The Guilty Have No Pride

I have a problem with guilt. Guilt and shame. On several occasions I know that I have done something wrong but I am too ashamed to apologize. Some times I think this shame has been mistaken (both by myself and others) for anger and maybe arrogance.
So...

And shame is not a hard emotion for me to conjure up.

Anyhow. Something came up this weekend that made me react in a certain way and that reaction reminded me of another time I had that reaction (and how it feels almost impossible to act in another way). I remember this spring, when I was going to some kind of light weight therapy. That was nice and all, but when the counselor said that there would be no more therapy, no real thereapy, I just closed up. It just sort of blocked it up. Forever, for that person. And without going into details, I had a similar reaction. I hope I can get over it, but I am starting to remember reactions like that in my past, and there has been a lot of them. And it pisses me of. And I don't really want to be angry. Not now, not ever. It's useless.

I don't know what I am getting at anymore. Not when it comes to anything. I just constantly feel at odds with just about everything. It feels like the more I see, feel, learn and hear, the more I see, feel, learn and hear that everything is false and empty. This is an absurd, meaningless existance in an absurd and meaningless universe. Nothing makes any difference, not really. Sure, we make up differences to feel like there is a reason, like this existance isn't totally futile, but it is just make belief. I wish I could find something to burn for, something to strive for, some reason to improve myself. But it is futile. Improve myself? For what? It makes no difference in the end. Fight for something? It is all dust tomorrow. Love? Hate? Futilities.
What I want is one perfect moment, and make it last forever.

I wish I wasn't so controlled. I wish I could kill someone. Someone unimportant. Someone that just pushed me a little bit over the edge. Or at least beat someone up. Just let it out, for once. Let it out and win. Maybe it could be something besides rage and loneliness and isolation after that.

This rather crass and harsh way of looking at the world expresses itself in mysterious ways sometimes. My new 'obsession' (although it is a somewhat lightweight obessions) is Danish Design. I am intrigued by some of their watches. So I have decided that I have to get me one one of these days.

You try to find a point and meaning in the smallest of things, don't you?

Sometimes I think I am a chameleon. Maybe not a really good chameleon, but still. A chameleon. And sometimes I loathe myself for it. And at other times I admire myself for it. Watching myself and the world with a little wry sardonic smile.

Top Gun

I managed to pin point it the other day. When I am in a social situation I have like an auto pilot that just takes charge and does it's thing while I'm in the back seat keeping my eyes covered. The thing is that this autopilot is a bit too impulsive and it tends to have some sort of "offence is the best defence"-attitude. That's kind of a bummer. I'm quite sure that this auto pilot can be quite charming. But it is very much a learned behaviour, and it does not necesarilly stem from a will to be nice but in a will to... Not to impress. I'm not a great fan of people that thinks that I am "cool" or whatever. More of a will to... to show myself strong and independent, I guess. To make myself look like I know myself and like myself.

Not such a good pin point when you read it through.

Rock solid

Evertime someone hurts me, they turn into one of them. And you don't let them see that they have managed to affect you. Because then they have won. Just like they did when they managed to provoke me into one of my tantrums at school. Or when they managed to make me cry. They win.

And it's not productive. But that's they way I work. And the more the person hurting me means, the more I turn into stone on the outside. Because for just that moment they turn into one of them even more than anyone else has ever done. Because they have such power over you.

I'm trying really really hard not to be that way. But it is so hard not to. After all, this is the way I have been (or have tried really hard at being) for the last 15 years or more. The thing is, I always thought I was really transparent. I always thought that people saw what I was and what I had been anyways. I guess I got to good at keeping the mask up.

Had a nice night, though. Can't complain. Although I doubt I will be surprised again for a long long time. Right now I doubt that anything will surprise me. But I'm quite tipsy, so that's alright. Tonight everything is alright.

So long, kameraden.

Quid Pro Quo

There's a certain way that I act (or should I say react?) when I am in a social situation. I take charge. Or dominate. Or whatever. Take up a lot of space.

I do it because I'm nervous. I do it out of some sort of "offence is the best defence" way of thinking. But it's not like I'm thinking about it when I do it. I just act.

Sometimes I just want to cut out my tounge.

On the other hand, discussing things is one of the things I enjoy the most. But a lot of the time it feels like I do it for the wrong reasons. Like I do it because I want to tell people how much I know, how smart I am, how right I am. As I stated in the beginning of The Project, the only thing I have ever been is smart. So I guess I feel like I have to prove myself. Prove that I can bring something to the table. Hell, I want to prove that I own the fucking table! It's like winning a fight to me. And it's a fucking disgusting way of thinking and feeling.

A barbarian in Rome or a roman among barbarians, remember?

There are few places where I feel safe and comfortable. They are not enough and not all of them is the ones I really want, but I am grateful nonetheless.

