Sunday, December 22, 2013

My Dolls

I owe it to my friend Julia that I got back deep into the BJD hobby. I got my first doll back in 2004 after about 6 months of saving up monies to get one. I made clothes that I sold to be able to buy more dolls and I learned how to paint them properly, take better photos and make even more clothes! This hobby is really perfect for me in so many ways. If you don't know what I'm talking about then I'm sorry because it won't get more clear. This is one really nerdy hobby with lots and lots of references to doll companies, models and such stuffs. Google is your friend!

As it is right now I have two dolls and a half, as in I have two complete dolls and one head that will soon get a body. I have none of the first dolls I got left since I sold them all when I thought I wouldn't be interested in dolls anymore. I had so many other things I wanted to do and I focused more on my studies, my art and other stuff. Then about a year ago I met my lovely sister from another mister, Julia! Turns out she was active still in the BJD community and after seeing her dolls I got the urge back to dust off my old boxes, my sewing machine and start saving up that cash again.

My first girl is Lucy Lucid. She's a Unoa Lusis hybrid with a Doll Chateau body. She was originally a sleeping faceplate that I opened the eyes on which is why she looks quite different from a regular Lusis. I really love this doll. Her character is very much a doll version of myself. I use her to make clothes that I'd love to own and wear. She's got those freckles I wish I could get (if I was ever in the sun) and I made her a dreadlock wig and gave her cute piercings. Gaaaw! I can feel my doll nerd-level just rising as I write this. Forgive me.

My second doll is a Doll Chateau Youth Christina. I got her to create a doll version of the Sanctum 2 character Tsygan but since I feel like experimenting with her looks and such I'd rather make up a new unique character for her. She'll be the same dark, mysterious and slightly melancholy looking doll but yeah, we'll see what happens.

And my third, my new girl is Theo Bleeker, she's a Zaoll Luv head and will get a Doll Chateau youth body (first version) as soon as I've saved enough money to get it. I have no decent images of her yet since she's still a work in progress. I started working on her faceup yesterday. Can't wait to have her complete so I can start making clothes for her.

I have looooooaaads of doll photos on my instagram and my flickr. Just showing some of my favorites in this post.

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

New Chapter

I felt drained after writing my last post. It sort of felt like a summary of everything I needed to get off my chest and after that I didn't really know how to continue.

Life has been very busy too with merciless deadlines for Sanctum 2 ever since this summer. I had thoughts about starting up a new blog since I really wanted a fresh start. I've had this blog ever since.. yeah, it's really old now and it goes through several really difficult but interesting years of my life. I don't want to start a new blog but I do want to start a whole new chapter, so here it goes.

It's been almost exactly a year since I came out of the hospital and managed to fight myself out of an almost 10-year long depression. Heading into crazy happy hypomania for a while I got a real kick start into a new life. It's been an incredible year in a lot of ways. Ups and downs but in a way that has felt natural. Not the sick anxiety and sadness that weighed me down before. When I cry now I just cry it out. When I laugh it is sincere. It might sound weird to some but when you've gone around pretending to be fine for as long as you can remember this feeling of actually being able to handle your feels is incredible.

I've made so many new friends. Met wonderful and interesting people and kept myself busy with new experiences. I went to Emmaboda Festival this summer which was totally kickass awesome fun! I've dyed my hair so many times in various crazy colors that it's completely ruined now. Currently in the middle of turning it into dreadlocks so that it doesn't lump itself up on its own. I was worried there for a while!

I've been able to really bring all my imagination and creativity up to the surface again. These past months since summer have been really productive for me and I've been inspired by my amazing gurls JN and LD! Mah sisters from other misters, woop woop! I've been sculpting, painting, sewing and I even found the intense urge to pick up my doll obsession again. I've learned how much fun you can have while modifying and customizing kids toys like Monster High dolls. I got myself a new really tall and strange BJD from Doll Chateau to be customized into a doll version of Charlotte Wray from Sanctum 2. I mean, gawd, if I had been blogging during these months I would have had so much stuffs to show! Now I have to catch up and try to squeeze everything in because I wanna show you guys! I've been active on twitter, tumblr, deviantart, flickr and instagram though so if you've followed me there you've probably seen my tendency to spam my pics everywhere. If you haven't been following me there perhaps this is the time to do it. *hint hint*

So, since this blog was originally about posting all of the products of my random creative adventures, enjoy a whoooole lot of pictures of the various things I've been up to.

Friday, May 31, 2013

My Psychiatry Hell - the true fucking story

I'm writing this now when I am well and healthy enough to dive into this topic again. It's something that upsets me so badly that I avoid thinking about it. Still, it's something that needs to be talked about. I can only speak from my own experiences so that's what I'll do. These are my experiences, thoughts and feelings but I'll try to back up facts with scientific sources. I'm not making this shit up... unfortunately.

As it is now I do believe I am truly on the right track. I feel like a real, proper human being with a perfectly ordinary (but way more awesome than normal) mind. I'm choosing to write this now because unfortunately there are still a huge amount of people who suffer through this shit daily. Some of those people are dear friends of mine.

I am aware that in writing so openly and honestly about myself on the internet I may risk being a target of the classic internet shitstorm of idiocy. We're living in a society where people are told to go kill themselves, triggered online by insensitive jerks who have no idea what they are actually doing. Where people who suffer from mental illness are called attention whores. Where people who have already committed suicide are taunted and made to be jokes online to people who think it's "edgy" to laugh at the death of others. Yeah, that's the internet for ya. But guess wha? That part of the internet is kind of silly pathetic stupid and this blog is my part of the internet and I decide that I can write whatever I want here. I'm going to write honestly and openly about my life experiences with my mental illness. This is the first time I'm openly speaking about my periods of self harm and suicidal thoughts. At the bottom of this post you can find several useful links of information and also help and support in case you or a loved one is currently in the middle of the sad feels. This is a long read, so get a cup of coffee if you want to know my story.

Back then...
It started as early as when I first started school. I was insecure, shy, terrified of making mistakes and I didn't have any real friends to trust. Friends in fact was something I had a very strange relationship to. The girls I thought were my friends usually kept me around as a sidekick. I was ignored, bullied and manipulated more often than not. I thought this was perfectly normal.

