I hear voices. I'm pretty open about it, and people sometimes ask what it's like.
Actually, most seem scared to ask for fear of triggering something, but I'm not easily triggered that way. But some people do ask, and I usually just say "it's scary" or "it's rough".
I want to give a more in-depth explanation, so I figured I'd do it here. It's about time I wrote a blogpost anyways.
By the way, did you know there are people who only hear positive voices? Or that a lot of people who hear voices don't have any diagnoses?
Anyways, imagine you have four people in your life. Four people who pop up at random times, two of which follows you around wherever you go. They whisper in your ears, sometimes they yell if you ignore them, and they have opinions about EVERYTHING. Every choice you have to make, every interaction with other people, every thought you have. Everything.
That's what it's like.
I have four voices, two of which I hear daily. There's a second group of voices called "The Audience", but they only appear when I'm not doing well mentally.
(I know the voices are figments of my imagination, but to me, they still seem like individuals.)
The two main voices are called Mia and Azelia.
Mia seems evil, and is pretty harsh on me. She tries to correct most of the things I do, and influence me to do things that don't seem good for me. She has opinions on everything, most of which are negative, and she judges everyone. Especially me.
When I feel cornered or aggravated, she pops out and takes control. Bad things usually follow, but at least she helps me get some opinions out I wouldn't otherwise dare to express.
Azelia is brave and strong, yet soft, and emotional. She gives me assurance that it's okay to have negative emotions like "I'm scared" or "I'm sad", and she steps up for me when Mia has been too harsh.
Through therapy, I've learnt that Mia is not all evil like I thought. It seems she has been trying to strengthen me to take what ever negative things people might fling at me.
I've also learnt she's a representation of my insecurities. "People don't like you", "You're weak" and "do bad things to yourself and others" are things she often says. The first two are symptoms that I'm scared others will say those things to me, and the last is usually a sign I'm in a situation I want out of.
I've also learnt Azelia is a representation of the emotional support I found missing when I was a teen. I was twelve when she appeared, and I was going through a very hard time back then.
Her main goal seems to be assuring and guiding me through negative emotions. She often tells me to calm down and take a breath, while at the same time acknowledging that I do have negative emotions.
I used to become scared when Mia and The Audience, the latter being a chorus of people screaming negative commands at me, were getting loud. Mia is always there, but usually she's just background noise. Easily ignorable.
On days where my defenses are lowered, like if I'm stressed out or missing sleep, she gets louder, and her commands get darker, until all I can focus on is trying not to obey. I've been told I've been near impossible for people to contact or talk to during those times because I've been withdrawn into my own little world.
It's pretty hard to not do things when someone is screaming in your face that you have to do it, getting louder until you either comply or take medicines to make them go away (or at least be bearable.)
People often give the well-meaning advice of "don't listen to the voices". It's good advice, but it's not that simple. They're there all day every day, and they get louder if I ignore them instead of acknowledging them. Acknowledging them isn't the same as obeying them, though.
I have in the past made the mistake of thinking they would leave me alone if I did just what they told me to. Boy, was I wrong. One thing leads to another, and before you know it, you've been throwing up your food for a week because they screamed at you until you did.
I could go on and on about them, but to sum it up, hearing voices is, to me, scary and confusing, sometimes consuming, and sometimes even comforting.
Never be afraid to ask about them, I'll answer to my best ability. If you ask something I can't or won't answer, I'll let you know. But it haven't happened yet.
Monday, 26 November 2018
Sunday, 16 April 2017
Misunderstanding mental illnesses
There are things I've heard throughout my life when trying to be open about my struggles. Now, let me tell you why those things are bullshit.
1 "Most people have something they struggle with"
True, most people do have something they're struggling with, but telling it to someone who's trying to tell you that their struggle in particular feels worse than normal, belittles their struggles and makes them feel like you don't take it seriously.
2 "I know someone with the same illness as you, so I know all about how it works"
That too is something I've heard quite a lot in the recent years. Instead of asking how the mentioned illness works for the individual, people draw on their past experiences. Mental illness comes in a very broad spectrum of varieties, and they work differently for everyone. You can pair up two people with the exact same diagnoses, and they will be affected by those diagnoses in completely different ways.
Don't ever think that because you know someone who has a certain mental illness, you are suddenly an expert. Always ask the person in question how it affects them, and if there's anything you should be aware of.
1 "Most people have something they struggle with"
True, most people do have something they're struggling with, but telling it to someone who's trying to tell you that their struggle in particular feels worse than normal, belittles their struggles and makes them feel like you don't take it seriously.
2 "I know someone with the same illness as you, so I know all about how it works"
That too is something I've heard quite a lot in the recent years. Instead of asking how the mentioned illness works for the individual, people draw on their past experiences. Mental illness comes in a very broad spectrum of varieties, and they work differently for everyone. You can pair up two people with the exact same diagnoses, and they will be affected by those diagnoses in completely different ways.
Don't ever think that because you know someone who has a certain mental illness, you are suddenly an expert. Always ask the person in question how it affects them, and if there's anything you should be aware of.
3 "Life is hard for everyone"
Sure, life is hard for everyone, but is it so hard to imagine that it might be a little harder for some than others at times? And yes, there are children starving and people in wars, and life is hard for them too. But again, reminding someone who's trying to be open about how life sucks for them, that their struggles aren't so bad, really isn't helping much, and might keep them from trying to open up again in the future.
4 "Have you tried going outside more?"
Ah yes, the dreaded "have you tried..." Sure, when you are in a state of mind where simply dragging yourself out of bed is an impossible task, not mention things like basic hygiene and eating, what you need is a reminder of all the things you should do to get better, because it's your own fault you're not doing better than you are... Or not!
Most, maybe not all, but I do believe that most people with mental illnesses really are trying. I know it might not show, and it might seem like some of us are doing little to nothing, but believe me, if we stopped trying, you'd notice it very quickly.
The reason I'm writing this is because I have schizophrenia. It's no secret, I'm open about it, although I sometimes wait to tell someone until it becomes releveant.
What often seems to happen to me, though, is that while people are quick to say "hey isn't it that thing where people hear voices and get paranoia?" they forget about the other things.
Not all schizophrenics see pink bunnies jumping on the ceiling, or have voices telling them to stab family members in their sleep.
I don't hallucinate, I don't see things that aren't there, I don't get paranoid thoughts, and I don't think I'm the 3rd reincarnation of the king of Jupiter. Those are calles positive symptoms, by the way.
I do have negative symtpoms, meanig they steal things from my personality. They cause things like lack of initiative, lack of ability to think fast, fatigue, apathy, confusion, and inability to multitask or focus for long.
Negative symptoms are, in my experience, almost more difficult to deal with when it comes to other people. When you tell them about things that aren't part of the "norm", like, seeing giant spiders everywhere or hearing voices, they understand that it's part of the illness and not your fault (unless you are, for some reason, not taking your meds. In that case, they're not always as forgiving)
But, if you tell them that "Hey, my brain doesn't work very fast anymore and I get easily confused/insecure/unfocused", they'll tell you to try harder or to train it somehow.
Some people will see it as an annoyance, some even think you're playing dumb. Some will just act like you're not trying at all, despite me telling them you're doing your best.
It hurts when people act like this, and it has cost me quite a few friendships over the years.
I used to act like that too, back when I was young and thought I knew everything. But, after realising I myself was sick, and I started to get help, I managed to turn that train of thought around.
Most people with mental illnesses don't grow out of their illness, they simply learn how to hide the symptoms. We shouldn't have to, but still today, in 2017, it sometimes feels like there is no room to be different, unless you're the right kind of different. The "as seen on TV" kind of different.
So please, to anyone who reads this; Please please PLEASE, be kind to those around you who struggle. Ask questions instead of making conclusions. Allow them to be open to you rather than shutting them down. And please, never expect someone to function "normally" based on your perceptions of normal.
Sure, life is hard for everyone, but is it so hard to imagine that it might be a little harder for some than others at times? And yes, there are children starving and people in wars, and life is hard for them too. But again, reminding someone who's trying to be open about how life sucks for them, that their struggles aren't so bad, really isn't helping much, and might keep them from trying to open up again in the future.
4 "Have you tried going outside more?"
Ah yes, the dreaded "have you tried..." Sure, when you are in a state of mind where simply dragging yourself out of bed is an impossible task, not mention things like basic hygiene and eating, what you need is a reminder of all the things you should do to get better, because it's your own fault you're not doing better than you are... Or not!
Most, maybe not all, but I do believe that most people with mental illnesses really are trying. I know it might not show, and it might seem like some of us are doing little to nothing, but believe me, if we stopped trying, you'd notice it very quickly.
The reason I'm writing this is because I have schizophrenia. It's no secret, I'm open about it, although I sometimes wait to tell someone until it becomes releveant.
What often seems to happen to me, though, is that while people are quick to say "hey isn't it that thing where people hear voices and get paranoia?" they forget about the other things.
Not all schizophrenics see pink bunnies jumping on the ceiling, or have voices telling them to stab family members in their sleep.
I don't hallucinate, I don't see things that aren't there, I don't get paranoid thoughts, and I don't think I'm the 3rd reincarnation of the king of Jupiter. Those are calles positive symptoms, by the way.
I do have negative symtpoms, meanig they steal things from my personality. They cause things like lack of initiative, lack of ability to think fast, fatigue, apathy, confusion, and inability to multitask or focus for long.
Negative symptoms are, in my experience, almost more difficult to deal with when it comes to other people. When you tell them about things that aren't part of the "norm", like, seeing giant spiders everywhere or hearing voices, they understand that it's part of the illness and not your fault (unless you are, for some reason, not taking your meds. In that case, they're not always as forgiving)
But, if you tell them that "Hey, my brain doesn't work very fast anymore and I get easily confused/insecure/unfocused", they'll tell you to try harder or to train it somehow.
Some people will see it as an annoyance, some even think you're playing dumb. Some will just act like you're not trying at all, despite me telling them you're doing your best.
It hurts when people act like this, and it has cost me quite a few friendships over the years.
I used to act like that too, back when I was young and thought I knew everything. But, after realising I myself was sick, and I started to get help, I managed to turn that train of thought around.
Most people with mental illnesses don't grow out of their illness, they simply learn how to hide the symptoms. We shouldn't have to, but still today, in 2017, it sometimes feels like there is no room to be different, unless you're the right kind of different. The "as seen on TV" kind of different.
So please, to anyone who reads this; Please please PLEASE, be kind to those around you who struggle. Ask questions instead of making conclusions. Allow them to be open to you rather than shutting them down. And please, never expect someone to function "normally" based on your perceptions of normal.
Thursday, 15 December 2016
Psych ward
People always seem to want to share on Facebook when they're sick - it can be anything from a cold, to having to be in a hospital.
I'm in the hospital, but I didn't, until now, feel comfortable sharing it with the world. Why? Because I'm not here for a broken leg, a bursting appendix, nor any other physical injuries. I'm here because my brain isn't working right.
You might have guessed it from the title, but I'm going to say it anyways: I'm in the psychiatric ward.
I've been here for almost a week now, and I'm finally starting to feel better.
Admitting to a mental illness still feels stigmatized, if not taboo.
If your body isn't doing what it's supposed to, or you've somehow gotten hurt, it's alright. It wasn't your fault.
Even though I have received an almost overwhelming amount of support from those I've told, I still feel a bit scared admitting the fact that my brain is/was working against me.
Surely, I must have been taking drugs, or not taken my meds, or perhaps just not thought enough positive thoughts, right?
Wrong.
And surely, I must have gone completely coo-coo and/or tried to kill myself, right?
Wrong.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Though there are things you can do to improve and keep your mental health, lots of people just can't help it.
I don't excactly know how it works, but I remember hearing several places that many mental illnesses stem from having the wrong ratio of various chemicals in your brain.
There are people of all shapes and sizes here, and I have not yet seen someone as crazy as they are in the movies. No one who thinks they're Napoleon, no one who shouts at someone who isn't there. The people here are ordinary people whose brains simply won't co-operate.
One thing is other people's bias, another is my own. I don't know what set it off, but I feel so afraid of admitting that I can't always control my brain, because of not wanting to seem weak or attention-seeking, that it took me almost two weeks to seek help.
Two weeks of knowing something was horribly wrong, but being too scared to do anything about it.
That's not how it's supposed to be.
Mental illness isn't like having a cold, (which I coincidentally also have at the moment) where you just have to rest for a few days. You have to do everything in your power to keep your sanity, even if it means having yourself admitted like I did, and taking medicines that make you tired.
I am so glad my family and friends have been so supportive about all this. Even in here, I meet people whose families are mad at them for being in the psych ward. People whose families take it personal or don't understand why they have to "act that way".
It takes a lot for a person to admit to something being wrong with them, this also applies to physical ailments.
I hope we one day have a world where no one was raised to "tough it out" no matter the ailment.
I'm very glad I was taught it's okay to seek help where help is needed.
Wednesday, 10 August 2016
"I don't know"
I used to answer almost every question with "I don't know".
People mistook it for ambivalence, carelessness, or the lack of intelligence. None of those things are true.
Instead, it came from a lack of belief. Just a few years ago, I was so lost and everything felt so hopeless, that I didn't dare to believe in or dream about the future.
"What education do you want?" "I don't know". In this sense, "I don't know" meant "I've tried so many times and failed, that I feel like I'll never be able to accomplish it anyways, so I don't want to get my hopes up.", but "I don't know" was the easier answer.
People also kept telling me that I deserved to be happy and live a happy life with a nice job and a nice partner, in a nice apartment. Nice was more that I dared to hope for, even a year ago. How could I get a nice job when I could barely attend school without it going wrong? How could I get a nice partner when I continuously kept failing at relationships and ending up with shitty or unfulfilling partners? How could I get a nice apartment when I had never been able to keep one up?
In social psychiatry, we're often told that what sparks the recovery can come from the strangest of places. Even if you accept all the help you're offered, it can take years until something triggers something in you that makes it go so much faster. And that's what happened to me. I can't put a finger on it, but something in me recently lit a though-to-be-long-lost fire, and I'm finally daring to hope and/or believe in a good future for myself.
I've begun painting again, something I lost the inspiration to do when I was at my lowest, I'm moving out soon, and into my very own place. And most importantly, I have concrete thoughts about the future. Realistic expectations.
My expectations felt realistic when I was in my "I don't know" phase as well, in the sense that it seemed realistic that I would never have a good future, but now I see that they were perhaps the most unrealistic.
It's not realistic that I'll end up living on the street, unloved and alone. And that is because I'm fighting. I'm trying to improve myself, I reach my hand out, and take the hands I'm offered.
They always say that part of the path to recovering from a problem is admitting there is a problem you need help with. I say it's just as important to allow yourself to accept that help, but you can't do that until you dare hope that things will be better than what they are.
Hope is important. Hope can sometimes be what drives us.
The fact that I'm daring to have hopes for the future shows, to me, that my life has improved, and that I'm seeing that improvement. I'm daring to hope it will continue.
People mistook it for ambivalence, carelessness, or the lack of intelligence. None of those things are true.
Instead, it came from a lack of belief. Just a few years ago, I was so lost and everything felt so hopeless, that I didn't dare to believe in or dream about the future.
"What education do you want?" "I don't know". In this sense, "I don't know" meant "I've tried so many times and failed, that I feel like I'll never be able to accomplish it anyways, so I don't want to get my hopes up.", but "I don't know" was the easier answer.
