I don't know what it was, but straight from January 2018 I started blogging actively, whereas ever since I've had a quite stable blogging routine, where I post around every third day. 83 blog posts this year. Crazy!
So the posts have mostly been about negative stuff, or me roasting things. That's okay. As I wrote late 2017, this blog is poisoned by negativity, and so it shall remain. It sounds really off writing it down, but I need to have this place where I can show all the negative traits/opinions/feelings/whatever because I don't talk about it, or rather, no one has asked me to tell. So I tell myself and strangers through this platform instead.
During the summer I wrote all my Self Reflections, which was a way to understand why I've formed into the person I am today. As I lost my theatre job I've written a lot about that too, because I got mad about it, but even without that incident, I've written about a lot of (drama) acting. I've written about the things making me happy. I've written about dreams I've had during the nights, about music, about my inner world of souls, about everything really, except my daily life. Those blogs are boring anyway. I even made a "vlog" this year! Maybe I'll try that again next year if I dare.
As for readers, I'm happy to see that there are a few daily readers. Not many at all, no, but a few, and I'm thankful for you all. Even if this is a personal blog, I get a smile when I see that someone has read my post. And because I write in English readers from all over Europe has found their way here. Thank you all for reading!
See you all in 2019. Have a safe New Year!
No Story Lives Forever
Broken
söndag 30 december 2018
måndag 24 december 2018
Yo Merry Christmas
There will be a blog post later this week about this year as an active "blogger", but for now there's a few things to conclude:
-my mental wellbeing has worsened during this year. This is the first Christmas in my life that I've spent with active anxiety. It started on the 22:nd. Will probably end the 26:th, when all is over. Right now my mind can't comprehend expectations. Both my own and other's expectations are too much for me, and I turn into thiscrying mess that am I at the moment.
- i just try to stand my mind, though I'm well aware that it has worsened. I hate it of course. I try to ignore it. Talking about it makes it real. I don't want it to be real. I try to talk with my fiancé about it, but he just doesn't get it, and that makes my own feelings more negatively engaged in the mess, and I don't like when that happens, so I'd rather drown my own anxiety and feelings in myself.
- talking makes it real. writing makes it understandable. that's why i rather write than talk. i don't like talking about it.
other than the fcking anxiety part, the Christmas has been good.
-my mental wellbeing has worsened during this year. This is the first Christmas in my life that I've spent with active anxiety. It started on the 22:nd. Will probably end the 26:th, when all is over. Right now my mind can't comprehend expectations. Both my own and other's expectations are too much for me, and I turn into this
- i just try to stand my mind, though I'm well aware that it has worsened. I hate it of course. I try to ignore it. Talking about it makes it real. I don't want it to be real. I try to talk with my fiancé about it, but he just doesn't get it, and that makes my own feelings more negatively engaged in the mess, and I don't like when that happens, so I'd rather drown my own anxiety and feelings in myself.
- talking makes it real. writing makes it understandable. that's why i rather write than talk. i don't like talking about it.
other than the fcking anxiety part, the Christmas has been good.
torsdag 20 december 2018
Once I was the culprit, now I'm the authority
A very strange feeling occured to me this week. In the school I'm working in there's been a case of bullying and out of all the teachers in school, I was the one to talk to the student we suspected was behind the naughty things.
It felt very weird doing this talk. When I came up to him and asked him to join me in another room a flash of sheer confusion and suspicion flashed over his face, but he agreed. No defiance, no questioning, he just accepted his fate. He surrendered to me.
I wont go into further details of this case, but it was so weird being this one authority a person who's actually of age surrenders to. I've always had this authority in me, as a born leader, but now it occured to me that even this person, who's done some naughty stuff, believes in me as an authority and trusts in me as one.
I've also been the kid on the other side. The one getting scolded by authority for unaccaptable things, the one surrendering to teachers. I know how it feels, and maybe that's why this case is so three dimensional to me.
I've been the culprit and now I'm the authority.
This is probably what they call growth.
It felt very weird doing this talk. When I came up to him and asked him to join me in another room a flash of sheer confusion and suspicion flashed over his face, but he agreed. No defiance, no questioning, he just accepted his fate. He surrendered to me.
I wont go into further details of this case, but it was so weird being this one authority a person who's actually of age surrenders to. I've always had this authority in me, as a born leader, but now it occured to me that even this person, who's done some naughty stuff, believes in me as an authority and trusts in me as one.
I've also been the kid on the other side. The one getting scolded by authority for unaccaptable things, the one surrendering to teachers. I know how it feels, and maybe that's why this case is so three dimensional to me.
I've been the culprit and now I'm the authority.
This is probably what they call growth.
söndag 16 december 2018
December used to give me pain
I've always known that I get anxious around New Year, but I wasn't prepared for the full blown crying attack that unfolded when my fiancé asked what we should do on New Years Eve. All flashbacks from different emotional trauma from New Years Eve backlashed at me.
Or "emotional trauma". I don't know if I'm allowed to use that word. I've never been abused during New Year or so, but my friends made sure I knew they disliked me during New Year.
I was fifteen when I attended my first New Years party, and drank alcohole, and it was fun! That was a good year. But as soon as I got older the anxiety grew.
It was always such FIGHTING to get to a party, to not be totally alone. Being all alone on New Years Eve would be too strong a confirmation that I don't have any real friends. No one wanted to celebrate with me, I always had to force myself into other people's parties to cover my own fear of being lonely.
The worst was when I was 18. My "friends", the ones I had celebrated the last New Year with, announced that "they'd already planned everything and sadly I cannot join them".
Oh, fuck, that shit hurted. I was already hurt and anxious and fucking sad that year, and this was one of the biggest contribution to why I now hate my old friend from upper secondary school. They left me. Hate is a strong word, but I think that if we'd ever meet again I'd let them know they were pieces of shits.
I was saved by my best friend from secondary school. We celebrated New Year the two of us and had fun. I posted one pic onto IG, and the one friend I think had bad conscience about leaving me outside commented something of the lines like "you seem to have fun <3"
Yeah, not thanks to you.
And the New Year when I was 19. I had started university, but was still too uncertain to ask someone for New Year. I asked the one I saw as my best friend, but she said she already had plans out on the country side. "you can come if you want, I guess no one cares", she said. I declined. I didn't want to force myself onto their party, where I'd probably end up with panic attacks.
Stab.
I joined another party, or asked if I could join. There were only four other people, and it was great. I had fun.
But there's always that sense of lonliness in your chest. The knowledge that no one wants to celebrate New Years with you, that people are with you because school forces you to. Those two New Years caused so much destruction in my mind. I'm not worthy as a friend. I'm not likable.
The last three New Years have been secured. I've not had to fight for a place to stay, but I'm yet horribly anxious.
And only one simple, friendly question about New Years Eve caused me to cry for ages.
Or "emotional trauma". I don't know if I'm allowed to use that word. I've never been abused during New Year or so, but my friends made sure I knew they disliked me during New Year.
I was fifteen when I attended my first New Years party, and drank alcohole, and it was fun! That was a good year. But as soon as I got older the anxiety grew.
It was always such FIGHTING to get to a party, to not be totally alone. Being all alone on New Years Eve would be too strong a confirmation that I don't have any real friends. No one wanted to celebrate with me, I always had to force myself into other people's parties to cover my own fear of being lonely.
The worst was when I was 18. My "friends", the ones I had celebrated the last New Year with, announced that "they'd already planned everything and sadly I cannot join them".
Oh, fuck, that shit hurted. I was already hurt and anxious and fucking sad that year, and this was one of the biggest contribution to why I now hate my old friend from upper secondary school. They left me. Hate is a strong word, but I think that if we'd ever meet again I'd let them know they were pieces of shits.
I was saved by my best friend from secondary school. We celebrated New Year the two of us and had fun. I posted one pic onto IG, and the one friend I think had bad conscience about leaving me outside commented something of the lines like "you seem to have fun <3"
Yeah, not thanks to you.
And the New Year when I was 19. I had started university, but was still too uncertain to ask someone for New Year. I asked the one I saw as my best friend, but she said she already had plans out on the country side. "you can come if you want, I guess no one cares", she said. I declined. I didn't want to force myself onto their party, where I'd probably end up with panic attacks.
Stab.
I joined another party, or asked if I could join. There were only four other people, and it was great. I had fun.
But there's always that sense of lonliness in your chest. The knowledge that no one wants to celebrate New Years with you, that people are with you because school forces you to. Those two New Years caused so much destruction in my mind. I'm not worthy as a friend. I'm not likable.
The last three New Years have been secured. I've not had to fight for a place to stay, but I'm yet horribly anxious.
And only one simple, friendly question about New Years Eve caused me to cry for ages.
onsdag 12 december 2018
Choke, choke, choke the hyperventilation
It's like the blog slowly turns into a place for memoars, but what is a blog for if not that? When I finally have a place with no facade, let me have it.
I remember when I was sixteen and in the first grade of upper secondary school. I was still naively happy, and I believed I had found the right path. I was all alone in a hallway, waiting for my friends who've had another lesson than I, and this other girl comes up to me and asks if everything is okay.
I laugh and say: yes, everything is okay!
We never spoke again. I was turned into air. We're not friends on any social media. I don't even remember her last name.
I truly wonder what would've happened if I said: no, I'm lonely. Help me.
But that doesn't happen. Not in Finland. We suffocate in silence, suffer in the dark without others knowing. I have the hardest time ever to tell people when I'm down, except my fiancé. But then there's the other thing. If I, everytime I feel like shit, tell him, he'd probably be bored. Again? Why don't you do anything to it?
Because I'm a fucking weak person, that's why! I suffer better alone. Without people prying and knowing. Without pity. But deep down, I want pity. I want people to ask, are you okay. Deep, deep down.