I was quiet at school. I never wanted any attention. I never dared to ask for help in class. Math in particular was a huge problem for me and I never caught up with the others. I had to go through years of extra math hours where my teachers grew more and more frustrated over my inability to learn simple numbers. Much much later on in life I was diagnosed with dyscalculia which is exactly like dyslexia but with numbers. No wonder I never learned.

The first time I felt true anxiety and hopelessness was when I was 11 years old. I had no real concept of suicide but I remember that I tried to hold my breath in an attempt to kill myself. I thought that if I simply stopped breathing I would die and I wouldn't have to go back to school again. The second time I had those thoughts I was 13 and I wanted to put a kitchen knife through my own heart. I never told anyone back then. Luckily my methods of suicide weren't exactly effective or realistic since I barely knew what suicide was back then. There were a few years between 13 and 16 that I felt sort of calm. Normal. At least things didn't feel as bad as before.

And then things got worse...
I moved away from home when I was 16. I went to study animation in another part of Sweden and I was so excited. Everything was new and I really believed in myself. This could have been the start of something great but after one really happy year things started to spiral downward again. There were some reasons that might have triggered it but most of it felt irrational, even to me. It was just this creeping sadness. Anxiety and hopelessness. I had no energy at all and I didn't manage to handle school. I avoided other people. I was scared to go outside. I stayed in bed, crying most of the time.

For the first time I went to seek help and I really hoped it would change things. I realized it wasn't normal to feel the way I did. I was sent to psychiatric care for minors where I got to talk to some lady that wasn't a nurse, or a psychologist or a doctor. Just some lady that asked me about school and what I did in my spare time. Her advice to me was to stop playing video games... I told her that I often felt that I wanted to die. That nothing had meaning and that every little problem I encountered caused terrifying panic attacks. She mentioned medication and then she seemed to forget about it. I dropped out of school and moved back to my parents. I have very little memory of these years but I think that I mostly stayed in my room, sleeping. I wasn't offered any further medical treatment.

Blank years...
From 17 to 19 I barely remember what I was doing. Those years are gone from my memory completely. I moved to Skövde along with my boyfriend at the time. I tried to get a job, got one but had to quit after just four days. My panic attacks were so severe at this point that I didn't dare to pick up a phone or go to the store to buy milk. I realized that I couldn't stay unemployed, depressed and hopeless. That wasn't me at all. I wanted to create, make things, go far in life. I decided to study game art at the University and really put my mind to it. I knew it was the right thing to do, but I didn't feel any better.

Each class was a struggle to focus and to fight against the anxiety that came as soon as I had to be amongst other people. I felt ugly, worthless, pathetic and I was so scared of failure that I spend a whole  night crying, screaming, shaking and hyperventilating the day before my first exam. Now I can look back at it and realize that the amount of panic I felt over one single school exam was irrational, but emotions aren't rational. My emotions weren't even normal. I was mentally ill but I didn't even know it myself.

Looking for help...
I got to see a doctor who asked me questions from a paper. Was I unhappy most of the time? Yes. Did life seem pointless? Yes. Had I ever considered taking my own life? Yes. Was I thinking about taking my own life almost daily? Yes.

His solution to this was a prescription for anti depressants and then half a year in line to wait for a psychologist to be able to see me.  He told me this: "You need help but since you're not really sick you'll have to wait until one of our doctors have time to see you." I wasn't sick enough...

It was after that meeting that I really felt hopeless. I had thoughts of suicide every single day but that wasn't "sick enough" to get help. I was 21 when I first started to harm myself physically to deal with the anxiety. I felt horrible shame while I did it. I told myself out loud how pathetic I was. That I was just one of those overly sensitive attention whores. That I exaggerated all of my problems. That I wasn't worthy of any help and now that I had made the first cut on my arm I should just continue. Truly be that stereotypical depressed young girl with first world problems and an ugly haircut.

It's my firm belief that nobody can ever be as cruel as you can be cruel to yourself. Every hurtful comment I had ever heard was repeated in my own head, over and over and it became truth to me. I knew that what I was doing was pointless, harmful, destructive and bad, but why should I care about that when I didn't even care about my own life?

I don't think a lot of people around me back then realized how I felt. During these years I finished several game projects. Participated in several extra classes at school. I joined teams out of school hours to develop Bloodline Champions and Sanctum. I smiled and laughed along with friends. Worked harder than ever. Improved my skills and won awards for my efforts but at home I fell asleep and I slept for days, weeks, years. When I didn't sleep I cried. My lovely now-ex-husband really helped me back then, as much as he could. I believe he saved my life several times over.

Some help please...?
The sad truth is that as soon as I called for help after I first started with self harm is that I did get help right away. I'm not afraid to blame the psychiatric care for driving my illness that far. They are educated to understand depression and anxiety but when I looked for help I had never cut myself. They turned me away. After three tiny cuts on my arm they suddenly reacted instantly and that was the start of several years of therapy. Before I go on to that I want to quote some facts about self harm.

*Self-Injury (SI) or self-harm (SH) is the act of physically hurting yourself on purpose without the intent of commiting suicide. It is a method of coping during an emotionally difficult time that helps some people temporarily feel better because they have a way to physically express and release the tension and the pain they hold inside.

*Both men and women hurt themselves. More often women are seen with this behavior in a therapist's office, a psychiatric hospital, etc. Wheras more men are seen with self-injury in prisons. Recent research has shown that the number of male and female self-injurers may be more equal than researchers originally thought was true.

*Therapy has proven a useful tool for some self-injurers but for some people who hurt themselves psychological treatment does not work out because of several reasons.
  - First, is because psychologists sometimes ignore self-injury out of inexperience, ignorance, or feelings of disgust.
  - Second, the reactions and strategies for self-injury by psychologists are often distasteful to the self-injurer. They may demand that the self-injurer stop hurting themselves or risk being sent to a psychiatric ward or hospital.


So, I got to see two different psychologists. I barely remember the first one. I never trusted him and I didn't feel any better after a year of paying for his time to talk to me. The second one was incredible. She wrote down all my different thoughts and emotions for me to see clearly and then discussed with me how I could change those trails of thoughts to take away the destructive thought patterns that had gotten stuck as a permanent state of mental torture in me. After about a year of seeing her I actually felt much much better. Healthy and happy for the first time in ages. I went away from her office with a smile and new hope. I wish everyone who has these sad thoughts and destructive problems could get to meet someone like her.

