Archive for November, 2012

I don´t care about a title. I just want to disappear.

Posted in health, mental health, personal with tags , , , , on November 29, 2012 by theweirdphilosopher

Everything´s depressing me lately and I don´t really like myself. I hate my looks, I cannot write, I feel useless and dumb, and the only thing that seems to be able to cure this is physical work. It´s not like there´s not enough to do, but I feel this is like a drug addiction: It´s a short-term fix, but in the long run it only makes me more miserable. It only seems to confirm my feeling of worthlessness: Instead of thinking, writing, blogging I should better wash the dishes, at least that´s useful.

This feeling of worthlessness is one of the worst feelings there are. I want out of my own skin, my own mind, my own character. I cannot love anything. When I see something good someone else did it just makes me jealous. This jealousy increases my sense of worthlessness in two ways: First, because it seems to reaffirm my own shortcomings on every level, and second, because on top of everything else, I´m a sore loser, too.

It´s the type of feeling you have to keep to yourself because no one can stand that kind of whining. Really no one. Not even me.  It´s the kind of feeling that makes me want others to fail. It´s interesting, as this is something that seems to be associated with narcissists. Wanting others to fail because you feel so worthless. Then again, who doesn´t feel like that at times? Is that really possible in a world full of competition? Doesn´t it take some die-hard arrogance to believe no one is better than you?

The key, of course, seems to be to accept that others are better than you and to still like yourself. For some reason that has always seemed like a cop-out to me. I can accept that there are much better physicists, biologists and linguists than me, but only because I am none. What of singers, though?

For some reason that is my sorest spot. I can bow down to writers, they actually inspire me. I cannot when it comes to singers. I actually cannot bear going to concerts. They always make me feel like shit. And I think I know the reason. While I can sing, and while I love to sing, I´ve never performed in front of an audience. I´m not a singer. I´m dead sure that if I was, if I had given it my best shot, I wouldn´t be feeling so down when I watch a good performance.

So, the key to envy and jealousy is not the level of performance per se. It is whether or not one is using one´s talents. Singing is something where I´m definitely not using mine. It might not be so great, but I´ve actually had singing lessons, so it´s not like my voice makes lightbulbs burst.

I treat my voice like I treat my emotional life: I´ve always kept it to myself. Writing is a way of reflecting on them, but the one thing that never shows when I write, other than when I sing, is insecurity. I´m not particularly vulnerable when it comes to writing. I know I can do it decently well. I´ve done it all my life. Nearly everyone I know accepts I can do it. And sometimes it feels like a death sentence.

I don´t feel like myself when I´m writing. Or maybe like too much of myself. It is so incredibly mundane. It lacks the magic. Singing has plenty of magic. I´d actually be happy to sing all day. I feel like a different person when I sing, but like a person I should be. I feel like it brings up the best in me. Sometimes. Sometimes, when I cannot sing properly, when everything sounds wrong, it makes me feel like a disgusting, plump, stupid person.

Maybe this is not a case of writing versus singing. I´ll always be writing anyway, I can´t help it. But I will never feel like my life is complete if I cannot express myself through singing.

I rarely got nice reactions to my singing. When I see singers on stage I wonder why they were accepted while I was rejected. I think it has to do with confidence. They look confident. I don´t, not at all, not when I sing. With singing, though, that seems to be the main point. Charisma. Look like you´re convinced of what you´re doing, and others will assume you have a right to do it. Maybe a shot of that arrogance would really be a good thing. Might even make me a nicer person, ironically, because I wouldn´t have to be so damn bitter anymore.