It's a constante debate. Hide it in the dark? Or admit? Both are bad. Admitting is hard, hiding is easier, but trying to choke a hyperventilation is not always easy either.
it's a lose-lose situation.
Her name was Alexandra. The girl who asked me if I was okay when I was sixteen.
And I can't remember if anyone, ever again, has asked me out of the blue if everything is okay. No one knows. Or then they don't care. Or they have put a taboo on the subject.
måndag 10 december 2018
What's next on the creation map?
Do you know the feeling when you WANT to be creative, but there's a barrier inside you and you can't figure out what you want to do with the creativity and then it feels like you'll burst?
That's been me for the past days.
I can't see my progress, because I write on this long sequel of my novel, and it's hundreds of pages long, so of course the progress is slower but my brain doesn't understand that :)
When I during 2017 and the most of 2018 wrote shorter stuff, like novellas and plays, the progess felt faster because I wrote more in quantity.
But I decided I will during Christmas break write a new novella, to brighten up my mood. I know already what it's going to feature, as I tried to write it as a play, but it doesn't really work as a play, though I tried, so a novella it'll be.
Of course it's about angsty youth, what did you think? Angsty youth is my all time favourite to write about. If only you knew how many different ways there is to show angst.
The main character kills her best friend by mistake. That's the premisse. It'll be artistic, angsty and beautiful.
I just wait for a) this fucking cold to go away and b) my job to end (for Christmas) so I can finally rest. But time flies too fast.
And I'll also repaint a painting I did when I was 14. There's a picture of it here on the blog from like the beginning of this year if you wanna see it.
That's been me for the past days.
I can't see my progress, because I write on this long sequel of my novel, and it's hundreds of pages long, so of course the progress is slower but my brain doesn't understand that :)
When I during 2017 and the most of 2018 wrote shorter stuff, like novellas and plays, the progess felt faster because I wrote more in quantity.
But I decided I will during Christmas break write a new novella, to brighten up my mood. I know already what it's going to feature, as I tried to write it as a play, but it doesn't really work as a play, though I tried, so a novella it'll be.
Of course it's about angsty youth, what did you think? Angsty youth is my all time favourite to write about. If only you knew how many different ways there is to show angst.
The main character kills her best friend by mistake. That's the premisse. It'll be artistic, angsty and beautiful.
I just wait for a) this fucking cold to go away and b) my job to end (for Christmas) so I can finally rest. But time flies too fast.
And I'll also repaint a painting I did when I was 14. There's a picture of it here on the blog from like the beginning of this year if you wanna see it.
söndag 9 december 2018
tisdag 4 december 2018
ghost of the past
I remembered out of nowhere a dream I had in 2015/16.
I was led by my mum to a chair. The chair's was faced away from a wall. I sat on the chair and said out load: "I want to kill myself " (in English, which is a bit weird as I always dream in Swedish).
And after I had plead for death the wall opened and the chair dropped me inside the wall, where there was a gas chamber, a chamber with cyanide gas.
I knew I was going to die, so I took a few deep breaths and awaited death. I woke up when I died in the dream.
So, yeah, it was a solemn dream. It wasn't a nightmare at all, it was just the way it was. I was calm in the dream and I was calm when I woke up, a bit sad maybe, but calm.
I actually talked about the dream later that day when I was at theatre school. A girl, who was fifteen at that time looked at me in horror and gasped: "What kind of books do you read to make you dream like that?"
Ah, such young naivety.
I smiled at her and told her about a book I had read where one of the characters died by suicide. She'd gassed herself in the car.
The girl said I shouldn't read such books if I get nightmares from them.
If only she'd known that I've spent a good time of my life to actively think about such horrible things, if not for myself then for art. I'm suprised that she didn't make a connection, I mean, she knew what kinds of ideas I had. Maybe she was just so oblivious.
I have realized that if one person doesn't have experience with mental health issues, they have a reaaally hard time imagining that other people experience stuff as pain in a whole other way than them.
I've read at my job an analysis of a song lyric by a 17-year old. The song was about a broken family, hate and despair which the youth experienced in said family. The student wrote: "This song must be based of true events, as no one could ever come up with this messed up song themselves".
I was taken aback. How could this person think that it's impossible to imagine horror? What?? Why? I wrote in the feedback that they can't write such comments in an analysis.
But maybe it's true. You can't imagine hate if you haven't experienced it yourself.
I was led by my mum to a chair. The chair's was faced away from a wall. I sat on the chair and said out load: "I want to kill myself " (in English, which is a bit weird as I always dream in Swedish).
And after I had plead for death the wall opened and the chair dropped me inside the wall, where there was a gas chamber, a chamber with cyanide gas.
I knew I was going to die, so I took a few deep breaths and awaited death. I woke up when I died in the dream.
So, yeah, it was a solemn dream. It wasn't a nightmare at all, it was just the way it was. I was calm in the dream and I was calm when I woke up, a bit sad maybe, but calm.
I actually talked about the dream later that day when I was at theatre school. A girl, who was fifteen at that time looked at me in horror and gasped: "What kind of books do you read to make you dream like that?"
Ah, such young naivety.
I smiled at her and told her about a book I had read where one of the characters died by suicide. She'd gassed herself in the car.
The girl said I shouldn't read such books if I get nightmares from them.
If only she'd known that I've spent a good time of my life to actively think about such horrible things, if not for myself then for art. I'm suprised that she didn't make a connection, I mean, she knew what kinds of ideas I had. Maybe she was just so oblivious.
I have realized that if one person doesn't have experience with mental health issues, they have a reaaally hard time imagining that other people experience stuff as pain in a whole other way than them.
I've read at my job an analysis of a song lyric by a 17-year old. The song was about a broken family, hate and despair which the youth experienced in said family. The student wrote: "This song must be based of true events, as no one could ever come up with this messed up song themselves".
I was taken aback. How could this person think that it's impossible to imagine horror? What?? Why? I wrote in the feedback that they can't write such comments in an analysis.
But maybe it's true. You can't imagine hate if you haven't experienced it yourself.
söndag 2 december 2018
Quotes from my tumblr
I own a tumblr page (msg me if you want the name of it) and onto it I sometimes reblog quotes that I relate to on some level, and I thought I'd share some of those quotes here. Note: I havn't written these, only reblogged them.
"my only two moods ever are tenderness and hysteria"
~~~~
"me trying to express how I feel: Idk I just feel like…idk…idk…idk man. Nvm I’m good"
~~~~
"live your life like a ghibli movie where literally everything is charming and beautiful"
~~~~
"im a simple girl.. i see book, i buy book, i let book sit on my shelf for months unread"
~~~~
"My life is just stress and good music"
~~~~
"no song will ever sound like home more than “concerning hobbits”"
~~~~
"me @ the demons that stand at the end of my bed:
it’s a lot warmer under the covers if you wanna come cuddle"
~~~~
I just love sleep so much ……. like u just close ur eyes and ur gone bitch ………… brain logged the fuck off ……… powerful
~~~~
Do you ever just go wow I have a lot of repressed anger
~~~~
how dare this outfit I planned in my head not look good on my body. disrespectful
These are quotes from 2018. I think they're nice and descriptive :)
onsdag 28 november 2018
I'm going to share a photo of myself to you
I've not really shared a picture of myself on here before, but there's one photo of me here in a post from 2015 if you wanna see how I look there. This is yours truly, the writer of this blog, me.
This is a pic I took for Snapchat, which I never posted because I look so sad here and while SC is my most honest social media (if this blog doesn't count) I don't want people to think I'm fishing for empathy or anything by posting cryptic photos.
This is a pic I took for Snapchat, which I never posted because I look so sad here and while SC is my most honest social media (if this blog doesn't count) I don't want people to think I'm fishing for empathy or anything by posting cryptic photos.
The think I love with this photo is the fact that my face is covered by two shadows. One shadow is dark and it's covering about a third of my face, representing the part of me that's... well... dark. The part drawn to angst, death and whatever. The hidden part of me.
The other shadow is lighter, but still a shadow. That shadow represent the grim joke-part of me, and the negative traits that still work in life. Other people see this part too of me. It's lighter than the darkest part, but still darker than the averege part.
The final third of my face is covered in light. This is the part of me that is shown to society, to everyone basically.
I just think it's so cool and interesting that this shadowy-thing occured when taking that photo!
fredag 23 november 2018
A dream and aching longing (long post)
This is a long post, but every word written here is written by pure honesty and... sorrow I guess. This is... such a sensitive topic for me, but one of the most important and delicate parts of my soul. I wish you read all of it.
I dreamt that I was again the theatre school which I used to work for. The teenagers were there, and my ex co-worker/teacher. We had some weird fluid improvisation in a big hall were I was the last one to perform in front of the others. There were probably around 30 people there watching.
I don't know where I got my idea from, but I acted as someone who got their foot nailed to the wall (as in a big ass nail through the whole foot) and then someone continued to saw my leg off. This was all acting, no one sawed my leg off for real, but I screamed and writhed like a worm and tried to catch the essence of someone getting their fucking leg sawed off.
It turned out I succeded in convincing everyone I was in monstrous pain, because it was dead silence after I finished my impro. Then my co-worker/teacher came up to me on stage, she said nothing, only smiled widely. A warm smile. And then she gave me a hug. A hug that said "I know. I know why you do all these things. You're good at it, you really are. I'm proud of you."
The dream was not far from the truth either. I remember two things she said/did actually during this spring.
1) I asked her to do a play on my own, even if I had the chance to work with others. I don't know why I asked it, but I did. And I didn't know what to do before just walking up on the stage, and showing them a puking man with a hangover in jail after he had killed his wife. Yeah.