People also kept telling me that I deserved to be happy and live a happy life with a nice job and a nice partner, in a nice apartment. Nice was more that I dared to hope for, even a year ago. How could I get a nice job when I could barely attend school without it going wrong? How could I get a nice partner when I continuously kept failing at relationships and ending up with shitty or unfulfilling partners? How could I get a nice apartment when I had never been able to keep one up?
In social psychiatry, we're often told that what sparks the recovery can come from the strangest of places. Even if you accept all the help you're offered, it can take years until something triggers something in you that makes it go so much faster. And that's what happened to me. I can't put a finger on it, but something in me recently lit a though-to-be-long-lost fire, and I'm finally daring to hope and/or believe in a good future for myself.
I've begun painting again, something I lost the inspiration to do when I was at my lowest, I'm moving out soon, and into my very own place. And most importantly, I have concrete thoughts about the future. Realistic expectations.
My expectations felt realistic when I was in my "I don't know" phase as well, in the sense that it seemed realistic that I would never have a good future, but now I see that they were perhaps the most unrealistic.
It's not realistic that I'll end up living on the street, unloved and alone. And that is because I'm fighting. I'm trying to improve myself, I reach my hand out, and take the hands I'm offered.
They always say that part of the path to recovering from a problem is admitting there is a problem you need help with. I say it's just as important to allow yourself to accept that help, but you can't do that until you dare hope that things will be better than what they are.
Hope is important. Hope can sometimes be what drives us.
The fact that I'm daring to have hopes for the future shows, to me, that my life has improved, and that I'm seeing that improvement. I'm daring to hope it will continue.
Sunday, 12 June 2016
Bravery
People talk about bravery as if it's easy to gain. Movies portray it as something you achieve when it matters the most.
The reality, however, seems to be that it has to be learned, which is harder for some people than others.
What excactly is bravery? What does it mean, how do you define it?
Some people seem to think that daring to do potentially reckless, stupid and/or dangerous things is brave. Others define it as standing up for what you believe in, while some see it as being good/calm under pressure and in dangerous situations.
I see bravery as confidence.
Man, I wish I was brave.
I want to be confident in my actions, abilities and beliefs, and I want to feel safe telling others about it.
But, I'm not.
I used to be, I think. But somewhere along the way, I lost that nearly blind faith in myself I so admire in others, and I want it back.
Some degree of doubt is healthy, but does too much doubt a coward make?
And is it necessary to be brave all the time, or is it healthy to hold back and think twice once in a while?
I wish I was so brave that I'd shout things from the rooftops. Not that I think it'd do any good, but isn't it a metaphor for being so proud of who you are that you don't care who knows?
I guess in order to get there, I first need to find out who I am, and accept it.
But what if I can't accept what I find out? Does that mean I'm not brave?
Does it mean I'm a hipocrite, since I'm so openly telling people to let others be who they are?
These questions, as well as how I can regain confidence and faith in myself, are what keeps me up at night.
And finally, how come the inspiration to write always seems to come to me when I'm tired and should be asleep?
Thursday, 19 May 2016
"Smile at the hidden camera"
I try to keep at positive outlook on things most of the time, but lately, it's been rough. The past week has been a string of failures and bad news, and the feeling of inadequacy is strong.
I'm somehow halfway expecting some idiot to jump out from behind a bush and yell "surprise! You've been pranked! Smile at the hidden cameras there, there, and there!", that it's all just a cruel joke taken way too far.
I won't go into detail about what the things are, but I will say this: I am painfully aware of my shortcomings at the moment. I've cried a lot recently, and I can't sit still, nor keep eyecontact.
As I said, I try to keep a positive attitude. And although time moves very slowly at the moment, I try to take it one step at a time.
One, or even more than a few minor setbacks should'nt get in the way of the overall process of improvement I've been told I'm in.
The hardest parts of getting better, for me, has been accepting that sometimes, I don't feel so good, and also being able to talk about it. Being honest with people about how I'm doing, and putting words to my thoughts.
Accepting you don't feel great also means allowing yourself to feel negative emotions like pain and sadness, and for me, that also means learning how to deal with those emotions in a healthy way.
When all else fails, when I'm alone with my thoughts, I've got stuffed animals to hug. And the internet.
The buddhists have a saying: 'This shall pass'.
Nothing is permanent. Even though emotions like sadness, anger, anxiety, and heartbreak, sometimes feel like they'll go on forever, they won't. And that's important to remember.
I'm not trying to convey some profound wisdom by writing all this, I just wanted to share some thoughts of mine, get them out of my system.
Because right now, I'm alone with my thoughts, and it's hard to sleep even though I'm exhausted and need to get up early tomorrow.
But don't worry about me. I've got supportive people around me, in my life, and I know there's light at the end of each tunnel. Even though that light is sometimes hard to see, I just gotta keep on going, one step at a time.
Saturday, 28 November 2015
Winter blues
Seasonal Affective Disorder, or as it is appropriately shortened down to, SAD, is a thing that affects me every year. I prefer to refer to it as 'winter blues', as that's what it means to me.
In other words, during wintertime, I feel "blue". I do my best to counteract it, and I'm going to the doctor soon to have my vitamin D levels checked out. I'm also listening to music constantly, and I do my best to be surrounded by people so I can't sit alone and rot in my own thoughts.
I figured I'd nip some of the effects of the winter blues in the bud by being honest about it this year.
This is what happens to me, this is how I react, this is why I do what I do best: avoiding human contact.
SAD makes me feel, well, sad. Sometimes for no reason at all. I can just wake up in the morning and go through an entire day having to constantly struggle not to break out in tears.
I start to sleep more, and for longer periods of time. I start feeling more and more inadequate, irritable, irritating and useless, and I start to withdraw more and more. As I begin to question myself and withdraw, it starts spiralling downwards, as the withdrawing leads to feelings of defeat and thoughts like "why can't I just be happy and social?" or "why can't I just get out of bed and go to work?" or "why can't I just..."
You get the point.
It affects my sleep pattern too, in the way that it makes it harder for me to get to sleep, stay asleep, and get out of sleep.
It starts at night. As soon as I'm alone because everyone else has gone to bed, and I've realised I might need to sleep too. Why do I wait until everyone else has gone to bed? Because I'm afraid to try to sleep. Afraid I'll fail. Afraid of the hours of thinking and tossing and turning that are ahead of me before I finally get some rest.
When I lie down in bed, all the thoughts I've been suppressing come rushing in over me like a flood.
Sometimes, it's just random dark thoughts, sometimes, it's scenarios that haven't happend yet, and sometimes, I can lie awake for hours and think of all the times I've failed at something.
(If you want to know what it's like not to be able to sleep while in that state of mind, here's a song that describes it perfectly. )
Anyhow, now' we're getting to what I really wanted to talk about: what it makes me do.
The SAD makes me avoid human contact. The depression makes me want to not be alone, but as soon as I'm with people, I feel drained and overwhelmed, and all I can focus on is how insecure I feel, and how many mistakes I might be making, which in turn, doesn't help with the depression very well.
Therefore, more often than not, I avoid talking to people.
I read messages, but I don't reply, and when I do, I'm short and concise, or I pretend to be happy and use a lot of happy emoticons/smileys. Don't get me wrong, I'm not sad ALL THE TIME, and I am often genuinely happy, but these Winter Blues just make it harder for me to stay that way for very long at a time.
So anyways, in advance: I'm sorry if I bury myself under the blankets. I'm sorry if I go for long periods of time without contacting you or replying to messages. I'm not mad at you, I'm just sad.
I don't want to be left alone, and I appreciate people reaching out. I'm just not very good at doing it myself when I get like this.
And I'm sorry if my statuses on facebook are complaining or angry, I'm just venting my growing frustrations with the world so they won't consume me.
Please don't hate me. Please don't stop being my friends. Please don't think for a second that it's personal or that I dislike any of you.
And please don't worry. I'm going to be fine. It's only for a few months each year, and since I know it's only temporary, I refuse to let it break me.
Monday, 5 October 2015
Anxiety, or, "The little monster"
Anxiety presents differently in different people. In some, it is pretty much constant, while in others, it comes and goes depending on the situation and/or their mood.
With me, it comes and goes at a somewhat random pattern. Illustrators have made a lot of cartoons depicting how anxiety presents in them, but I don't have any fancy equipment or extraordinary skills, so I though I'd present mine through a story.
"The little monster"
It was a seemnigly normal day for me. I woke up, put on my clothes, and got ready for work. As I was heading out the door, however, I noticed a tiny monster in the doorway.
I didn't think much of it at first, as it was the size of a guinea pig and didn't look very threatening.
"Stop!" It yelled at me with his tiny voice. I stopped in my tracks and looked down at it.
It did seem rather familiar, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.
I asked the monster what it wanted, and it responded with an "I want to keep you safe."
"Safe?" I asked. "Safe from what?"
The monster ran its tiny hands through its fur as it looked at me rather nervously and replied "from the world."
"What do you mean? I'm not in any danger." I told the monster. It stretched its back to apper taller, and I could have sworn it started to grow a little when it asked me if I had noticed it had rained.
I had. "Well, have you forgotten that hole in your bicycle seat?" "The one that always gives me a wet butt after it rains because the water it retains seeps out? I have. You don't think anyone will notice, do you?"
The monster nodded. "What if they laugh at you?" "I'll be fine, I'll put a plastic bag on the seat", I told it, and tried to exit the door. The monster had now grown to the height of my knees, and I had to step over it in order to get out of the door, as it had also grown fatter.
"Wait, just wait." it said, its voice sounding stronger and deeper. I took the leg I had raised to step over it down again, and with a sigh, let it speak. "What if... What if you get hit by a car today?"
I could die in traffic. I had to admit, I had in fact considered it. The road I take to work is a dangerous road with many cars, and after many potentially dangerous encounters, I've started to constantly fear the cars and the people in them, on that road.
"Wha-what do you mean? I'm sure I'll be fine. I've taken that road many times and nothing has happened." "But what if... What if today was the day something DID happen?"
The monster was not so tiny anymore. I couldn't tell if I had shrunk or it had grown, but it was now at the height of my elbows.
I took a moment to think about it, and had to admit that the monster could be right. "But," I added, "You could also be wrong. Now, would you please move aside? I have to get to work."
But the monster refused to budge. Like a bouncer at a bar, it put its hand in front of me with a 'stop' motion and shook his head.
"Listen," it said "this is for your own good. I can feel it in my guts; if you go out there, you WILL get run over. I can't let that happen."
We were now the same height. In fact, I slowly started to feel like I had to look up at it in order to keep eyecontact. My head was spinning.
"You have had many close encounters", it added, slowly growing taller by the minute.
It was true, there had been some close encounters. I felt my body become more and more restless. I constantly shifted my weight from one leg to the other, and I started fidgeting with my hands. Then, I started walking back and forth. What if the monster was right? Was I really going to die?
I didn't want to die. I didn't want to get run over.
"What if nobody knows who are? What if you get hit and they can't identify you, so your parents are never informed?" The monster started pounding me with 'what if' questions.
It now filled my entire doorway, its tiny horns the size of goat horns, and its voice deep and ominous. In fact, it looked and sounded more like a dangerous demon than the cute little thing I had seen in my doorway moments before.
"DO NOT" it yelled, "DO NOT GO OUT THERE, YOU ARE GOING TO DIE!"
Defeated, I feel to the floor with tears in my eyes. I could feel how I started to shrink until I felt as tiny as the monster had been at first, and then it dawned on me. I HAD seen the monster before. I had seen in out of the corner of my eyes every time I was crossing that road, every time I was passing an intersection, and every time I had been in scary situations.
I tried to kick it in the shins, bite its ancles, pull its fur in pure frustrations, but nothing worked. I put up a fair fight, perhaps a bit too late, but it wouldn't budge. I finally gave up and began to cry uncontrollably while my entire body was shivering.
A twenty-five year old had been reduced to a tiny five-year old in a matter of minutes.
I never made it to work that day. The monster eventually let me out the door, but it was too late. I felt small, vulnerable and defenseless, and after crying to my counsellor a bit, I went back into my room and hid from the monster until it slowly started to shrink back into a tiny, barely noticeable being.
I knew the monster would be back, it always seemed to come back, but for now, it had done what it came to do.
- The end.
And this is how anxeity presents in me. A tiny monster. Sometimes the monster is so tiny that I barely notice it, other times, it slowly grows bigger without me noticing at first, until it is beyond my control, and there's nothing left to do about it.
I try to fight it, and sometimes, I win, sometimes, I lose. Some days it feels like I wake up with the monster standing by my bed, staring at me, already at "gigantic demon"-size, and I know there's no use in putting up a fight.
More often than not, though, I'm in control of the beast.
Friday, 7 August 2015
The various kinds of friends, and the ways we communicate
I've come to realise over the years that while I love all my friends in their own unique way, I have different ways of trusting and communicating with them all.
There are some friends I almost exclusively communicate with through memes and funny pictures, while there are others I only talk to trough skype. Some want in-depth conversations while others prefer to keep it light and superficial.
Some dare to fart in front of me, which I take as a sign of trust, while others like to pretend their butts don't exist.
I can personally not fathom how someone can spend time with another person for more than four hours without having to pass gass, but maybe they sneak one out now and then. I don't know, and I don't judge.
Some people only want to talk about specific topics, some only go deep when we're outside or it's really late, while others prefer it somewhere inbetween, or even light, depending on their moods.
Some friends have stuck with me through thick and thin, while others came along the way. Some, I talk to in real life, while others I only know through the internet.
The ones on the internet are not less special and loved than the ones in real life, though.
My way of making friends has shifted also. I used to participate in a lot of activities like painting and acting, and also to go to school, all of which makes you interact with a lot of people whether you want to or not.
Now, I more or less drift through life.
Some people are like dogs, eager to meet you and trust you easily, while others are like cats, needing you to earn their trust before they let you in.
Personally, I'm sort of a catdog. While I seems like I trust a person quite quickly, it can take years before they earn enough trust-points to see the real me, and some will never know things about me that others I've known shorter might know.
I have to admit I've grown shy over the years, and thus less able to make friends, although it never came quickly to me. I'm always the last person to join cliques, and usually end up in the 'outcast' clique. Not that I mind, those are usually where I meet the most unique and interesting characters.
No matter how shy I get, though, I always seem to find people who take a liking to me, and I accept them with (mostly) open arms.
Internet forums are also a great way for me to make friends, and I've met some of my (many) best friends through there.
I've always envied those who were able to make a lot of friends quickly, but I can't help but wonder if they love and value their friends as much as one with fewer friends does.
Friends have come and gone, but some have stuck with me through my worst times, turning a blind eye to all my silly and cringy mistakes. I will always feel a special kind of (friendly) love towards those kinds of friends.
Some scientists say the brain can only keep track of 150 relationships at a time, but I think that's bullshit. While I do not at all claim to have that many friends, exept maybe on facebook, I certainly have a lot of people I will never ever forget.
When I said I love and value all my friends, I really meant it. I might not always be good at showing it, and the longer I haven't spoken to someone, the harder it is for me to dare to pick up contact again, due to the fear that they'll turn me down for not having been a good enough friend.
But know this. Once you're my friend, I don't stop thinking about you. I don't care if we haven't spoken for five, ten, or even fifteen years. I'll still wonder where they are in life, how they're doing, and if they remember our friendship the same way I did.
Once I let someone into my heart, there's no leaving. I can't let go, I'm just not that kind of person.
There are some friends I almost exclusively communicate with through memes and funny pictures, while there are others I only talk to trough skype. Some want in-depth conversations while others prefer to keep it light and superficial.
Some dare to fart in front of me, which I take as a sign of trust, while others like to pretend their butts don't exist.