My first diagnosis...
The psychologist that helped me was the first one to suspect I might have ADHD. I went through a series of tests, long interviews and seemingly endless questions before the diagnosis was confirmed. I didn't really understand it at the time since ADHD includes hyperactivity and I had never felt hyperactive in my entire life. Now I know that almost constant depression had hidden that side from me and just left the unfocused, absent-minded and easily triggered side of the diagnosis. I was 22 when I first got examined for this. A diagnosis most commonly recognized at a much earlier age. It's very likely that nobody ever suspected me to have these problems since I was a shy, quiet and well behaved little girl. Hiding all my problems.

I got medication to help me focus at work, something that actually helped me right away which was new to me. At that point I had been on anti depressants for years without any result. Suddenly I could actually keep focus throughout an entire day at work without having to hide away in the bathroom to fall asleep or cry out of pure exhaustion and stress. This too was something I never told anyone about back then. I don't think anyone realized.

Oh shit it's really going to hell now...
We're getting close to current time. If you look back a few months of this blog you'll probably be able to see the development of what became the biggest mental crash of my life. I can read back now and see all the signs I missed back then. I started this blog as a form of therapy for myself and now I'm happy I can read back on ancient memories and understand how things worked in my mind. You'll have to read between the lines though because I always tried to conceal my true emotions. I was ashamed to let people see how bad things actually were. I lied to others and most of all I lied to myself.

When I started working I felt horrible already. Months passed and since I enjoyed my job so much I actually felt kind of hopeful about things. Still, I was far from stable. Every little thing could trigger stress that caused severe anxiety attacks. I spent several hours hiding away, clawing at my own skin to "get myself together" in order to go back to my computer and handle my job. I went on my bike to work, crying each morning because I knew I wouldn't be able to focus. I knew I'd feel sad and panicky and I felt like I would let everyone down because I couldn't work fast enough. I wasn't good enough.

I had a boyfriend at this time that somehow had convinced me that I didn't need any medication and I was stupid enough to let him decide that for himself without even knowing what I was like off meds. Things just escalated and everything happened really fast. I knew myself better though and I went back to seek help from a doctor again. This time I was put in a waiting line again and I was told that there was only one doctor and he was too busy. I could expect help within a few months. I knew I wouldn't be able to handle my situation for that long and I really tried to get proper help faster. It didn't work. My problems with self harm came back worse than ever even though I had managed to not hurt myself for almost a year. I went from sad to gloomy to depressed in just a month. In the end I felt such guilt and panic that I had to work from home. That worked for a few days until I felt even more guilt for not being able to be at the office. I made one final desperate call to the doctor to ask for immediate help since I felt constant thoughts of suicide again which I knew wasn't rational. I had been there before and I knew it would get worse if I didn't get help.

I was sent to the hospital...
Oh shit, well... This is where everything goes REALLY crazy. I'll probably be able to fill an entire book about the two months that I was locked up in a psychiatric ward. So much happened in such a short amount of time that it felt like a lifetime. This is probably best told in short points to get all the different events down without y'know... making it into a book. This blog post is already long enough to make heads ache.

- After the call to the hospital (which is an emergency ward for people at severe risk of suicide attempt) I was told to find someone to drive me out to the hospital which was in another city. I was in tears and panic on the phone and the nurse told me to ask a friend who had a car...

-9 hours was spent in the waiting room before I got to see a doctor who simply asked me if I wanted to die. I said that I did want to die. I was admitted.

-I was told that there were too many patients at the ward and I had to sleep on a spare bed in the TV-room.

-In the morning I had no clue what to expect. The smoking balcony had bars. Patients dragged themselves along the corridors without saying a word. Nurses and doctors walked around and nobody told me anything. I was so scared and out of my mind that it took me a whole day before I dared to ask someone what was going to happen. The nurse I spoke to seemed surprised that nobody had told me I was supposed to have a contact person and a doctors appointment to get medication. She arranged it.

-I got to see a doctor for 15 minutes who prescribed anti depressants.

-During my first day I got to witness another patient suffer a horrible anxiety attack. He was wrestled down by four male nurses and then strapped to a bed, sedated for the rest of the day while the other patients were told not to worry and that there was coffee in the dining room.

-I got to share a room with three other patients. Different people came and went so I never got used to the other women who I shared room with. One of them was psychotic and had random fits of rage. Another talked to herself constantly. One talked to -me- constantly and chewed candy as if it would save her life. One poor lady couldn't even speak but she cried just a few feet away from me. Day and night. I once asked a nurse to go check on her and was told that she always cried and that I shouldn't worry. I don't know if that woman ever got any help at all.

-On several occasions I was crying openly in front of medical professionals who walked by me. I was ignored. This was common and all the patients I spoke to had experienced the same thing. Once I went to ask for medication for a friend who had a panic attack and was told to wait for 15 minutes since the nurses had to finish their coffee break first.

-Since I was suicidal and considered a "high risk patient" I was to be checked on every 20 minutes to make sure I was.. well, still alive. This check was performed by various nurses who came into my room. Looked at me and then walked out without a word.

-I wasn't allowed to have my headphones because I could hang myself with the cable. I pointed out that I had shoelaces I could hang myself with just to make a point out of how stupid their rules were. I didn't get to have my headphones. I got to keep the shoelaces.

-I attempted suicide by hanging. Using a shoelace. After one hour I realized that it was impossible because the limitations in the hospital bathroom. There was simply no way to hang myself with my feet off the floor and my body reacted against asphyxiation. My reflexes didn't like the lack of oxygen and saved my life.

-I told the doctor the day after about my suicide attempt and was put back as a "high risk patient"

-A few hours later I had a panic attack in that same bathroom. My nose started bleeding and I was close to passing out due to hyperventilating. They were supposed to check me every 20 minutes. I was lying on that bathroom floor, bleeding severely for three hours before they found me in a pool of my own blood. They panicked until they realized my skull wasn't cracked. It was "just a nosebleed". They washed me off in the shower and told me to go to bed. I did.

