So, I’ve been to the hospital. I went for my tuesday appointment with my psychologist, and I didn’t return.
Even though I was only there for 3 days, I don’t really know where to start. I want to blast off about the idiot psychiatrist I met. I wanna tell you about how disappointed the system made/makes me. I want to let you know that in the midst of all that, there was a nice guy whom I played chess with, he won 2 times and I won 2 times.
But I can’t, yet. I haven’t been very good at being honest lately, and I don’t think I’m all the way there. But soon, I hope. Or … lol, who cares anyways. It’s not as though if I don’t write about that anyone is gonna miss it … I’m the only one reading this shit. And how absurd is that, me writing to myself about no one but myself reading it. And … I’ll stop.
Well. I’ve spent the last hours recording with my recorder the song I posted a draft off. Somewhere in there I mess up the lyrics, and it’s somewhat off pitch at times too. But I do think it’s better than the draft. Let me know, what you think! Please.
It’s about losing someone, and not managing to let them go. How life seems too lonely without them.
It’s been quite a while since I really touched my guitar, or played or painted or did anything remotely creative. But out of the blue I made a song tonight. And I think being a perfectionist sucks. Being so stuck up on what people think sucks balls. So what am I gonna do? I’m gonna post a draft of the song. It was recorded with my computer microphone and, yeah, as I said it’s a draft, just made. But hopefully you won’t think ALL of it blows …
(Uploaded the song in a new post after recording it with a real recorder)
As I said, I’m trying to not take myself too seriously and stuff and not be too self-conscious and perfectionistic, but I don’t think I’ll leave it up for long. There are boundaries!
So if anyone get’s to hear it, let me know what you think, even though it’s “You’re a terrible singer, it’s too repetitive, go die” … Or don’t say “go die”.
When I was about 11 (I assume, because the memories of my childhood aren’t very many or time-accurate, I could’ve been 13 or 9 too really, what do I know? Maybe I should ask my father, anyways), I used to go swimming with my dad. About every friday at 6 – 7 pm. We would swim a bit. And then play a bit. We would take turns ducking down to catch things at the bottom of the pool, or swim in-between the others’ legs. After we would smell of chlorine and drive in the darkness back home.
At home we would have dinner, and maybe pop some popcorn and sit in the living room watching friday night TV-shows. A talent show, or a talk-show. And sometimes even adult, boring talk-shows that didn’t interest me much, but I sat there with my parents because I wanted to spend that time with them.
And I think that when I went to bed those nights, turning my head and dozing off into the smell of chlorine on my pillow, from my still damp hair, I think I was happy then.
“I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high
And life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving
I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I’m living”
So yeah, I copied this. It’s from Les Miserables, as you know. Sue me. I copied the words, but the feeling is mine. Where did it all disappear to? When did life kill that dream I dreamed? When did it all change? Gradually, I assume. And POW! One day .. I’m here.
I had a dream my life would be … so different, from this life I’m living. I was gonna be something.
So I wrote a message to my friend (like really). I mentioned the election-results (my country just had an election); I mentioned the cricket (ugh!) she found in her bed; I mentioned how I hadn’t been able to sleep, and my throbbing headache; I mentioned how much I cared about her and how proud I was of her; and I guess somewhere in there I asked how it was having a suicidal friend …
I don’t ask this very often. Heck, I don’t think I’ve ever asked. I’m not usually that direct. But I couldn’t isolate any longer. I had to have some contact and I decided to try honesty again. I was too tired to fake it. So I just blurted out what was on my mind. And somehow that was in there. I remember something similar happening some weeks ago … people I had put off way too long to respond to, I answered finally, one late night, when I was incredibly tired and couldn’t sleep. I seized the chance I had, the opportunity that bid itself since I was feeling like I didn’t care. I didn’t care to meticulously pick out every word, to scrutinize the messages. I just wrote. And it worked out ok. I mean, I got answers … though I haven’t gotten around to replying again yet. Fuck me. (Must be said, I didn’t mention anything close to heart in these ones though.)
But yeah. And you know what she answered? …
How can I know pain, and knowingly add to others’? How can I break when falling apart means giving up, and giving up means dying, and dying means I’ll give my pain to those I love? There are no reasons.
“You’re the friend I dreamt of, that I didn’t think existed. You got a creativity you can use to create incredible things. You give so much love. You’re strong. You give me hope.”
But how can this be me, when I am only shattered pieces of a life? Hurt from here to ever. Too weak to climb the hills. How can I give someone hope, when my hope died?
I stay up at night. Way longer than I should. Because I’m afraid of oversleeping. Because once I go to bed I know I’ll just want to stay there forever. In a strange way I think it’s better to sleep 4 hours before I have to get up than to get 9 hours. I don’t really see the logic. But that is what happens over and over.
I don’t wanna go into my bedroom, turn off the lights and just lie there feeling the anxiety taking over. I exhaust myself, even when I know that I have to get up early. Because I don’t wanna spend any more time than necessary feeling anxious and worried, and hopeless.
I have even a harder time sleeping when I have an appointment in the morning/noon the next day. Because of the oversleeping thing, and I don’t know, because I already start worrying about meeting my therapist, doctor, or whomever I’m having an appointment with.