I can personally not fathom how someone can spend time with another person for more than four hours without having to pass gass, but maybe they sneak one out now and then. I don't know, and I don't judge.
Some people only want to talk about specific topics, some only go deep when we're outside or it's really late, while others prefer it somewhere inbetween, or even light, depending on their moods.
Some friends have stuck with me through thick and thin, while others came along the way. Some, I talk to in real life, while others I only know through the internet.
The ones on the internet are not less special and loved than the ones in real life, though.
My way of making friends has shifted also. I used to participate in a lot of activities like painting and acting, and also to go to school, all of which makes you interact with a lot of people whether you want to or not.
Now, I more or less drift through life.
Some people are like dogs, eager to meet you and trust you easily, while others are like cats, needing you to earn their trust before they let you in.
Personally, I'm sort of a catdog. While I seems like I trust a person quite quickly, it can take years before they earn enough trust-points to see the real me, and some will never know things about me that others I've known shorter might know.
I have to admit I've grown shy over the years, and thus less able to make friends, although it never came quickly to me. I'm always the last person to join cliques, and usually end up in the 'outcast' clique. Not that I mind, those are usually where I meet the most unique and interesting characters.
No matter how shy I get, though, I always seem to find people who take a liking to me, and I accept them with (mostly) open arms.
Internet forums are also a great way for me to make friends, and I've met some of my (many) best friends through there.
I've always envied those who were able to make a lot of friends quickly, but I can't help but wonder if they love and value their friends as much as one with fewer friends does.
Friends have come and gone, but some have stuck with me through my worst times, turning a blind eye to all my silly and cringy mistakes. I will always feel a special kind of (friendly) love towards those kinds of friends.
Some scientists say the brain can only keep track of 150 relationships at a time, but I think that's bullshit. While I do not at all claim to have that many friends, exept maybe on facebook, I certainly have a lot of people I will never ever forget.
When I said I love and value all my friends, I really meant it. I might not always be good at showing it, and the longer I haven't spoken to someone, the harder it is for me to dare to pick up contact again, due to the fear that they'll turn me down for not having been a good enough friend.
But know this. Once you're my friend, I don't stop thinking about you. I don't care if we haven't spoken for five, ten, or even fifteen years. I'll still wonder where they are in life, how they're doing, and if they remember our friendship the same way I did.
Once I let someone into my heart, there's no leaving. I can't let go, I'm just not that kind of person.
Friday, 6 February 2015
Hvad der er sket, hvad der sker, og hvad der skal ske
Mange spørger mig hvordan det går og hvad der er sket siden vi sidst snakkede.
Jeg tror jeg er god til at give updates, men der er meget information og jeg ved selv jeg ikke husker alt, hvad folk fortæller mig, så jeg tænkte jeg ville skrive en lille update og lade dem der vil vide noget, få noget at vide.
Men så er problemet, hvor skal man starte? Jeg tænkte længe på det, og kom frem til at jeg vil starte med begyndelsen: da jeg flyttede til Danmark.
De første måneder boede jeg hos min faster i københavn, hvor jeg kom på kontanthjælp og skulle i aktivering.
"Vælg en uddannelse, ellers får du ingen penge" var beskeden fra kommunen, så jeg valgte dyrepasser-uddannelsen og flyttede til Roskilde.
Jeg synes selv det gik meget godt, og jeg fik venner og det hele, men det synes min lærer ikke. Jeg socialiserede mig slet ikke godt nok med de andre, sagde hun. Det var som et slag i maven, og jeg begyndte at tvivle mer og mer på mig selv. Efterhånden kom der mer og mer skolearbejde, og jeg kunne ikke følge med. Som med tidligere forsøg på uddannelse begyndte jeg at møde op mindre og mindre, og gik til sidst ned med stresset. Jeg bestemte mig for at prøve en ny uddannelse, og endte med at vælge Social og Sundhedsskolen i Fredericia, delvis for at være tættere på min familie.
Det gik samme vej der, jeg socialiserede mig ikke godt nok, og lavede ikke nok lektier. Klassemiljøet var også ret dårligt, og til sidst holdt jeg ikke til det mere.
Så foreslog de at jeg tog på produktionsskole, og det gjorde jeg så. Jeg valgte sy/design/håndværklinjen, og gik der et stykke tid. I starten gik det godt nok, men de andre var meget yngre end mig, og jeg kom ikke rigtig ind i miljøet.
Mens jeg gik der, fik jeg en kæreste jeg havde mødt gennem nogle fælles venner. Jeg havde det dog ret skidt på det tidspunkt, og endte det med ham efter kun to måneder, fordi jeg på det tidspunkt ikke kunne rumme nogen som helst, knapt nok mig selv.
Hver onsdag startede der nye mennesker på produktionsskolen, og efter nogle uger hvor jeg slet ikke var mødt op på grund af stress og angst, bestemte jeg mig for at give det et nyt forsøg. Sommerferien var lige over, og mange nye var startet.
Det er jeg meget glad for at jeg gjorde, for ikke kun var der nu flere på min alder, det var også der jeg mødte min nuværende kæreste, Hans, eller Mulle, som jeg nok har omtalt ham før.
Vi kom godt overens med det samme, og mit opmøde gik bedre. Pludtselig havde jeg en grund til at gå i skole!
Efterhånden, dog, gik det ikke så godt, og jeg fald ud igen. Back to kontanthjælp. Heldigvis fik jeg en meget sød sagsbehandler her i Fredericia, der forstod at jeg ikke kunne magte flere uddannelser. Jeg fik en hjemmevejleder, og kom også ind i psykiatrien.
Jeg flyttede efterhånden sammen med Hans.
Så spoler vi fremad til Januar 2014. Efter endnu en gang at have prøvet uddannelse (IBC og selvstudier), lagde jeg meget pres på min psykiater, der var ved at udrede mig, om at komme med en diagnose så jeg kunne få noget hjælp. Jeg blev udredet, og fik at vide at jeg har noget der hedder 'Simpel Skizofreni'. Det vil sige at jeg ikke hallucinerer ret meget og sådan noget, men at jeg til gengæld har mistet meget af min personlighed. Det inkluder ambivalens, angst, og mangel på initiativ og evne til at passe på sig selv.
Medicinerne jeg fik/får for det er relativt bivirkningsfri for mig i forhold til dem jeg tidligere havde prøvet, og med hjælp fra min psykiatriplejer og min hjemmevejleder begyndte det at gå lidt bedre.
Det gik dog ikke godt nok, og efter et par kriser lod jeg mig i April endelig overtale til at komme på venteliste for et bosted.
Det var en meget hård afgørelse, det at skulle flytte fra min kæreste, og ingen af os tog det let.
Der gik noget tid hvor jeg var på venteliste, og mens jeg ventede, tog jeg mig en lille sommerferie oppe hos mine forældre i Nord-Norge. Mens jeg var der, ringede min hjemmevejleder pludtselig. Jeg havde fået plads på Nestlegården, et bosted for folk med psykiatriske diagnoser, og jeg måtte flytte ind omtrent så snart jeg kunne
De næste to uger husker jeg ikke så godt, for der gik meget tid til at forberede flytningen, og pludtselig var jeg flyttet ind.
Det var meget svært i starten. Når man kommer ind i psykatrien, enten det er et bosted eller et socialpsykiatrisk dagtilbud, så vil man altid møde folk af både større og minre funktionsgrad end en selv, og især sidstnevnte var/er der nogle stykker af. Jeg turde ikke rigtig snakke med nogen af dem, og græd meget. Jeg savnede også Hans, og var ked af at se hvor svært det var for ham. Samtidig prøvede jeg på at se ham så meget jeg kunne mens jeg også skulle balancere pligterne og samværet på bostedet, og jeg var ved at gå ned med stress igen.
Jeg kan især huske en aften jeg sad og græd, jeg kan ikke huske hvad jeg græd om, men jeg var temmelig oprørt og følte mig både lille og utrøstelig. Pludtselig fik jeg et kram af den personale-person jeg sad og snakkede med, og det kom helt bag på mig. Jeg modtog det selvfølgelig med så meget glæde og taknemlighed man nu kan når man sidder og er ked af det, Det kom bag på mig fordi jeg havde troet det var en institution jeg boede på, hvor jeg bare var patient.
Det er det så ikke. Det er et bosted, og personalet er meget dygtige til at behandle os som ligemænd, men alligevel beholde kontrollen.
Nu er der gået et halvt år siden jeg flyttede ind, og jeg skal være her et par år endnu.
I skrivende stund går det meget godt. Jeg har fået en skide god kontaktperson der hedder Maggie, og hun har hjulpet mig med at få min økonomi på plads, samt lave planer og skemaer over hvad jeg skal hvornår. Det er vigtig at jeg får orden på ting så jeg ikke bliver stresset over at der er for meget, eller at det er uoverskueligt.
Når man er "syg" er det vigtigt at kende sine grænser og hvad der udløser en, lærte jeg i psykoedukation, der er et kursus for folk med bestemte diagnoser, så de kan blive klogere på sig selv og hvad der sker.
Og min udløser er altså stress. Jo mere jeg stresser, jo sygere bliver jeg, og hvis mit stressniveau bliver højt nok kan jeg høre musik der spiller i ørene på mig.
Med det mener jeg ikke, at musik fjerner mit stress, jeg mener at ligesåvel som andre hører stemmer, så hører jeg musik.
Egentlig er jeg ret heldig. Andre hører stemmer og dæmoner, men for mig er det mest musik.
Nogle gange hører jeg også et sekund af skarp lyd, som om jeg pludselig er tunet ind på en radiokanal hvor nogen snakker eller laver lyde, men så forsvinder det igen. Jeg ved ikke om jeg hører stemmer eller ikke, og nu kommer vi til "hvad der skal ske"-delen af den her blogpost.
Jeg skal nemlig i gang med noget der hedder et Maastricht-interview, hvor vi kortlægger hvad der sker i hovedet på mig, og om det er stemmer jeg hører eller ikke, og det glæder jeg mig lidt til.
Der skal også ske det at Nestlegården flytter i April. Der er besparelser i kommunen som altid, og vi skal slåes sammen med et andet bosted og sammen have navnet "Kompetence-Kollegiet".
Jeg synes personlig det lyder som en skole for retarderede, men da jeg ikke kan komme op med noget bedre selv, må jeg bare finde mig i at sådan hedder det altså.
Vi flytter længere nordpå i byen, så i tillæg til at værelserne bliver 1/3 mindre, bliver der også længere til byen. Det var der ikke ret mange der var ret glade for, men der er andre fordele med det. For eksempel får vi drivhus og bålplads, og vi skal bo i huse med 4 personer i hvert. Heldigvis har jeg fået nogle venner her på gården, og vi er fire der gerne vil og må bo sammen, så det glæder jeg mig til.
Hvad skal der så ske med mig videre?
Lige nu kommer jeg på Stoppestedet to gange i ugen. Det er et tilbud i socialpsykiatrien, hvor folk med psykiske vansker kan komme og være med på forskellige grupper og værksteder. Jeg går for eksempel i strikkegruppe om tirsdagen, og en billedkunst-gruppe om torsdagen. Selv om der ikke er ret mange på min alder er det meget hyggeligt, og man får god feedback på det man laver.
Jeg skal også begynde at komme dernede om mandagen, da jeg skal meldes til en gruppe der hedder "bryd dit mønster".
Der skal der foregå det som navnet tilsiger, man skal sammen med 5-10 andre arbejde på at bryde sit dårlige mønster og få lidt styr på sit liv.
Efter Nestlegården er flyttet, skal jeg op på kompetence-centret der ligger lige ved, og der skal jeg sy. Jeg syede meget på produktionsskolen og synes egentlig det var ret sjovt, og jeg glæder mig til at lære mere om det, og få brugt mine hænder.
Når jeg har været mødestabil et godt stykke tid, skal min sagsbehandler og jeg sammen finde nogle enkeltfag jeg kan tage på en skole, hvor jeg så forhåbentligvis kun skal møde op et par gange om ugen.
Jeg savner meget at have et job, og jeg er lidt ked af at jeg ikke kan få et fordi man skal have uddannelse til omtrent alt her. Også fordi jeg nok ikke ville kunne magte et job, eller en uddannelse endnu.
Det er svært at skulle affinde sig med alle de ting man er nødt til at give slip på når man er "syg", og endnu sværere at lære hvor sine grenser går henne.
Heldigvis får jeg hjælp til de ting.
Hvad der eller skal ske videre, ved jeg ikke.
I dag har jeg en slappe-af dag, og senere er det min tur til at lave mad. Den står på kylling med ris og brunsovs!
Jeg vil putte fløde i sovsen og tænke på min afdøde onkel, der altid gjorde det.
Det er egentlig underligt at så mange ting kan minde en om en der er død, men heldigvis bliver jeg ikke så trist mere. Fløden ser jeg som en hyllest til ham, og det håber jeg han også gør, fra sin himmelsky.
I næste uge skal jeg hen til min moster og hendes familie, det glæder jeg mig meget til, og senere i år håber jeg, at jeg kan komme op til Nord-Norge en tur.
Jeg besøgte i øvrigt min far i Syd-Norge ved nyttåret, og det var meget hyggeligt.
Eller sker der ikke så meget, i skrivende stund sidder jeg og damper på min e-cigarret, og prøver at finde ud af, hvornår jeg skal gå i gang med maden.
Jeg håber dette kan bruges til noget, og at alle får en god dag.
Jeg tror jeg er god til at give updates, men der er meget information og jeg ved selv jeg ikke husker alt, hvad folk fortæller mig, så jeg tænkte jeg ville skrive en lille update og lade dem der vil vide noget, få noget at vide.
Men så er problemet, hvor skal man starte? Jeg tænkte længe på det, og kom frem til at jeg vil starte med begyndelsen: da jeg flyttede til Danmark.
De første måneder boede jeg hos min faster i københavn, hvor jeg kom på kontanthjælp og skulle i aktivering.
"Vælg en uddannelse, ellers får du ingen penge" var beskeden fra kommunen, så jeg valgte dyrepasser-uddannelsen og flyttede til Roskilde.
Jeg synes selv det gik meget godt, og jeg fik venner og det hele, men det synes min lærer ikke. Jeg socialiserede mig slet ikke godt nok med de andre, sagde hun. Det var som et slag i maven, og jeg begyndte at tvivle mer og mer på mig selv. Efterhånden kom der mer og mer skolearbejde, og jeg kunne ikke følge med. Som med tidligere forsøg på uddannelse begyndte jeg at møde op mindre og mindre, og gik til sidst ned med stresset. Jeg bestemte mig for at prøve en ny uddannelse, og endte med at vælge Social og Sundhedsskolen i Fredericia, delvis for at være tættere på min familie.
Det gik samme vej der, jeg socialiserede mig ikke godt nok, og lavede ikke nok lektier. Klassemiljøet var også ret dårligt, og til sidst holdt jeg ikke til det mere.
Så foreslog de at jeg tog på produktionsskole, og det gjorde jeg så. Jeg valgte sy/design/håndværklinjen, og gik der et stykke tid. I starten gik det godt nok, men de andre var meget yngre end mig, og jeg kom ikke rigtig ind i miljøet.
Mens jeg gik der, fik jeg en kæreste jeg havde mødt gennem nogle fælles venner. Jeg havde det dog ret skidt på det tidspunkt, og endte det med ham efter kun to måneder, fordi jeg på det tidspunkt ikke kunne rumme nogen som helst, knapt nok mig selv.