-I asked for the doctors to consider the fact that I might have other problems than just my ADHD since I had been depressed since early childhood without recovery. They were hesitant and it took me two weeks before I had convinced them to let me fill out a few papers of yes/no questions. I filled them out truthfully and I had to sit in an hour long meeting where they went through the questions and asked me again if I really filled them out correctly. Almost every question was answered with a yes.

-I was diagnosed with major depression, Bipolar type 2, Emotionally unstable personality disorder (borderline type), social anxiety disorder and ADHD. They seemed surprised. I was not surprised. I got the proper medication for these diagnoses. Finally.

-I had to stay for another month to make sure the medication didn't kill me. During this time I witnessed two suicide attempts by other patients. Got the life-changing advice "you need to change your attitude" by a doctor who wasn't even out of school (she hadn't finished the course on depression yet). I witnessed one desperately crying patient be told that she wouldn't get any help since she was just "trying to provoke the staff with her tears" I saw another patient go through ETC-treatment (electro shock therapy) and lose almost all of her memory. I witnessed several upset patients get strapped to their beds and others who were released from the hospital just hours after serious suicide attempts simply because the ward was full and couldn't afford more beds.

-I reported the hospital for malpractice and was promised a meeting with the people in charge of my ward. They never called.

So... what then?
During this time I had been left by my boyfriend who just couldn't handle me anymore. I was almost replaced at work which would mean that I would lose the biggest career opportunity of my life. Writing the story and making the in game comic for Sanctum2. Almost all of my money had been spent on medication and hospital bills. I was alone, broke and just released from the hospital but...

Something had changed. I can't really say when or how but during those months when I felt as if I would die just out of pure apathy, it was as if my mind didn't have the energy to be depressed anymore. The medication and the knowledge about my mental illness helped me understand that I wasn't stupid or pathetic. I was sick and now I had medication to help my brain produce the chemicals I needed to function like a normal person.

After witnessing so much abuse and unfair treatment at the hospital, my panic and severe sadness and fear was somehow replaced by sheer anger. I've never been an angry person. I've been terrified of conflict actually but during this time I just sort of... had enough. I yelled at a nurse so fiercely that she almost burst into tears and apologized for the way she had dealt with a certain situation. I wrote letters to report the hospital, called my ex boyfriend to tell him exactly how I felt about him dumping me at a psychiatric ward after he had been living off of my money for almost a year. I came back to work, determined not to let anyone touch the work assignments that meant so much to me. I got support from friends I had almost forgotten about. I was welcomed back so warmly at work that it felt like coming home. I learned how to live alone for the first time in my life. I wasn't scared anymore.

I stopped asking for permission or peoples opinions. I started living for myself. For me. The most important person in my own life. I dyed my hair pink. I got those piercings I've always wanted but never dared to get. I started to get creative with my clothes again. Got back to really making plans for the future again, now actually believing it could come true.

I can truly, honestly say now, almost a year after my major breakdown started, that I've never felt this happy in my entire life. Except for a few, explainable downs and episodes of sad feels, I've been going about life with a whole new personality it seems. I feel like myself for the first time ever. When I get sad it's a normal kind of sad. When I get happy I shout it out to the entire world. I've started painting, drawing, writing, socializing. I dare to travel again. I dare to meet new people. I love living on my own which used to be something I was terrified of. I can walk in the street and feel fukkin #swag and awesome, and I used to be scared to show myself at the local grocery store just a year ago. When I get upset I say it out loud instead of hiding in a bathroom, cutting myself. I laugh now. I make friends. I enjoy movies. I dance around like a hyperactive baby hippo on speed and I have so much friggin' HOPE! I would never give that hospital credit for how good I feel today, but somehow I managed to get the help I needed. Appropriate diagnosis, the medication I needed and the will to fight for my fucking life.

It might be easy to say, for someone who has never experienced episodes of really bad mental health problems, that it's just a matter of thinking positive thoughts. Stop being sensitive. Stop over reacting and deal with it. To you I want to say: Just shut the fuck up until you've truly felt so worthless that you'd try to hang yourself in a filthy hospital bathroom with an old shoelace. In that moment you are not yourself. These are very real, very serious cases of mental illness. It can't be wished away or cured with some simple positive thinking. There is so much stigma, so many stereotypes and a disgusting amount of prejudice surrounding mental illness and I'm so tired of the same tired insults being thrown at those who really are the last people on earth that need more abuse.

If you are currently suffering from depression, anxiety or other mental problems, don't let this text scare you from seeking medical care. There is help to be found, but be prepared to fight for it. Fight hard. You have the right to proper treatment even if you might not think so at the time. Nurses and doctors might hate their jobs, be awful or stupid, but it is YOUR rights that matters. Fight for them or ask someone close to you to help you in this war against the often horrible psychiatry and against the bad shit in your mind.

Take care of the people around you and take care of yourself. Treat yourself as if you were your own best friend. Refuse to take crap, especially from your own mind. If you catch yourself calling yourself pathetic or worthless, shake your head and REFUSE to listen to that mean bastard that lives in your head.

Links of good information and serious facts:

You're strong. Fuck world. Be unicorn. 

Tuesday, April 30, 2013


 Images. I live with them. Images I find outside of myself and the images that come from inside. I always come back to the same themes. You don't choose your own taste in art, photography and literature. It's all about youth, boys and girls with that certain kind of hard melancholia disguised by beauty. I'm deeply amazed by the emotions and ideas that can be conveyed through very simple imagery if you're able to look deeper than what you see at first glance. Some images stay with me forever and really have an impact on the way I see things or which direction I want to take in my own artistic expressions. Tumblr is a very nice community for gathering images and inspiration but I've found that to be it is way more than just a way of blogging and re-blogging pretty pics. If I look through my tumblr-blog I get all the memories back of what I felt like when I found and reblogged that specific photo. It's actually a much more personal and naked image of my emotions and thoughts than what this text-based blog is. I am and I've always been very open and honest here but I think the way of expressing yourself through a flow of combined images that you just find at random is a very interesting form of writing a diary. It doesn't say anything if you can't read between the pixels, but for a person who knows me and has some clue of what I'm going through I'm sure the symbolism, combinations of colours and themes will tell a very accurate story.

Some days I only feel like black and white. Other days there are rainbows of trippy colours, photos of ice cream and lollipops and the day after I post images of teary-eyed punk girls in bathtubs. I don't think any one single piece of art I've made or a single text entry on this blog can describe my whole person and personality as well as that tumblr can. Wanna see who I am? Take a look.