And after everyone left, with only me and my co-worker, she turned to me and said: "That was really good. Like really, really good", with such genuine honesty that it made my whole evening. I even posted a thing about it on Snapchat, I was that happy.
2) We worked with monologues a bit during the spring. I got to do the stuff too. We chose a short monologue, had 10 minuted to rehearse the thing and then show them to the rest. While most of the teenagers focused those 10 minutes on remembering the words, I used the 10 minutes differently. I remember the lines really fast, so I had plenty of time to think about my actions.
So when it was my turn, I gave them a show. It wasn't just me telling them my monologue (like everyone else did), it was me showing them what I'm capable of. I threw a glance at my teacher/co-worker during my performance and she smiled while writing feedback. Warmly. Broadly. A smile that said: "Wow. You really do your stuff well. I didn't expect anything less that this from you and you delivered. Thank you."
My co-worker/teacher was really careful though with giving me too positive of feedback . She knew I was good, she knew I aimed high so she was ever so strict with my performances. I think I got negative feedback most of the times, because she knew I could take it and she knew I appreciated it, and it was pretty obvious that she was much nicer to the teenagers, even when they did stuff badly. So when I got only positive feedback, I knew that I'd outdone myself.
Is this my mind telling me I'm starting to miss this job? I miss being at my wildest, my most manic state of mind, fuck, I miss giving my all in acting. I fucking miss it. I miss the teenagers and I miss my co-worker. She was one stability in my life, she KNEW me a way few adults did, and she never let me down.
While I've been working full time I've not had time to actually reflect this big aching whole in my mind, the weeks pass at such a fast pace that I don't even remember that Mondays used to be work day.
But my mind does. My subconscious remembers each time I felt happiness. In the midst of suicidal thoughts during winter -16 acting and that place, and those people were one of my reasons to fight. I must live to the next Monday, to the next acting performance. Because that was life, MY LIFE. My life line.
Fuck, I miss it so horrendously.
I remember when I accepted my full time job in a different city 90 km from the city this theatre was, I cried because I didn't want to stop working at the theatre. I made a promise to myself, I will make it. I promised myself to work there until I got my Master Thesis done, and/or got a child.
And now it's just gone?? My Master Thesis is still undone, not even started on. I don't have a child. But my job is gone, it's GONE.
I have accepted the fact that my job is gone. That I won't ever again feel the same pure euphoria or mania. That I won't revisit my alter ego.
I feel broken. Acting has been for 15 years part of my life. This is the first time in 9 years I have a paus from acting.
I am broken.
I dreamt that I was again the theatre school which I used to work for. The teenagers were there, and my ex co-worker/teacher. We had some weird fluid improvisation in a big hall were I was the last one to perform in front of the others. There were probably around 30 people there watching.
I don't know where I got my idea from, but I acted as someone who got their foot nailed to the wall (as in a big ass nail through the whole foot) and then someone continued to saw my leg off. This was all acting, no one sawed my leg off for real, but I screamed and writhed like a worm and tried to catch the essence of someone getting their fucking leg sawed off.
It turned out I succeded in convincing everyone I was in monstrous pain, because it was dead silence after I finished my impro. Then my co-worker/teacher came up to me on stage, she said nothing, only smiled widely. A warm smile. And then she gave me a hug. A hug that said "I know. I know why you do all these things. You're good at it, you really are. I'm proud of you."
The dream was not far from the truth either. I remember two things she said/did actually during this spring.
1) I asked her to do a play on my own, even if I had the chance to work with others. I don't know why I asked it, but I did. And I didn't know what to do before just walking up on the stage, and showing them a puking man with a hangover in jail after he had killed his wife. Yeah.
And after everyone left, with only me and my co-worker, she turned to me and said: "That was really good. Like really, really good", with such genuine honesty that it made my whole evening. I even posted a thing about it on Snapchat, I was that happy.
2) We worked with monologues a bit during the spring. I got to do the stuff too. We chose a short monologue, had 10 minuted to rehearse the thing and then show them to the rest. While most of the teenagers focused those 10 minutes on remembering the words, I used the 10 minutes differently. I remember the lines really fast, so I had plenty of time to think about my actions.
So when it was my turn, I gave them a show. It wasn't just me telling them my monologue (like everyone else did), it was me showing them what I'm capable of. I threw a glance at my teacher/co-worker during my performance and she smiled while writing feedback. Warmly. Broadly. A smile that said: "Wow. You really do your stuff well. I didn't expect anything less that this from you and you delivered. Thank you."
My co-worker/teacher was really careful though with giving me too positive of feedback . She knew I was good, she knew I aimed high so she was ever so strict with my performances. I think I got negative feedback most of the times, because she knew I could take it and she knew I appreciated it, and it was pretty obvious that she was much nicer to the teenagers, even when they did stuff badly. So when I got only positive feedback, I knew that I'd outdone myself.
Is this my mind telling me I'm starting to miss this job? I miss being at my wildest, my most manic state of mind, fuck, I miss giving my all in acting. I fucking miss it. I miss the teenagers and I miss my co-worker. She was one stability in my life, she KNEW me a way few adults did, and she never let me down.
While I've been working full time I've not had time to actually reflect this big aching whole in my mind, the weeks pass at such a fast pace that I don't even remember that Mondays used to be work day.
But my mind does. My subconscious remembers each time I felt happiness. In the midst of suicidal thoughts during winter -16 acting and that place, and those people were one of my reasons to fight. I must live to the next Monday, to the next acting performance. Because that was life, MY LIFE. My life line.
Fuck, I miss it so horrendously.
I remember when I accepted my full time job in a different city 90 km from the city this theatre was, I cried because I didn't want to stop working at the theatre. I made a promise to myself, I will make it. I promised myself to work there until I got my Master Thesis done, and/or got a child.
And now it's just gone?? My Master Thesis is still undone, not even started on. I don't have a child. But my job is gone, it's GONE.
I have accepted the fact that my job is gone. That I won't ever again feel the same pure euphoria or mania. That I won't revisit my alter ego.
I feel broken. Acting has been for 15 years part of my life. This is the first time in 9 years I have a paus from acting.
I am broken.
onsdag 21 november 2018
A relevation
OKay okay okay!
There's something about myself that I've been revealed to just about now. You see, I've never considered myself a nice person. I have heck of a lot negative traits and attributes, like selfishness, pride, anger, and sometimes even a will to hurt other people.
I've never seen myself as a person willing to help other people (though it's been ironic how I've worked with children [didn't like it tho so much]) and this is something my mum has scolded me a lot for as I grew up. "Stop being so arrogant and selfish all the time!"
But the thing is... that I've worked as a "personal trainer" for students with difficulties in mother toungue, and it has actually been fun. And now, for the autumn, one of the boys I've prepped and given pure hope to, made the finals. His mum has thanked me so much and spread the rumour to her friends about me. She has bragged about how good of a mental trainer I am.
I am speechless. I've always seen myself as this arrogant ass, and now that I've heard from the mother about how I gave hope and confidence in writing an essay to her son.
ME. I HAVE GIVEN SELF CONFIDENCE TO A STUGGLING 18YEAR OLD! I HAVE GIVEN THIS PERSON HOPE.
What is life even.
So maybe I'm not this arrogant ass after all.
There's something about myself that I've been revealed to just about now. You see, I've never considered myself a nice person. I have heck of a lot negative traits and attributes, like selfishness, pride, anger, a
I've never seen myself as a person willing to help other people (though it's been ironic how I've worked with children [didn't like it tho so much]) and this is something my mum has scolded me a lot for as I grew up. "Stop being so arrogant and selfish all the time!"
But the thing is... that I've worked as a "personal trainer" for students with difficulties in mother toungue, and it has actually been fun. And now, for the autumn, one of the boys I've prepped and given pure hope to, made the finals. His mum has thanked me so much and spread the rumour to her friends about me. She has bragged about how good of a mental trainer I am.
I am speechless. I've always seen myself as this arrogant ass, and now that I've heard from the mother about how I gave hope and confidence in writing an essay to her son.
ME. I HAVE GIVEN SELF CONFIDENCE TO A STUGGLING 18YEAR OLD! I HAVE GIVEN THIS PERSON HOPE.
What is life even.
So maybe I'm not this arrogant ass after all.
lördag 17 november 2018
The oh-so-kind-hearted Lucia
In the parts of Finland where I live we celebrate Lucia. Who's Lucia? Lucia is a Saint who sacrificed herself in the Roman Empire, got her eyes plucked out and stabbed to death as a martyr. Nice thing to celebrate, I know.
But the ways in which it's celebrated is... questionable. Not because I don't think the tradition is lovely, I've grown up with the tradition of Lucia coming in the dark with candles, and I've always loved it.
Each year Finland chooses a young woman to represent Lucia, and she gets her crown of candles and a whole entourage during Lucia Day. Ten women "compete" to become chosen as Lucia. Yeah, yeah, the whole thing is for good, the money is given to those needed and I'm not going to talk about the whole tradition as a whole, but more of the women that strive to become Lucia.
So everyone would know of the candidates for Lucia, they're interviewed and displayed in news papers. This is where my pet peeves come in. People may debate that the whole Lucia tradition is nothing but a beauty contest, and I disagree, the Lucia tradition is a contest of "Who's the most kind-hearted of them all".
In all the interviews the women are telling us how a Lucia should be brave, kind, nice and willing to help (and they display themselves in such light too) and their friends are all "Yeah, you should definetly be Lucia, I know no one as perfect as you in the role *heart eyes*"
The number one trait of Lucia is virtue. Selflessness. Good girl-syndrome.
And this is why I'm frustrated. They are all on display as good and kind women. As perfect young women, who wants nothing but help people.