Drive On

Yesterday I reread a book called "med uppenbar känsla för stil." A Swedish dissection of manhood, manliness, male culture etc. And a totally merciless dissection at that. It hit me like a hammer to both the head and the heart. Even more this time than the first time I read it. I recognize just about everything in that book. And I don't know when I feel worse. When I feel like "yes, this is the way I am and it is disgusting" or when I feel "no, this isn't the way I am but it is the way I am supposed to be. The way I have to act to be able to walk through this unscathed."

I see it so well. Being a man. What you have to be, what you have to do, how you have to act. At times I think there is something beautiful about at and at the same time it disgust me. It is so limiting. It is killing me. It is killing us all.

I am not wrong. That is the thing. I'm not like this because I want to, because it started of like a "fuck you" to the world. I am like this as a reaction to the world. Sure, I could dress differently, I could behave differently, I could think differently. But I shouldn't have to. That is the thing. I'm not like this because I don't want to be a part of the world, I am like this because I have to be a part of something, I have to have something when the world rejected me. The walls around me are there for a reason. Why should I crawl to the cross and ask to be a part of it now? I'm not the one to blame, not from the start. I didn't set out to be 'alternative' or what the fuck you want to call it. I became that way because that was the only place where I could make any kind of room for myself. Granted, at the moment it is a small, dank room. But it is mine. I took it. Contrary to what people might believe, it is not an act of opposition. It is not against the world or society or whatever you might want to call it. It is just different. It is something else. Something that very much exists on it's own premises.

Granted, I am quite defensive and sometimes (quite often) I act like offence is the best defense. I am not saying I have no fault in this. I searched eagerly for something different, something that was different to the core, and now I am paying the price. That is what first attracted me to Black Metal. The fact that it was so different. It didn't make any apologies. It acted according to it's own rules, rules that was (and is) very different from the ordinary worlds. It didn't make any apologies. It wasn't 'evil' because christianity was the real evil and had treated people badly. It was evil because it was evil. Everything from lyrics to views to aestethics was so much... It was the context for itself.

But at the same time it has killed something in me. This might seem utterly pretentious, but you know about the "1000 mile stare" that war veterans supposedly get when they fully understand the horrors of war? When they have seen things that couldn't possibly be understood by the rookies or the people back home? Sometimes I feel like I got something like that. Like I have seen the Tiger smile.

It's like there has been a search for extremes. Like not being a part of the world has made me search for something that is totally different to the core. And that maybe that was too different. Like it has forced me to lie, to adapt just as much as I would have to to be a part of the real world.

And I didn't really escape. I ended up in caricature, a parody of what I didn't want to be a part of. Not something inherently different. I chose to be a part of a culture that made me a perpetrator and not a victim. And that makes me sad. Incredibly sad. I am a part of the problem. I remember me an L talking about that. That she had always been friends with the fags, the ones that got beat up. My side is the other side. And I can't but help to admire her strenght and courage to stay on that side. I can't help but admire the strength and courage for all the people who can stay their ground on that side. I feels like they remaind true to themselves in so many ways. I admire that. And it makes me sad that I, at the time, couldn't be on that side. Or chose not to stay there.

At the same time I must say that the choices I have made, the side I have been on and the ideology that runs through it has given me an immense amount of pride and strength. I am not going to deny that and I am not going to regret that. But I think that it is time for me to build up many other sides of me and realize that not all of me has to fit in that frame. There is no need for a philosophy that permeats everything I do. I can be everything I want to at the same time and I shouldn't have to justify that to anyone, not even myself. I just wish I could have realized that earlier, instead of spending the last two (or more) years just trying to fit everything into some kind of mold. Or something like that. All this makes it sound like I'm incredibly one dimensional, and I can promise you that I am not. I have more dimension than you can probably guess (someone close to me once said that she was surprised that I could still surprise her by showing her new sides of myself after knowing each other for so long. Unfortunately they where not all good.). What I mean is that they don't have to fall neatly into the same basket. They need not be related. No red thread is needed. Something like that. But it is hard to think differently, and I don't know how to do it really. Everytime I try, a little part of me is saying "you are selling out, you are betraying what you are." And that is not a nice feeling. You want to be able to look yourself in the mirror.

But this feels like the start of Ende Neu.




Johnny Cash Lyrics
Drive On Lyrics

Anyways, I recommend everyone that can (especially males) to read "med uppenbar känsla för stil." It won't take you very long (I finished it in under 3 hours) but it is really spot on. I don't know if there is anything in the book that I disagree with. It is incredibly true and because it is true it is incredibly sad (I almost started to cry a couple of times when I read it because I recognized what I am and what I am not). It explains why we have machismo (in lack of a better word) to blame for so much and how it permeats every aspect of life. That we can't go or do anything without being our genders in the first place, not even if we want to. Read it. It's an order.

