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.

Friday, March 15, 2013

The art of not giving a shit

During all this time of realizing new ways of looking at life and learning what makes me happy and what has made me feel bad in the past I've grown more and more resilient towards getting upset or anxious about things.

I used to care about everything. The world is going to shit, ice is melting, animals are suffering and kids are starving to death somewhere. People behave like douchebags on the internet and lets not even get started on politics. Gawd, all of that stuff flooded my brain every single day when I woke up and I sure had plenty of nightmares too. I'd walk around all day trying to come up with smart arguments in a debate I've seen briefly on some website the other day. I'd get angry tot he point of crying from some offensive youtube-comment. Fuck it, I felt miserable and my faith in humanity was less than zero.

Ugh, I get tired just writing about it. So yeah, I was at the hospital for a few months and during that time I had no real internet access. There were TV's but sitting there amongst depressed, anxious and psychotic patients in the couch, watching a political debate or an episode of Americas Next Top Model felt so fucking stupid that I have no words for it. Are we supposed to really care about that crap? When people literally feel so overwhelmed mentally that they want to die? Should we really suffer so much just in order to do the "morally right thing" by caring about all the issues and problems in the world?

No... Well, you go on and do that if you really want to but I'd advice all those who do feel overwhelmed, anxious, annoyed or depressed to stop caring and start to learn the very simple art of not giving a shit. No, this doesn't mean you want kids to starve or animals to be tortured. It just means that you don't let that shit get into your mind when you don't need to have it there. You do not have to come up with solutions for the worlds problems. You do not need to sacrifice yourself to fix someone elses life. You don't need to spend your days arguing on internet forums until your fingers bleed from typing. Really, honestly, ask yourself why the fuck you care so much. Does this specific problem affect your directly? I mean as in, is this a problem that has to do with you as a person? In that case, stand strong and keep your head up. If it doesn't have anything to do with you there is no reason to dive into it unless it makes you really friggin happy which I doubt it does.

I know, these words probably sound really cold and harsh to some because we live in a society where everyone is supposed to care. Selflessness is a virtue held in such high regard that if you ever give a hint that you wouldn't sacrifice yourself to save a third world country you might just get your head smashed in. Not caring doesn't mean you're not aware. It doesn't mean that you feel fine with the way things are. It doesn't mean that you wouldn't prefer things to be another way, it just means that you choose what to care about. It is up to you to choose what you let into your mind. I've chosen not to let anything slip into my brain that makes me tick in a bad way and you know why? Because those things made me want to die. Yes, I really really wanted to die. I hated the world so much and I was so desperate for change that I just gave up. I gave up on myself. Was it worth it? Maybe just for the sake of learning the lesson. I don't want to care so I don't.

Think of the world selfless. Selfless - without a self. You put yourself lower in worth compared to something or someone else. Sacrifice. Why is this a beautiful thing?

Deal with issues that have a direct impact on your life or on the lives of the people you love and care for. If you see someone kick their dog on the street, go slap that fuckers face but if it happend half way across the world? Will it help if you share a picture of the injured dog on facebook? You spread awareness of something people already know all too well. You spread misery, yeah, I really mean that. I guess the slacktivism of the internet and also peoples urge to share just how much they care makes me tick in a bad way. So I won't really let that bother me anymore either. It's really that simple.

Saturday, March 9, 2013

the darker things

Lately I've been pouring all sorts of emotions, thoughts and memories into my artwork and also photography. The darker themes lay close to my heart and it helps me a lot to cope with certain things to just make imagery out of these things rather than letting them gather dust in my mind.

I worry though because I've never really been this open or fearless with what I share with the world. I worry because I might upset family and friends that might think all of this means I'm turning back into the sad and scared person I used to be. I want to assure you that's not the case. Yes, I do feel horribly sad sometimes and I still get anxiety attacks now and then but I'm solving it all. I'm much much stronger as a person now and the darker art I'm creating is a perfect way for me to express what I've been though or what my mind can look like on the inside during those bad times.