My grandfather's biggest wish was that either I or my cousin would become Lucia. Neither of us wanted. And for my part, it was because I'm not a too kind of a person. I'm not evil by any records, but I'm not always morally good either. I couldn't ever compete because I don't have the morals required and I doubt all of the girls candidating have them either. Some of them are liars, I'm sure. But whatever to make yourself look kind.
But the ways in which it's celebrated is... questionable. Not because I don't think the tradition is lovely, I've grown up with the tradition of Lucia coming in the dark with candles, and I've always loved it.
Each year Finland chooses a young woman to represent Lucia, and she gets her crown of candles and a whole entourage during Lucia Day. Ten women "compete" to become chosen as Lucia. Yeah, yeah, the whole thing is for good, the money is given to those needed and I'm not going to talk about the whole tradition as a whole, but more of the women that strive to become Lucia.
So everyone would know of the candidates for Lucia, they're interviewed and displayed in news papers. This is where my pet peeves come in. People may debate that the whole Lucia tradition is nothing but a beauty contest, and I disagree, the Lucia tradition is a contest of "Who's the most kind-hearted of them all".
In all the interviews the women are telling us how a Lucia should be brave, kind, nice and willing to help (and they display themselves in such light too) and their friends are all "Yeah, you should definetly be Lucia, I know no one as perfect as you in the role *heart eyes*"
The number one trait of Lucia is virtue. Selflessness. Good girl-syndrome.
And this is why I'm frustrated. They are all on display as good and kind women. As perfect young women, who wants nothing but help people.
My grandfather's biggest wish was that either I or my cousin would become Lucia. Neither of us wanted. And for my part, it was because I'm not a too kind of a person. I'm not evil by any records, but I'm not always morally good either. I couldn't ever compete because I don't have the morals required and I doubt all of the girls candidating have them either. Some of them are liars, I'm sure. But whatever to make yourself look kind.
onsdag 14 november 2018
Dreams and unfinished bucketlists
I still have more to talk about regarding last post. I said I grieve the dream of having a certain type of teenage that never came true. Yes, I truly grieve this dream. I grieve more dreams that never has become true.
One of them is connected to the emo phase of mine. I've never had piercings in my face. And I regret it. I truly regret that I never plead and begged my parents enough for them to let me pierce my face. I regret that I didn't, as I turned 18, walk into a piercing studio and got something done. Why, you may ask?
Because piercings are SO heavily connected to the teenage, that an adult with piercings wouldn't be taken as seriously as someone without piercings. It sucks that society is formed that way, it truly sucks. If I now got a piercing done in my lip, everyone would a) think I'm 14 b) think I'm a punk that never wants to grow up (partly true tho).
That's why I'm sad I never got a piercing when I was a teenager. I may pierce my toungue though, get a web piercing. A web piercing is located under the toungue (google it).
On the topics of piercings, I still hesitate on my tattoos. I don't have tattoos yet, but I know that I will not die with a clear skin. Before I die, I will get tattooed. I have two ideas, both of which I've wanted for many years. So I know I won't regret them, and the only, the ONLY thing that's keeping me back is this... fear that, if I ever want to pursue the dream of becoming an actor, will the tattoos keep me from getting employed? ARGH!
Why am I so hesitant? I grieve that I never got pierced, and I grieve that my will to get tattooed is risking my dream to become an actor and....
Why is it so damn difficult to get body modifications without fearing others, future and current work companions see you as a lesser, different person?
One of them is connected to the emo phase of mine. I've never had piercings in my face. And I regret it. I truly regret that I never plead and begged my parents enough for them to let me pierce my face. I regret that I didn't, as I turned 18, walk into a piercing studio and got something done. Why, you may ask?
Because piercings are SO heavily connected to the teenage, that an adult with piercings wouldn't be taken as seriously as someone without piercings. It sucks that society is formed that way, it truly sucks. If I now got a piercing done in my lip, everyone would a) think I'm 14 b) think I'm a punk that never wants to grow up (partly true tho).
That's why I'm sad I never got a piercing when I was a teenager. I may pierce my toungue though, get a web piercing. A web piercing is located under the toungue (google it).
On the topics of piercings, I still hesitate on my tattoos. I don't have tattoos yet, but I know that I will not die with a clear skin. Before I die, I will get tattooed. I have two ideas, both of which I've wanted for many years. So I know I won't regret them, and the only, the ONLY thing that's keeping me back is this... fear that, if I ever want to pursue the dream of becoming an actor, will the tattoos keep me from getting employed? ARGH!
Why am I so hesitant? I grieve that I never got pierced, and I grieve that my will to get tattooed is risking my dream to become an actor and....
Why is it so damn difficult to get body modifications without fearing others, future and current work companions see you as a lesser, different person?
måndag 12 november 2018
Hehe me rambling about dressing up #emo
Fyi, I deleted the last post. Didn't like it.
But I want to talk about the term "emo" for a while now, thanx. You see, that term, or label rather, has ment a deal for me.
We have to go back to the times of 2007 when being emo was the equal of being cool. Hella lot of teenagers were emo in the 2000s, and having piercings was the norm. I wanted to become one of those teenages soo bad when I was a child, and daydreamed of listening to angsty Finnish emometal together with my equally emo friends outside some S-market.
That never happened ofc. And as a grown up, I've come to grieve this dream that never came true. I never had friends that was the same like me, and the dream of "hanging around like lousy teenagers and being rebels in the society" never happened. My friends were to kind-hearted to become rebels.
So to the internet I went and found myself drawn to the emo communities online. I looked up to the teenage girls in USA who had really cool user names. In Emo and Scene (which is another subculture similar to emo) cultures popular girls were called Queens and boys were Kings. So you could be called a Scene Queen or Emo Queen. And they had their Queen names, which were usually a mix of their own with something sinister. Kiki Kannibal, Amber on Fire, Amber is Dead, Hannah Hacksaw, Aida Kamikaze, and ofc the famous Leda Monsterbunny.
I wanted to become them sooo much! I wanted to become a Queen. But to become a Queen one had to colour their hair, tease the hell out of it, and use hair extensions, all of which damage the hair enormoulsy. My hair is thin and fair, and I knew what my hair would be ruined if I did what was required. So I didn't.
Emo culture is heavily conjoined with emo music. To this category belonged post hardcore rockbands usually with a male singer singing about failed romance and stuff. I never actually listened to this kind of music, as I went straight to the metal pit with heavier riff than these bands ever produced.
I sometimes listen to emo music nowadays, it's fun to have a change, and the songs are tote okay too!
So because I was more influented by metal music, I wanted to turn goth instead! I never went truly goth but I still indentify myself with that sub culture.
Which leads us to the final question: Do I at all want to label myself when it comes to the way I dress. The truth, no, but I like to see myself as alternative. There's so many cool alternative models out there that I follow, and while I never became neither emo nor goth, but something in between, I feel like alternative is a good label to have.
But I want to talk about the term "emo" for a while now, thanx. You see, that term, or label rather, has ment a deal for me.
We have to go back to the times of 2007 when being emo was the equal of being cool. Hella lot of teenagers were emo in the 2000s, and having piercings was the norm. I wanted to become one of those teenages soo bad when I was a child, and daydreamed of listening to angsty Finnish emometal together with my equally emo friends outside some S-market.
That never happened ofc. And as a grown up, I've come to grieve this dream that never came true. I never had friends that was the same like me, and the dream of "hanging around like lousy teenagers and being rebels in the society" never happened. My friends were to kind-hearted to become rebels.
So to the internet I went and found myself drawn to the emo communities online. I looked up to the teenage girls in USA who had really cool user names. In Emo and Scene (which is another subculture similar to emo) cultures popular girls were called Queens and boys were Kings. So you could be called a Scene Queen or Emo Queen. And they had their Queen names, which were usually a mix of their own with something sinister. Kiki Kannibal, Amber on Fire, Amber is Dead, Hannah Hacksaw, Aida Kamikaze, and ofc the famous Leda Monsterbunny.
I wanted to become them sooo much! I wanted to become a Queen. But to become a Queen one had to colour their hair, tease the hell out of it, and use hair extensions, all of which damage the hair enormoulsy. My hair is thin and fair, and I knew what my hair would be ruined if I did what was required. So I didn't.
Emo culture is heavily conjoined with emo music. To this category belonged post hardcore rockbands usually with a male singer singing about failed romance and stuff. I never actually listened to this kind of music, as I went straight to the metal pit with heavier riff than these bands ever produced.
I sometimes listen to emo music nowadays, it's fun to have a change, and the songs are tote okay too!
So because I was more influented by metal music, I wanted to turn goth instead! I never went truly goth but I still indentify myself with that sub culture.
Which leads us to the final question: Do I at all want to label myself when it comes to the way I dress. The truth, no, but I like to see myself as alternative. There's so many cool alternative models out there that I follow, and while I never became neither emo nor goth, but something in between, I feel like alternative is a good label to have.
måndag 5 november 2018
Just nothing
I am currently in a realm of depression. I'm so... so so tired. I struggle and am mostly anxious.
I've not felt this bad for a month or more. But this past week has been so dreadful.
I threw up my breakfast last week. Into the toilet it went. Again.
I sleep so much, as much as possible. And I'm never rested when I wake up. I'm tired 24/7.
The only thing that currently helps is music. Oh please, let me get through this week. I'm so weak at the moment.
I've not felt this bad for a month or more. But this past week has been so dreadful.
I threw up my breakfast last week. Into the toilet it went. Again.
I sleep so much, as much as possible. And I'm never rested when I wake up. I'm tired 24/7.
The only thing that currently helps is music. Oh please, let me get through this week. I'm so weak at the moment.
torsdag 1 november 2018
Ten years ago
This is autumn 2018. Ten years since autumn 2008.
It's been ten years since my exboyfriend broke my heart. Ten years since I brought a knife to school.