But I also recommend that you read that, "Klass - Är du fin nog" by Annelie Jordahl, the "Football Factory"-trilogy by John King, "Mitt förnamn är Ronny" by Ronny Ambjörnsson and maybe "Amon the Thugs" by Bill Buford if you want to see and understand where I am coming from in some small way. Yes, I know that there is probably a dozen or so books by highly skilled scholars dealing with the same subject and probably manages to explain parts of it quite well but I doubt that the really get it, that they really understand why people act like they do on their own emotional level. And I doubt that they can convey that understanding to reader properly, on an emotional level. It like book about neo nazism. There's hundreds of reports about kids from socially 'challenged' areas, explaining how they search for some point and meaning. But that doesn't make you understand the hate they feel. Not really. It makes you understand that they hate and why they hate, but not the hate in itself. It is like that.

Anyways, those are the books that I mostly recognize (parts of) myself in. Unfortunately.

Wails of Death

People are saying things like "let it go" and "let it be" and stuff like that. And I try. I try to just... Let it be. Let it go. But it always comes back to bite me in the ass. Everything. And this is one of those days when I feel like I could take any way out just to make it stop hurting. When I just want to fall down on my knees and cry. And scream.

Fuck.

You shouldn't read old blog entries. You just realize how fucked you have been and how many chances you missed. You see what you have forgotten. Maybe it's a good thing.

I hardly even know why I am sad anymore. My life is falling into place more and more. I'm going to send in the best job application ever on monday. I'm going to (maybe, probably not) ace the exam in the beginning of june. I got a lot of stuff for my apartment already fixed. I got more energy than I had a year ago. And yet... Everything feels so utterly pointless. So... I can't seem to activate myself. I lose track of anything. I got an attentionspan of a goldfish. I forget things. I'm confused. And I should say that although I have more energy than I had a year ago, it doesn't mean that I have that much energy. I mostly still sit and stare at the wall and avoid thinking. In the past, walking and spending time in crowds, spending time with humanity felt good. It doesn't now. I feel like a jew with a star of David on my coat walking around Berlin during the war. I miss her so much it hurts, and at the same time I don't miss her. I don't feel the same need to be with her that I once did (probably because on some level there's pain involved everytime I meed her.).

I rarely miss people, actually. I rarely feel the need to be with someone, to meet someone. But what I have learned during these months is that I have that need, even if I don't feel it.

At certain intervals I decide to just take a step back. That that is what is needed of me. But it is so hard. So hard.

I feel so selfish. I'm trying not to be. But I feel so trapped. Like this situation, the way it turned out, prevents any change. That my pride is so much in the way, and yet it is not. And that makes me ashamed of myself.

I can't feel like this. I can hardly function. I'm at work and I had to run into the toilet 3 times already because I had to cry. It doesn't work. I feel like an open wound, and it doesn't get better. I've been hyper sensitive to the whole fucking world for six fucking months now. It can't go on for so much longer.

En bra karl reder sig själv

It's just getting so real, you know? Moving and all. My dad going to be my bondsman and everything. If it's one thing I hate it's being and economical burden to anyone. I mean, I can hardly ask for a loan even when I am starving. It's humiliating. Weak. And above all, I don't want to be a problem in anyones life. A burden. So I just... Let it run it's course, hoping that I will pull through. And it tends to make things worse (as has been proven). I think it is something that runs through a lot of me. Humiliating to show oneself weak. Scary. What if the ones I show myself weak to won't help? Won't be there? What if I let myself fall and no one catches me? And what if I becomes a problem to someone? That is horrible. That is the last thing I want to be. I don't want to be in the way.

I don't know, I don't know... I'm just scared. Worried. I have no faith in myself or the world. Or anything. Everything is so... Either so fragile or so rock hard it's impossible.

On another note, I tried on a suit jacket today. I had tried it on before and I thought it fit me perfectly. But not this time. Pathetic as it may sound it almost made me cry. And I thought "no, this place is not for me either." And it was fucking H&M! Come on Alex! Silly stupid idiot. That place is for everyone, that is the fucking point of the place!

And I feel... I feel cheap and dirty. Even there. There's something fucking wrong with me. And when I try my fucking hardest to look "presentable" I feel even worse, you know?

I'm starting to suspect that this is just the start of something worse. I wish I didn't have such a working class perspective on things. I really do. I really wish that money wasn't so extremely important to me, I really wish that I didn't feel that being in debt the worst thing there is, I really wish that I didn't feel like the amount of money you paid for your stuff is more important than style. Or whatever.

Yeah, well... It's not like I really can afford that jacket anyway. Well, I can. But I have to keep a tight lid on the economy the coming months.

I'm just worried. And stressed. I am always worried and stressed (see above reasons) but now it's getting into overdrive. I got my paychek today and I got a pretty big check so you'd think that I would be less worried today than yesterday. But noooo.

Well, whatever. I guess I just got to try and roll with the punches.

Anyway, I guess that is why I'm so... Unstable at the moment. My material little safeness is comming to a possible end. It makes me twitchy.

Therapy?

I don't know... Strangely enough these last two weeks have been OK. No major meltdowns, no major fuck ups, no major drama. And it makes everything clearer. It makes it so much sadder in some ways.

I just CAN'T talk about some things. Physically can't. I try (and it is better now) but every time I try I choke up and I feel like I'm about to throw up. And I feel fuckin raped and abused for just thinking about the way I feel. And it's better, it gets better. But it is still so hard. And at the same time that it gets easier it gets som much harder.