Sunday, April 28, 2013

Where have I been?

I don't even know... I don't even want to include a picture in this post which breaks my consistant theme of always having images as a theme for my words.

I guess my life, as always, has been confusing. I's actually quite amusing how I always manage to confuse myself in the strange situations I find myself in. Ever since I stopped being a terrified little lump-like rabbit person I've gone off on various adventures that really make my life a whole lot more interesting but then afterwards I don't even know how I got into those adventures to begin with. Being spontaneous is great though and I'm starting to realize that this kind of spontaneous bravery (or stupidity  depending who you ask) can lead me to unexpected places.

I've been completely exhausted from tight deadlines at work since the launch of Sanctum 2 is approaching fast. I've been so wrapped up in it all that I've sort of gotten lost in that creativity. At the same time I've been inspired to reach out and try new forms of creative outlets. I've gotten back my urge to really focus on writing. I have new found energy and dreams about making that art book / biography / poetry thingy into reality. I just need to start somewhere and I think my most recent adventures has given me that final push in the right direction.

I've always hated feeling stuck in one place. That nasty sensation of being too comfortable in a place or situation that doesn't really move forward as fast as you'd want it to. I've always reached my biggest goals and dreams when I've dared to take that giant risky leap of changing everything. I think I'm ready to make that change again, but I need some time to prepare. Sort of like packing my mental backpack before I set out on a journey. I don't even know what my goals are. I think the traveling is the goal in itself and I don't mean traveling literally. More like just setting my life back in motion again. The only thing I need to do is to decide on something, set my eyes on it and then GO GO GO!

Feels scary and good as all great things do.

Tuesday, April 9, 2013


Not feeling empty anymore, it was as I predicted, a temporary bump on the road in a very bumpy every day life of me. Today I feel full! Like... full of myself! Yes, you heard me. I really don't see anything wrong with that description since being full of yourself means you actually appreciate yourself which is a good thing! As long as you don't walk around being all obnoxious and look down on others because of it. Ok I admit it, I can be a bit obnoxious but not in a mean or rude way. Noh noh!

Today I sat on the office couch all day with my laptop, planning ahead and doing a lot of writing instead of the usual painting. It feels good to just really dive into a specific part of work sometimes and spend a whole day focusing on it. My head can't really handle switching between tasks too quickly. It gets all dizzy and stuff. So while I was sitting there on the couch, writing and plotting, there was this cute boi cuddling with me! Sackboi! Gah, I miss playing Little Big Planet with G now. All those giggles!

Monday, April 8, 2013

Full of Empty

I'm trying to think of something to say that would describe how things are and what I'm doing. You know, the stuff you put on your blog. It's just that my days sort of melt together now and I don't really know what I'm doing or where I'm going. I guess I feel sort of empty right now. Even my attempts to paint at home end up feeling more empty than usual. It might be the tangled mess of confusing emotions that have tossed my mind around a bit too much. Emotional exhaustion. Still, I'm trying to replace all this empty with friends, laughs and plans for summer. Somehow it all feels kind of outside of me which I really don't like. As if I'm not actually a part of my own life right now, just watching from the sidelines wondering what's going on. I don't like it. I don't like it at all, but it's temporary. Just like everything else.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Now in full color motion picture!

So yes, I have thought about this for a long long time. And now I've done it. I'm on youtube. I will now not only blog, tweet, paint and tumblr-fumble but also talk nonsense with myself for all the world to see. Feels good. Feels safe. People on the internet are always nice... Right?

Mixtapes and Symbolism

I realized something today. Well, I think I've known for quite some time but it became really clear while trying to explain how my mind works to my friend. I overthink. This is common. But mix this with the mind of an artist who loves to analyze psychology, philosophy, symbolism and metaphors in music, images and poetry. I can see symbolism everywhere and I love to think about it. Twist and turn things in my head to make things fit like some sort of beautiful puzzle.

I don't expect people to be able to follow my trails of thoughts but I probably expect people to be able to see things the way I do. Of course they don't. Most people don't think like that at all and even if they do they might not see the things I see. They think and feel differently which is just the way things work.

When I go through things in life. Emotional turmoil, extreme happiness, curiosity, sadness or anger, I have a need to express this somehow. I try to explain things to myself to get some sort of order amongst my disorganized thoughts and ideas. I think I've always been like this but it's not until recently I've really started to become aware of it and how I can use it in artwork. More importantly though, I learn little by little how I work and how others work. Maybe this means I can avoid misunderstandings, confusion and sadness in the future? I hope so. I'll still make cryptic and symbolic art. Write strange poems that probably don't make sense to most people. It's my way of coping with things that I find difficult to handle otherwise. I love to share what I think and feel but not because I need others to understand. I do it to make myself understand and then if I'm able to convey what I feel that is a very sweet bonus.

Sometimes I feel like I'm way crazier than I thought I was but I don't think I'm really crazy (except for obvious mental illness) I'm simply an artist. Yes, the kind of artist that likes to sit by herself with her deep thoughts and create things that hold great meaning to her and to others it might just be another pretty picture. I laugh at this myself sometimes since it's such a storybook example of what an artist is like. Well, I guess that's just me. I've accepted that and I'm slowly accepting that most people probably won't be able to read my mind even when I really want them to. I'll try to be more clear in the future. But I'll never stop being cryptic either! Let me give you an example...

american pancake mix tape. made it for me. gave it to you. to understand us. others can find it if they can read the signs. enter the code. find the hidden feels.

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Effects of the Sun!

I know I've mentioned before, at some point in the past, that the weather has a huge impact on my moods. Most people prefer good weather over bad (obviooously..) but I feel that when I wake up a morning with sunshine everywhere I get this huge amount of energy and feel so happy I have to get up out of bed and just dance. This means I sometimes get late since dancing and getting dressed at the same time is kind of tricky. Well well...

A well known fact about me is that I suffer from extreme and rapid moodswings. I never know when a good day might turn into a horrible one and the other way around. My art usually reflects this. I can't draw happy things while feeling bad and I can't draw sad things while being super happy. I've also realized when looking back at my own gallery that you can see how my mood shifts over time. The downtimes and the ups. Highs and lows. It's sort of like a diary in art that I haven't really thought about before.

