even reached our first train connection in Gothenburg. My sister had all of our train tickets on her cellphone and the ticket collector seemed to be as smartphone savvy as a sea slug. The whole Texted Tickets thing seemed to confuse him, but eventually our tickets were checked.

Another funny thing happened when we arrived in Gothenburg and had to wait for our connection to Stockholm. Never EVER try to come to an understanding about lunch in the middle of a food court. This is especially true if you are in a group of three hungry people who can't make a decision without at least 10 minutes of discussion. We must have looked like three lost chicken in a sea of people. I ended up having a turkey-and-ham sub and my sister and her girlfriend had salads.

Here I'd like to add a thought on train toilets. If you enter a train toilet and you see a cup of wet wipes on the counter, DO NOT SIT DOWN!! That's a sign that the whole room is out of order. Flushing not working, sink not working. TP worked. Thank the gods for sterilizing wet wipes...

Arriving in Stockholm, we went out to find the restaurant where we'd meet my uncle and two of my sister's friends. Food was yummy, and conversation was nice. I also discovered that my uncle is either a really good pickpocket or some sort of ninja. He managed to swiped the check for our food before the folder even touched the table, or so it felt like. 

After dinner, we made our way to the hotel, and amusing happenings. To be fair, finding your way through the culverts known as the Stockholm subway system is a chore in and of itself, but I found it amusing when three people are scratching their heads, wondering which way to take when at a crossroads, when the sign is right behind their collective heads.

We finally found our way to the hotel, checked in, and managed to work the elevator after a couple of tries.

Here's another professional tip to hotel designers everywhere. Sliding doors only connected to the ceiling are not optimal for bathrooms. They get stuck, they squeal, and they make your guest over-aware of any potential sounds.

Also, make sure the rooms are clean and all fixtures are working. I nearly gave my sister a heart attack when the side of the soap dispenser in the shower came loose and bounced off the glass door separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom. Sound bounces of merrily in a completely tiled bathroom, y'know.

The following morning greeted me with some nice light at 6.50 am and I got really bored waiting for people to wake up. Why I didn't just go down to breakfast and wait there is beyond me, but I guess it was because I wasn't fully awake yet. Around 8 am, sister's friend woke up and we went to have breakfast. While I like garlic in food, I do prefer it when my melon doesn't taste like garlic just because the cooks have been to lazy to clean the knives.

Sister and her girlfriend stumbled down around 40 minutes later, and we decided to go exploring after food and a shower. This would be when the incident with the soap dispenser occurred.

Exploring was fun, even though my phone decided to throw a tantrum and Stockholm decided to not show up on GPS. Apparently actually turning on the internet connection is essential to GPS tracking, but even after figuring that out, the tracking was less than co-operative.

We finally made it to Old Town, after getting lost a few times. Now at least I know how to get there from the hotel. Walk until you get to the rainbow pedestrian crossing, then head to the water. Cross the bridge and take a break with a wonderful Peking Duck at restaurant Formosa. Enjoy.

Strollers, y'all

I have never understood the sheer arrogance of people with rolling Anything. It can be rolling backpacks or rolling suitcases or food carts. It's like they think that just because the rolling Whatevers are tougher to maneuver than their non-rolling equivalents, the people pushing/pulling have the right to act like jackasses.

One group of rolling Thingies pushing people are especially easily offended if you point out that they're a hazard.

Mothers with strollers.

I have lost count of the times I have had to hit the breaks hard on my bike or veer away from a mother walking straight out into the bike lane without checking if there's anyone coming. Just this morning I was nearly thrown off the saddle because two women stepped into the lane, none of them checking if the lane was free to cross.

Don't get me wrong. I understand that as a bike riding person, I also have responsibility when it comes to avoiding accidents. I take this very seriously, because if I don't, I can get seriously hurt. No matter how much or little a bicycle weighs, it can reach speeds that, when/if you collide with things, can cause serious injuries. I am always checking my surroundings when I ride my bike, in order to avoid collisions.

This is one of the reasons why strollers and their disrespectful Pushers piss me off so badly. It's like they think that just because they have a potential safety hazard containing a child, they're free to act however they want and others have to surrender to their arrogance. Just because they have a child in their stroller, it's fine to put said child in danger of colliding with bicycles or wheelchairs. It's like these people pushing their strollers firmly believe that anyone can stop before leveling their stroller and its precious cargo to the ground.

News flash! If you step out right in front of a bike you give the rider no time to stop and one of two scenarios will occur. Either the bike will try to go around you and may or may not be able to do so without crashing, or the bike will crash into your stroller. Either scenario is a pain. On one hand, the rider might get seriously injured. On the other, the rider and your child will get seriously injured, the rider will get fined, and the guilt felt by the rider will be crippling.

Tripping over a rolling backpack or suitcase is annoying. Crashing into a shopping or food cart is annoying and painful. Crashing into a stroller is devastating. You won't cross a road without checking for cars. Learn to check for bikes before crossing a bicycle lane.

Pop it, tire

I thought I'd take a break in the doom-and-gloom of trigger warning labeled post and give another little anecdote from my time in Las Vegas, once again co-starring Jackson.

The winter holidays in Las Vegas was a time of some of the most extreme mood swings I've ever had. I went from completely apathetic to hamster on a sugar high with just a syllables notice and I was missing Sweden like crazy.

That's when my host parents made the suggestion that I stay with Jackson's family for New Year's, since they would be attending an grown-ups-only party Somewhere Else. I jumped at the opportunity faster than anyone can say Roman Candle.

