Well.. This sucks.

Fuckshitcrapshitfuck.

And yes. There's a fuckshitcrapshitfuck situation.

I think I may like a guy.

Fuck.


And here I thought I was too cool to like a guy who wears brands and listents to electronic music.

It's the most intense... everything. Even the conversations' the best I've had in ages.

I hate being soft to someone. No one can know, especially him. I have to promise myself to be cool, calm and collected. Erase his number and pretend I haven't thought about him at all if he ever writes again.

I'm so not ready for this.
I don't think I'll ever be.
The memory and the lessons of ''shit happens, things end, it's painful, pointless and agonizing'' - Is still pretty damn branded in my short term memory.

Besides, we could never really like each other. He's a popular socialite and I'm a pessimistic social pariah.

It must be the sex-haze. It has to be.

Crapshitfuck.

Hey Rosetta - Psalm

''but often it happens you know
that the things you don't trust are the ones you need most
so it's cautiously into the dark
but you see before long that your eyes will adjust'' 

I'm in a weird place lately, somewhere with a lot of different shades of grey; Where the same situation can cause conflicting emotions, reactions, thoughts.
If I'm by myself at night, which I usually am, I can't decide if I'm lonely or if I can't stand company. When people talk about their relationsships, it exhaustes me, but at the same time I wish I had something to share.
I got accepted into the selfhelp-group, just got the news today. It's been a great influence on my perspective on dating for the bigger part of a month, when even before that I was scared of getting out there - Now I'm literally terryfied. I see why I'm doing it, and this is something that I'm doing for me. Not a friend, not a boyfriend, not a family member. ME. And I like that thought, but I'm having some trouble seeing how it could conflict with ever meeting someone in the future.

A thought accured to me earlier, that I don't really feel deserving of falling in love. A few of my friends and I had a discussion the other day about ''the fine line between a girl being sexual experienced as a good thing, and a girl being a slut''. A friend said that he knows me, he knows I'm not a slut. But on the other hand, had he met me in town as a single boy, knowing my history with men, he would have never considered me for a relationship to begin with.  ''You don't fall in love with the girl, that you just had a threesome with''-
I see why, but I don't agree. I think Solem had it right back then: He knew, and I knew about him, and we viewed each others history as something inspirational, to learn from.

Others might not see it that way. There's no way I'm ever going to be that sweet, innocent girl who just walses in to some boys life all cheery and new. I'm never going to be simple, jolly, easy going. I'm complicated, my past is complicated, I put a thick line between sex and emotion because I just don't see how I'm capable of dealing with the deeper stuff lately. Or, not just lately. At all. That's it, I guess: I don't see myself as capable of dealing with the deep stuff at all. So if I'm not capable of that, how can someone ever get close? How can someone want me enough to fight through that wall, that history, the complications, the guys, the past, the future? Argh.. I'm not even on the marked mentally. I don't want to be.

I guess I'd just like to know that when I want to, I can. Lately I haven't really been that optimistic.
It'll come, though, right? When I've stitched myself back together, sometime soon.

Old shoes

Emotion is a weird sort of size. I can keep it up in front of other people, pretend I'm not thinking about what I am, or even caring about it. I can pretend I don't need to talk about it or that it hurts me, but it does. I can pretend I'm not as selfish as I know I am.
I saw you friday night, at the pub with the guys. We hung out, drank, had fun. As I got drunk, you suddenly looked better and better, and I had to shift focus to not hit on you. What kept me going was the thought ''To what end could that possibly be a good idea?''. I knew it was because I was lonely, that I've been needing comfort, that you know me. At 4:30 in the morning, we were the only ones left, and we went home. In the metro, we got in a huge fight about politics as we always do, and it daunt on me why it pisses me off so much that you don't see the world like I do. Because I was disappointed that you weren't as I wanted you to be, then. Even though I still want to touch you and be touched, even though I still want to see the desire in your eyes at time. Despite all that, I know that this is the best for us. You'd hurt me to the core for every time you'd see a different perspective than me, because that translates to a different view on the value of a human being, fugitive, muslim, jew, etc. That the moment in out relationship when I realized how you view the world so much different from me, was the moment I knew you would never understand me. Never condone to my view of thinking, my way of life. My perspective on humanity.
So we argued like crazy in the metro, and somehow the fight shifted from politics to the reason we broke up, then back to politics, and as I reached my stop I hugged you, and said ''We'll never agree'', smiling. Just sort of gave up, because trying to break through to you is exhausting and hopeless.

Ten minutes later I made a huge, drunken mistake. It wasn't ment as anything than to tell you that I still care about you, but it changed everything. I texted you ''I'll always love you, and you'll always piss me off more than anyone''. You answered back a few minutes later, a text in capital letters screaming how you hate yourself for not being able to let me go. You wrote a few more messages pleading like that, and I asked if we should cool it with the friendship thing, but you said no.

The next day, I wrote to ask if you were okay, but you didn't answer. At night, me drunk at a birthday party I wrote again, and still no answer. I know you're moves, you're thoughts right now. I know you'll be gone for a while now.

Distance from the hurt - I'd do the same. Like you did the first time around, when I told you that we weren't getting back together and it broke your heart. I know this is probably the best for you - to not have me texting food-recepies or posting pictures of fun stuff on your wall like a friend would do. You need distance, and I get that.
But right now it feels like I've lost you all over again, just when I started believing I could have you in my life and we could learn to care about each other as friends - right when I started needing you again, you're out. Gone, and I just have to deal with it, because I'm the bitch for needing you in my life when it hurts you to be there.

