"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.

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?

"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.

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.

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.

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.

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.