I'm just... No matter how horrible these past 6 months have been, there has at least been a sence of freedom in them. But it is disappearing now. The sense of "I can do anything because nothing matters and there's just one thing I care about", it is going away. I feel the fear of showing myself week again. And it is affecting... Everything. It's harder and harder to open up to my counselor. Less and less to talk about. Well, not less and less to talk about, but it is harder and harder to talk about it. Harder and harder to be truthful. Harder and harder to feel like I can give her everything, because I am afraid to show myself stupid and weak.

I feel so closed of. Like at least 50% of the world is off limits to me now. And that is new feeling. It has been there for years. I think I had some pause in it the first years of the relationship, because somehow I felt that there where places for me out there. And then... It just felt like thre wasn't. And it got worse. But I had a bit of a bridge to them. Sort of. Now I just feel... Outcast. Pariah. Leper. Persona non grata. I don't feel I have the ability to combine myself with the rest of the world. In any way. I feel like a clown, like a poseur. I have this constant feeling that I must show the world that I reject it before it rejects me. And at the same time I want to be a part of it.

And somehow it has been made perfectly clear that I am not wrong. And in another way the world lies before my feet. It's just that I want it to want me there. To find me interesting, special and bla bla bla. I don't want to have to compromise to be let in. I don't want to find another mask to be let in.

I hate people.
I hate the human race.

Once again I feel like Grenouille.

And I feel like I can't do what I want either, because it would be so stupid in the eyes of the world. Like wearing corpse paint when you ain't in a band and you ain't on stage.

I don't know where I fit in.

I feel like I am playing. Like I'm a kid that's just finished a drawing and the parents says "that's really nice" when in reality it's just shit.

I just feel so wrong among people. That they can see that I'm faking it. I'm not afraid of them seeing the "real" me or how bad I feel or how worthless I think I am. It is much more superficial than that. And it bugs me to fucking death. So stupid, so fucked up, so wrong, so childish, so silly. I mean, come on! Eveyone else looks and acts like total idiots. I'm a fucking king among men in that departement! But no. It obviously doesn't work like that.

I'm a fool.

Does everybody feel like this? I'm starting to believe that they do.

I wish I didn't feel so alone.

Absalom

I'm worried. Not about myself (well, I am that too, but that is not what this is about) or my life. No. I am worried about the people around me, the people I love and care about. Noone seems to be even remotely happy. Everybody just seem to try and get through the day. At best.

Is this what it means to be human? Is it? Everything seems so... Untypical. Behaviour seems so... Erratic, almost. I'm worried.

I'm so tired. Tired to the bone. Tired in my soul. A hundred years old going on eternity.

I don't understand why I can't let myself cry with anyone else. I don't understand why my tounge just becomes limp at it is impossible for me to utter a single word when I feel really bad.

I hate this world and I hate everything that has shaped me. I hate the rules, I hate the codes, I hate the expectations, I hate the stereotypes, I hate everything that is expected of me. If I could choose exactely what kind of being I was I would choose something without sex/gender, age, race, species and class. But I can't choose. And people might say "make the best of the situation" but they are totally missing the point. I don't want the situation. I'd rather disappear from the face of the earth than follow all these enslaving rules. But at the same time I just see myself following them and rejoice in the secutiry they give me.

Sometimes you wish that you could hsve remained ignorant. Not knowing, not caring.

Kameradschaft

Took a walk again. This time around the city wasn't at all deserted. But it felt like the lyrics for Fredmans Epistel No. 81. Like I walked through the shatters of broken lives, of broken people, of a broken and destroyed tribe. And I realized that it didn't frighten me or even make that sad. I felt like I knew these people. The homeless, the junkies, the whores, the police, the cab drivers, the people going to their night jobs, the insane, the people at their night jobs. The invisible people. I knew them. I know them. In a weird way it felt like home. That was sad. And it made me feel safe. I know they try. I know they try to be the best they can be, despite it all. The lumpenproletariat. And I wonder what it was I was afraid of? Was it getting in to a fight or was it always being prepared to fight? I don't know. But in that world I don't feel like I am in the way. But it is a world based on being on the bottom. As all classes in all class systems it can't function on it's own. It needs to be in symbiosis. It is not on the outside. Not really. It is on the bottom.



I feel... Something. Like I in some ways haven't grown up and that I in other ways have seen too much. Became an adult too fast. I don't know... It's once again the feeling of being too extreme. Of being a creature too strange. That I somehow ended up too far away from the rest of humanity. I find myself wondering how much I am the perpetrator and how much I am the victim. And if I am a victim, a victim of what? And the most fucked up thing is that I can't identify with anything and I am too far away from the world. And I doubt I can return. I want the world and yet I feel like I have seen things that will forever keep me on the outside (at least on the inside). I think that what I will need to find a place among humanity is hope, love and streangth. The ability have hope and to love. Hope and love for the world. To see what's good in humanity. But I don't. I don't think I ever have. They have always scared me, they have always stepped on me and on everyone else.