I remember the day like it was yesterday. I had had a class where the boy I bullied was, and I was annoyed and angry at him, resulting in me being an ass to him. The class ended and I went outside. I didn't have a coat on me. My boyfriend and his friend come up to me. He puts his hands on my shoulders, simply saying: "I'm breaking up with you." I said: "Okay" and left.
It was cold. I was cold. And I felt nothing. In the bus on my way home I cried. Or I cried already in school. My friend told me the rumours spread quickly after that. That they'd see me cry. But I don't remember.
You may think that a little teenage heartbreak is nothing. Maybe it was nothing. But to me, in that situation, the world shattered around me. All of my friends left me after my ex did. I had no one to talk to. I got backstabbed by the ones I thought cared about me.
You may think teenage-angst is a part of coming of age. Maybe it is. But for me, that angst got brought up to a whole new level after that break up.
I started to feel hate. I felt such strong hate towards my ex that I didn't know what to do with myself. The combination of being all alone, and feeling betrayed by everyone turned me into a raging monster looking for revenge. I wanted to hurt someone. Yes. Violence was the answer.
I wanted vengeance. And my ex was the one I wanted to revenge on.
I wanted to make him feel the same pain I was put through. My emotional pain made me totally blind. And when I brought the knife to school, I hadn't anything planned. My mind was totally blank. White. With anger.
I didn't stab anyone, though that was what I wanted and had planned. I didn't even slice my wrists like I also pondered about. But I for sure scared some people. Put the knife to someones throat, yes. Hurt someone? No.
I still can't believe no one told the teachers.
That all was ten years ago. That is what anger and hate can do to oneself. It can turn you into a... spiteful, hateful monster. And I was only 13 years old, ten years ago. A 13 year old ready to stab someone.
I sometimes don't even believe it myself. How could've I been such a spiteful freak?
Ten years do amazing things to a human. It let her grow, and change, and feel remorse.
I met the guy, whose throat my knife visited, last summer. We said hi to eachother.
I deeply wonder what he thinks of me. What he thinks of that weird incident ten years ago. If he even remembers it.
It's been ten years since my exboyfriend broke my heart. Ten years since I brought a knife to school.
I remember the day like it was yesterday. I had had a class where the boy I bullied was, and I was annoyed and angry at him, resulting in me being an ass to him. The class ended and I went outside. I didn't have a coat on me. My boyfriend and his friend come up to me. He puts his hands on my shoulders, simply saying: "I'm breaking up with you." I said: "Okay" and left.
It was cold. I was cold. And I felt nothing. In the bus on my way home I cried. Or I cried already in school. My friend told me the rumours spread quickly after that. That they'd see me cry. But I don't remember.
You may think that a little teenage heartbreak is nothing. Maybe it was nothing. But to me, in that situation, the world shattered around me. All of my friends left me after my ex did. I had no one to talk to. I got backstabbed by the ones I thought cared about me.
You may think teenage-angst is a part of coming of age. Maybe it is. But for me, that angst got brought up to a whole new level after that break up.
I started to feel hate. I felt such strong hate towards my ex that I didn't know what to do with myself. The combination of being all alone, and feeling betrayed by everyone turned me into a raging monster looking for revenge. I wanted to hurt someone. Yes. Violence was the answer.
I wanted vengeance. And my ex was the one I wanted to revenge on.
I wanted to make him feel the same pain I was put through. My emotional pain made me totally blind. And when I brought the knife to school, I hadn't anything planned. My mind was totally blank. White. With anger.
I didn't stab anyone, though that was what I wanted and had planned. I didn't even slice my wrists like I also pondered about. But I for sure scared some people. Put the knife to someones throat, yes. Hurt someone? No.
I still can't believe no one told the teachers.
That all was ten years ago. That is what anger and hate can do to oneself. It can turn you into a... spiteful, hateful monster. And I was only 13 years old, ten years ago. A 13 year old ready to stab someone.
I sometimes don't even believe it myself. How could've I been such a spiteful freak?
Ten years do amazing things to a human. It let her grow, and change, and feel remorse.
I met the guy, whose throat my knife visited, last summer. We said hi to eachother.
I deeply wonder what he thinks of me. What he thinks of that weird incident ten years ago. If he even remembers it.
måndag 29 oktober 2018
I write, therefore I exist
I've talked about how acting/theatre has changed my life, and I've talked about how music saved me.
Now it's time to talk about how writing affects me.
I've written since forever. When I couldn't write, I drew series that the daycare staff had to write text to. I "wrote" stories about Pokémons, or animals. Cats and foxes and stuff. I can't remember when my family got a PC, but it was pretty early, and I learned how to write on the first version of Windows Words before I attented school. I remember the first story I wrote on Words. It was called "Olle and Lisa and the Dragon" (in swe ofc) and it was two pages long.
In school I was the one with the reputation of writing the best stories. When having "free writing" everyone waited to hear my stories. In sixth grade I got a award (which was some money and fame and glory) for my stories on my graduation. I was immensely proud over myself.
During this time, I had already written hella lot of stories on the computer. Hundreds of pages. Just writing. Practicing. Horse stories, fantasy, tales, lore, you name it. I had started on my book already. I wrote 137 pages on my book as 14 years old, all of which I deleted. Fuck. But I wrote more. Another side story of my book, hundred pages. I wrote more than just this fantasy series. I wrote romance too. About fifty-seventy pages maybe of romance.
And when I was fifteen duing one week of final work exam of secondary school, did I write 60 pages. And let me fucking tell you, 60 pages in six days are crazy. Really really crazy lot. I wrote more words per day than Steven King does.
But it also killed me. Putting up with so much stress as it takes to write 60 pages in six days put me off writing for one year. But I continued. Those 60 pages got developed into 300 pages in two years, that now are a full novel.
I started writing scrips. Started off with a script of like 12 pages. Writing scripts are harder than writing novels, as they require fewer words. I contuened developing my craft.
Wrote a sequel to my book (which is still not finished, I'm up at 120 pages). Wrote longer and longer plays, 30 pages, 50 pages. Wrote three well fleshed up angsty short stories, just as a practice (but still dreaming about writing a reeeaally teenage-angsty novella collection hihi). Started writing actively on this blog, many posts a week, in another language.
I keep reading books. Keep reading stories. I keep writing.
I can't stop. I can't stop writing! It's my call. My final call. To make up stories. To write down stories. To give voices to characters. To give a voice to myself.
I write. Therefore I exist.
Now it's time to talk about how writing affects me.
I've written since forever. When I couldn't write, I drew series that the daycare staff had to write text to. I "wrote" stories about Pokémons, or animals. Cats and foxes and stuff. I can't remember when my family got a PC, but it was pretty early, and I learned how to write on the first version of Windows Words before I attented school. I remember the first story I wrote on Words. It was called "Olle and Lisa and the Dragon" (in swe ofc) and it was two pages long.
In school I was the one with the reputation of writing the best stories. When having "free writing" everyone waited to hear my stories. In sixth grade I got a award (which was some money and fame and glory) for my stories on my graduation. I was immensely proud over myself.
During this time, I had already written hella lot of stories on the computer. Hundreds of pages. Just writing. Practicing. Horse stories, fantasy, tales, lore, you name it. I had started on my book already. I wrote 137 pages on my book as 14 years old, all of which I deleted. Fuck. But I wrote more. Another side story of my book, hundred pages. I wrote more than just this fantasy series. I wrote romance too. About fifty-seventy pages maybe of romance.
And when I was fifteen duing one week of final work exam of secondary school, did I write 60 pages. And let me fucking tell you, 60 pages in six days are crazy. Really really crazy lot. I wrote more words per day than Steven King does.
But it also killed me. Putting up with so much stress as it takes to write 60 pages in six days put me off writing for one year. But I continued. Those 60 pages got developed into 300 pages in two years, that now are a full novel.
I started writing scrips. Started off with a script of like 12 pages. Writing scripts are harder than writing novels, as they require fewer words. I contuened developing my craft.
Wrote a sequel to my book (which is still not finished, I'm up at 120 pages). Wrote longer and longer plays, 30 pages, 50 pages. Wrote three well fleshed up angsty short stories, just as a practice (but still dreaming about writing a reeeaally teenage-angsty novella collection hihi). Started writing actively on this blog, many posts a week, in another language.
I keep reading books. Keep reading stories. I keep writing.
I can't stop. I can't stop writing! It's my call. My final call. To make up stories. To write down stories. To give voices to characters. To give a voice to myself.
I write. Therefore I exist.
lördag 27 oktober 2018
Theatre-things on my mind
Because theatre is like always on my mind I thought back to the times I worked as an "instructor" to children at drama school and came up with two set of skills that are crucial, so so crucial, if a child ever want to become a good actor in the future. Few children of the around 50 I got to work with was equipped with these skills, sadly.
1. Teamwork.
Teamwork is the ground pillar of any production. And it's a skill that can be perfected, but never improved to the point where a child bad at teamwork can suddenly as older become good at teamwork.
I've seen countless of small "productions/plays" where the following pattern exists: One child tries to force on the story they made up, but has failed to tell the others was the exact story is. Another child had disagreed upon the story and tries to force their own version on top of the other story. 1-2 other children stand on the stage, embarrassed and unsure of the story. Giving constructive critique on these was very hard, as there was literally nothing to tell them but "your performance sucked", but ofc you couldn't say so.
Egos are welcomed, but never to the extent that the teamwork becomes unbearable. Conclusion: Without the skill of working in teams you'll never become a good actor.
2. Storytelling
Theatre is about telling a story through a theme. Being able to tell a story, even when all fail, is crucial. Especially in improvision. Watching an improvision without a story was sooo boring, and yet again you try your best to give constructive critique.