Hver onsdag startede der nye mennesker på produktionsskolen, og efter nogle uger hvor jeg slet ikke var mødt op på grund af stress og angst, bestemte jeg mig for at give det et nyt forsøg. Sommerferien var lige over, og mange nye var startet.
Det er jeg meget glad for at jeg gjorde, for ikke kun var der nu flere på min alder, det var også der jeg mødte min nuværende kæreste, Hans, eller Mulle, som jeg nok har omtalt ham før.
Vi kom godt overens med det samme, og mit opmøde gik bedre. Pludtselig havde jeg en grund til at gå i skole!
Efterhånden, dog, gik det ikke så godt, og jeg fald ud igen. Back to kontanthjælp. Heldigvis fik jeg en meget sød sagsbehandler her i Fredericia, der forstod at jeg ikke kunne magte flere uddannelser. Jeg fik en hjemmevejleder, og kom også ind i psykiatrien.
Jeg flyttede efterhånden sammen med Hans.
Så spoler vi fremad til Januar 2014. Efter endnu en gang at have prøvet uddannelse (IBC og selvstudier), lagde jeg meget pres på min psykiater, der var ved at udrede mig, om at komme med en diagnose så jeg kunne få noget hjælp. Jeg blev udredet, og fik at vide at jeg har noget der hedder 'Simpel Skizofreni'. Det vil sige at jeg ikke hallucinerer ret meget og sådan noget, men at jeg til gengæld har mistet meget af min personlighed. Det inkluder ambivalens, angst, og mangel på initiativ og evne til at passe på sig selv.
Medicinerne jeg fik/får for det er relativt bivirkningsfri for mig i forhold til dem jeg tidligere havde prøvet, og med hjælp fra min psykiatriplejer og min hjemmevejleder begyndte det at gå lidt bedre.
Det gik dog ikke godt nok, og efter et par kriser lod jeg mig i April endelig overtale til at komme på venteliste for et bosted.
Det var en meget hård afgørelse, det at skulle flytte fra min kæreste, og ingen af os tog det let.
Der gik noget tid hvor jeg var på venteliste, og mens jeg ventede, tog jeg mig en lille sommerferie oppe hos mine forældre i Nord-Norge. Mens jeg var der, ringede min hjemmevejleder pludtselig. Jeg havde fået plads på Nestlegården, et bosted for folk med psykiatriske diagnoser, og jeg måtte flytte ind omtrent så snart jeg kunne
De næste to uger husker jeg ikke så godt, for der gik meget tid til at forberede flytningen, og pludtselig var jeg flyttet ind.
Det var meget svært i starten. Når man kommer ind i psykatrien, enten det er et bosted eller et socialpsykiatrisk dagtilbud, så vil man altid møde folk af både større og minre funktionsgrad end en selv, og især sidstnevnte var/er der nogle stykker af. Jeg turde ikke rigtig snakke med nogen af dem, og græd meget. Jeg savnede også Hans, og var ked af at se hvor svært det var for ham. Samtidig prøvede jeg på at se ham så meget jeg kunne mens jeg også skulle balancere pligterne og samværet på bostedet, og jeg var ved at gå ned med stress igen.
Jeg kan især huske en aften jeg sad og græd, jeg kan ikke huske hvad jeg græd om, men jeg var temmelig oprørt og følte mig både lille og utrøstelig. Pludtselig fik jeg et kram af den personale-person jeg sad og snakkede med, og det kom helt bag på mig. Jeg modtog det selvfølgelig med så meget glæde og taknemlighed man nu kan når man sidder og er ked af det, Det kom bag på mig fordi jeg havde troet det var en institution jeg boede på, hvor jeg bare var patient.
Det er det så ikke. Det er et bosted, og personalet er meget dygtige til at behandle os som ligemænd, men alligevel beholde kontrollen.
Nu er der gået et halvt år siden jeg flyttede ind, og jeg skal være her et par år endnu.
I skrivende stund går det meget godt. Jeg har fået en skide god kontaktperson der hedder Maggie, og hun har hjulpet mig med at få min økonomi på plads, samt lave planer og skemaer over hvad jeg skal hvornår. Det er vigtig at jeg får orden på ting så jeg ikke bliver stresset over at der er for meget, eller at det er uoverskueligt.
Når man er "syg" er det vigtigt at kende sine grænser og hvad der udløser en, lærte jeg i psykoedukation, der er et kursus for folk med bestemte diagnoser, så de kan blive klogere på sig selv og hvad der sker.
Og min udløser er altså stress. Jo mere jeg stresser, jo sygere bliver jeg, og hvis mit stressniveau bliver højt nok kan jeg høre musik der spiller i ørene på mig.
Med det mener jeg ikke, at musik fjerner mit stress, jeg mener at ligesåvel som andre hører stemmer, så hører jeg musik.
Egentlig er jeg ret heldig. Andre hører stemmer og dæmoner, men for mig er det mest musik.
Nogle gange hører jeg også et sekund af skarp lyd, som om jeg pludselig er tunet ind på en radiokanal hvor nogen snakker eller laver lyde, men så forsvinder det igen. Jeg ved ikke om jeg hører stemmer eller ikke, og nu kommer vi til "hvad der skal ske"-delen af den her blogpost.
Jeg skal nemlig i gang med noget der hedder et Maastricht-interview, hvor vi kortlægger hvad der sker i hovedet på mig, og om det er stemmer jeg hører eller ikke, og det glæder jeg mig lidt til.
Der skal også ske det at Nestlegården flytter i April. Der er besparelser i kommunen som altid, og vi skal slåes sammen med et andet bosted og sammen have navnet "Kompetence-Kollegiet".
Jeg synes personlig det lyder som en skole for retarderede, men da jeg ikke kan komme op med noget bedre selv, må jeg bare finde mig i at sådan hedder det altså.
Vi flytter længere nordpå i byen, så i tillæg til at værelserne bliver 1/3 mindre, bliver der også længere til byen. Det var der ikke ret mange der var ret glade for, men der er andre fordele med det. For eksempel får vi drivhus og bålplads, og vi skal bo i huse med 4 personer i hvert. Heldigvis har jeg fået nogle venner her på gården, og vi er fire der gerne vil og må bo sammen, så det glæder jeg mig til.
Hvad skal der så ske med mig videre?
Lige nu kommer jeg på Stoppestedet to gange i ugen. Det er et tilbud i socialpsykiatrien, hvor folk med psykiske vansker kan komme og være med på forskellige grupper og værksteder. Jeg går for eksempel i strikkegruppe om tirsdagen, og en billedkunst-gruppe om torsdagen. Selv om der ikke er ret mange på min alder er det meget hyggeligt, og man får god feedback på det man laver.
Jeg skal også begynde at komme dernede om mandagen, da jeg skal meldes til en gruppe der hedder "bryd dit mønster".
Der skal der foregå det som navnet tilsiger, man skal sammen med 5-10 andre arbejde på at bryde sit dårlige mønster og få lidt styr på sit liv.
Efter Nestlegården er flyttet, skal jeg op på kompetence-centret der ligger lige ved, og der skal jeg sy. Jeg syede meget på produktionsskolen og synes egentlig det var ret sjovt, og jeg glæder mig til at lære mere om det, og få brugt mine hænder.
Når jeg har været mødestabil et godt stykke tid, skal min sagsbehandler og jeg sammen finde nogle enkeltfag jeg kan tage på en skole, hvor jeg så forhåbentligvis kun skal møde op et par gange om ugen.
Jeg savner meget at have et job, og jeg er lidt ked af at jeg ikke kan få et fordi man skal have uddannelse til omtrent alt her. Også fordi jeg nok ikke ville kunne magte et job, eller en uddannelse endnu.
Det er svært at skulle affinde sig med alle de ting man er nødt til at give slip på når man er "syg", og endnu sværere at lære hvor sine grenser går henne.
Heldigvis får jeg hjælp til de ting.
Hvad der eller skal ske videre, ved jeg ikke.
I dag har jeg en slappe-af dag, og senere er det min tur til at lave mad. Den står på kylling med ris og brunsovs!
Jeg vil putte fløde i sovsen og tænke på min afdøde onkel, der altid gjorde det.
Det er egentlig underligt at så mange ting kan minde en om en der er død, men heldigvis bliver jeg ikke så trist mere. Fløden ser jeg som en hyllest til ham, og det håber jeg han også gør, fra sin himmelsky.
I næste uge skal jeg hen til min moster og hendes familie, det glæder jeg mig meget til, og senere i år håber jeg, at jeg kan komme op til Nord-Norge en tur.
Jeg besøgte i øvrigt min far i Syd-Norge ved nyttåret, og det var meget hyggeligt.
Eller sker der ikke så meget, i skrivende stund sidder jeg og damper på min e-cigarret, og prøver at finde ud af, hvornår jeg skal gå i gang med maden.
Jeg håber dette kan bruges til noget, og at alle får en god dag.
Tuesday, 6 January 2015
Are you happy?
Happiness. The thing most of us strive to achieve. I often wonder if the people around me are happy.
Not in the "I'm pretty content" kind of way, but truly happy.
I have friends who've battled depression, and even though I don't always speak to them, I often find myself thinking about them, wondering if they've found happiness now. I also often think about the people I'm not friends with anymore. Ex-lovers, ex-friends, people I've lost contact with, and bridges I've burnt.
Just because you're not in my life doesn't mean you're not in my heart.
Especially at night, I think of the people who used to be in my life but isn't anymore for some reason, and I hope with all my might that they're happy. I even think about the people who've been mean to me over the years, and I hope they feel better. Clearly, they were taking their misery and insecurities out on me, and I hope those problems have gone away for them so they can be happy, and in turn, make others happy.
I will never be able to understand those who don't wish happiness on others. Those who, instead of giving another person a chance to change, chooses to be mean or belittle them. Those who react to situations with wanting revenge on the other person for making them feel bad.
An eye for an eye would make the whole world blind, you know.
Most of all, I think of the people whose lives I made worse by being in it, and I hope they're happier now. I hope they got rid of whatever issues I caused them, and I often think about those people and how I wish I'd treated them better when I had the chance. That I'd understood them instead of being annoyed, that I'd built them up instead of tearing them down, and that I'd helped them instead of abandoning them.
Am I happy? I don't know. As a buddhist, I don't really believe pursuiting happiness too much will lead to anything else than the inability to appreciate what you have. After all, if all you want is more, nothing will ever be enough. I'm content feeling content.
I could be happier, but I could also feel a lot worse, and I have, so... I'm good. I'm doing what I can to take care of myself and be happy, and I'm constantly learning and trying to make others happy as well.
I find there's a fine balance to be found, something I'm still not that good at. On one hand, I want to make people around me happy, but on the other hand, it's sometimes at the expense of my own happiness, and I have yet to learn fully where to draw the line.
And it's okay, by the way, not to be happy. Sometimes happiness does require an effort, and sometimes, you just don't have the energy to go for it, and that's okay too.
I just hope that all the people who either are or have been in my life will find happiness sooner or later.
Nobody says you have to be bubbly, hyper-happy all the time, either, by the way.
When I say happy, I don't mean "I'm so happy I could scream and shout and omg I'm so hyper" either. I mean the kind of happy where you just sit quietly and smile at what you have in life. The kind of happy where being alive doesn't hurt more than it has to.
So, think about it. Are you happy? Truly?
If not, is there anything you can do to be happier?
And this is where some people go wrong. I've seen people throughout my life being so desperate for happiness that they think the best way to obtain it is to constantly look for faults and things that are holding them back, and then getting rid of those things.
Sure, that's one way to go about it, and some things WILL hold you back if you don't get rid of them, but if you spend your whole life looking for faults, in the end, that's all you'll see. And if all you can see in the world is flaws, that's not a very happy state of being, now is it?
I think the key to happiness is the opposite: learning to look for the good in everything that surrounds us, and finding something to be happy with in almost every situation.
If you've read this far and still manage to make sense of what I've written, I thank and congratulate you.
I hope you're happy. If you've read this, you're on my friendslist, and if you're on my list, even if you aren't, for that matter, I care about you, and I truly hope you're happy. Know that.
Not in the "I'm pretty content" kind of way, but truly happy.
I have friends who've battled depression, and even though I don't always speak to them, I often find myself thinking about them, wondering if they've found happiness now. I also often think about the people I'm not friends with anymore. Ex-lovers, ex-friends, people I've lost contact with, and bridges I've burnt.
Just because you're not in my life doesn't mean you're not in my heart.
Especially at night, I think of the people who used to be in my life but isn't anymore for some reason, and I hope with all my might that they're happy. I even think about the people who've been mean to me over the years, and I hope they feel better. Clearly, they were taking their misery and insecurities out on me, and I hope those problems have gone away for them so they can be happy, and in turn, make others happy.
I will never be able to understand those who don't wish happiness on others. Those who, instead of giving another person a chance to change, chooses to be mean or belittle them. Those who react to situations with wanting revenge on the other person for making them feel bad.
An eye for an eye would make the whole world blind, you know.
Most of all, I think of the people whose lives I made worse by being in it, and I hope they're happier now. I hope they got rid of whatever issues I caused them, and I often think about those people and how I wish I'd treated them better when I had the chance. That I'd understood them instead of being annoyed, that I'd built them up instead of tearing them down, and that I'd helped them instead of abandoning them.
Am I happy? I don't know. As a buddhist, I don't really believe pursuiting happiness too much will lead to anything else than the inability to appreciate what you have. After all, if all you want is more, nothing will ever be enough. I'm content feeling content.
I could be happier, but I could also feel a lot worse, and I have, so... I'm good. I'm doing what I can to take care of myself and be happy, and I'm constantly learning and trying to make others happy as well.
I find there's a fine balance to be found, something I'm still not that good at. On one hand, I want to make people around me happy, but on the other hand, it's sometimes at the expense of my own happiness, and I have yet to learn fully where to draw the line.
And it's okay, by the way, not to be happy. Sometimes happiness does require an effort, and sometimes, you just don't have the energy to go for it, and that's okay too.
I just hope that all the people who either are or have been in my life will find happiness sooner or later.
Nobody says you have to be bubbly, hyper-happy all the time, either, by the way.
When I say happy, I don't mean "I'm so happy I could scream and shout and omg I'm so hyper" either. I mean the kind of happy where you just sit quietly and smile at what you have in life. The kind of happy where being alive doesn't hurt more than it has to.
So, think about it. Are you happy? Truly?
If not, is there anything you can do to be happier?
And this is where some people go wrong. I've seen people throughout my life being so desperate for happiness that they think the best way to obtain it is to constantly look for faults and things that are holding them back, and then getting rid of those things.
Sure, that's one way to go about it, and some things WILL hold you back if you don't get rid of them, but if you spend your whole life looking for faults, in the end, that's all you'll see. And if all you can see in the world is flaws, that's not a very happy state of being, now is it?
I think the key to happiness is the opposite: learning to look for the good in everything that surrounds us, and finding something to be happy with in almost every situation.
If you've read this far and still manage to make sense of what I've written, I thank and congratulate you.
I hope you're happy. If you've read this, you're on my friendslist, and if you're on my list, even if you aren't, for that matter, I care about you, and I truly hope you're happy. Know that.
Monday, 18 August 2014
Tanker og spørgsmål omkring tabuer
Et tabu er et emne det er socialt forbudt eller set ned på at tale om, i følge min egen definition. Tabuer har vi mange af i vores samfund. Nogle der giver mening, og nogle der ikke gør. For hvorfor skal ting være tabu?
Et familiemedlem og jeg talte forleden om hvordan det er tabu at tale om sit psykiske helbred i offentlig rum, og hvor nederen det egentlig er. For hvorfor er det ikke ok at fortælle hvordan man har det i hovedet, når folk skriger til højre og venstre om ingroet-tå-operationer, brukne arme og migrener der dundrer?