I'm getting that feeling again. The one that destroyed so much. I think. I think it did and I think it's coming back. At the moment I am perfectly pleased with being on the outside. And the outside is no place to live.

What's wrong with me? Is it supposed to be this hard to live? To be alive? How do you do to really be alive? I feel like I'm scaring the world of by just being me. And I thought that the "me" I'm talking about was just the walls around me, but I am starting to wonder now. What if it isn't? What if there isn't any walls but just a monolith of black stone with my face and name on it? What if? What if there isn't someone small and vulnerable inside, but just more stone? What if that small and vulnerable person has literally been petriefied and fossilised and made one with the monolith? If that has happened just by pure pressure from the world, from experiences, from everything? What if this is all there is? And the thing that scares me the most is that it doesn't scare me.

How are you supposed to deal with this when every word disappear? When the feelings you had just... Evaporates. When it goes back to "normal"? I could pinpoint the problems before and now... I can hardly see them. It worries me. I don't know how I'm supposed to do this.

I don't know who I am or why I am or what I am.

I feel like an old sacrificial altar that has been forgotten and buried by time and dust and now people just think it's a strangely shaped stone.




The thing with being hungover is that while it can make me feel miserable and depressed, it also puts a sort of blanket over my emotions. I feel like shit but it also feels like it's put under wraps.

And my toe hurts. That's no good. I like my shoes. They can't hurt me.

I just realized that I have no comfy shoes here... Well, that's alright. I'm not walking anywhere.

Razorblade Love

During these past months I have come to realize that I like to shave. I didn't before. But then I didn't know how to do it properly + I saw no good in it. No good in looking my best. Quite the opposite. I felt that I wouldn't be able to hide myself and what I thought I was from the world if I shaved or not. Plus I was worthless at it. Hurt myself. It was really uncomfortable.

But I like to shave now. It gives me a sense of intimacy with myself. Of knowing myself. Of taking care of myself. Or realizing that I want to look good and that looking good makes you feel better about yourself. It might be a bit empty, but that is alright for now.

I don't think I've taken myself into account for years as much as I do now. In so many ways I care so much for myself, see myself, trying to be myself now more than ever. And in others I ignore myself more than ever.

Shaving is very intimate for me. It is very much about me and for me. In some ways it is almost sexual. Maybe that is the wrong word, but somehow it is the perfect word. And I realize now that it has been like that for some time. Strangely enough shaving is like sex in the way that sometimes I want to share it with someone else. It is something in the vein of someone you love just grabbing you by the lapels and kiss you just because they want you. Someone shaving me is a sign of affection for me. Someone doing that... It's like love. It's them showing you that they care about you. It's them showing you that they want you to look your best because they love you. It's them making you beautiful. It's them making you beautiful because they want you. It's them going to the trouble of shaving you (because it isn't easy to do it right) when you could do it just as well (and probably better) on your own. In that way it is like sex. Because admit it, masturbation gets the job done easier and faster, but for the most of the time you'd rather fuck with someone you care about. For someone else the same thing might be achieved with someone just straightening your tie or giving you a backrub or cooking for you or playing with your hair or something like that.

It's about giving and caring. About someone giving you something that you want and need because they want you to have it. Because they want to give it to you. Because they want you and they will work for it and they want you to know it.

And now I'm giving it to myself. I'm making love to myself. I'm caring for myself. I'm discovering myself. I'm getting to know myself. And it feels glorious. And it is incredibly sad. Incredibly sad that I didn't see this before and that I couldn't (or didn't dare to) put my confused feelings into words. It makes me so incredibly sad that I didn't see this earlier. That I am getting to know myself now and not before. I hate it. I hate that it's happening now. I loathe it and I loathe myself. But it is as it is. And to be honest, I unfortunately doubt that it could be any other way or that I could have come to these realizations any other way. And that just makes me sadder.

But it makes me wonder what I'm missing and what I have yet to discover. What mistakes I will make in the future.

I wonder when a day will go by without me crying? I thought that maybe today would be the first since the end of november, but it wasn't.

But today was OK. And I'm not asking for more right now.

Working Out

I can't do sit-ups. Not because I don't want to, but because I don't know how to. I don't know how to use those muscles. I recognize that in so many fields, so many emotional fields. It feels like I have emotional 'muscles' that I just don't know how to use. I want to but I don't know how. It feels like I hardly even know (or rather, knew) that they where there.

It's strange. I guess I'm learning now, bit by bit. But I am afraid that I'll forget, when I don't have to use them. One day this will be over and I'll be alright again. I want to remember the lesson I learned (if there is one), but looking at my history... It's easy for me to forget. To let those muscles remain untrained.

Rage

I hate elitism. Yet I am prone to it. It disgusts me and also makes me convinced that everyone else judge me as I judge them. Especially now. I don't know the borders. I don't know the limits.