This gave me an idea because I've wanted to write about my own life. I've also always wanted to make a proper artbook. So why not both? It's still just a vague idea in my mind but I think I could do it. Mix true stories from my life with my own texts, poems, artwork and get an overview of my life this way. I'm actually really excited and all I need is a basic outline and somewhere to start. I'd do it for myself mostly but of course I want to share it too! That's the whole point of creativity for me. I make my art for my own happiness and then that enjoyment just doubles when I get to share it with others.

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Strawberry Bubbles

More photography! I was bored at the grocery store a few days ago and found some shelves with random stuff for 10kr (really cheap) So I got some soap bubbles, street chalk and then we were all set for a new photo session, Julia and I. I really can't wait for proper spring to arrive because it's still biting cold in the shade over here and there are silly piles of snow everywhere. Still, we went out and got all creative and slightly silly as always. Last night I got my hair re-bleached and dip dyed and every time I see my hair in the mirror I get the urge to eat it. But that would be totally gross so I won't do that... 

The story of how I met Julia, my long lost twin of awesome, is really quite weird and funny. At least if you like the weird kind of funny. We had both been sent to this "daycare centre" for depressed and anxious adults where all the sad people gather up to drink coffee and have a walk together. It was probably the most degrading and stupid thing I've ever done but as we went for that walk along with caretakers and other depressed people we were the only smokers so we walked to ourselves. Small-talk and polite conversation quickly lead to hyperactive squealing about how much we had in common. It's so weird because we have mutual friends, the same hobbies, the same taste in clothes, music and most other things. We are equally emotionally unstable and equally hyper awesome rainbox unicorns. Can't believe we've lived in the same city for so long without even meeting each other.

There was a time that I felt I didn't have any real friends. Well, I always had one or two but most of my friends were long-distance ones and no matter how much you love them they'll always be too far away to hug which is sad. Friends have moved to other cities, gotten other jobs or just drifted away. But I'm slowly beginning to realize that I now have a whole crew of amazing friends. They don't all know each other, but it's really incredible how many other creative, sensitive and cool girls there are out there and I know so many of them! I wanna get to know even more! We're the kind of girls that were social outcasts when we were kids. Somewhat crazy daydreamers that just don't fit into reality so we prefer to make our own. We're not all the same but we can always relate to each other and we've got each others backs. I wish I could gather all my awesome girls in one place and we'd start a mean badass crew! All of us! Then we'd find even more people like us and we'd have so much fun. Doing random things, boosting our self esteem and playing around like silly hyper squirrels while painting, singing and snapping pics. That's one daydream I really want to make into reality.

Saturday, March 23, 2013


To me, art has always been beauty. It's been something I just have to do. It's never been a hobby or a career choice. If I didn't make art I wouldn't be me. All my life I've kind of been struggling though. Always trying to find a balance between what I really want to do and what I should do in order to improve my skills and get a job. I mean, really, an artist? Pfft, is that even a real job? I'd say no, it's not. It's a way of being and I know that might sound pretentious but for me it's true. When I spent all those years in school trying to improve as an artist. Doing millions of sketches just to learn anatomy I felt as if I was being drained. It didn't feel right and I didn't improve. I actually took steps backwards and after a while I couldn't draw at all. It was a process that felt so painful and filled with stress and performance anxiety that I was afraid to even pick up a pencil.

I developed social anxiety disorder and I lived in a deep depression for about 8-10 years. Sure, I made some images but they didn't feel like me. I didn't have fun while I made them. I didn't enjoy the process because I was just looking at the end product. It makes me sad to think about it because I see now what I did wrong. I started to create art in order to please others instead of myself. I don't know if I actually managed to please others either. Sure some of the pics looked good and people told me I was good at what I did but that was all that it was. It also hurts to see so many friends of mine struggle with the same methods of "grinding" their art skills as if lifting weights at a gym. Drawing is not a work out session. It's supposed to be something you do because you really want to do it. Not to improve, not to get a job. Just draw. For you.

I've managed to break through that mental barrier of performance anxiety. I simply stopped looking ahead, aiming for some kind of goal. My art is not the means to any end. Each painting is important to me, both during the process and after I have shown it to people. To see and hear their reactions. I haven't really thought much about this until now but I've noticed a change in peoples reactions and it made me think about the difference between my older works and the ones I make today. The art I make today is honest, open, vulnerable and revealing. I now find myself unable to paint unless I have true emotions to convey, at least while painting for me. Work is another thing entirely  I don't paint in order to have a job. I have a job in order to paint.

I've been sharing a lot lately and not just the usual rambles about nothing special. I know I'm sort of taking a big risk in being so open and honest for all the world to see, but I've thought about that a lot. People get to see straight into my life as if standing outside of my window but I'm ok with that. I've put up colourful curtains and even though I'm not hiding behind them I know that the world can't see all of me. They'll see the colours and the shapes I make. They'll see the art I make and start to think. At the top of this post I have taken screenshots of comments I've received on some of my latest pieces and I find myself going back to read them over and over. I really can't describe the feeling of hearing someone tell me that my art makes them realize things about themselves that they didn't know before. They share their stories and emotions with me because I share mine with them.

Internet is a place full of shallow interactions and arguments. Anger, annoyance and funny jokes. To find true honesty is kind of rare and I guess that's because of the risk involved. But people can't really hurt me because of what I share. It's the other way around. The things I share leave my mind for a moment and when they are out there for everyone to see I feel no shame. Everyone will have opinions wether they are positive, negative or indifferent. I'm not sharing to see peoples reactions though (even if they are very welcome) I'm sharing to change my opinion about myself. It's just a thing of mine I guess. Unless I get my thoughts and emotions out of my head they will linger there and grow in the most disgusting ways. If I write or paint them and show them it doesn't matter who sees them. I can let go of them and move on. That's how I see my own art.

