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).