I feel like a volcano that is too tired to erupt. I don't know if I know how to do this when it doesn't come pouring out of me like when a dam has burst. It creeps back into me. I push it back without wanting to, because I don't have the tools or the language for this. And I don't have any security, any safe space where I can try and dig it up again. No respit.

I'm so angry at myself that I could scream. I want to scream. I want to bash my head against the wall to punish me for my own blindness and stupidity. How could I do this to someone I love? How could I NOT see these things? How? Why? I have no right to feel cheated or robbed.

And all I do is putting a new layer of paint on this empty rotten house that is me. It feels so pointless, so meaningless. And yet I get some kind of perverse pleasure from it.

Enlightenment

"For me, there are things you do, things you feel and things you think. And these three are separate, and need to be. Or I don't really know what I will do. I mean it. If I act on my emotiones, jailtime might be needed. Not right now, but in the past.

I don't know what I want to say with this. Maybe just that I have had lifelong training in not showing what I feel about anything to anyone, least of all myself. I don't know."



I think I do know what I want to say with this. I want them to correspond. I want equal measures of them. I want them in symbiosis. I do not want one to take power over the other, has it has been in the past (although I don't know which one took the power.).

Letting yourself be sad is a relief. I feel better when I have been sad than when I have been angry, because the anger doesn't go away. I think I have spent so much time being angry. Time I should have spent crying. Because it was not really anger, it was sorrow disguised as rage. Because I could not let my guard down, I could not show myself weak. Not to anyone. So many emotions that I killed and ignored in myself.

Remember when I said that I didn't cry at my grandmothers funeral? That I didn't really mourn her? I didn't cry when I heard that my high school teacher had died. Didn't feel anything. There are many such examples, when I just haven't felt anything. Maybe I haven't let myself feel them. People have come and people have gone, things have happened and I didn't feel anything. And by not feeling, or rather, by not letting myself feel I have not learned who I am. By not letting myself mourn.

I do not think it is the unwillingness to face pain that has lead me to be like this. I think it is the unwillingness to show myself weak, to show mysel vulnerable, to show myself a failure, to be humiliated, to risk facing a rejection when I am in pain that has lead to this.

Up until I was around 20 I mostly never had anyone. It was always me. Just me, by myself. Even when I was in crowds. Even when I was with friends. And the few people that I felt I could depend on either drifted away, stabbed me in the back or I hurt them so much that I didn't feel I had any right to impose myself on them.

Up until now I don't really know if I really have understood the concept of friendship. I don't think I dare to understand and trust it fully now either.

I hope I dare. Dare everything. Dare to change my life, dare to do something with myself. Dare to try and be what I want to be. Dare to feel like I deserve it and that I am as good as everyone else. Dare to be myself. I feel like I'm slowly dropping the act, but I don't know what I am replacing it with. If I'm replacing it with another act or if I'm replacing it with something else.

I think studying have fucked me up a bit. Learning to see how everything is connected and HOW it is connected taught me that I have a place in the world. But that was not necesarilly a good thing, because the world is a big and ugly place and people get hurt a lot and noone cares. It taught me that there really is no escape, that subcultural belonging means next to nothing in the grand scheme of things and thinking that that could be the way out... I guess I have put too much faith in dressing in black. That I just don't see it as something fun and beautiful, but as something more.

I guess I have to get back to work now.

Retribution

I wonder if I'm just too sensitive, socially? I mean, if i pick up on things too easy? You know, something that is supposed to be a small hint becomes a gigantic hint and something that is nothing becomes something. I wonder if I think that the rest of the world is like me and shut up until I (think I) know what is coming out and if I therefore am scared of people who isn't like that?

Why couldn't I have started this journey years ago? I have wasted myself, among other things.

I'm so afraid of failing now. I wish I could see things beyond the mistakes. I wish these pangs of betrayal would go away. I do not want them there. They do not make it easy to sleep at night (I spent last night crying of both sorrow and anger).

Am I feeling all the things I have never let myself feel all at once?

I remember the night when I realized that she was probably in over her head in this. I had never doubted her before. Not like tha. Not about such things. Stupid of my, maybe. If I hadn't had such much faith in her and her... I don't know what to call it. Keen emotions? Selfknowledge? If I hadn't had that faith, maybe I would have tried harder. But she knows herself (or so I believed). I don't know myself. I don't know who I am or what makes me tick or what there really is under and inside me.

For me, there are things you do, things you feel and things you think. And these three are separate, and need to be. Or I don't really know what I will do. I mean it. If I act on my emotiones, jailtime might be needed. Not right now, but in the past.

I don't know what I want to say with this. Maybe just that I have had lifelong training in not showing what I feel about anything to anyone, least of all myself. I don't know.

I feel so far away. I don't like it. I fear it. It is like some kind of nightmare.

Cigarettes, then bed.

And GOD! I want that jacket! Despite it's flaws (like the fact that it is so weird that it will probably only look ridiculous in 1 year, and the fact that I could hardly button it) it was perfect. You see, I like my clothes tight. And this was tight. I think I should try it with a shirt on instead of a T-shirt, to see what it does to the cuffs...