I really let everyone walk straight over me. If someone says I suck, I believe it or feel like an arrogant twat for not believing it. And more than anything else I´m angry that anybody should feel entitled to make me feel like this. As if they were any fucking better at anything! If they were, they´d have something else to do! Sometimes I would love to resolve my conflicts with a baseball bat. Mind games are so awfully exhausting and frustrating. You typically cannot call people out on them without letting them know they struck a chord. And that goes against all my instincts. I tend to hide it when I´m hurt. Maybe that´s the wrong thing to do. Maybe the only reasonable thing is to fuck pride and say: “Why do you say that, it hurts me when you do that?” It´s some kind of weapon, after all. A moral assault. When dealing with such people, you eventually become a hypocrite, utilizing your emotions in order to battle others while pretending you´re merely stating your feelings, void of ulterior motives. And somehow that disgusts me. Why not go all the way and become a full-fledged manipulative asshole who attacks first? At least that would be somehow honest, whereas playing the victim card and resorting to emotional blackmail…

Communication is such a tricky little thing. Saying the truth (“What you say hurts me”) can be just as manipulative as telling a lie. I´m so tired of being a victim, because as a victim you can never win. You have to stay a victim so as to not lose your moral advantage, but that means you can never properly fight back since you might hurt someone´s feelings in the process and that would be evil, whereas if you start out as the perpetrator people will hold it in your favor if you behave at least half-ways decently.

I´ve tried to stop being a victim by blaming myself when something others did hurt me, but that is the opposite of a solution. That´s just tightening the screws and hiding your shame. I´m so disgusted with being too spineless to fight back when I am slated. I think I must be awfully dependent on others. I more or less check if it´s okay with everyone if I go to bed or wash the dishes. This is sick. I shouldn´t feel like it´s anyone´s business or like anyone could be rightfully angry at me if I do that. I guess this is to some extent the heritage of my time with Athena. She got mad at me for such arbitrary things that I don´t know what to expect from people anymore, and when she was annoyed she was annoyed for the weirdest reasons. You´d accept someone is angry for having to wait for someone, but you wouldn´t expect it turns into a major crisis because it allegedly indicates that the person who was late is indifferent, selfish and morally deformed since birth. Please mind that I´m talking about a one time incident, not even perpetual lateness.

My lack of independence, though, also has some other roots. Athena just added that extra level of anxiety. I could try to look into those reasons, but I´m not sure I can do that without slating myself. I dislike myself too much at the moment. Actually I shouldn´t even post this. It is a pure expression of self-loathing, and probably full of distortions that needlessly compromise myself. It is an expression of the same masochism that makes me hide my feelings and vulnerabilities and blame myself for everything just to look strong and less like a victim. If you´re too weak to beat up the ones who beat you up, beat up yourself. It gains you more respect than crying that it hurts.

I guess this, however, is just another short-term fix. It is a sign, after all, that the abusers are in your head and that your feelings and your mind don´t belong to you. You have to hide even inside your own self. A step forward would be to separate having feelings from showing them, or from feeling like everybody knows how you feel. Establishing some kind of privacy in your head where the mean voices can´t go. It sometimes frightens me just how far away from that privacy I am. It´s like having to perform even the most intimate actions under prying eyes. You wouldn´t get naked in the presence of strangers, and neither would you show feelings to people who try to make you feel bad.






My nomination(s)

Posted in personal with tags on November 26, 2012 by theweirdphilosopher

Lady Grave has nominated me for the Very Inspiring Blog Award!

Below are the rules for the Very Inspiring Blog Award so please follow carefully:

1. Display the award logo on your blog.
2. Link back to the person who nominated you.
3. State 7 things about yourself.
4. Nominate 15 other bloggers for this award and link to them.
5. Notify those bloggers of the nomination and the award’s requirements.

Seven things about me:

1. I love candy. Sometimes I have candy for breakfast. Actually, I also love eating and I hate that my phobia of vomiting gets in the way of that.

2. I hate sex scenes in movies. I dig the murder scenes, though.

3. I live mostly in my bed.

4. I make up stories in my head in which I live. It has been like that all my life.

5. I love being stared at on the street because I´m singing, or partying, or wearing strange things.

6. I never want to be a “grown-up” who goes to a boring office every day, has no sense of humour and thinks that life has to be this way.