Og hvorfor er vi så bange for at bryde disse tabuer?
Jeg blev i ret ung alder tvunget til at bryde et stort tabu der hvor jeg voksede op. Mange tog aftsand fra mig for det, men jeg fik også venner over det. Andre, der havde det på samme måde, men som ikke turde lukke munden op, fortalte mig at jeg var modig som turde at bryde det tabu og tage den shitstorm der kom, og jeg tror måske enkelte endda så lidt op til mig på grund af det.
Ikke at jeg selv synes jeg var nogen man burde se op til den gang, men det kan vi tage i et andet indlæg...
Selv om det var meget hårdt og jeg fik meget had, angrer jeg ikke den dag i dag på at jeg tog hul på den emballage, og viste folk hvem jeg egentlig var. For hvorfor skal man skjule sig selv for at nogen andre ikke skal synes man er underlig? Det vil der jo altid være nogen der gør.
Psykisk helbred er et vigtigt emne alt for få mennesker tør at tale om, og færre ved noget om. Uvidenheden, sammen med stilheden, kan nogle gange være nærmest knusende, og den eneste måde folk lærer om det på er hvis det bliver talt om. Når der nu er så mange der går ned med depressioner og hvad værre er, og sidder og får det endnu værre fordi de har lært de ikke må tale om det, hvorfor tør vi så ikke?
Hvem fanden har sagt at vi ikke må?
Hvorfor er det tabu? Hvorfor bliver man set på som pjevset, svag eller sindssyg hvis man rækker hånden op og siger "Hey, jeg har det altså ikke okay"?
Jeg har det altså ikke okay. Det kan jeg være helt ærlig om. Jeg har uro i kroppen, stemmer i hovedet, tankemylder, angst, og jeg falder til tider ned i depressioner.
Men for fanden da, jeg er da et rigtig menneske alligevel, er jeg ikke? Hvorfor er jeg så så bange for at tale om det i offentligt rum? Jo, det ved jeg egentlig. Det er fordi tidligere forsøg er blevet mødt med "Tag dig sammen" eller "sådan noget snakker man ikke om offentligt" eller lignende kommentarer. Undskyld mig, men ber du en med et brækket ben om at tage sig sammen og gå? Siger du til en der ligger og råber om hjælp fordi han blev stukket ned, at han ikke skal råbe så højt mens nogen kan høre det?
Tabuer bliver i mine øjne skabt af frygt og uvidenhed. Frygt for at skulle tale om eller engagere sig i noget man ikke forstår, og uvidenhed omkring emnet. Hvordan kan man bekæmpe uvidenheden?
Hvis du læser dette, smid gerne en kommentar.
Hvilke tabuer påvirker dig?
Et familiemedlem og jeg talte forleden om hvordan det er tabu at tale om sit psykiske helbred i offentlig rum, og hvor nederen det egentlig er. For hvorfor er det ikke ok at fortælle hvordan man har det i hovedet, når folk skriger til højre og venstre om ingroet-tå-operationer, brukne arme og migrener der dundrer?
Og hvorfor er vi så bange for at bryde disse tabuer?
Jeg blev i ret ung alder tvunget til at bryde et stort tabu der hvor jeg voksede op. Mange tog aftsand fra mig for det, men jeg fik også venner over det. Andre, der havde det på samme måde, men som ikke turde lukke munden op, fortalte mig at jeg var modig som turde at bryde det tabu og tage den shitstorm der kom, og jeg tror måske enkelte endda så lidt op til mig på grund af det.
Ikke at jeg selv synes jeg var nogen man burde se op til den gang, men det kan vi tage i et andet indlæg...
Selv om det var meget hårdt og jeg fik meget had, angrer jeg ikke den dag i dag på at jeg tog hul på den emballage, og viste folk hvem jeg egentlig var. For hvorfor skal man skjule sig selv for at nogen andre ikke skal synes man er underlig? Det vil der jo altid være nogen der gør.
Psykisk helbred er et vigtigt emne alt for få mennesker tør at tale om, og færre ved noget om. Uvidenheden, sammen med stilheden, kan nogle gange være nærmest knusende, og den eneste måde folk lærer om det på er hvis det bliver talt om. Når der nu er så mange der går ned med depressioner og hvad værre er, og sidder og får det endnu værre fordi de har lært de ikke må tale om det, hvorfor tør vi så ikke?
Hvem fanden har sagt at vi ikke må?
Hvorfor er det tabu? Hvorfor bliver man set på som pjevset, svag eller sindssyg hvis man rækker hånden op og siger "Hey, jeg har det altså ikke okay"?
Jeg har det altså ikke okay. Det kan jeg være helt ærlig om. Jeg har uro i kroppen, stemmer i hovedet, tankemylder, angst, og jeg falder til tider ned i depressioner.
Men for fanden da, jeg er da et rigtig menneske alligevel, er jeg ikke? Hvorfor er jeg så så bange for at tale om det i offentligt rum? Jo, det ved jeg egentlig. Det er fordi tidligere forsøg er blevet mødt med "Tag dig sammen" eller "sådan noget snakker man ikke om offentligt" eller lignende kommentarer. Undskyld mig, men ber du en med et brækket ben om at tage sig sammen og gå? Siger du til en der ligger og råber om hjælp fordi han blev stukket ned, at han ikke skal råbe så højt mens nogen kan høre det?
Tabuer bliver i mine øjne skabt af frygt og uvidenhed. Frygt for at skulle tale om eller engagere sig i noget man ikke forstår, og uvidenhed omkring emnet. Hvordan kan man bekæmpe uvidenheden?
Hvis du læser dette, smid gerne en kommentar.
Hvilke tabuer påvirker dig?
Monday, 30 June 2014
Det å være snål
Jeg hadde egentlig tenkt meg å skrive om underlige mennesker, men så kom jeg på at jeg er jo egentlig ganske sær selv, så hva rett har jeg? Hele livet har folk synes jeg var underlig. "Hun der Anna, hun er rar" "Så underlig hun er", etc.
Joda, folk sier like ofte om meg at jeg er snill og klok, men jeg har alltid mistenkt, noen ganger med bekreftelser etterpå, at folk også sier og alltid har sagt om meg at jeg er rar.
Hva gjør en person til rar? Ikke bare annerledes, men direkte snål? Hva er den unavngitte følelsen enkelte folk gir en som gjør at man tenker sånt om dem? Og har vi rett til å synes sånne ting om folk når vi ikke vet hvorfor de er som de er?
Jeg var veldig slem da jeg var yngre. Joda, jeg var snill mot de fleste, men jeg skjønte, som de fleste andre, ikke riktig det med psykiske sykdommer. Jeg mente folk bare måtte ta seg sammen og sånt.
Jeg hadde en venn og klassekammerat gjennom mange år, som jeg bestandig synes var litt sær. Jeg lurte på hvorfor han ikke bare tok seg sammen og sluttet å glemme bøkene sine, sluttet å lage rare grimaser, sluttet å bli så sint når folk rørte han, sluttet å holde seg selv sånn uttafor.
Mange år seinere fikk jeg vite at han hadde autisme, og da var han plutselig ikke rar i mine øyne lenger - fordi for en autist var oppførselen hans jo egentlig ganske normal!
Nå angrer jeg veldig på at jeg ikke bare støttet han i stedet for å prøve å fikse ham.
Som liten hadde jeg en venn som var kjemperar, men han hadde ADHD og alle visste det, så det var liksom greit at han var som han var, og ingen sa noe til det annet enn at de lo litt av/med han når han stilte seg opp mot lærerne.
Når er det greit å være rar, egentlig?
Selv har jeg ADHD og 'simpel schizofreni', og disse greiene har også påvirket meg mye, og fått folk som ikke visste det til å synes jeg var snål.
Da jeg startet på skolen, især da det var tid for mellomtrinnet, var det ingen som visste noe om diagnosene mine, jeg visste ikke engang at jeg hadde dem. Førstnevnte diagnose gjorde at jeg skravlet og skravlet og absolutt ikke kunne lese folk, og det gjorde ganske fort at folk så meg som litt sær. Det at jeg ikke hadde hatt mange venner og heller ikke fikk det, gjorde at jeg ble enda særere, for jeg lærte aldri helt det med hvordan man passer inn, samme hvor hardt jeg prøvde. Aldri heller klarte jeg å følge med i timene, jeg hadde så mange tanker oppi hodet mitt at jeg ikke klarte å høre hva lærerne sa fordi mitt eget hode bråkte sånn, og jeg forsvant ofte inn i mitt eget hode når jeg skulle forsvinne ned i bøkene, især i mattetimene.
Lærere ble sinte på meg, medelever tok avstand, og venner forsvant.
Jeg synes ikke man skal bruke diagnoser som en unnskyldning for å være en dust, men jeg synes at det for mange kan være en forklaring på hvorfor de er som de er.
Som meg, for eksempel. Da jeg fikk min siste diagnose i januar i år (den der simple schizofrenien), da var det masse som plutselig ble forklart for meg. For eksempel om hvorfor jeg aldri "bare" kunne ta meg sammen, om hvorfor jeg sjeldent hadde overskudd til å være sosial, om hvorfor jeg ikke "bare" ryddet eller stod opp til tiden, og hvorfor jeg hadde store vansker med det med venner og kjærester og andre sosiale obligasjoner.
Jeg kan ikke la vær å lure på om alle de som synes jeg var rar og irriterende fordi jeg ikke bare tok meg selv i nakken og ble normal, ville synes det samme om meg, hadde de visst om diagnosene mine.
Om lærerne hadde kjeftet like mye, om medelevene hadde snakket om meg på samme måte bak ryggen min, om vennene som forsvant hadde holdt ut med meg litt til.
Heldigvis hadde jeg og har fortsatt venner som har skjønt at jeg egentlig er et helt ok menneske til tross for at jeg er snål, og som har holdt ut med meg samme hvor mye diagnoser, usikkerhet og andre rarhets-faktorer har herjet.
Ikke alt av snålheten min kommer fra diagnoser, selvfølgelig. Det å være snål trenger ikke å være noe negativt, jeg synes at det er helt greit å kunne skille seg ut litt.
Faktisk så synes jeg at de som ser på seg selv som 'de normale' er de som er de største skrotingene.
Tenk deg det, å gå i klær som ser stygge og lite flatterende ut og sole på seg hudkreft bare fordi et blad sier det er på moten! Er ikke det litt snålt, da? Eller å måtte ha med seg parfyme og glattejern på skolen for å være "pen" hele tiden, er ikke det litt rart?
Hvorfor er det bestandig vi som går med sokker i sandalene og liker Magic-kort eller dataspill som får rare blikk?
Joda, folk sier like ofte om meg at jeg er snill og klok, men jeg har alltid mistenkt, noen ganger med bekreftelser etterpå, at folk også sier og alltid har sagt om meg at jeg er rar.
Hva gjør en person til rar? Ikke bare annerledes, men direkte snål? Hva er den unavngitte følelsen enkelte folk gir en som gjør at man tenker sånt om dem? Og har vi rett til å synes sånne ting om folk når vi ikke vet hvorfor de er som de er?
Jeg var veldig slem da jeg var yngre. Joda, jeg var snill mot de fleste, men jeg skjønte, som de fleste andre, ikke riktig det med psykiske sykdommer. Jeg mente folk bare måtte ta seg sammen og sånt.
Jeg hadde en venn og klassekammerat gjennom mange år, som jeg bestandig synes var litt sær. Jeg lurte på hvorfor han ikke bare tok seg sammen og sluttet å glemme bøkene sine, sluttet å lage rare grimaser, sluttet å bli så sint når folk rørte han, sluttet å holde seg selv sånn uttafor.
Mange år seinere fikk jeg vite at han hadde autisme, og da var han plutselig ikke rar i mine øyne lenger - fordi for en autist var oppførselen hans jo egentlig ganske normal!
Nå angrer jeg veldig på at jeg ikke bare støttet han i stedet for å prøve å fikse ham.
Som liten hadde jeg en venn som var kjemperar, men han hadde ADHD og alle visste det, så det var liksom greit at han var som han var, og ingen sa noe til det annet enn at de lo litt av/med han når han stilte seg opp mot lærerne.
Når er det greit å være rar, egentlig?
Selv har jeg ADHD og 'simpel schizofreni', og disse greiene har også påvirket meg mye, og fått folk som ikke visste det til å synes jeg var snål.
Da jeg startet på skolen, især da det var tid for mellomtrinnet, var det ingen som visste noe om diagnosene mine, jeg visste ikke engang at jeg hadde dem. Førstnevnte diagnose gjorde at jeg skravlet og skravlet og absolutt ikke kunne lese folk, og det gjorde ganske fort at folk så meg som litt sær. Det at jeg ikke hadde hatt mange venner og heller ikke fikk det, gjorde at jeg ble enda særere, for jeg lærte aldri helt det med hvordan man passer inn, samme hvor hardt jeg prøvde. Aldri heller klarte jeg å følge med i timene, jeg hadde så mange tanker oppi hodet mitt at jeg ikke klarte å høre hva lærerne sa fordi mitt eget hode bråkte sånn, og jeg forsvant ofte inn i mitt eget hode når jeg skulle forsvinne ned i bøkene, især i mattetimene.
Lærere ble sinte på meg, medelever tok avstand, og venner forsvant.
Jeg synes ikke man skal bruke diagnoser som en unnskyldning for å være en dust, men jeg synes at det for mange kan være en forklaring på hvorfor de er som de er.
Som meg, for eksempel. Da jeg fikk min siste diagnose i januar i år (den der simple schizofrenien), da var det masse som plutselig ble forklart for meg. For eksempel om hvorfor jeg aldri "bare" kunne ta meg sammen, om hvorfor jeg sjeldent hadde overskudd til å være sosial, om hvorfor jeg ikke "bare" ryddet eller stod opp til tiden, og hvorfor jeg hadde store vansker med det med venner og kjærester og andre sosiale obligasjoner.
Jeg kan ikke la vær å lure på om alle de som synes jeg var rar og irriterende fordi jeg ikke bare tok meg selv i nakken og ble normal, ville synes det samme om meg, hadde de visst om diagnosene mine.
Om lærerne hadde kjeftet like mye, om medelevene hadde snakket om meg på samme måte bak ryggen min, om vennene som forsvant hadde holdt ut med meg litt til.
Heldigvis hadde jeg og har fortsatt venner som har skjønt at jeg egentlig er et helt ok menneske til tross for at jeg er snål, og som har holdt ut med meg samme hvor mye diagnoser, usikkerhet og andre rarhets-faktorer har herjet.
Ikke alt av snålheten min kommer fra diagnoser, selvfølgelig. Det å være snål trenger ikke å være noe negativt, jeg synes at det er helt greit å kunne skille seg ut litt.
Faktisk så synes jeg at de som ser på seg selv som 'de normale' er de som er de største skrotingene.
Tenk deg det, å gå i klær som ser stygge og lite flatterende ut og sole på seg hudkreft bare fordi et blad sier det er på moten! Er ikke det litt snålt, da? Eller å måtte ha med seg parfyme og glattejern på skolen for å være "pen" hele tiden, er ikke det litt rart?
Hvorfor er det bestandig vi som går med sokker i sandalene og liker Magic-kort eller dataspill som får rare blikk?
Saturday, 16 March 2013
So many thoughts, so little energy to write them down
I have a ton of ideas for blogposts.