Friday, March 22, 2013

Ready Made American Pancake Mix

If I can be truthful, which I know I can. You told me to always tell the truth. You would do the same. I'll have to admit I sometimes lied in those conversations. Trying to make it feel better than it did. You haven't yet revealed your own lies. They don't need to come out I feel them anyway. I felt them from the start, soaking my lips like strawberry poison. It was easy to steal me away. I have always wished to be stolen anyway. I surrendered from the start. No. I surrendered even before I dared to look at your eyes. When I did they were kind. That scared me more than anything. It scares me even today. Like a frightened rabbit willingly choking in your embrace. Those arms of yours. They are so very long. They'd reach around me twice, tickling victimize. Like the lions in the fairy tales you'd feel strong and safe. You can pretend that to be the truth but you will always know. In Real Life the lions shred your skin. And you were no lion at all, you were just a boy. I blamed myself for being so frightened. It didn't make no sense. But of course it did. Sometimes worrying is justified. As if feelings obeyed any laws. I tried to scratch them all away. Imagining the lions claws. So you see what I did. It's ok it's ok. I didn't know what I said. I don't want you to know. But I want you to know. I want them all to know. That I am going to break. Don't leave me. Please just don't. Stahp. I didn't say those words. I never did. I didn't even say those words when my mind played them on repeat in my head. Like the songs you used to send. Giggling little links of secrets. Independent words making a sentence. I want you I want you. That is what I heard. That is what I felt. You know why? Because just like our songs, your arms held hidden messenges. Be safe but know this: Child I will hurt you. I'm not in love. Our crystal castle never got to be. It was all in my head again, what the hell was I thinking? Happy endings just aren't realistic. Maso-fucking-chistic. Well you know I've always liked pain. You sure know I've suffered enough. You knew it from the start because I told you straight from my heart. Like a textbook cliché I poured myself out. Let the entire world watch as I fell apart. Hope they witness as I built myself up again. But fixed things don't always fix. Just like our Ready Made American Pancake Mix. I knew it was the last time. I had already given up. Kept the lies alive by risking my own life. I saw it you know. I know you do because you looked nervous when I did. The end credits of Stand By Me. That familiar song played only for a brief moment but it was enough. Moments and time all blur to me. Couldn't see straight. Couldn't think straight. But we watched that movie a week ago? Did you watch it again? I said like a joke self harm choke. It all became so close you know? I could see the blanket on your bed. The one that made me pure like binary. I knew you hadn't spent your nights alone with that blanket. I knew because you had spent them with me. But like zeros and ones your code made no sense to me. Dyscalculia is a bitch. I had the answers now. By telling lies like truths I had cheated on your test. Like you cheated on me. You fell in love on me. Like you fell in love on that blanket. But you didn't fall in love with me. You just fell inside of me. You found your princess in another crystal castle. Tell me what to swallow I'll believe anything. I know you'd never hurt me I'll pretend to be just fine. Then maybe you will realize this was all just a dream. Speaking about dreams I told you about mine. I'd write them down with scribbled little letters. Resting between your arms. We'd think it, talk it, laugh it out. Our movie nights gave me such cute ideas. We'd watch Lolita and I'd feel just like her. Only you wouldn't be like him. No no that would have been insane. No I knew you didn't look at me that way and I could pretend anyway. We'd build imaginary tents and become runaways like Sam and Suzy. Make fearsome animal hats and roar as we charged. We'd go into the forest and glow like trippy stars. I rested in those plans. Summer/Spring 2013. We'd be /fa/shionable and #swag. We wouldn't have had to brag. They would all be able to see. See that you were just like me. And I was just like you. But it didn't feel like that to you. Well that was what you said. But wait...No. You did tell me that. You said I felt so much like you that hurting me would feel like hurting yourself. You didn't hurt yourself. That's my thing, you can't have it. You walked away a winner. With that smile you had when you came up with another mean joke. I laughed at them all, you know I did. I thought them all funny since they were innocent. I knew you loved my lovely lumps. We'd laugh about your cheesy humour. You'd buy me cheezedoodles just to feed me noodles. But I was never your fangirl. I told you from the start. I told you not to break my heart. I didn't lie when I said I'd die. Look it up, it's on wikipedia. I knew I was strong and I didn't need your attention. We didn't need each other we were happy alone. But that was the thing, together you are less alone. We'd do it all together and you'd have my back. But I put some trust in you and landed on my head. I tried to do handstands for you I tried to do headstands for you but every time I fell on you. Every time I fell. Changed from pink to black and blue for you. Got holes in my new jeans for you. Sharing is caring didn't you know? Like we promised to share our secrets. At least the ones that'd hurt. You said you needed some time alone and I knew to back away. I felt a bit embarrassed but I pushed that fear away. Of course you wouldn't have her there you wouldn't even dare. When I found out it was through your friend. They had the days mixed up but all the facts where straight. Straight to anxiety attacks and hide it with a smile. It wasn't as if anything had happened, you had just fallen asleep. Was I ok with that? Of course I was, I'm always ok. Ok. Ok. Ok. But nah that just didn't work. I crashed down like a sad picture on a paper airplane. Pretty useless and only fun a while. You used those pretty lies again or maybe misused truths. Recycled lines to convince me to yield. Convince me to be ok. To be ok with your attachment issues and your self righteous way of life. You always were quite pretentious and that always made you proud. I thought it was quite cute until it wasn't anymore. I guess you grew uncomfortable with me like I grew uncomfortable with your eyes. I tried not to look and I tried not to care. But that took me nowhere. Why should I feel ashamed? What is shameful in feeling surreal after feeling so real? I tried to make you a mix tape. But I always changed my mind. You didn't deserve my cute hipster gifts. I spent the last of my money and care on the gas for that rented car. I think you should feel ashamed but I won't tell you what to do. I never did before so why bother now? I let you fall in love on me. I even helped you out. Out the door. Carrying two boxes that did belong to you. One a secret pink box full of cinnamon and drugs. One a box full of hugs. We had planned to eat them together and I bought them for us. I wanted to do it like we used to do it, do it all night. Ready Made American Pancake Mix. Mix Mix Mix my tape up.

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Handle with care

I've come a long way in growing stronger, building up my self esteem and my own willpower. I'm fucking proud of myself for having survived so much shit that has repeatedly bashed my mental health to the ground. People know this because I've been very open with my problems and how I work as a person. I've never asked for special treatment but I've wanted my friends and family to know that my mental health is fragile and that I might actually break, for real, in case something happens that triggers it and sends me back into that state of mind.