Solitude

I have a problem with gifts. Not recieving them, but giving them. I don't want people to think that they owe me anything. I don't want people to feel like they have to give me something back or that I have some sort of motif with my actions (other than the obvious ones, that I want to give things to people I like because I like them). And there's a deeper, darker problem. I guess it is a part of one of the big problems. I don't like to show my feelings. If I give something to someone I give them power over me. I tell them "I care about you. Here's my heart." What if they break it? What if they don't want it? It will be devastating and above all, humiliating. They will get to me. Same as everything else.

God, I just got a picture in my mind of all my problems looking like dirty old men in big overcoats coming up to me and... Well, you get the picture.

The floor is covered in my hair. I got to clean this up soon. And I got to get a grip.

Another, more practical problem is the fact that I seem to be incapable of doing several things at once. I mean, I can hardly study and work at the same day. I can't study and DO something else the same day. Every day is just about ONE thing. I got to figure out a way to master that.

I feel fucking stupid.

Watches & Guns

The watch I bought reminds me of something. Of a certain act, a certain feeling. But first things first. I have the watch in my pocket. I don't use it, but I have it with me. I am however quite scared that someone will see it. Because it is silly. First of all, no one wears a watch anymore. Second, it is a pocket watch. It is not really something that you carry around with you if you want people to take you seriously.

It reminds me of when I was a kid and played with toy guns and stuff for a longer (much longer) time than my 'peers'. I sometimes would carry a toy gun in my pocket, or a toy knife or something else. Probably because it made it possible for me to imagine that I was someone else. And I was always terrified that I would be found out, because if you are over a certain age you don't play with toys. There was no way that the other kids would see me as I imagined myself. They would laugh and everything would be even worse. It feels like that with the watch. But I don't know who or what I am imagining myself to be. But I am starting to get the feeling that that imagining, that act of make believe didn't stop there and start again here. I get the feeling that it is something I have always done. Dressing up, making myself someone else, something else. It definitely feels like that is part of what I am doing now. I think that is why I am so afraid of someone seeing through me, seeing when I don't know the rules, seeing when I mess up. Because then I once again will be the kid with the toy gun (or, in fact, the kid with the My Little Pony in his desk). The mask will inevetably fall. You know what I am saying?

To think that I have been so shaped by those years. I believe that most of it happened during 3 years. It scares me, because what have the other 22 years of history in store for me?

The idea that other people could possibly understand me is still something I find hard to believe in.

I remember when I drew a heart in lipstick on her bathroom mirror. I remember her frown when she saw that. I also remember that she let it stay for a long time, but mostly I remember her frown.

I hate this society based on consumption. I don't hate it because it fills our lives with things instead of meaning or any of that hippie bullshit. I hate it because I am not a part of it. I am not a part of that or anything else. Always slightly on the outside, never fully in the know. Never part of those that makes the rules or get away with breaking them. Never part of any society or any scene, always the one to be picked last for the team when it's time to play football. And if I where to be picked earlier it would be (in my mind) an act of misguided altruism and therefore quite humiliating. And still...

How do you do to be yourself? Can you be yourself? Isn't everyone, in one way or the other, just a reflection of the rest of the world?

I don't know if I want to go out and get really drunk or if I just want to go home to my couch (which shall soon be upgraded to a bed) and read and think. I don't really want to think anymore. But I don't want to get hung over either.

R.E.V.O.L.U.T.I.O.N.

I hate the class system. I HATE IT. I. HATE. IT. I hate it so much that it hurts and makes me cry sometimes. I hate it so much that at times I fantasize about parts of this town being engulfed in flames and every fucking traitor and suck up suffering a faith worse than those they suck up to. I fantasize about people being crucified and smashing peoples faces in with bottles and seeing their faces freeze in fear when they realize that "no, daddies money won't get me out of this one" and then they die and I wear their well groomed fucking faces as a bloody mask, and their oily scalps as decorations and their credit cards as medals on a spear. "TRY LOOKING DOWN ON ME WHEN MY BOOT IS ON YOUR NECK AND YOUR MOUTH IS ON THE CURB!"

I really think that at times. In my head I see their faces imploding and going out trough the back of their heads when I shoot them.

How do you tell someone that? How do you tell someone that just living in a world with other people makes you feel like that? How do you tell anyone that without looking like your losing it? How do you even admit it to yourself, that people is getting to you so much, that other people make you feel so small? So small and worthless? And that there really isn't anything I can do, because they will always spot me. Always. And they will detest me even more for trying.

And they tried to warn me of my evil ways...

I got this feeling of of being found out all the time. But I don't know what I'm going to be found out about. And it got a lot to to with practical things. Like leaving Susanna's or work or what used to be home and thinking all day about "did I do something or leave something out that people are going to be upset about?" Like, did I forget to clean or didn't lock the door or leave my dirty underwear our and am I going to get yelled at when I come back? How did I fail? And this feeling keeps eating me all the time. All the time. This feeling of having fucked up and not knowing how. And this is an old feeling. When I think about it it has been there for years. One of the reasons why I rarely liked to leave home.