Happy, sad, pensive... All of them. But whenever I have the chance to post them, I can't get it out. I can lay awake for hours and plan the perfect blogpost, but come morning... Nothing.
I had so many things to say, I have so many things I need to get off of my chest and out in the open, but I just... Can't. And I hate it.
Happy, sad, pensive... All of them. But whenever I have the chance to post them, I can't get it out. I can lay awake for hours and plan the perfect blogpost, but come morning... Nothing.
I had so many things to say, I have so many things I need to get off of my chest and out in the open, but I just... Can't. And I hate it.
Friday, 2 November 2012
My life seen on the bright side
My life, at the moment, is looking up.
For once, winter seems to be far less anxiety-ridden than the summer, and I'm in a happy, stable relationship.
I've managed to go to the same school for more that 5 months without getting kicked out, and I've lived in the same apartment for 10 months now. I've even hung up posters here, which those of you who know me in person know is a big deal for me.
I like it here. For the first time in a long while, I live in a town where I could imagine settling down. And I don't feel panicky about it. Usually by this time, I'd have my stuff packed, ready to flee from my anxieties and start over in yet another town. But I don't want to leave this place, I've got people here and places I like to be. Places where I just stop in my tracks and fall into a blissful trance for a while.
I like to ride my bike over to the park and just sit at the bench where I can stare at the lake, listen to the crickets, and see a good portion of the night sky. Stars have always calmed me down. I excelled at reading at a young age because I kept reading astronomy-books. when I see them, I feel connected to the outside universe, and life doesn't feel as lonely and isolated anymore. I just feel peace, like there's millions of other entities feeling the same as me, wanting to share the moment with someone, anyone.
I have real people to share moments with now, and for the first time in what seems like 4-5 years now, I have the energy and social network to interact more with people form outside my own head than inside. I finally feel like I'm becoming able to connect with "outside people" again, and people keep telling me I look healthier. Although, that may also be because I've become better at makeup.
I like my own face. I like seeing it in the mirror, and I finally feel like I'm coming to terms with how I look. Wouldn't mind losing a few kilos though. Hello, who wouldn't?
'Ey, just noticed I've kicked another obsessive-compulsive thought; I used to have to say the word 'hello' out loud if I typed it. Dunno why, just did.
I'm not insane anymore! Kidding, I've never been mentally insane. But I feel more confident now that I won't end up a "crazy cat-lady" than I used to, hahaha.
My life all-in-all feels good. I still have some way to go, but I'm more confident now that I'll get there. And I've got good people by my side.
I know most of my posts seem melancholic and pessimistic, especially if you follow the other blog, the one about lists, but I can now assure you, my mental state is... Happier.
Not that I've ever been severely unhappy many times, but I have felt what can best be described as a crippling hopelessness mixed with the fear of being left and forgotten by everyone I love.
I don't have that anymore, thanks to medicines, therapy, and a stronger social network.
... The fact that I am in a relationship which has lasted for more than a month without one of us fretting has also helped a lot, I won't lie to you. It feels good, and I'm happy. I want it to last, I want this person to be in my life one way or another for as long as humanely possible, and it has been forever since I last managed to connect that way with someone. It feels so... Freeing, good, harmonic. I'm not glorifying the whole thing, and that's another thing I wanted to mention since this post is about what I feel good about in my life at the moment. See, I am for once not blinded by those pink-heart-shaped sunglasses people usually put on when in love. I won't lie I am absolutely smitten and utterly in love at the moment, but I'm mature enough now to still stay rational, and to not lie to myself about how things are and stuff.
I'm happy, people. My mind is lighter, the people in there are hibernating, and my days are never the same. I like my life, especially when I see it on the bright side.
What do you guys like about your life? Tell me!
For once, winter seems to be far less anxiety-ridden than the summer, and I'm in a happy, stable relationship.
I've managed to go to the same school for more that 5 months without getting kicked out, and I've lived in the same apartment for 10 months now. I've even hung up posters here, which those of you who know me in person know is a big deal for me.
I like it here. For the first time in a long while, I live in a town where I could imagine settling down. And I don't feel panicky about it. Usually by this time, I'd have my stuff packed, ready to flee from my anxieties and start over in yet another town. But I don't want to leave this place, I've got people here and places I like to be. Places where I just stop in my tracks and fall into a blissful trance for a while.
I like to ride my bike over to the park and just sit at the bench where I can stare at the lake, listen to the crickets, and see a good portion of the night sky. Stars have always calmed me down. I excelled at reading at a young age because I kept reading astronomy-books. when I see them, I feel connected to the outside universe, and life doesn't feel as lonely and isolated anymore. I just feel peace, like there's millions of other entities feeling the same as me, wanting to share the moment with someone, anyone.
I have real people to share moments with now, and for the first time in what seems like 4-5 years now, I have the energy and social network to interact more with people form outside my own head than inside. I finally feel like I'm becoming able to connect with "outside people" again, and people keep telling me I look healthier. Although, that may also be because I've become better at makeup.
I like my own face. I like seeing it in the mirror, and I finally feel like I'm coming to terms with how I look. Wouldn't mind losing a few kilos though. Hello, who wouldn't?
'Ey, just noticed I've kicked another obsessive-compulsive thought; I used to have to say the word 'hello' out loud if I typed it. Dunno why, just did.
I'm not insane anymore! Kidding, I've never been mentally insane. But I feel more confident now that I won't end up a "crazy cat-lady" than I used to, hahaha.
My life all-in-all feels good. I still have some way to go, but I'm more confident now that I'll get there. And I've got good people by my side.
I know most of my posts seem melancholic and pessimistic, especially if you follow the other blog, the one about lists, but I can now assure you, my mental state is... Happier.
Not that I've ever been severely unhappy many times, but I have felt what can best be described as a crippling hopelessness mixed with the fear of being left and forgotten by everyone I love.
I don't have that anymore, thanks to medicines, therapy, and a stronger social network.
... The fact that I am in a relationship which has lasted for more than a month without one of us fretting has also helped a lot, I won't lie to you. It feels good, and I'm happy. I want it to last, I want this person to be in my life one way or another for as long as humanely possible, and it has been forever since I last managed to connect that way with someone. It feels so... Freeing, good, harmonic. I'm not glorifying the whole thing, and that's another thing I wanted to mention since this post is about what I feel good about in my life at the moment. See, I am for once not blinded by those pink-heart-shaped sunglasses people usually put on when in love. I won't lie I am absolutely smitten and utterly in love at the moment, but I'm mature enough now to still stay rational, and to not lie to myself about how things are and stuff.
I'm happy, people. My mind is lighter, the people in there are hibernating, and my days are never the same. I like my life, especially when I see it on the bright side.
What do you guys like about your life? Tell me!
Wednesday, 10 October 2012
I'm homesick.
(there's pictures on the bottom)
People say I talk about Norway a lot. I suppose I do. Especially now, in the fall, I miss the country I've spent a good 16-ish years in. I'm sorry if I bitch about my country alot. People remind me every day how I'm different, how I'm "not really Danish", I can't get over it if I'm reminded all the time.
Leaves are turning red and yellow, the mornings are cold and dark, I can see more and more stars at night.
When I gaze up at the sky, I find myself missing being at home, up on the mountain where no streetlights can obscure my view of the stars. I miss the northern lights dancing with me up there, I miss the way the road sparkles after the night frost, I miss the snow and the cozy fireplaces and my cats and my mother's homeknit socks and all those little things you take for granted while you have them.
I'm not moving back there, Norway is not the country for me, but I can't help but get the blues during fall when I'm serisouly reminded how different and yet similar the two countries are. I find myself, during autumn/fall, often feeling lonely. Nobody else here is from Norway, nobody understands what it's like up there, how strange it is to talk to your mother on the phone, hearing her tell you about how the night frost has set in, while you've still got 19+ out.
I miss the fjords, the mountains, the smell of the moss in august when it reddens, the sound of reindeer and sheep walking around, the cool seabreeze, the sleepless light summer nights where you just run around with your friends up on the mountains until a new day starts. I miss all the good things.
I can't help but feel homesick, I grew up there. I formed my norms and standards there, I've been culturally imprinted and influenced by that place whether I like it or not.
I've been trying all my life to escape Norway, feeling out of place there. I do feel more at home here in Denmark, but I can't help sometimes wish it didn't cost so much and take so long to get home and see the people and places I'm used to seeing every day.
I would never live or settle down there, but for vacations, I wish I could spend more of them in Norway.
I'm sick right now, and I miss my mom. I miss her making me tea, I miss lying on the couch with one or more cats while my mother knits in her corner, and I miss the food she makes.
So, if you see me going quiet or stopping in my tracks and just gazing upwards at the sky, or staring sadly at my feet as we're walking, just remember...
I'm homesick. Give me some slack and a hug, or go away.
People say I talk about Norway a lot. I suppose I do. Especially now, in the fall, I miss the country I've spent a good 16-ish years in. I'm sorry if I bitch about my country alot. People remind me every day how I'm different, how I'm "not really Danish", I can't get over it if I'm reminded all the time.
Leaves are turning red and yellow, the mornings are cold and dark, I can see more and more stars at night.
When I gaze up at the sky, I find myself missing being at home, up on the mountain where no streetlights can obscure my view of the stars. I miss the northern lights dancing with me up there, I miss the way the road sparkles after the night frost, I miss the snow and the cozy fireplaces and my cats and my mother's homeknit socks and all those little things you take for granted while you have them.
I'm not moving back there, Norway is not the country for me, but I can't help but get the blues during fall when I'm serisouly reminded how different and yet similar the two countries are. I find myself, during autumn/fall, often feeling lonely. Nobody else here is from Norway, nobody understands what it's like up there, how strange it is to talk to your mother on the phone, hearing her tell you about how the night frost has set in, while you've still got 19+ out.
I miss the fjords, the mountains, the smell of the moss in august when it reddens, the sound of reindeer and sheep walking around, the cool seabreeze, the sleepless light summer nights where you just run around with your friends up on the mountains until a new day starts. I miss all the good things.
I can't help but feel homesick, I grew up there. I formed my norms and standards there, I've been culturally imprinted and influenced by that place whether I like it or not.
I've been trying all my life to escape Norway, feeling out of place there. I do feel more at home here in Denmark, but I can't help sometimes wish it didn't cost so much and take so long to get home and see the people and places I'm used to seeing every day.
I would never live or settle down there, but for vacations, I wish I could spend more of them in Norway.
I'm sick right now, and I miss my mom. I miss her making me tea, I miss lying on the couch with one or more cats while my mother knits in her corner, and I miss the food she makes.
So, if you see me going quiet or stopping in my tracks and just gazing upwards at the sky, or staring sadly at my feet as we're walking, just remember...
I'm homesick. Give me some slack and a hug, or go away.
Also, here are some pictures I took a couple of years ago in Norway around this time:
The watermarks you can see are from my profile at Deviantart, http://antidaephobia.deviantart.com/
go check it out and comment or something!
go check it out and comment or something!
Sunday, 23 September 2012
Ulvehunger
'Ulvehunger' er en betegnelse for en næsten bundløs sult man føler, selv efter man har spist sig mæt. Du kan mærke at din mave er fuld, men der er stadig den følelse i halsen der siger "så giv mig dog noget mad, for fanden". På grund af en sygdom jeg har, får jeg ulvehunger i perioder. Mediciner jeg får for et andet problem har dog udslettet den ulvehunger, og også den mentale ulvehunger jeg plejede at få.
Og det er mental ulvehunger jeg vil tale lidt om.
Min mentale ulvehunger gik ud på at det føltes som om der var et sort hul inde i mig, hvor andre havde grundlaget for sine følelser.
Den bedste måde at beskrive det på er at få dig til at forestille dig at du svømmer i en bundløs swimmingpool med højt op til kanten. Du har flydevest på, så du drukner aldri, men den platform andre har der, som de kan stå på for at nå op til den meget lange stige, mangler.
Mens andre ikke rigtig følte noget når de ikke var i et bestemt humør, altså trist eller glad, eller et af de mange andre humør, så følte jeg at jeg følte alt for lidt. Selv i situationer der vækkede stærkere følelser, følte jeg at den platform der lagde bunnen, grundlaget, begyndelsen, var erstattet af et hul. Jeg baskede rundt og prøvede så godt jeg kunne at nå den satans stige, og nogen gange fik jeg lige fat i det nederste trin, for så at falde ned hvis jeg prøvede at hejse mig op.
Mine 'mediciner' har givet mig en platform nu, et grundlag at stå på, og det har fjernet hajerne der cirklede rundt længere nede i vandet.
Fordi jeg er blevet så vandt til at kave rundt uden noget at gribe fat i, er det meget uvandt for mig at kunne stå på benene igen, og jeg skal lige lære at finde balansen, og at klatre igen.
Det er en underlig følelse, det at ikke længere føle at jeg føler for meget af ingenting, og jeg er overrasket over hvor meget nemmere jeg kan nå stigen nu hvor jeg står op.
I rigtig lang tid var jeg imod alt der hed antidepressiva. Jeg troede at det kun var en midlertidig løsning til et permanent problem, og kognitiv adfærdsendring er også en væsentlig del af det at blive 'frisk', men jeg ved nu at nogen gange skal man bare have en tilførsel af de kemikalier ens egen hjerne mangler lidt af, før man kan begynde at skabe de ændringer.
Jeg føler det som om, jeg er nødt til at lære mig selv at kende om igen. I så lang tid troede jeg, at noget var galt med mig, fordi mit hoved ikke fungerede på samme måde som andres, og nu hvor det er kemisk mere normalt end før, kan jeg se at dele af den person jeg troede jeg var, ikke var der alligevel.
Hvem fanden er jeg, hvor søren kommer jeg fra, og hvor fuck skal jeg hen?
Det ved jeg ikke, og det har min hjerne holdt mig fra at finde ud af. Nu hvor jeg endelig har chancen, vil jeg gøre mit bedste for at finde ud af netop det.
Nogen ting kan man bare ikke klare selv, og jo hurtigere man indrømmer at man ikke er supermand, jo hurtigere kan man komme videre. Hvis det at tage en pille eller to hver dag er det der skal til, for at jeg ikke er fængslet i min egen mentale svømmepøl, opslugt af en umættelig sult efter at føle noget, hvad som helst, så er det mere end okay med mig.
Ulven sover, hajerne tog afsted, og Anna klatrer.
Det ved jeg ikke, og det har min hjerne holdt mig fra at finde ud af. Nu hvor jeg endelig har chancen, vil jeg gøre mit bedste for at finde ud af netop det.
Nogen ting kan man bare ikke klare selv, og jo hurtigere man indrømmer at man ikke er supermand, jo hurtigere kan man komme videre. Hvis det at tage en pille eller to hver dag er det der skal til, for at jeg ikke er fængslet i min egen mentale svømmepøl, opslugt af en umættelig sult efter at føle noget, hvad som helst, så er det mere end okay med mig.
Ulven sover, hajerne tog afsted, og Anna klatrer.
Thursday, 23 August 2012
What scares me the most
When people find out I have anxiety, the first question they ask is usually "but what are you so afraid of?".
Anxiety is not about fear, it's about a growing anxiousness. Nonetheless, I have taken the liberty of writing down what I am afraid of.
I love making lists, so I'mma do it as a list. Above all else, there are three things that frighten me. I'd like to start the list with one, end it with the other, and put the third one in a random spot. Just for fun.