7. I´m so obviously a child it´s amazing I can blog in a foreign language.

Two blogs that inspired me:

I know it ought to be fifteen blogs, but some of the blogs that inspired me most over the last two years are no longer active, and some aren´t even accessible, so I picked out just two blogs which I really love:

Emerging from broken

This is a very thoughtful and honest blog about emotional and also other types of child abuse and the author´s journey towards healing.

Clarisse Thorn

Clarisse Thorn writes both educational and personal articles about BDSM, sex and feminism, which have in many ways been a revelation for me.

I picked those two blogs because they both help me accept myself more.




An old flatmate named paranoia

Posted in health, mental health, personal with tags , , , , on November 26, 2012 by theweirdphilosopher

The one thing I really wanted to leave behind when I left home was my paranoia. My paranoia that someone is going to walk in on me, my paranoia that one of my parents is going to come home. This sounds as if they regularly beat me up or something, but that´s not the case. It isn´t the point, either. It´s just that for a few, glorious days I felt unobserved.

Then I learned that my father still has one of the keys and intends to keep it, and I cannot force him to give it to me because technically the place is his.

I´m in a worse position than before. While I was still living at home, at least I could lock the door to my room. Now I have no protection other than my father´s assurance that of course he will respect my privacy. In other words: My paranoia belatedly moved in with me again.

I´m listening again.

I´m feeling uncomfortable turning up the music again.

I´m feeling uncomfortable having sex. I suddenly look over my shoulder to see if someone´s standing in the door, and there are images in my head of my father coming in and me throwing at him whatever I have not out of fear but out of pure homicidal anger. Way to get over your hang-ups, leave alone enjoy yourself.

What I feel more than anything else, astonishingly, is shame. Shame that I let this happen to me. That I didn´t make sure I would have all the keys before I put so much energy and also emotion into this place. Well, I even did, I asked if I would get all the keys, and I got some reassuring babbling and I will never be able to prove, not even to myself, that I was told I would get all the keys. I should have set up a contract, really. I feel like an idiot.

I used to have these voices in my head (they´re still lingering in the background, but I´ve quieted them a bit) who could listen to all my thoughts and comment on them, and they forced me to debate with them, or they promised to grant me my wishes, but I knew they would twist it around in a way that I wouldn´t like, so I had to be ultra-precise with everything I thought and wanted, and in the end I started to think: “No, don´t give me anything, I don´t want anything!”, just to be on the safe side. If some fairy came to me and said she´s going to grant me three wishes, I´d probably decline. While all this sounds pretty spooky, the point is that these voices describe very well the communication between me and my parents.

I probably won´t get rid of these voices now. They´ve moved in with me, now that I know what I do and created here could be seen through my parents´ eyes any time. My parents have followed me into this place. I probably won´t get rid of my checking behaviors, either. All too often when I was alone at home I walked through all the rooms to make sure I was really alone, and then I looked behind the doors to make sure they really weren´t standing there. They´ll move to another city, so technically I´ll be safe once they´re gone, but will I believe it? Won´t I be trying to check whether they´re really there all the time? Will I ever feel safe in here?

Moving was the compact experience of my parents´ craziness. Given their propensity towards ignoring agreements I´m not surprised anymore at my information hoarding. I keep each shred of paper, I write down what I do every day, I believe every detail might be important.

It hurts me that this place has been ruined for me, because I was starting to love it. I felt like I had a little garded which I could tend. The seeds are planted, everything is waiting for me, but I already know I will have to abandon it soon. I actually feel guilty. I shouldn´t have planted those seeds here. I should have known better.

Writing about this doesn´t help. It´s not an internal conflict. How´s writing going to solve it? An ax would. At least temporarily. I guess jail sucks, too. Zero privacy, and people poke around in your inner life and dissect your motives. I can have the same thing now, but with better food.

I believe I´m making progress, though. My first impulse is no longer suicide, but homicide. Pardon the embitterment.




Yeah, I´m still alive

Posted in morbid, personal, rants with tags , , , , , on November 22, 2012 by theweirdphilosopher

So it happened, I left home.