Now, New Year's Eve in Las Vegas is very different than New Year's Eve in Trollhättan. Firstly, there was no snow and we ran around without jackets and in sneakers. You try that here in Sweden and you'll get pneumonia with a side serving of fever.
Secondly, they've banned fireworks in Las Vegas. You need to have a company with a special permit to light fireworks, which to me felt very strange. A New Year's Eve without nearly setting a pine on fire with an errant firework just felt odd. This fireworks ban also include all kinds of crackers and poppers you light a fuse to set off.

I did however have my first encounter with the kind of crackers that snap at pressure or go pop when thrown on the ground (and I just can't remember the name of them. Help?) Throwing those at someone's feet turned out to be all the entertainment needed and Jackson and I spent the better part of the evening trying to hit each other's feet with them. (I have later found them here in Sweden, but they're not as fun without slightly unhinged company.)

The last order of business was to empty out a whole box of them on the road, before we went inside to eat.

Here I would like to say that the sofa in the apartment Jackson's family lived in is without a doubt the most comfortable I have ever slept in. If I could, I would haul it back to my own apartment and not leave it.

Anyway, I crashed on said sofa sometime after midnight (memory is a bit hazy) and woke up to the very entertaining sound of the poppers going off under car tires at WayTooEarlyO'Clock and the subsequent screeching of brakes. It seems that said poppers are loud enough to be heard inside of running cars.

As far as I remember, Jackson just laughed when I told them about the Pop... Goes the Pop Adventure.

TW: Communication

Trigger Warnings: Mental illness, self harm

One of the most difficult things in my life is communicating what I think and need to other people. Since my mind works in images and correlations, it is hard to separate one thought from the next and keep a consistent line between cause and effect. This is especially frustrating if I'm talking to someone who either talks very fast or someone with a tendency to interrupt.
On the other hand, I enjoy talking to people who know how to reign in my tendency to derail. It makes for much more rewarding conversations (though derailing and randomness can be quite liberating as well, they're death to serious conversations).

Boy and I have a very good handle on each other's ability to derail. He'll say something along the lines of "What are you trying to say?" or I'll give him a pointed stare, and suddenly, staying on topic is no longer that hard.

With other people in my life, it's not that easy, especially with the kinds that likes to interrupt or make snide comments/eye rolls. Both of those things are extremely frustrating and makes me feel inadequate and insignificant.

It has also become a problem when I try to describe my struggle with social anxiety and depression to the people in my life. There is a vast difference between telling me something and giving me constructive criticism. I can handle the latter much better than the former. Unfortunately, telling me and ordering me around seems to be the only way many of the previous generation fall back to when talking to me, and in the past, that has lead to me taking out my frustrations on myself, verbally and physically. If I'm not worth listening to, what worth do I really have, if any? How can anyone know how I think, how I feel, if they're not interested in listening to what I say? Should they really care?

I think differently now, but there are still individuals in my life I avoid having deep discussions with, all in order to keep my sanity. Individuals who find my way of describing the world I see childish, confusing, or wrong. People who don't understand, and don't want to understand, my way of using images to describe how I feel.

Finding people who will listen, who know how to stop my derailing train of thought in a constructive way, and who teaches me new ways of communication on a daily basis has been one of the best things to happen to me during my way to recovery. People who understand that I'm not broken, I'm just a little lost. People who don't try to push their agenda onto me in the name of "helping". My family, my tribe.

Talking is all well and good, but if you're not prepared to talk with me instead of to me, I would say that it's not really my communication skills that are lacking (even though I know that I need to get better at expressing myself verbally. We can't all be Eddie Izzard).

TW: Waking up

Trigger Warnings: mental illness, phobia

This post will revolve around the coping mechanisms I use.



The hardest thing to deal with right now is my social anxiety, because how do you explain to people that, even though you need social interaction, being around people scares the will to live out of you? How do you explain the fear to people who have never felt bone chilling terror? I've tried for years to explain myself to people around me, down playing my fears so I wouldn't seem silly or clingy or like a whining brat. My frustration grew exponentially with each attempt and finally, I just gave up, thinking that I was too wrong, too broken, to understand.

Then I figured that instead of seeking the help and understanding from people who have no way of knowing what goes on in my mind, I would try to find ways to cope with the emotions and insecurities on my own. It was an exceptionally bad idea. Failing to explain my fears to others was nothing compared to failing to cope on my own, again and again and again. Nothing I can remember hurt as badly as failing myself over and over.

So, I set out to find a middle way, and I found writing and photography. I can explain my insecurities through the written word and I can show people how I see the world through my photos. Because the world is a beautiful place, filled with life and dreams and emotions, all beyond the single observation of one solo human.

Then I tumbled upon the Coping Box, which I find to be a brilliant thing. Something you create for yourself in order to stay grounded when the tidal wave of frustration, fear, feelings, and self-doubt is threatening to drown you.

My coping box holds

- My raccoon plushie I got when I was 6 months old
- The blanket Jackson's grandmother made for me
- A CD of classical music
- A packet of frankincense incense sticks
- Photos of things I like

Mostly I just snuggle up with the blanket and the plushie when the world just gets to be too much to handle.

When I am at the work rehab place, I have compiled a list of music I find relaxing and I'm blasting music into my head. That way I can live in my little bubble, pretending I am alone until I am ready to talk to other people.

Because I am still so afraid, so conscious of others' judgement, that I can barely function in large groups. My depression is threatening to overwhelm me on a regular basis, and it's only through strength of will that I get out of bed and to this work place, fully aware that my hands will shake uncontrollably, my chest will feel tight, and the back of my neck is freezing cold. Every day, when I get home, I celebrate being strong enough to get through the hours I spend in work rehab. Because celebrating your own victories is the best coping mechanism of them all.

All that matters is yourself, so celebrate every victory, no matter how insignificant it might seem.