Here we go, things I'm afraid of:
- Suicide. One of the things that scare me the most, in fact, it scares me shitless and numb, is the fear that my friends will kill themselves. I have very few suicidal friends, but I have many with depression and/or who has/have had a tendency to hurt themselves. I live every day in fear that one day, one of them will kill themselves out of loneliness, and that if I had worked harder to make sure he/she knew how much he/she meant to me, they wouldn't have done it. I know it sounds silly, but it scares me to the point where I have to struggle not to cry when I see scars on their arms or depressed Facebook-statuses. I know that if one person can make a suicidal person know they care, they might not do it, and if someone dies on my watch... It's obviously my fault for being bad at showing people I care.
- Lightning. I am afraid of being truck by lightning to the point where I have nightmares about it. And that says a lot, considering I almost never have what I would call nightmares.
- Muppets. I shit you not, I am afraid of muppets and handpuppets and ventriloquist-dolls and other kinds of dolls with flappy mouths. I hate them, they freak me the fuck out. Those badly timed mouths, the staring, lifeless eyes *shutters*. The only muppet/puppet I was never truely afraid of was the cookie monster. Unlike the other muppets, he always had clear intentions: he wants cookies. Do not tell me how freaking funny the muppet show is, Kermit and Piggy are the worst. Even as a kid I was convinced those two, or at least the latter, were of evil intents.
- The death of a loved one. I know it kind of goes with number one here, but I am seriously very afraid that somehow, someone I love will die without knowing how much I care. And just thinking about maybe someday having to live my life without my siblings, parents, grandparents or bff's is enough to make me cry. I knooow, I'm such a girl :(
- I am afraid that the Buddhists were wrong, and that this life IS the only life we get. I can't stand the crippling pressure that would put on me to make every second count as much as possible, and it does NOT help this next point:
- I am afraid to end this life without having anything positive or worthwhile to show for it. To exit my life and be remembered as 'she who never really made anything of herself"...
- Heights. Don't make me go up in a tall building and expect me to look out the window! I cannot do it!
- Much like the fear of losing a loved one to death, I'm afraid of losing a loved one to stupidity. More correctly, MY stupidity. Most people who know me, knows that while I mean well, I have a tendency to offend people without realizing it. Now, certain people in my life (we're talking just a handful, but still) have a Queen of Hearts sort of view on life. Y'know, "someone has wronged me! Off with their HEEEAAAADS!!!" I am terrified of doing or saying something that puts these queen of hearts over the edge and makes them shut me out of their lives for good like I've seen them to do others who didn't stroke their egoes the right way. I love them, the entire handfull, but it's these people I talk to the least, due to my fear of saying something that will trigger something and anger them.
- Confrontation. I am the shaky leaver of half-angry notes, and I would rather flee the continent than stand up for myself if if can be avoided. In fact, speaking up in class if I'm not voicing a popular opinion causes my body to react in the same way as it would if I was hypoglycemic. (grey, vlammy skin, shivering, freezing, extreme thirst, dizziness, light-headedness), but I am being treated for this.
- Ghosts. Or more correctly, angering them.
I do believe in spirits, and I DO believe it is possible to contact them. However, as a buddhist, I also believe that spirits are best left alone. If you contact spirits via ouiji-boards or other means, and you are not a medium with several years of experience, there is a grave risk that you might not actually get the spirit you meant to invite. And once they're here, many spirits will not let you revoke that invitation, to put it that way. I do NOT want to anger the dead, and as I have nothing to offer them in means of help, I choose to leave them alone.
- And last, but not least... Well, this fear actually consists of two parts. Part one: I am afraid that the people who say that we only have one soul-mate are right, and that I've already squandered this chance being too young or dumb or blind to realize what I had...
Which leads us to part two: I am afraid of having to live the rest of my life without anyone to share it with.
I'm not talking, like, a life-partner or whatever, but without any close friends who actually live the same place as me. Well, I'm not gonna lie, I am a little afraid that I'll never find "true love". In fact, I'm so afraid of it that I've been clinging onto a wrongful conviction of mine (guess which one lololol winnerdoesn't get a cookie) for years because the alternative would mean even less of a chance for me to ever find someone to love and be loved by, and the thought that I might have to spend the rest of my life alone sometimes literally cripples me.
I'm not desperate to be in a relationship (in fact, 'standard' relationships kind of annoy me), and I'm not in a hurry to find a fling or a lover or whatever, but if I haven't at least gotten halfway there by the time I'm 30... I'm just going to give up, buy a big house, and fill it with cats and ferrets and other fluffy creatures. Maybe adopt some starving african kids or orphaned asians. Steal babies from the local hospital, kidnap a homeless person... The possibilities are endless!
Joke aside, I am seriously afraid that I will never meet someone who loves me for ME, not who they think I am or need me to be. Someone who sees past the crazy and the facade I usually put up, and knows how to handle me. Or at least accepts that that's just the way I am, and knows that despite what it might look like, I really am trying. (I'm not always that good at being affectionate =/ )
(- Oh, and I'm also afraid of contracting a fatal disease without knowing it, and not realizing until it's progressed too far for anyone to be able to do anything about it.)
This post didn't turn out as great or profound as I had hoped, but then again... I never said I was great or profound, did I?
Go suck a duck. Or, y'know, tell me what YOU'RE afraid of.
Anxiety is not about fear, it's about a growing anxiousness. Nonetheless, I have taken the liberty of writing down what I am afraid of.
I love making lists, so I'mma do it as a list. Above all else, there are three things that frighten me. I'd like to start the list with one, end it with the other, and put the third one in a random spot. Just for fun.
Here we go, things I'm afraid of:
- Suicide. One of the things that scare me the most, in fact, it scares me shitless and numb, is the fear that my friends will kill themselves. I have very few suicidal friends, but I have many with depression and/or who has/have had a tendency to hurt themselves. I live every day in fear that one day, one of them will kill themselves out of loneliness, and that if I had worked harder to make sure he/she knew how much he/she meant to me, they wouldn't have done it. I know it sounds silly, but it scares me to the point where I have to struggle not to cry when I see scars on their arms or depressed Facebook-statuses. I know that if one person can make a suicidal person know they care, they might not do it, and if someone dies on my watch... It's obviously my fault for being bad at showing people I care.
- Lightning. I am afraid of being truck by lightning to the point where I have nightmares about it. And that says a lot, considering I almost never have what I would call nightmares.
- Muppets. I shit you not, I am afraid of muppets and handpuppets and ventriloquist-dolls and other kinds of dolls with flappy mouths. I hate them, they freak me the fuck out. Those badly timed mouths, the staring, lifeless eyes *shutters*. The only muppet/puppet I was never truely afraid of was the cookie monster. Unlike the other muppets, he always had clear intentions: he wants cookies. Do not tell me how freaking funny the muppet show is, Kermit and Piggy are the worst. Even as a kid I was convinced those two, or at least the latter, were of evil intents.
- The death of a loved one. I know it kind of goes with number one here, but I am seriously very afraid that somehow, someone I love will die without knowing how much I care. And just thinking about maybe someday having to live my life without my siblings, parents, grandparents or bff's is enough to make me cry. I knooow, I'm such a girl :(
- I am afraid that the Buddhists were wrong, and that this life IS the only life we get. I can't stand the crippling pressure that would put on me to make every second count as much as possible, and it does NOT help this next point:
- I am afraid to end this life without having anything positive or worthwhile to show for it. To exit my life and be remembered as 'she who never really made anything of herself"...
- Heights. Don't make me go up in a tall building and expect me to look out the window! I cannot do it!
- Much like the fear of losing a loved one to death, I'm afraid of losing a loved one to stupidity. More correctly, MY stupidity. Most people who know me, knows that while I mean well, I have a tendency to offend people without realizing it. Now, certain people in my life (we're talking just a handful, but still) have a Queen of Hearts sort of view on life. Y'know, "someone has wronged me! Off with their HEEEAAAADS!!!" I am terrified of doing or saying something that puts these queen of hearts over the edge and makes them shut me out of their lives for good like I've seen them to do others who didn't stroke their egoes the right way. I love them, the entire handfull, but it's these people I talk to the least, due to my fear of saying something that will trigger something and anger them.
- Confrontation. I am the shaky leaver of half-angry notes, and I would rather flee the continent than stand up for myself if if can be avoided. In fact, speaking up in class if I'm not voicing a popular opinion causes my body to react in the same way as it would if I was hypoglycemic. (grey, vlammy skin, shivering, freezing, extreme thirst, dizziness, light-headedness), but I am being treated for this.
- Ghosts. Or more correctly, angering them.
I do believe in spirits, and I DO believe it is possible to contact them. However, as a buddhist, I also believe that spirits are best left alone. If you contact spirits via ouiji-boards or other means, and you are not a medium with several years of experience, there is a grave risk that you might not actually get the spirit you meant to invite. And once they're here, many spirits will not let you revoke that invitation, to put it that way. I do NOT want to anger the dead, and as I have nothing to offer them in means of help, I choose to leave them alone.
- And last, but not least... Well, this fear actually consists of two parts. Part one: I am afraid that the people who say that we only have one soul-mate are right, and that I've already squandered this chance being too young or dumb or blind to realize what I had...
Which leads us to part two: I am afraid of having to live the rest of my life without anyone to share it with.
I'm not talking, like, a life-partner or whatever, but without any close friends who actually live the same place as me. Well, I'm not gonna lie, I am a little afraid that I'll never find "true love". In fact, I'm so afraid of it that I've been clinging onto a wrongful conviction of mine (guess which one lololol winner
I'm not desperate to be in a relationship (in fact, 'standard' relationships kind of annoy me), and I'm not in a hurry to find a fling or a lover or whatever, but if I haven't at least gotten halfway there by the time I'm 30... I'm just going to give up, buy a big house, and fill it with cats and ferrets and other fluffy creatures. Maybe adopt some starving african kids or orphaned asians. Steal babies from the local hospital, kidnap a homeless person... The possibilities are endless!
Joke aside, I am seriously afraid that I will never meet someone who loves me for ME, not who they think I am or need me to be. Someone who sees past the crazy and the facade I usually put up, and knows how to handle me. Or at least accepts that that's just the way I am, and knows that despite what it might look like, I really am trying. (I'm not always that good at being affectionate =/ )
(- Oh, and I'm also afraid of contracting a fatal disease without knowing it, and not realizing until it's progressed too far for anyone to be able to do anything about it.)
This post didn't turn out as great or profound as I had hoped, but then again... I never said I was great or profound, did I?
Go suck a duck. Or, y'know, tell me what YOU'RE afraid of.
Monday, 2 July 2012
Parenting. (and how mine were good at it)
I've been thinking alot about parenting lately. See, I'm usually one of those annoying people who refuse to see anything in black or white, but I can't help but pull an either/or on the subject of parenting. Master Yoda (or someone) once said "Do or do not, there is no try". You're either being a good parent or you aren't.
And the thing is, as I've gotten older and gotten to observe parenting on multiple levels, (I've babysat, worked in a daycare, I'm good at observing people in public settings, I've had friends with parents and friends who've become parents - I've seen it all.) I can't help but notice how incredibly lucky I was to end up with two capable, loving parents who on an overall scale did incredibly good.
The more things I learn about good parenting, the more I've gotten to think about what parenting styles I agree or disagree with, my parents seemed to know what they were doing.
It seems like everyone around me has bad parents. The girls feel their mother is too emotionally distant, and their dads don't understand them, and the guys feel like their mothers are babying them, and their dads are emotionally distant. Maybe this observation has some relation to the town I grew up in, though.
See, I was surrounded by people whose parents had them when they were too young and still thought it was cool to spoil and doll up their kids, and then got divorced and bored with the babies. Some got smacked, some had mothers who had many boyfriends, many got caught in divorce-arguements... It's a jungle out there.
My parents got divorced when I was 9, and I am very glad they did it when I was that young. Sure, it made me sad, but my parents got divorced because they had really, really tried, and decided to call it quits while they could still like each other enough to be friends instead of doing what most of the other parents seemed to do; either tough it out and fake it to the kids until one of you snaps and leaves, or have loud, violent arguements for years, scaring the crap out of your children.
Mine stayed friends. They co-operated, they supported each other and pretty much still put up a united front until I was in my teens.
Sure, I had some hormonal years where I went through the afforementioned mandatory stage for teenage girls, "I'm scared that my mother doesn't love me, and my dad tries but doesn't get me", but I snapped out of it, and I have a very good relationship with my parents now. I know that my mother loves me, and I love her so much for never giving up on me like I've seen happening to too many of my friends. And my dad... Well, he tries, but still doesn't get me. But that's okay, that's what dads do, and I know that he loves me and doesn't think I'm a complete retard.
I used to get beat up a lot at school when I was a kid. I was skinny and pale by nature, and I was an outsider with a very rhymey name, it was bound to happen.
I don't remember hating any of my bullies. I felt hurt that they took their frustrations out on the weak kid, but I knew their parents... I mean, it was a very, VERY small town, and everyone was related in one too many ways. I saw how the bullies parents were and acted, and I remember often feeling sorry for them. You know, a sort of "they have so much bad inside because their parents aren't as patient/loving as mine" kind of way. (and they said I learned nothing at bible camp?)
I had friends who were bullied when I was younger. Some of the parents didn't support them. They blamed their own kids, or didn't take it seriously. Mine believed me, they supported me in every way they knew how, and I feel incredibly lucky I wound up with them when I look back on that.
People say a lot of things about my parents, and about how they let me become the person my reputation makes people think I am. It makes me sad that even as a teenager, most of my friend's parents disliked me because of something they'd heard from other parents. How can adult people be that mistrusting?
People say good things about me too, but let's start with the bad. Growing up in a small society, word travelled fast. Anywhere within hours of driving, someone has heard your name and knows something about you. And these people are not the best storytellers either, to put it that way.
They make me out to be this evil, unhygienic, sad person who turns people's daughters gay warps their minds with my left-wing propaganda, and I also think people think I'm kind of a slot even though I'm very picky.
The bad things are rumours vindictive ex-friends or exes have made up, as well as stories people have twisted and blown way out of proportion, by the way.
I can't help but feel bad for my parents whose work is so discredited. Sure, I've been emotional sometimes and done some dumb shit, but not more than others have done.
I've been cautious about sex, never tried hard drugs, I didn't start smoking at 12 like some of the others, I didn't start drinking at, well, 12 like many of the others, I've never done burglary or shoplifted or beat up a weak kid, or avoided being helpful to random people who happen to cross my path.
Oh, and rumour has it I'm a great daycare-nanny.
That's gotta be worth something, right?
When I got through the emotional, bakwards, overly hormonally drugged rollercoaster-ride that is the teenage years, I managed to peek out on the other side as a somewhat stable, friendly, intelligent person who chooses to believe the good in people. Sure, there are some anxiety now and then, but that comes from years of feeling like I've been damned in the closed society I was confined to for years, not my parents.
WHIIIIIICH leads me to my point. Finally.
Being a good parent is a choice. There are good parents, people who love their kids and really try, and there are bad parents, who feels annoyed or ashamed or scared by the kid and choose to not care much about what kind of a person's mind they were molding, or how they did it. It never ceases to amaze me what kind of dumb behavioural and look-wise example people choose to set for their kids.
Slutty moms, angry soccer dads, Drug-addicts, teenage moms who decided to not have the abortion because "I already had one and besides, babies are cute" only to get tired of them and keep acting like a teenager for a good ten more years, tired moms who look like men and have the "yeah yeah yeah whatever it takes to keep you quiet just do whatever"-kind of parenting style, and dads who treats others like they're garbage to him.