I´ve always had trouble with changes. And this is so far the biggest change in my life. I´ve left and I´m not going to come back. The place will be sold. I honestly have thoughts that it would be convenient if my parents died now because that way I could save the place. Oddly enough, I also have thoughts of the place burning down now, while I saved the most important stuff, and nothing remaining. For some reason that would be more bearable than what I´m feeling now.

I´m still not sure if I feel abandoned, or like I have abandoned something. The easiest way to put it might be to say I feel like a homesick little child crying for her mother, just that this child will now have to live alone, and that it´s not my mother I´m crying for. It´s my home.

I feel like I myself ought to die now. I´ve made that step out of my sheltered world, the painful, complicated relationship with my home (and I mean that absolutely literally: with the place!), and the end of this relationship is nothing I should survive. I feel like cutting my wrists so I bleed out all the pain, anxiety and guilt I´m feeling and fall asleep peacefully.

The worst thing is that I still feel like I could get my home back, or that I could keep it. I still frantically think about how much time I still had one month ago, one year ago, or – goodness! – six years ago! I could have thought of something, or done something to become a person who can deal with this, but now here I am, being absolutely not ready for this, and yet it is me who is lying in this strange, foreign room with pieces of my old furniture standing around.

And I was neglectful. I always preferred not to think about it. What was going to come, I mean. For some reason I feel like…well. I was going to say I feel like I want to stop running away from anything at all and just spit out all of my feelings, worries and dark secrets right here. Which is what I´m doing anyway, but it feels unwise. I wish I was the kind of person who doesn´t need this. It makes me vulnerable.  Or maybe, what I dislike so much about it is that I feel better after telling someone, and be it random strangers on the Internet, how weak and helpless and homesick I am. How much I need to be cared about, whatever exactly it is that I need. It feels like a trap. It feels like a price I pay for affection. Being really, really low. Hitting rock bottom. It feels like running back to my mother and telling her how weak and needy I am, making her feel strong and needed and confirming her view of me.  It is okay to show neediness in the presence of people who like you when you´re strong, self-confident and independent. It is not when the people in question prefer you weak and helpless.

Still, I am weak and helpless and needy sometimes, and the easiest way to battle this is to judge myself. Talk about how neglectful or lazy or corrupt I was. Condemnation bears hope, it means that I could or one day can be feeling better if only I change. And maybe there´s something else to it, too, maybe it gives release the way self-harm does. Emotionally hurting oneself, then reaching some kind of catharsis. If you want a more harmless analogy, take a crying fit. Or maybe it´s just a way of taking all my fears (“I´m useless, I´m a bad person, I´m wrong, I´m lazy, I´m a failure, I will always feel this terrible pain and nausea, I am completely alone”) and calming them by stating they´re true. Yes, I am useless, wrong, lazy, a failure, a bad person. Yes, I am alone and I will always suffer. I no longer have to worry any of this might be the case. All of it is.

Again, though, this is a way of killing anxiety that reminds me of ways described in this entry. It seems like a brute force method of invoking a kind of catharsis that cannot last. I will – hopefully, but also likely – at some point feel better again. I will feel independent, brilliant, strong and epic, and I will be ambitious. I will be sarcastic and impatient and demand too much from myself, or I will be cranky and apathetic and refuse to do anything other than watch cartoons. So what is the point of being all lofty now and turning my soul inside out so everyone can see the ugly underside? It seems almost unhealthy, hysterical, dangerous; like a step back.

If I feel the strong need for something like “confession”, then maybe I should engage in it, but in a more reflected way. I think it is a very masochistic drive which I shouldn´t mistake for my route to salvation. Or at least I shouldn´t believe all the nasty things I say about myself when I´m in that state of mind. It´s feelings and fears I have, or maybe just a need to put myself down. Maybe I´ll find a way to express all that without losing sight of my motivation and the drive behind expressing it.

I´m sorry this is getting so boring and theoretical, I guess the part about the homesick little child living inside a tough-as-nails twen was more interesting. I´m also sorry, by the way, if this entry doesn´t even make the remotest sense. I haven´t slept in a while.