All the time, that feeling. Of not being good enough. Of missing stuff because I suck. Because I am so slow at some things. Like this whole situation. It takes me so long to understand and to behave accordingly.

I feel like I'm just mimicking people, and that is why I'm so afraid. Trial and error is not really a method that is that suitable in social situations. I feel a bit autistic when it comes to that. Like I don't know how humans act, what humans do. Like I can't relate to them, so I watch them and try to be like them, but I feel like I'm failing all the time. Taking steps over lines I don't even know exists until I've crashed right through them.

I feel fucking rotten inside. Like I'm painting a house already destroyed by termites with a new coat of paint just because I want it to look good, or something. And I guess it works, in some ways. I think I look better (or at least more presentable) than I have in a long time. I don't think the world sees me as the monster I see myself as. I feel like Morran in the Mumin-sagas. But it doesn't make any difference whatsoever in real life. In so many ways I see it as a weakness. It sort of feels like kissing the worlds ass. But I don't have the energy to be at war with the world right now. I guess Mike Ness and SxDx explains it best in "I was wrong."

"When I was young, I was so full of fear
I hid behind anger, held back the tears
It was me against the world, I was sure that I'd win
But the world fought back, punished me for my sins
I felt so alone, so insecure,
I blamed you instead and made sure I was heard
And they tried to warn me of my evil ways
But I couldn't hear what they had to say"


Story of my fucking life.

How can you live in both worlds at the same time? Can you? I mean, practically. If I didn't have to worry about money, the rest of the world could fuck off. Then I would make the rules. But I don't. I'm at the fucking bottom (well, I guess I could be worse of, but still.).

I got to stop thinking and start feeling. But if I feel, they get to you. If they make you feel things, they get you. They win. I don't want to be in opposition. I suck at being in opposition. I wasn't the sort of kid that didn't want to play with the cool kids. I wanted to play with them, but I wasn't allowed because I didn't rank high enough in the social life in school. And I still feel like that. Like that is shit that matters.

I think I got a problem with memories, and I think that is why I don't remember much of my childhood. Memories are always painful. I rarely remember anything (even good things) without a painful feeling of loss. I can think about a time when I had a really good time and then I feel sad because those times are gone.

I just want to disappear. I've been thinking about slaving at some dangerous well paying shit job for a couple of years and then move somewhere in eastern europe and just be. Move to Prague and do absolutely nothing. Just reading. Writing. Thinking. Feeling. I love this town, but everything reminds me of what I fucked up, of what I lost, of what will never be again. And despite all that has happened and has been done to me, I can't help but feeling that I am the one solely responsible. Like I always do. And it's breaking me. The parade is becoming longer and longer and it's music gets louder and louder and the thing that saved me before is disappearing over the horizon.

But still. Tthis town is home. Even though it is a bit painful now, I love it. I might live somewhere else sometime in the future, but I think this is the town I'll die in. Or at least, I will die in the memories of this town.

Perpetuum Mobile

I have a terrible fear of rejection. It's a big part of my life, that fear. It is quite possible one of the reasons (if it isn't THE reason) why I haven't tried to do anything with my life. Being rejected. The worst feeling there is. Not good enough. And at the times when I am not rejected I feel like the kid that gets picked out last to the football team. I still can't believe that anyone would choose me for me. Choose me because they want to be with me, because I can add something unique. I can't believe it. Not emotionally. That's why I rarely call my friends or loved ones. I know I am in the way. That's why It is hard for me to get new friends. Why would they wan't me? And if I like them, why would I bother them with me?

I'm sitting in the ashes of myself just waiting. Waiting to get the strenght to stand up and walk away. Waiting for a wind to come and blow the dust and ash away, to destroy even the illusions. In one way I impatiently wait for the wind. In another I dread it so much.

Fuck. Why do I always have to do it like this? Why do I wait for things to happen? Why don't I ever make them happen myself? It is so cowardly.

I have no rudder or compass and the sky is dark so I can't see the stars. I can't navigate. I don't know where I am and I don't know where I'm going. In one way it gives me a sense of freedom but as I have written before, freedom is not always a good thing. It gives me the freedom to take my ship in the wrong direction. To fall of the edge of the world. To fail. I don't mind the hardship. I don't mind the struggle. Or, I wouldn't mind the struggle if I thought it would be worth it. No, noth worth it. If I thought there was a point to overcome shit. If I thought it would make a difference. If you picture it like this: I have crossed a desert and now I'm facing a jungle. I have to fight my way through that jungle, I have to chop my way through it. On the other end of that jungle lies another desert. And on the other end of that desert lies another jungle. And so on and so forth. Is there a oasis in one of these deserts and will I find it? Is there something beyond all these deserts and jungles? I can't feel that there is. But do I have a choice besides moving on?


And the parade keeps marching on. At times it disgusts me. At times it scares me. At times it overwhelmes me. But the funny thing is that right now it almost amuses me.