My parents read to me. They practiced writing with me, they rejoyced over all the crappy art I made, they took my words seriously, and most of all, they never exposed me to bad behaviour. They made a point out of being friendly and polite, they were honest with me, and they answered all my dumb questions. I have ADHD, so... There were A LOT of question. (Thank you for the incredible patience on that one, mom and dad! <3 )
They didn't mock me for crying or yell at me, they didn't use me to get back at each other or take out their hate for each other on me, they didn't go out and get drunk and leave me all alone, and they made a point of out driving nicely. Well, my mother did. My dad's driving taught me how to swear; But you get the point.
What makes a good parent is the will to try anything in your power, and to admit that you have more to learn and take all the opportunities you can get to improve your parenting-skills. You're also a good parent when you love your child and let them know that you do so, and when you decide to never tell kids not to do something you wouldn't do yourself.
You're a BAD parent when you treat your kids like they are dumb, when you refuse to remember that it is not logical to get angry at kids for not knowing something there were no way they could know, and when you treat your children as belongings, possesions, intead of a tiny, real person.
You are also a bad parent when you give up on raising your kids, or take the easy way out and let them have and do whatever they want, or get annoyed with them for being kids, and most important of all... When you give up trying to make them a decent, polite human being because you don't give a shit and have the money to not do so anyways.
I don't have children yet, but when I do... I know what kind of parent I want to be. I know what styles, techniques and behavioural patterns I want to use on my children, and which ones I don't. I've always felt that in order to make an informed deciscion, one needs to gather up as much information as one can, and the more I learn... The more I feel myself becoming my parents. That's right. I catch myself saying things or voicing opinions like my parents do, and getting annoyed at the same things I remember hearing my parents get bugged by. And then I think to myself. "Well. It seems like my parents were right."
That's, right, I said it. I'm 22, my brain is almost fully grown, I admit it now. My parents were right.
So, whoever you are, what ever you've heard about my parents, know this. My parents did their best to make me as intelligent and nice as possible, and they wanted me to be that way because they were too. They supported me, and put up with all my crap, even when I said hurtful things I wish I could take back a million times or acted up. They fought for me, they supported me, and they always make sure I know just how much they love me. They fed me healthy food (well, sans the massive loads of pasta), they helped me with my homework, they kept me fed and clean and clothed, and they did their very best. They set a positive rolemodel for me and treated others withe politeness and kindness, and they were honest with me. Always.
It seems like everyone but me has a broken family. When I count up all the things my parents did right, I see how incredibly low the odds are for getting parents with all the qualities needed to be good parents, and I feel lucky.
Whether you feel your parents are good parents or bad parents, there will always be something they did right, some good thing they taught you, and you need to hang onto that. No matter how they act, or how you turned out (hey, it's their fault!), they love you.
Mine do.
Mine did great.
And the thing is, as I've gotten older and gotten to observe parenting on multiple levels, (I've babysat, worked in a daycare, I'm good at observing people in public settings, I've had friends with parents and friends who've become parents - I've seen it all.) I can't help but notice how incredibly lucky I was to end up with two capable, loving parents who on an overall scale did incredibly good.
The more things I learn about good parenting, the more I've gotten to think about what parenting styles I agree or disagree with, my parents seemed to know what they were doing.
It seems like everyone around me has bad parents. The girls feel their mother is too emotionally distant, and their dads don't understand them, and the guys feel like their mothers are babying them, and their dads are emotionally distant. Maybe this observation has some relation to the town I grew up in, though.
See, I was surrounded by people whose parents had them when they were too young and still thought it was cool to spoil and doll up their kids, and then got divorced and bored with the babies. Some got smacked, some had mothers who had many boyfriends, many got caught in divorce-arguements... It's a jungle out there.
My parents got divorced when I was 9, and I am very glad they did it when I was that young. Sure, it made me sad, but my parents got divorced because they had really, really tried, and decided to call it quits while they could still like each other enough to be friends instead of doing what most of the other parents seemed to do; either tough it out and fake it to the kids until one of you snaps and leaves, or have loud, violent arguements for years, scaring the crap out of your children.
Mine stayed friends. They co-operated, they supported each other and pretty much still put up a united front until I was in my teens.
Sure, I had some hormonal years where I went through the afforementioned mandatory stage for teenage girls, "I'm scared that my mother doesn't love me, and my dad tries but doesn't get me", but I snapped out of it, and I have a very good relationship with my parents now. I know that my mother loves me, and I love her so much for never giving up on me like I've seen happening to too many of my friends. And my dad... Well, he tries, but still doesn't get me. But that's okay, that's what dads do, and I know that he loves me and doesn't think I'm a complete retard.
I used to get beat up a lot at school when I was a kid. I was skinny and pale by nature, and I was an outsider with a very rhymey name, it was bound to happen.
I don't remember hating any of my bullies. I felt hurt that they took their frustrations out on the weak kid, but I knew their parents... I mean, it was a very, VERY small town, and everyone was related in one too many ways. I saw how the bullies parents were and acted, and I remember often feeling sorry for them. You know, a sort of "they have so much bad inside because their parents aren't as patient/loving as mine" kind of way. (and they said I learned nothing at bible camp?)
I had friends who were bullied when I was younger. Some of the parents didn't support them. They blamed their own kids, or didn't take it seriously. Mine believed me, they supported me in every way they knew how, and I feel incredibly lucky I wound up with them when I look back on that.
People say a lot of things about my parents, and about how they let me become the person my reputation makes people think I am. It makes me sad that even as a teenager, most of my friend's parents disliked me because of something they'd heard from other parents. How can adult people be that mistrusting?
People say good things about me too, but let's start with the bad. Growing up in a small society, word travelled fast. Anywhere within hours of driving, someone has heard your name and knows something about you. And these people are not the best storytellers either, to put it that way.
They make me out to be this evil, unhygienic, sad person who turns people's daughters gay warps their minds with my left-wing propaganda, and I also think people think I'm kind of a slot even though I'm very picky.
The bad things are rumours vindictive ex-friends or exes have made up, as well as stories people have twisted and blown way out of proportion, by the way.
I can't help but feel bad for my parents whose work is so discredited. Sure, I've been emotional sometimes and done some dumb shit, but not more than others have done.
I've been cautious about sex, never tried hard drugs, I didn't start smoking at 12 like some of the others, I didn't start drinking at, well, 12 like many of the others, I've never done burglary or shoplifted or beat up a weak kid, or avoided being helpful to random people who happen to cross my path.
Oh, and rumour has it I'm a great daycare-nanny.
That's gotta be worth something, right?
When I got through the emotional, bakwards, overly hormonally drugged rollercoaster-ride that is the teenage years, I managed to peek out on the other side as a somewhat stable, friendly, intelligent person who chooses to believe the good in people. Sure, there are some anxiety now and then, but that comes from years of feeling like I've been damned in the closed society I was confined to for years, not my parents.
WHIIIIIICH leads me to my point. Finally.
Being a good parent is a choice. There are good parents, people who love their kids and really try, and there are bad parents, who feels annoyed or ashamed or scared by the kid and choose to not care much about what kind of a person's mind they were molding, or how they did it. It never ceases to amaze me what kind of dumb behavioural and look-wise example people choose to set for their kids.
Slutty moms, angry soccer dads, Drug-addicts, teenage moms who decided to not have the abortion because "I already had one and besides, babies are cute" only to get tired of them and keep acting like a teenager for a good ten more years, tired moms who look like men and have the "yeah yeah yeah whatever it takes to keep you quiet just do whatever"-kind of parenting style, and dads who treats others like they're garbage to him.
My parents read to me. They practiced writing with me, they rejoyced over all the crappy art I made, they took my words seriously, and most of all, they never exposed me to bad behaviour. They made a point out of being friendly and polite, they were honest with me, and they answered all my dumb questions. I have ADHD, so... There were A LOT of question. (Thank you for the incredible patience on that one, mom and dad! <3 )
They didn't mock me for crying or yell at me, they didn't use me to get back at each other or take out their hate for each other on me, they didn't go out and get drunk and leave me all alone, and they made a point of out driving nicely. Well, my mother did. My dad's driving taught me how to swear; But you get the point.
What makes a good parent is the will to try anything in your power, and to admit that you have more to learn and take all the opportunities you can get to improve your parenting-skills. You're also a good parent when you love your child and let them know that you do so, and when you decide to never tell kids not to do something you wouldn't do yourself.
You're a BAD parent when you treat your kids like they are dumb, when you refuse to remember that it is not logical to get angry at kids for not knowing something there were no way they could know, and when you treat your children as belongings, possesions, intead of a tiny, real person.
You are also a bad parent when you give up on raising your kids, or take the easy way out and let them have and do whatever they want, or get annoyed with them for being kids, and most important of all... When you give up trying to make them a decent, polite human being because you don't give a shit and have the money to not do so anyways.
I don't have children yet, but when I do... I know what kind of parent I want to be. I know what styles, techniques and behavioural patterns I want to use on my children, and which ones I don't. I've always felt that in order to make an informed deciscion, one needs to gather up as much information as one can, and the more I learn... The more I feel myself becoming my parents. That's right. I catch myself saying things or voicing opinions like my parents do, and getting annoyed at the same things I remember hearing my parents get bugged by. And then I think to myself. "Well. It seems like my parents were right."
That's, right, I said it. I'm 22, my brain is almost fully grown, I admit it now. My parents were right.
So, whoever you are, what ever you've heard about my parents, know this. My parents did their best to make me as intelligent and nice as possible, and they wanted me to be that way because they were too. They supported me, and put up with all my crap, even when I said hurtful things I wish I could take back a million times or acted up. They fought for me, they supported me, and they always make sure I know just how much they love me. They fed me healthy food (well, sans the massive loads of pasta), they helped me with my homework, they kept me fed and clean and clothed, and they did their very best. They set a positive rolemodel for me and treated others withe politeness and kindness, and they were honest with me. Always.
It seems like everyone but me has a broken family. When I count up all the things my parents did right, I see how incredibly low the odds are for getting parents with all the qualities needed to be good parents, and I feel lucky.
Whether you feel your parents are good parents or bad parents, there will always be something they did right, some good thing they taught you, and you need to hang onto that. No matter how they act, or how you turned out (hey, it's their fault!), they love you.
Mine do.
Mine did great.
Saturday, 12 May 2012
I want to matter.
I've finally realised what I want from my life. Or, I do want many things, but I've realised what one of my dreams are.
In danish, there's a saying roughly translating "to burn for". If you burn for something, you just somehow know that this, this is what you love/are good at/are meant to do. You know what your goal is, and you feel some inner fire fuelling you to get there.
I've never had that. I have things I would love to do, but can't, and my talents... I don't have any astonishing talents. I don't have some inexplicable talent that can somehow be documented or filmed or recorded or something. I don't have people calling me up, saying "Hey, I need some help, and you're the only one I know of who can do this job well enough."
I have things I'm good at, things I do well, but nothing, not a thing to show for it.
Somehow, I've always managed to flail around in life, just drifting through with no real purpose. Nothing is permanent to me, nothing is constant, and nothing is given. But, for those same reasons, nothing has really seemed to matter. Don't get me wrong, I have plenty of stuff to live for, and I am a somewhat happy person, but... There's never been a lingering sense of direction. Until now.
I want to matter. I know that I do matter to some people, but that's not what I mean. I want to have such an impact on a person's life that they immortalise me. That I have somehow been such an important element of somebody's life that they feel like they have to talk about it, or write songs about the feelings, or a poem, or paint pictures, something.
I want, when I die a longlonglong time from now, all grey and wrinkly, to know that this life hasn't been in vain. That I have, by existing, wronged a right in the world. Helped someone, heard someone, mattered to someone, CHANGED SOMEONE'S TRAJECTORY, left such deep and lovely feelings in someone that they can't help but share it with the world.
I want someone to look at whatever these inspired people made, and think "I know who inspired that song/poem/painting/storybook/invention", and smile.
In other words, my dream is to be the start of a positive chain-reaction.
I realise I might come off a bit selfish writing this, but that was not my intention. I don't feed off of the attention of others, and I don't try desperately to matter to everyone, but I must admit that it is a fear of mine, leaving the world without leaving a footprint.
I need to leave a dent. If the world was a giant car, and every important changes to it, no matter how small, were dents, I want to somehow be part of what inspired someone to leave one. I need to know I wasn't just another drop in the ocean.
Until that happens, I will keep listening to beautiful lovesongs, wishing they were about me, and drawing my crappy drawings hoping I'll someday have some life-changing epiphany somehow inspiring me to make truely original or beautiful art.The fire just needs to be lit.
Also, I think that maybe this ambition of mine is my reason for still being alive. Not that I've ever wanted to commit suicide or anything, but life just somehow seems so arbitrary. The things we do everyday to keep ourselves alive, whether for the short or the long run they sometimes seem so pointless, it overwhelms me; it sometimes keep me from remembering that I too am a piece in the giant puzzle that makes "the whole picture". I can't see the whole picture, because it is so incredibly large, but I know that I am a teeny tiny part of it. The only thing I can't figure out is how my piece fits in with the big picture, and where.
In danish, there's a saying roughly translating "to burn for". If you burn for something, you just somehow know that this, this is what you love/are good at/are meant to do. You know what your goal is, and you feel some inner fire fuelling you to get there.
I've never had that. I have things I would love to do, but can't, and my talents... I don't have any astonishing talents. I don't have some inexplicable talent that can somehow be documented or filmed or recorded or something. I don't have people calling me up, saying "Hey, I need some help, and you're the only one I know of who can do this job well enough."
I have things I'm good at, things I do well, but nothing, not a thing to show for it.
Somehow, I've always managed to flail around in life, just drifting through with no real purpose. Nothing is permanent to me, nothing is constant, and nothing is given. But, for those same reasons, nothing has really seemed to matter. Don't get me wrong, I have plenty of stuff to live for, and I am a somewhat happy person, but... There's never been a lingering sense of direction. Until now.
I want to matter. I know that I do matter to some people, but that's not what I mean. I want to have such an impact on a person's life that they immortalise me. That I have somehow been such an important element of somebody's life that they feel like they have to talk about it, or write songs about the feelings, or a poem, or paint pictures, something.
I want, when I die a longlonglong time from now, all grey and wrinkly, to know that this life hasn't been in vain. That I have, by existing, wronged a right in the world. Helped someone, heard someone, mattered to someone, CHANGED SOMEONE'S TRAJECTORY, left such deep and lovely feelings in someone that they can't help but share it with the world.
I want someone to look at whatever these inspired people made, and think "I know who inspired that song/poem/painting/storybook/invention", and smile.
In other words, my dream is to be the start of a positive chain-reaction.
I realise I might come off a bit selfish writing this, but that was not my intention. I don't feed off of the attention of others, and I don't try desperately to matter to everyone, but I must admit that it is a fear of mine, leaving the world without leaving a footprint.
I need to leave a dent. If the world was a giant car, and every important changes to it, no matter how small, were dents, I want to somehow be part of what inspired someone to leave one. I need to know I wasn't just another drop in the ocean.
Until that happens, I will keep listening to beautiful lovesongs, wishing they were about me, and drawing my crappy drawings hoping I'll someday have some life-changing epiphany somehow inspiring me to make truely original or beautiful art.The fire just needs to be lit.
Also, I think that maybe this ambition of mine is my reason for still being alive. Not that I've ever wanted to commit suicide or anything, but life just somehow seems so arbitrary. The things we do everyday to keep ourselves alive, whether for the short or the long run they sometimes seem so pointless, it overwhelms me; it sometimes keep me from remembering that I too am a piece in the giant puzzle that makes "the whole picture". I can't see the whole picture, because it is so incredibly large, but I know that I am a teeny tiny part of it. The only thing I can't figure out is how my piece fits in with the big picture, and where.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)