It's incredible how few children there was that actually HAD a decent storytelling talent. And even if they had a story, they didn't have the means to actually show the story to us.
I realize that I sound like a total know-it-all-brat right now. I'm not a know-it-all. I'm just an observer, and these were the mistakes I observed the most. And I ofc didn't tell anyone their performance sucked.
1. Teamwork.
Teamwork is the ground pillar of any production. And it's a skill that can be perfected, but never improved to the point where a child bad at teamwork can suddenly as older become good at teamwork.
I've seen countless of small "productions/plays" where the following pattern exists: One child tries to force on the story they made up, but has failed to tell the others was the exact story is. Another child had disagreed upon the story and tries to force their own version on top of the other story. 1-2 other children stand on the stage, embarrassed and unsure of the story. Giving constructive critique on these was very hard, as there was literally nothing to tell them but "your performance sucked", but ofc you couldn't say so.
Egos are welcomed, but never to the extent that the teamwork becomes unbearable. Conclusion: Without the skill of working in teams you'll never become a good actor.
2. Storytelling
Theatre is about telling a story through a theme. Being able to tell a story, even when all fail, is crucial. Especially in improvision. Watching an improvision without a story was sooo boring, and yet again you try your best to give constructive critique.
It's incredible how few children there was that actually HAD a decent storytelling talent. And even if they had a story, they didn't have the means to actually show the story to us.
I realize that I sound like a total know-it-all-brat right now. I'm not a know-it-all. I'm just an observer, and these were the mistakes I observed the most. And I ofc didn't tell anyone their performance sucked.
onsdag 24 oktober 2018
A beauty of words
You wonder what I do while driving?
There are three things I do while driving, except you know, focus on driving the car.
1. I talk to myself,
almost always in English, imagining recording vlogs. Some of my posts are results of my babbling in the car.
2. I act.
This one is a bit weird, but I do voice practices, shout, repeat the same line in different ways, you name it. Stuff that doesn't require hands or movements.
3. I sing
And this is the point of this posts overall. I want to share a piece of lyric that I've been singing quite a lot while driving. So beautiful. So hauting. Perfect for my vocals. For me.
There are three things I do while driving, except you know, focus on driving the car.
1. I talk to myself,
almost always in English, imagining recording vlogs. Some of my posts are results of my babbling in the car.
2. I act.
This one is a bit weird, but I do voice practices, shout, repeat the same line in different ways, you name it. Stuff that doesn't require hands or movements.
3. I sing
And this is the point of this posts overall. I want to share a piece of lyric that I've been singing quite a lot while driving. So beautiful. So hauting. Perfect for my vocals. For me.
Why have you forsaken me
In your eyes forsaken me
In your thoughts forsaken me
In your heart forsaken, me oh
Trust in my self righteous suicide
I, cry, when angels deserve to die
In my self righteous suicide
I, cry, when angels deserve to die
The ending of Chop Suey - System of a Down
söndag 21 oktober 2018
I revisited the place of depression
Yesterday I revisited a place that's the home of a community I'm in. This community and that place are the roots of my depression and anxiety and the very reason I became suicidal in 2016.
I hadn't been in that room for over six months, maybe more, like eight nine months.
And immediatly when I stepped into the room a wave of... complete sadness overwhelmed me. I felt immediatly hated, though there weren't even that many people I knew there. I felt like isolating myself in a hidden corner and being on my phone instead.
I didn't. The party was good. When a friend asked me how I am, I said where the answer should be "I'm fine thanks" "I'm ok". "I'm ok"?? It came out soo obvious that I felt wrong, and she's one of the few who know about the problems I had in the past. I felt like a mood ruiner.
During the break, the feelings came back. And this time I hid myself behind the coat-hangers. My friend found me eventually, and asked why I was hiding. I replied: "Because I party by isolating myself :)"
I mean, I really liked my table company and I like to sing, but there are too many underlying feelings in me for me to enjoy anything there. I took a selfie for my snapchat because I liked my makeup. Took another one. And a third and a forth. Because it seemed, in all pictures, like I was hiding the fact that I was crying. I wasn't crying, but my eyes didn't lie that I wasn't okay. I finally published one, without caring about what other people would think. Maybe someone stopped to think about my sad eyes, but I beat an horse's ass that no one did.
When I came home I felt more depressed than I've done in many many weeks. A solemn sadness, an overwhelming sadness. I dreamt nightmares the whole night. And I woke up sad. Not crying sad, but there's-a-hole-in-my-chest-sadness.
As I write this the hole is still not filled. Though I try.
I hadn't been in that room for over six months, maybe more, like eight nine months.
And immediatly when I stepped into the room a wave of... complete sadness overwhelmed me. I felt immediatly hated, though there weren't even that many people I knew there. I felt like isolating myself in a hidden corner and being on my phone instead.
I didn't. The party was good. When a friend asked me how I am, I said where the answer should be "I'm fine thanks" "I'm ok". "I'm ok"?? It came out soo obvious that I felt wrong, and she's one of the few who know about the problems I had in the past. I felt like a mood ruiner.
During the break, the feelings came back. And this time I hid myself behind the coat-hangers. My friend found me eventually, and asked why I was hiding. I replied: "Because I party by isolating myself :)"
I mean, I really liked my table company and I like to sing, but there are too many underlying feelings in me for me to enjoy anything there. I took a selfie for my snapchat because I liked my makeup. Took another one. And a third and a forth. Because it seemed, in all pictures, like I was hiding the fact that I was crying. I wasn't crying, but my eyes didn't lie that I wasn't okay. I finally published one, without caring about what other people would think. Maybe someone stopped to think about my sad eyes, but I beat an horse's ass that no one did.
When I came home I felt more depressed than I've done in many many weeks. A solemn sadness, an overwhelming sadness. I dreamt nightmares the whole night. And I woke up sad. Not crying sad, but there's-a-hole-in-my-chest-sadness.
As I write this the hole is still not filled. Though I try.
torsdag 18 oktober 2018
This thing with sexuality part 2
Okay okay okay maybe I'm able to tell you a story.
This story is about me and my two facedness towards myself.
So let's start when romance started to interest me. I crushed on boys both from television and irl or on male animals (like Kovu from Lion King 2). And these crushes still lie within me. I still "crush" on centrain boys from animated tv-shows even though I'm 23 now. Those crushes lie close to my heart.
I had boyfriends in secondary schools and crushed on boys. But this is the time my online life started, and the online social circles that I hanged around in were heavily lgbt+-based. The outcasts.
I'd say 80% of the peeps I met through internet belonged to some sort of sexual minority. That was the norm. To be "different".
And I... just rolled with it. I never said I belonged to a minority, but I never said I was straight either. But because being in a same sex relationship was the norm online and being in a straight relationship was the norm in real life, both of them became normal for me.
I still only fell in live with boys.
Many of my friends found out they liked the same sex, and a few of them were in same sex relationships. I think I had over ten friends that belonged to the lgbtq+ spectre. My mum asked me once if I'm also one of them. I said no, because I hadn't had feeling for a girl.
I fell in love with a girl when I was 18. It was very weird. I didn't recognize these feelings at all. It felt more like "Omg I really like this person, I want to be her friend really baaad, I want to hug her and hold her and kiss her - oh, I must really like her as a friend".
Yes, even if I had a burning desire to kiss her, I STILL though about her as a friend. Because I was so deeply programmed to only like boys. It felt wrong and right at the same time and I couldn't wrap my head around it.
She later came out to me as a member of a sexual minority. I, naivly, thought we had a chance now. But she had feelings for another one. And that's when I realized I had lost her and I never told her I liked her that way.
I had lost the chance. So I wrapped up my feelings and, now starting university, left her behind. I dated a lot of guys, and 6 months later found my future husband.
The following summer was the summer I finally realized that my feelings towards that girl had been romantic and sexual. Not friendly. It was weird, but in my heart I knew it had been true. I never ever told anyone about it. It felt as something I wanted to keep to myself.
But I secretly wish that we had tried it. I secretly wish that she and I had become a couple, only for a little while, that we'd have sex and everything, and then separate on good terms so that I'd still meet the love of my life and could continue my life with him. I would've wanted to have sex with another woman. But I guess that's one bucket list thing that's never gonna happen.
The chance to try it out came and left then, five years ago.
This story is about me and my two facedness towards myself.
So let's start when romance started to interest me. I crushed on boys both from television and irl or on male animals (like Kovu from Lion King 2). And these crushes still lie within me. I still "crush" on centrain boys from animated tv-shows even though I'm 23 now. Those crushes lie close to my heart.
I had boyfriends in secondary schools and crushed on boys. But this is the time my online life started, and the online social circles that I hanged around in were heavily lgbt+-based. The outcasts.
I'd say 80% of the peeps I met through internet belonged to some sort of sexual minority. That was the norm. To be "different".
And I... just rolled with it. I never said I belonged to a minority, but I never said I was straight either. But because being in a same sex relationship was the norm online and being in a straight relationship was the norm in real life, both of them became normal for me.
I still only fell in live with boys.
Many of my friends found out they liked the same sex, and a few of them were in same sex relationships. I think I had over ten friends that belonged to the lgbtq+ spectre. My mum asked me once if I'm also one of them. I said no, because I hadn't had feeling for a girl.
I fell in love with a girl when I was 18. It was very weird. I didn't recognize these feelings at all. It felt more like "Omg I really like this person, I want to be her friend really baaad, I want to hug her and hold her and kiss her - oh, I must really like her as a friend".
Yes, even if I had a burning desire to kiss her, I STILL though about her as a friend. Because I was so deeply programmed to only like boys. It felt wrong and right at the same time and I couldn't wrap my head around it.