 Today me and my amazingly sweet friend Julia did a spontaneous photo session where the pictures turned out really explicit and revealing compared to other photo sessions where I've played around as an amateur model. Julia is an amazing photographer and I love to go into the mindset of what the photos should convey emotionally. I don't look at these photos as portraits of myself but rather me using my own body to create artwork depicting a character or a situation that has nothing to do with my person. It's all acting and creative expression so I'd hate to worry people or have family, friends and strangers look at them as if it's some kind of true depiction of me. It's really not. I'm having so much fun playing around with this kind of creativity and while creating darker art I might step into that dark mood  temporarily but afterwards I always feel much better and the process helps me a lot.
I've also considered plenty of times wether it's wise or not to publish images of myself looking like this. They are public and can be seen by anyone. Now, my view on this is that it doesn't matter at all. It's me and my body in the images, yes, but I haven't come up with any reasonable argument as to why I shouldn't share certain types of images. The only thing that scares me is that I might scare people who care about me. I appreciate your care and concern but by writing this I want to assure you that I'm ok and that I am very aware of what I'm doing. I feel no shame and I have no regrets. I'm doing what I want to do for my own well being so even if the things I create in art might be imagery filled with pain, anxiety and difficult subject matters you should know that the fact that I create and share anything at all means that I am well. I am happy.

Sunday, March 3, 2013

the self.

My handsome BFF 5-ever introduced me to Ayn Rand. Russian philosophy badass who wrote a bunch of interesting stories as well as plenty of non-fiction that I can't wait to devour. Seriously, I had already started my own transformation before I started reading but the things she writes really explode in my mind like some amazing revolution. I'll post some quotes to show you what I mean.

-"A creative man is motivated by the desire to achieve, not by the desire to beat others."

-"Achievement of your happiness is the only moral purpose of your life, and that happiness, not pain or mindless self-indulgence, is the proof of your moral integrity, since it is the proof and the result of your loyalty to the achievement of your values."

-"Love is the expression of one's values, the greatest reward you can earn for the moral qualities you have achieved in your character and person, the emotional price paid by one man for the joy he receives from the virtues of another."

-"The question isn't who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop me."

-"To say "I love you" one must first be able to say the "I."

-"The hardest thing to explain is the glaringly evident which everybody had decided not to see."

I've come to understand a whole bunch of idiots (right-wing-christian-fanatics) regard Ayn Rand like some capitalism godess that justifies their ways, but who gives a fuck. To me her texts are not political in any way. They simply attempt to show people that they are the rulers of their own lives no matter what government and society tries to tell them. That is not political to me, it is highly personal since it's all about the self of the individual. Your own identity which is your own property. You decide what to do with it, how to shape it and how to enjoy it, because that is what it's all about. Why wait for something good to happen, why bother if the world is shit and doom is upon you? If you can imagine your own life and your world you can also make it happen. Rule your world like a king, not by ruling over others but your environment, your identity and your dreams.

As for me, I've decided to make all my dreams come true and it's not really that difficult. You might think it would be, I thought so too. For this summer I've written down so many cute little plans. The size of the dreams don't matter at all. I want to have picnics with friends. Put up tents with colourful lanterns, blankets and pillows. I want to dance in a sunset to amazing music and take a bunch of pictures. Sit under trees with a sketchbook and drink iced chaï latte. I'll hug my friends and get hugs back. I'll save money to travel wherever I want in the moment. Be spontaneous, crazy and never apologize or try to justify my own wishes. If people don't understand, what does that matter? I understand my own dreams and that is all that matters.

The quotes about love hit me right in the heart. Realizing that I've never loved myself I've probably never been able to fully love anyone else either. I thought that was bullshit when people used to tell me to love myself first but now I understand that it's the basic root of happiness. I love myself and indulge in my own dreams and my own satisfaction which means I'm able to spread that happiness, all that love and energy and the friends and loved ones I have around me means o much more to me now. They mean more because I know I don't depend on them. It sounds really harsh to say "I don't need them" but that only means that I've got enough self-love to know I'd survive as the last person on earth if I had to. If I'm rejected or abandoned by someone I care about it will make me incredibly sad but it won't ruin me. I'll always have myself as the base of my own life which is exactly how it should be. If I lose the fear of losing others I'll feel much more comfortable around them. I treasure each moment with them and I love all the little things I gain from friends and family. I treasure them for real in all ways possible. Being selfish isn't an ugly thing. It does not mean you don't care for others. It does not mean you step on others or do everything for personal gain. It means you care for yourself, protect your heart and when you want to give and love, you do so with a genuine sense of care. You're never obligated to do anything for others so when you chose to do it you will know and THEY will know that you do it because you truly love them and care for them. Think about that for a bit. It's a beautiful thing.

Saturday, March 2, 2013

my little borderline.

image painted based on

I got diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder a few months ago. Also known as emotionally unstable personality disorder (borderline type) depending on which diagnostics manual the doctor wants to use. I wasn't surprised at all, I had known for quite some time that my problems met almost all of the criteria for the diagnosis. Still, people around me reacted very strongly to this and nobody thought it was an accurate diagnosis for me. They simply didn't see those personality traits in me.