Well, it was an attempt at resuming my blogging.

Happy Birthday, Possible Truths!!!

Posted in personal with tags , , on November 3, 2012 by theweirdphilosopher

It´s the first anniversary of my blog, and I´ve grown to love it so much that I want to bake it a cake with a lot of cream and cherries and chocolade and one big shiny candle, but I´m in the process of moving and I´m a mediocre cook at best, so I´ll leave it there: Happy birthday, dear blog, I love you and you´re a life saver!

Also, I want to thank everybody who is reading my blog, liking what I write or commenting on it. You rule!

End of Oscar speech…ehem…

Basic wishes of a megalomaniac

Posted in mental health, personal with tags , , , , , on November 1, 2012 by theweirdphilosopher

I´ve just re-read something I wrote about my career counseling in my diary, and I think that maybe, apart from that coach being a very dubious person, it came at a wrong time. I´d already lost all my naivety, and, if you like, innocence. I was lost in a labyrinth of thoughts and ideas and assumptions and job descriptions, and maybe the result was me being unable to see the forest for the trees. There must be some very basic things I connect with self-fulfillment, such basic things that I constantly overlook them because I presuppose them. So let´s look for them:

1) I want to be a public figure.

I rarely even think about it, but all of my daydreams involve me speaking to people, and often enough in front of people. When I think about what kind of public figure I want to be, I think that:

  • I don´t want to be a politician.
  • I don´t want to be someone who represents someone or something else.
  • I don´t want to talk about unpersonal things like chemistry or biology.
  • I don´t want to be confined to one ideology or agenda.
  • I don´t want to live in fear of kidnappers, or stalkers, or murderers.
  • I don´t want to be limited to a specific audience.
  • I don´t want to have to stick to one opinion.
  • I don´t want to just talk about some theory I have, or about specific topics.
  • I do want the freedom to change my mind and let my thoughts run free.
  • I do want to pick topics spontaneously.
  • I do want to make people feel, laugh, stunned, exhilarated, moved.
  • I do want to be envied without people really wanting to imitate my choices.
  • I do want to be a bit of a freak, while people can´t help wondering if maybe the life I chose was the better choice.
  • I want to talk about myself and my experiences a lot.
  • I want to be a person with an interesting life.

So that´s a whole lot already. What other general points are there?

2) I want to let my thoughts wander until insights or ideas form, and then I want to express those insights/ideas in the best possible way and make them public, and I want them to make people feel like they learned something.

  • I don´t want to teach school.
  • I want to adress adults, not children.
  • I don´t want to be confined to writing fictional stories in order to convey thoughts I´d like to express directly.
  • I want to be taken seriously as a thinker.
  • I don´t want to be reduced to being a writer/novelist.
  • I always want to have the possibility to write novels, and there are some I would really like to write and publish.
  • I want to comment on the zeitgeist and influence it.
  • I want to contradict and refute every theory that pisses me off.
  • I want to reduce the general self-hatred in the western world by finding out it is unnecessary.
  • I want to justify myself, my existence, my feelings and thoughts.
  • I don´t want to use novels as a means for propaganda.
  • I don´t want to lie or twist facts. I want to think things through until I find out the truth is what I want it to be, or until I find out that when something makes me angry there really is something wrong with it – and what it is.
  • I want to reach people emotionally and affect how they think about themselves, even when I am writing non-fiction.
  • I want people to recognize in themselves what I write about myself.

That´s all a bit fuzzy still. Let´s put it like this: I want to be a public figure who expresses everything that´s inside of her, every side of her, the comical, the tragic, the evil, the wise side, and thus educates the public. Let´s say that´s my idea of real success in life. Getting to do that, and being listened to.

There are various ways of doing this. I could write essays (and publish them in my blog, or, if possible, elsewhere), I could be a comedian (I love to perform in front of an audience, after all), and sometimes I can express myself by proxy when I write a novel about some fictional characters. But something seems to stop me from taking the necessary steps. It took several months before I finally opened this blog, even though I´d been yearning to have one. And while I might start novels and even write a whole lot in a short time, I don´t finish them, and I wonder if part of the reason might not be laziness but some kind of fear. A fear of the very thing I want. A fear of being seen.