She later came out to me as a member of a sexual minority. I, naivly, thought we had a chance now. But she had feelings for another one. And that's when I realized I had lost her and I never told her I liked her that way.
I had lost the chance. So I wrapped up my feelings and, now starting university, left her behind. I dated a lot of guys, and 6 months later found my future husband.
The following summer was the summer I finally realized that my feelings towards that girl had been romantic and sexual. Not friendly. It was weird, but in my heart I knew it had been true. I never ever told anyone about it. It felt as something I wanted to keep to myself.
But I secretly wish that we had tried it. I secretly wish that she and I had become a couple, only for a little while, that we'd have sex and everything, and then separate on good terms so that I'd still meet the love of my life and could continue my life with him. I would've wanted to have sex with another woman. But I guess that's one bucket list thing that's never gonna happen.
The chance to try it out came and left then, five years ago.
tisdag 16 oktober 2018
This thing with sexuality (this post is a mess) part 1
Part 1 because this is just me rambling. the next part will be more coherent i swear
Oh, well, my take on this with sexuality. I am a hypocrite to myself, where in front of others I'm this happy talking thing knowing a lot about sexualities and being the best straight ally there is, and I even write queer characters often, while my head is filled with war about the very same things I gladly talk about.
.... why is it so hard.....
... you're a fucking hypocrite, and a liar to yourself....
Growing up all of my crushes were on boys. It wasn't anything to think about, it was natural, the norm and everything spinned around the idea of finding your prince, getting married and so on.
I won the game. I am in a happy relationship with a man, and I love him and our relationship. We're getting married soon. We'll have children someday. I won the game, and I'm happy. So so happy.
Yet there is thing one thing that I've never ever spoken about to any living, breathing person. I've never written anything even hinting about it onto any social media, not even my tumblr. This is my most well hidden secret.
I'm not straight.
But I hate the terms bisexual and pansexual. To hell with it, I don't want to be labeled as a bisexual. Is it even possible to be called bi when you've only once been in love with a girl five years ago and twenty times in love with boys during a whole life time?
Admitting to myself that my feelings were sexual and romantic five years back has not been easy. In fact, it took me one year to realize what they had been. And now, though I accepted the fact and was cool with it a few years ago already, I'm bothered by it.
The next part will tell the story about how I... noticed I'm no heterosexual in more details. If I don't delete everything because I'm a liar to myself.
Oh, well, my take on this with sexuality. I am a hypocrite to myself, where in front of others I'm this happy talking thing knowing a lot about sexualities and being the best straight ally there is, and I even write queer characters often, while my head is filled with war about the very same things I gladly talk about.
.... why is it so hard.....
... you're a fucking hypocrite, and a liar to yourself....
Growing up all of my crushes were on boys. It wasn't anything to think about, it was natural, the norm and everything spinned around the idea of finding your prince, getting married and so on.
I won the game. I am in a happy relationship with a man, and I love him and our relationship. We're getting married soon. We'll have children someday. I won the game, and I'm happy. So so happy.
Yet there is thing one thing that I've never ever spoken about to any living, breathing person. I've never written anything even hinting about it onto any social media, not even my tumblr. This is my most well hidden secret.
I'm not straight.
But I hate the terms bisexual and pansexual. To hell with it, I don't want to be labeled as a bisexual. Is it even possible to be called bi when you've only once been in love with a girl five years ago and twenty times in love with boys during a whole life time?
Admitting to myself that my feelings were sexual and romantic five years back has not been easy. In fact, it took me one year to realize what they had been. And now, though I accepted the fact and was cool with it a few years ago already, I'm bothered by it.
The next part will tell the story about how I... noticed I'm no heterosexual in more details. If I don't delete everything because I'm a liar to myself.
tisdag 9 oktober 2018
fredag 5 oktober 2018
One shots of horror
If I had a folder where all the posts I've deleted by now before posting them were, it'd be full of texts. I write onto here a great deal of stuff that I never post, partly bc I feel like shit after writing them, or because they still don't feel too relevant.
But hey, I came up with a new script idea for a shorty. Sometimes, when listening to music I come up with plays that occur in my head. I know some people imagine movies or music videos but I have for the last like six years always imagined plays where the song is the storyteller of the play. Some of the plays are all silent except the music, leaving only my expressions as the lines.
Once have I showed such a play at my drama work, and it turned out to be the hardest play I've ever done. Only expressions, no sound, no voice but the song, which was the ending of Room of Angel - Silent hill. It was hard not to laugh, because the audience were really close up (like two meters) to me, and I saw their reactions. They were horrified. Damn it was hard, but I made it. I delivered horror to them, and damn straight was the delivery great.
Silence speak the loudest sometimes.
That was a side note.
Today I came up with another great one shot of a story about the nine levels of hell combined with the song "Final Judgement". Damn, imagination, will you shut up? No? Never, probs. It's okay. I love my one shots, but still, it's such a shame that no one will be able to see them. I do them for myself when I'm home alone, but that's about it.
Maybe I will one day make Youtube videos with these one shots. The ones I don't care if someone steal the ideas from. It would also be great practice to see myself act.
But hey, I came up with a new script idea for a shorty. Sometimes, when listening to music I come up with plays that occur in my head. I know some people imagine movies or music videos but I have for the last like six years always imagined plays where the song is the storyteller of the play. Some of the plays are all silent except the music, leaving only my expressions as the lines.
Once have I showed such a play at my drama work, and it turned out to be the hardest play I've ever done. Only expressions, no sound, no voice but the song, which was the ending of Room of Angel - Silent hill. It was hard not to laugh, because the audience were really close up (like two meters) to me, and I saw their reactions. They were horrified. Damn it was hard, but I made it. I delivered horror to them, and damn straight was the delivery great.
Silence speak the loudest sometimes.
That was a side note.
Today I came up with another great one shot of a story about the nine levels of hell combined with the song "Final Judgement". Damn, imagination, will you shut up? No? Never, probs. It's okay. I love my one shots, but still, it's such a shame that no one will be able to see them. I do them for myself when I'm home alone, but that's about it.
Maybe I will one day make Youtube videos with these one shots. The ones I don't care if someone steal the ideas from. It would also be great practice to see myself act.
måndag 1 oktober 2018
The dead online
I started to reflect over my online life the other day and this is the great analysis I came up with:
My life online started when I was eleven or twelve, when I got my first own computer. I even had Adobe Premier on it, and having that software made it possible to make videos on that computer. My friend and I made probably 10-20 videos of the ponies we took care of and edited them, and uploaded them onto Youtube. We made those videos for strangers and I spent a great deal of time to bond and network with strangers on Youtube (in English, and I was fucking twelve, how the fuck was I able to network???) and we had dozens of subscribers. All of which were strangers to us.
My friend and I were in the end too different to share the channel and when we stopped making videos (when I was 13) I created a channel of my own. It's the same I still use, just with another user name.
Because I was used to talk to strangers on the Youtube was the step to continue networking in other realms easy. I was very active on Youtube, but also on Fanfiction.net, onto which I wrote horrible fanfictions. I talked to many different strangers, and had fun. A great deal of my social life was on the internet and for me it was obvious that I made content for strangers from other countries.
I lived for my life online when I was in secondary school. Because I felt so hated in real life, online was where I belonged. I thought. Buut let's not forget my extrovertness and my awesome social skills, so isolating myself was never an option. I just combined being online with real life interactions. And my pony ofc.
And then, 2011, I joined tumblr. Man, it's been a ride. I've had the same blog there for seven years! And god it has changed during these seven years. But there was a time when I spend about an hour just going through my feed. These days it takes about 1-2 minutes to do so, because most of the people I used to follow are inactive.
So now then? I'm not as active online anymore as 7 years ago, and I no longer deliberately make content for strangers because the stakes are sooo much higher than they were ten years ago.
And I kind of miss it. Life online was fun. It was great. Even if everything I did was a secret to my friends and family, it was fun.
My life online started when I was eleven or twelve, when I got my first own computer. I even had Adobe Premier on it, and having that software made it possible to make videos on that computer. My friend and I made probably 10-20 videos of the ponies we took care of and edited them, and uploaded them onto Youtube. We made those videos for strangers and I spent a great deal of time to bond and network with strangers on Youtube (in English, and I was fucking twelve, how the fuck was I able to network???) and we had dozens of subscribers. All of which were strangers to us.
My friend and I were in the end too different to share the channel and when we stopped making videos (when I was 13) I created a channel of my own. It's the same I still use, just with another user name.
Because I was used to talk to strangers on the Youtube was the step to continue networking in other realms easy. I was very active on Youtube, but also on Fanfiction.net, onto which I wrote horrible fanfictions. I talked to many different strangers, and had fun. A great deal of my social life was on the internet and for me it was obvious that I made content for strangers from other countries.
I lived for my life online when I was in secondary school. Because I felt so hated in real life, online was where I belonged. I thought. Buut let's not forget my extrovertness and my awesome social skills, so isolating myself was never an option. I just combined being online with real life interactions. And my pony ofc.
And then, 2011, I joined tumblr. Man, it's been a ride. I've had the same blog there for seven years! And god it has changed during these seven years. But there was a time when I spend about an hour just going through my feed. These days it takes about 1-2 minutes to do so, because most of the people I used to follow are inactive.
So now then? I'm not as active online anymore as 7 years ago, and I no longer deliberately make content for strangers because the stakes are sooo much higher than they were ten years ago.
And I kind of miss it. Life online was fun. It was great. Even if everything I did was a secret to my friends and family, it was fun.
torsdag 27 september 2018
Get to know me a lil more
What makes you happy?
Knowing my routines, being with my fiancé and animals. Knowing there's nothing to worry about. Feeling safe in my own being, also lots of wine and a good friend. Ceasar salad makes me happy too tbh
What inspires you?