I recently blogged about my borderline issues and I've come far with learning how to deal with them. I'm happy I managed to get so far because these last few weeks I've needed all of that newly built strenght to get through dissapointment, rejection, misunderstandings and being left with a broken heart. This happens to people, it's life and it hurts for everybody. The thing I think people forget sometimes though is that I'm not an average normal person. Heart break and sadness is difficult for everybody but for people with mental health issues as severe as mine, these things can actually be deadly. Think about it like a severe food allergy. You feel fine as long as you don't eat those peanuts but if you accidentally happen to get some into your system you might actually die. Now imagine the same thing but with affection and love. My combination of ADHD, Borderline and Bipolar type 2 is difficult to manage without having hopes crushed and without feeling rejected and fooled. Lets look at some statistics and facts here so you can understand that it's not an exaggeration I've made up myself.

Borderline: The suicide rating in BPD-patients is between 8-10% and especially while trying to cope with the sense of rejection which can actually be lethal in this case.

Bipolar type 2: As many as 50% of Bipolar type 2 patients will at some point in their lives attempt suicide and this mental illness is the third most common cause of death in 15-24 year olds. It's a deadly chronic mental illness that I try to cope with every day.

Now add those two together and you have quite a fragile mind to handle. I'm doing everything I can in order to strenghten it. I've come so far and I have felt so much stronger in myself since I came out of the hospital, got answers to why I am the way I am and also the right medical treatment. I don't think about myself as mentally ill, but I am. I realize this while trying to cope with difficult levels of emotional stress. People who get close to me should know this, and I always tell them the risks involved. I try to be careful, both for my own good and for those who I get close to since the ones I really love also has the ability to hurt me the most even if they don't do it deliberately. People can't walk on eggshells around me and I can't walk around in life with a safety helmet on to avoid all possible danger. I've tried all my life but it just doesn't work that way. I'm not asking for anything other than some empathy and for people to at least attempt to understand how serious this actually is. I've had to go through some of the most intense emotional trials these past weeks and I haven't been able to show up at work every day. I think any other person in my particulary complicated and messy situation would feel bad. Then imagine that with my mental problems and you'll hopefully understand that when I stay home from work to cure myself from heart break it's not just because I need to relax and recover. I actually have to fight for my fucking life and that's not an exaggeration or an attempt to gain extra sympathy. Just understanding. Every time I manage to get through a day at these anxiety levels without harming myself or actually making reality out of irrational suicidal thoughts is a huge success for me. I know it might be impossible for some to relize that when I say I'm fighting for my life that is the brutal truth and not just the words of a rejected girl. Heart break might actually make my heart stop if I don't get the time to mend it. I can deal with it on my own, but I need time and I need to be handled with care for a while.

The reason why I write this is because while going through this phase I've gotten to hear smart words such as : "Well you should have seen this coming" or "It's your own fault for trusting him." and "I thought you were stronger than this" and of course the classic: "just get over it."

As an answer to all of that I want to say: I am strong. I'm a fucking super hero of mental strenght for managing to survive this shit. Don't blame me for trusting and loving someone and don't tell me it's my own fault. If I never dared to get close to anyone I'd have to accept a life of lonely bitterness and I refuse to stop hoping to meet someone who won't let me down. I'll keep fighting this battle in my mind. Just give me the time and I'll heal my own wounds. Just don't fucking pour salt into them without second thought. Thanks for your consideration.

Sunday, March 17, 2013

Fine little shrines

Sometimes when I get home (ok, every time I get home) I throw all my shit onto the floor and throw myself onto the bed to just spend the entire evening painting or relaxing. It's really my favorite way to spend my evenings but in the end there is a whole lot of shit on the floor and I'm not joking. I decided I wanted to decorate my home a bit and realized how crazy messy it was. Absolutely terrifyingly disgusting I'll have you know. Well, I cleaned it up today in one room at least. The room I spend most time in. I still have some decorating left to do before I want to show the entire thing but there is this one special corner right over my bed that I want to share.

I have a tendency (as I think most people do) to sometimes fall into that hopeless feeling of loneliness. That kind when you sort of forget everything except how lonely you feel and you start to cry because you think nobody understands you or even cares that much about you. No matter how irrational that feeling is, it does have a very scary presence once it jumps into your head. I got this feeling last friday when I came home and started thinking about how most people probably had something really fun and special to do with friends and loved ones on that particular friday night when I had to be alone. After spending about ten minutes in complete darkness on my floor, still with shoes on because I was too sad to bother taking them off, I just shook my head and started to gather some courage. Walking around my messy home I picked up old photos, little decorative objects, letters and postcards from friends and family. Heirlooms that carry so much meaning to me because I have such fond memories of them. Such as the matryoshka dolls I got from my grandmother. I know all of her grandchildren have played with them and I can't look at them without thinking back on how me and my little sister used to paint in her kitchen or sit on her couch to eat candy or lie in bed, arguing over who had the most popcorn left in their bowl.

There is also the little pink bicycle my other grandmother gave me. She and her mother (my great grandmother) have the same habit as me of collecting all sorts of pretty things that make us happy. That bicycle was just one out of a whole bunch of things I used to carefully play with as a kid. Putting all these things up on my wall sort of felt like building small shrines dedicated to all the wonderful people I know to remember that I'm not alone at all. Other things included in these shrines are the Adventure Time characters I got in the mail from a girl named Bonni that I met online and became friends with instantly. I also have a letter from Elysia written on cardboard (which isn't in the photos since it's a personal letter) I have postcards with paintings by Waterhouse given to me from my friend Maria. Gabriella is present on several photos as well as her cats. That cute little resting doe figurine is something she gave me too since she knows I collect them. I have so many other items I want to include here. A special memorial object from my time at the hospital that fellow lunatic Lihnda stole in order to give to me. Another little fawn figure I got in a chocolate egg from Jessica, also while at the hospital. I have a photo of me and my mother at her wedding day, both dressed in crazy fluffy dresses typical of the early 90's.

 I could go on and on about these things and all the memories and meanings but I wouldn't be able to stop. The important thing is that whenever I do start feeling lonely or sad again I can just turn my head up a bit from my bed to look up and find comfort in my fine little friendship shrines. Everyone should take some time to build such memory shrines at some point. It's very soothing and fills you with warm fuzzy happy feels, sort of like drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows in it.