At first I felt sad and then increasingly annoyed until I actually got angry, especially at the doctors and nurses who kept arguing against each other over what my personality was like and none of them really knew me except based on the test results they got from examining me.
I thought it was disturbing how they all seemed to think they knew more about me than I knew about myself. That's when my personality began to change rapidly. Listening and taking in everyones opinions of my person I just realized that none of them had any idea of who I really was and I also realized I had never been sure myself. I've gone through life always hiding my true self so deep I couldn't even see it myself. I used to feel like a character on the sidelines of peoples lives. Not quite real unless someone told me their opinion of me. I changed like an actor changing clothes, depending on my environment I adapted without even thinking about it.

Some argue that people diagnosed with borderline only feel worse after being diagnosed. Personality disorders can be "cured" which also scare many borderlines since getting that diagnosis helps us define who we are since we have no clear answer to that ourselves. The problems become a lifestyle. Mixing intense love with pure hate, both for ourselves and the ones close to us. Scared to death of rejection, because who are we without others to tell us?

Borderlines are not a special breed of people. None is like the other and it doesn't show on the outside. I hate it when people make prejudice into fact and science. I'm writing this post based on myself and the last thing I want to do is to claim to know what all borderlines are like. This is my little borderline.

empty is not who I really am
fill me
dripping texture like kitten tongue
lips soaked trickling ice cream
suck it up bitch, just do it

I didn't mean to do it I swear

empty empty - what do you think?
fill me fill me - I need your opinion
I'll make it my own
I'll be good I promise, unless you want me bad?
tell me who to be
so I can make it me
tell me what to do
so I can defy you

run with scissors all night
high as a kite
make my life an adventure
I can't make it on my own

decaying deliberately is all the rage
rage rage rage
don't be angry with me, I'll die
I'm just sad can't you see?
angered you fought myself
spilled like milk in the morning

no it's all ok

open the music box
it's your turn to decide
my little borderline.

I started to think of my diagnosis as a person. Not entirely me, but a very dominant part of who I was. She's a girl stuck in the mindset of a 15 year old. Sensitive, perceptive and explosive. Creative to the point of losing reality. An intelligent little devil who whispers in my ear how ugly I am, pathetic, stupid and fat. "Everybody hates you, nobody loves you.", she whispers as soon as your senses are triggered. Tensed up, shoulders drawn to her ears she wishes she was dead. She wants to hide and flee, not let anyone see her. She also wants everyone to see, see how much she hurts so they can fix her. She's between child and adult and has no idea how to cope with life. That huge, terrible thing that seems to demand so much of her. She stays alive wrapped in someones arms, close to someones heart. If they let her go she'll fall down and break like an egg shell, useless and thrown away. Crushed.

She's angry, but never lets it show. Passive and agressive go well together for her and her voice seems like toxic strawberry milk when she tells you it's all your fault. You don't deserve to be treated well because you're a fucking horrible little bitch that thinks too highly of herself. Why don't you just die? Everyone would be relieved without you around. If they cry we can laugh at them from hell. They should have cried for us when they had the chance. Go on, pick up that knife, look how beautiful you are, all pale and cute with blood all over. Don't you think?

With her artistic eyes she knows the decay carries beauty. Soothed and calmed by the fact that her demise is like a romantic drama she finds excuses for herself. Regrets instantly, hides, hurts, hates herself even more. Tries to justify to get away from the guilt. Not guilt towards herself but to those she loves. Now they will really think she is useless. Now they will leave her for real. She doesn't want that to happen, anything except that. The only solution for her is to disappear before her safety leaves her. Better kill herself before those she trusted do it for her.

So I started to talk to her, like a small and emotional friend I had. Instead of letting her words get to me I answered all those taunts and paranoid warnings with comforting love. Don't flee, fight! Look the fear in the eyes and don't yelp like a chihuaua, roar like a mofokkin' TIGER! Do it! It took a little while before she dared. Cautiously she stepped out of her safe nightmare and into the identity she wanted herself. When she wondered who she was without someone there to tell her I answered with the question: "Who do you want to be?" and she already knew. Every time she attempted to ask someone for advice or their opinion on her choices I stopped her. I told her we'd do it together, just her and me. With confident laughs we planned our lives together, her and me. Became best friends instead of bitter enemies. Together we have everything. Creative souls, daring originality, witty intelligence and a capacity to feel feels with such intensity that it affects those around us. When we cry we cry, when we get angry we roar and when we're happy we dance until we fall to the ground, laughing so hard it hurts. The good kind of hurt.

my little borderline and I.