Talking in front of someone, or even to someone if he is completely focused on you, is something magical. You talk and talk and you´re brilliant and witty and there is some mystical connection between you and your audience which makes you feel powerful and loved – but then you walk away and feel some kind of hangover. Did I say too much? What do they really think of me, now, after we´ve parted ways? I sure felt intimate with them, but we don´t actually know each other, so…am I connected to anybody at all? Do I have a real relationship with anybody? Does anybody know my true self? Who is that even, that true self? I´ve not been wearing a mask, have I? I felt so genuine and like myself, and yet it cannot be me, because I´m also myself right now, and I´m completely different!

The gap between these two realms of self-experience makes me feel like I have one more or less false self (the stage person, no matter how genuine she feels) and one underdeveloped real self who cannot cope in life and doesn´t seem to have anything to offer. I always viewed this as a pathological narcissism issue, but maybe that´s a very narrow or even judgmental perspective.

What this gap reminds me of is the gap between my normal behavior and self-perception, and my behavior/self-perception in sadomasochistic interactions (yes, to repeat it, the consensual kind). When I top I´m more witty, more perceptive, less scared of others´opinions, and also more talkative. Sometimes I even do act like a comedian (“Gaaaah, now look at this, I´m too dumb to tie a proper knot! Makes you wonder how I don´t fall over my own shoelaces, doesn´t it? You know what? I actually do! “), but I don´t expect an answer. I´m being on some kind of stage, in a way. After all, I´m expected to run the show. Normally, though, I´m rather shy, I don´t know how to start conversations, and I´m somewhere with my head in the clouds.

While that gap is visible, I don´t feel it. I don´t worry which of these two modes of being is my true self. For some reason in these situations switching back and forth is no problem.

Now…wait a second…sometimes I´m also putting on a bit of a comedian role in front of my friends. Does that make me feel like there´s something wrong with me? No, it doesn´t, although I can feel the gap to some extent. Actually, there´s just one situation in which I feel like I´ve said too much and like there´s something wrong with me, and this is when I talk like that to my family members.

Sometimes I play the clown in front of my family, or give passionate speeches about one thing or the other, and afterwards I always feel ashamed of myself. Like my behavior has been totally inappropriate. I don´t think it´s always been like that, for a while they found it funny, but that must have stopped at some point. There were times when my mother, my sister and I were laughing terribly at something I said while playing cards. Now, that wouldn´t happen anymore. My mother and sister (and my father, too) don´t seem to approve of me making jokes anymore. Almost as if they thought I was taking things too lightly. I don´t know why it happened, it might well have been like that for ten years now. Well. Ten years ago was the first time I said I wanted to kill myself.
I feel like they´ve never forgiven me my suicidal phase, nor do they trust me. They do believe I could kill myself or others. My father recently refused to leave me one of his big kitchen knives when he moves out because “they are so dangerous”. He wasn´t worried so much I could get injured (and not even intentionally), but that I could hurt someone else. I´ve no idea where this is coming from. If my temper tantrums scare him, how does he think I made it through his?

I think they hold quite a grudge against me for getting them so worried. Or for having been so depressed and difficult. Of course it´s completely pointless to try to talk about it. They´d deny it just because they wouldn´t trust I can take the truth without killing myself, if for no other reason. And maybe I really can´t, because the truth is probably one of unforgiveness. Neither can I forgive them, nor can they forgive me. I think I´ve been missing important emotional components of family closeness throughout the larger part of my life, so that loss would be nothing new. But I wish it would stop making me feel like crap. It´s like I´m on probation at best. I will never feel like an equal, simply because I´ll never be an equal. And I think I wasn´t an equal even before my depression. The depression was just another excuse.

Maybe there is a way out of the “gap dilemma”, though. If I´m showing all sides of me, not merely the comical ones, then maybe I don´t need to worry so much I´m just showing off a false self.