I know that. It's selfish. It's cruel, but I just keep hoping you'd move on and realize that we're better off now. That we'll always need and love each other, but different, now.  It's an illusion to believe that on your part I guess, and I hate it.
I hate losing you all over again. And I hate that you're hurting and I can't be around to help fix it.
I hate that you're hurting because of me. That I caused it.  That me being in your life is too painful to you.

I'm sorry.

No safety net

I like being single. I've needed it: Not depending on anyone, being able to live, feel and so as I like. But lately I admit I've been more than close to dialing the number of my ex, not to get back to him or start something new, but just to ask him to hold me, and hold me close.

My friend is sick. The doctors even told her, that if she'd waited and hadn't gone to the hospital when she did, she could have died. There's tubes all around her, she can barely move or speak, not even drink without help. Seeing someone you care about so helpless just makes me wanna scream, cry, break down.

But I don't feel like talking about it, really. It's too scary and exhausting. I just wish I had that special person who would understand that perfectly, and just lay there next to me. I guess being alone all the time has it's downsides. I wish I could just walk trough the door coming home from the hospital, and someone would hold me close and not say anything. Louise and I saw her yesterday, when she was feeling very bad. Airtubes out her nose, coughing, not woise, giant headache. Bad.

Walking out of there, we were both crying, but no one said a word. I took her hand, and we clenched eachothers hands all the way out of the hospital, in the cab home, and didn't let go till we'd had a beer downtown and had eased up a little.

I want that more, right now. Someone who understands, someone who's calm and safe and stronger than I am right now.

I'm the one who got to call the rest of her friends with the scary news, hearing their voices on the phone, the questions, the panic. I'm the one who knows her enough to bring her a smootie, knowing she'd never eat the hospital food. I'm the one who gets to bring the facebook updates, and at least I feel like I'm actually doing something, allthough not enough. But it's all I can do.

If she were here, she'd lay down next to me in the bed, take my hand and play ''A storm is gonna come''. We'd lay there in total silence and look at the ceiling together; I guess she's the closest I come to being in a relationship these days. Without the funky stuff, though.

I need someone else to be strong enough for me, and that's when I think of him. How he was always stronger, how I didn't really need to say anything if I didn't want to. How, when he put his arms around me, I knew I was in total safety.

I need to feel safe again. 

When every day is a flashback

I knew this would come, eventually. I had prepared myself for it, because the last time I had to go through it on my previous study it completly took me by surprise, and I was not prepared for it. This time, I would be.

Our theme since I started school again is children and teenagers; Welfare and abuse. Last Thursday, I had to sit through an entire class of our psychology teacher giving exambles of how a kid could react to sexual abuse and other indecent incestual relations such as covert incest. My arena, sadly. How the reactions of their caregivers could worsen the trauma, how the guilt, shame and emotional conflicts could possibly affect a child. Yeah. It got to a point where I barely heard a word she was saying: All I could picture was his breath on my neck, his tongue in my mouth as I froze and forgot how to move. My mothers anger, wrongly directed at me, as I resisted turning him in because I truly believed that it had taken two to tango. Him. And me.
I went home, and all I could think about was my life from twelve to seventeen; Looking him in the eye April 17th, for the very last time: A grown woman, wearing a blazer and no makeup that day, knowing I was gonna cry. Not the scared little kid thinking: He chose to be my father, when he really had no obligations to. So he loves me, and so I should love him just the same, regardless.
I've thought this through over and over for so many times, and I've eventually reached the conslusion that sometimes wht hurt me the most is her reactions. How she refused to let me move on, because she never did. How she sometimes still does that; trapped in limbo forced to remember, because she will never forget.

Tomorrow's class is about children removed from home; I remember sitting in my room at Rantzausgade, looking at my file which I'd never seen before, and reading the words ''compulsory placement for Helene, age 16''...Before then I had never really realised that I had actually been placed outside my home, seeing as I went of my own free will. It leaves so many thoughts, like ''did the government really think my homelife was that bad?'', or ''what would have happened, if I had never been removed?.. Who would I be today, had I stayed?''. Worse off, I'm sure.

Every class brings memories to life, situations I haven't even thought of in years, all of a sudden clear as day in my memory. As if everything had happened yesterday, or is still happening around me. It leaves me vulnerable and childlike, empty and fragile. I just wanna be alone, and I have no chance in hell of actually focusing on my school work.

A sentence like ''When a child experiences a traumer like sexual abuse or other strong emotional conflicts, it is in high risk of developing depression, anxiety, OCD and other emotional disorders later in life...'' - And there I sit, a victor, a spectator of the whole show, and I know just too well how a child reacts. Not like I grew up around happy families either.

It's weird, sometimes, being reduced to a theoretical topic of this years' bestseller on childrens' welfare litterature. Like it didn't happen to me, and I can see everything from the outside, studying it in my books. There was nothing unique or special about my life, it's all written down in case by case in topics of children in poverty, children of divorce, children of covert incest, children of broken homes and so on. Like I'm really just a casestudy my psychology teacher once wrote about in her bachelor project years back.

Like I'm not even real. And no one will ever notice.
It's weird, that's all. Being reminded every time I check to see what's homework for tomorrow. Like I'm going through it all over again, whenever I show up in school.