My own imagination, to be honest.
What’s the most bizarre thing you’ve ever done?
Sleep in the trunk of a moving car? That's not too bizarre though. Maybe the doll-suicide show when I was 14 in front of the whole school is bizarre enough (the thing I wrote about in like S.R 4 or smth)
What are your dreams?
To not live with crippling anxiety, but other than that: have my plays featured on the biggest theatre's of my country, have a book published, be an inspiration to others etc
Are you in love with anyone?
My fiancé
Do you believe in yourself?
Yes, most of the time
Do you believe in aliens?
No
What were your favorite movies growing up?
Spirit - Stallion of the Cimarron, Balto and Brother Bear. I'm a sucker for talking male animals ehehe.
But Balto has wonderful soundtracks and a really touching story and I loooved wolves so much bc of that movie. The setting of Brother Bear is amazing (I love the stone age) and Spirit was everything a 9-year old horsegirl would ever need. I need to rewatch these movies ASAP!
Also Peter Pan 2003 version. I dreamt 12 dreams of that movie that I remembered. I could watch that movie every week when I was like eleven. And I was in love with Peter Pan of that production. He was so handsome. And some scenes of it (that I've talked about in some of my posts) gave me orgasmic feelings for my brain.
But Balto has wonderful soundtracks and a really touching story and I loooved wolves so much bc of that movie. The setting of Brother Bear is amazing (I love the stone age) and Spirit was everything a 9-year old horsegirl would ever need. I need to rewatch these movies ASAP!
Also Peter Pan 2003 version. I dreamt 12 dreams of that movie that I remembered. I could watch that movie every week when I was like eleven. And I was in love with Peter Pan of that production. He was so handsome. And some scenes of it (that I've talked about in some of my posts) gave me orgasmic feelings for my brain.
What gives you anxiety?
I honestly don't know what triggers it. Me being worried I fuck up all the time, I guess? That I mess up this one time and won't ever be forgiven? Idk...
What are your favorite hobbies?
Acting, riding horses, be with my pony, writing, drawing, working out
Did you have imaginary friends when you were younger?
No, actually not that I remember of.
Last thing you ate?
Salmon
Who is your best friend?
Someone. I don't think she sees me as her best friend back, tho. I guess I'm no ones best friend.
Who is your favorite superhero?
I'm not into superheroes at all, but Spiderman
Favourite music? or Artist?
Nightwish and their singer Floor Jansen. Symphonic metal is my jam.
If you could go on an adventure, where would you go and what would you do?
Scotland is high up on the list, also Japan. I would wander in the woods, testing out coffees on cafées, walk in cities until my legs hurt, I would go to castles and shrines and just admire nature. I would go see some islands too.
What was life like for you growing up?
I was misunderstood a lot in real life. Life online was wonderful, and pretty maniac. I was sometimes maniac, wild and too much, a feature few liked about me.
Do you believe in ghosts?
No
How old are you?
In a two weeks 23yo. I do not feel old at all. I feel like I've not aged a day since 17. I guess I will start to feel old when I have a child on my own.
Would you rather travel to the past or future?
Past. I would like to relive some days of my teenage years just to fuck with the people that fucked with me. Be more wild that I cannot ever be anymore.
Past. I would like to relive some days of my teenage years just to fuck with the people that fucked with me. Be more wild that I cannot ever be anymore.
Have you pretended to be someone you weren’t?
Well... at times when I was 16, but I don't think I ever would be able to severe all links to the one I truly am to really pretend to be someone I'm not. On the acting side, all the time, but most of the characters I've done have a pretty strong link to me personally.
Well... at times when I was 16, but I don't think I ever would be able to severe all links to the one I truly am to really pretend to be someone I'm not. On the acting side, all the time, but most of the characters I've done have a pretty strong link to me personally.
If you had to save the world, would you?
Why wouldn't I? I would execute the people wronging our planet and then erase climate change.
Why wouldn't I? I would execute the people wronging our planet and then erase climate change.
Favorite voice actor?
Voice actor! I have to say Steven Yeun because he plays one of my favourite characters at the moment.
Voice actor! I have to say Steven Yeun because he plays one of my favourite characters at the moment.
Last song you listened to?
Africa by TOTO :D I have a life, yes.
Do you have a religion?
I belong to the church, but I'm actually raised to not believe in god, and to think badly of religion as a whole. Yeah, my mum has strong opinions about religion. So I don't.
I belong to the church, but I'm actually raised to not believe in god, and to think badly of religion as a whole. Yeah, my mum has strong opinions about religion. So I don't.
Do you want a family?
Yes.
Are you allergic to anything?
No. Lucky me.
No. Lucky me.
What do you want to do today?
Heh, go to sleep! It's pretty late.
Heh, go to sleep! It's pretty late.
Most ironic thing that has ever happened to you?
The fact that I'm working right now. I swore to myself that I wouldn't ever take a break from studying to work full time because only people with motivation problems would do that, but here I am, working full time and my final year of uni starts next year :'D It's soo ironic that I'm embarrassed.
The fact that I'm working right now. I swore to myself that I wouldn't ever take a break from studying to work full time because only people with motivation problems would do that, but here I am, working full time and my final year of uni starts next year :'D It's soo ironic that I'm embarrassed.
Favorite food?
Varies, but Ceasar Salad in never wrong. Aaah I love Ceasar Salad.
Varies, but Ceasar Salad in never wrong. Aaah I love Ceasar Salad.
Do you believe in other dimensions and realities?
Noooo.
Noooo.
Favorite Videogame?
Witcher 3. Without a doubt.
Witcher 3. Without a doubt.
If you could live in any cartoon, what cartoon and why?
I don't know. I say Digimon just so I've had a cute companion that can transform into a giant beast on command.
I don't know. I say Digimon just so I've had a cute companion that can transform into a giant beast on command.
måndag 24 september 2018
Chaos is my stability
Sometimes I stumble upon lists like "most satisfying things ever" and they usually consist of pictures of things that fit perfectly into certain spaces and shapes, or items that are perfectly colour coded and items that fit perfectly together in a coherent order. There are also the opposite lists, with things that "trigger your OCD", usually with pictures of pieces of asphalt with the wrong colours and other stupid things like that.
When looking at these lists, I realize I get uncomfortable of the lists with the "satisfying" things. They're... too sterile, too perfect, too non-living, too coherent!
And the more I think of it, the more I realize that chaos is my stability. I find security from aesthetical chaos around me. When I was 10 I got to choose new colours to my room. Different coloured walls was my demands, and thus, my walls were coloured blue and pink. If I'd get to choose as a 14-year old, I'd probably get black and neon pink striped walls.
Ever since I was ten, I've cluttered my walls with stuff. Posters, pictures, drawings, everything possible. I still, in my own home, clutter my walls. Luckily my fiancé is the same as me, he does also love having shit on the wall. Awesome.
I remember how my family looked for weeks for the perfect desk for me, as I wanted a desk with as many selves and boxes and that looked crazy. We finally found one and oh, how happy I was. The least minimalistic desk I've ever seen, hehe.
As a teenager, it was important for me to "rape" my planners. Yes, that is a horrible choice of words, but that is what I called it. "Raping" your planner ment that you'd clutter them. You'd draw in them, write in different colours, make them so incoherent and chaotic as possible.
And to be honest. When looking at my work planner, I realize that is what I've done to it. I've "raped" it, just as I did before. Old habits die hard.
I surround myself with what I like to call beautiful chaos, many colours and incoherence, violation of styles and so forth. I want to live in clutter on walls.
I want chaos around me. Because it makes me secure.
When looking at these lists, I realize I get uncomfortable of the lists with the "satisfying" things. They're... too sterile, too perfect, too non-living, too coherent!
And the more I think of it, the more I realize that chaos is my stability. I find security from aesthetical chaos around me. When I was 10 I got to choose new colours to my room. Different coloured walls was my demands, and thus, my walls were coloured blue and pink. If I'd get to choose as a 14-year old, I'd probably get black and neon pink striped walls.
Ever since I was ten, I've cluttered my walls with stuff. Posters, pictures, drawings, everything possible. I still, in my own home, clutter my walls. Luckily my fiancé is the same as me, he does also love having shit on the wall. Awesome.
I remember how my family looked for weeks for the perfect desk for me, as I wanted a desk with as many selves and boxes and that looked crazy. We finally found one and oh, how happy I was. The least minimalistic desk I've ever seen, hehe.
As a teenager, it was important for me to "rape" my planners. Yes, that is a horrible choice of words, but that is what I called it. "Raping" your planner ment that you'd clutter them. You'd draw in them, write in different colours, make them so incoherent and chaotic as possible.
And to be honest. When looking at my work planner, I realize that is what I've done to it. I've "raped" it, just as I did before. Old habits die hard.
I surround myself with what I like to call beautiful chaos, many colours and incoherence, violation of styles and so forth. I want to live in clutter on walls.
I want chaos around me. Because it makes me secure.
tisdag 18 september 2018
Like ecstasy
I love writing far too much to not share a lot of pointless crap on here, angsty or not. This is, however, not angsty, yay.
I also love theatre. You may have noticed this already, hehe, but, my gOD, this drug, this drug is like ecstasy, like ecstasy, like ecstasy.
I am close now to... to work with professionals in the theatre field. And get money from it! Me! I'm not even a professional, I'm just this random woman who let acting comsume my soul and let random characters become who I am, like ecstasy,
And I happen to be a skilled writer. What happens when you join writing and acting? PLAYS! Plays about the things I want to see. I've been quite dominating when working in groups, and now, when working solo, ah, everything depens on me, ME!
My ex-coworker and once my boss and teacher told me once that if I ever want to study the art of theatre, I have a chance of choosing whichever path I want. Because I'm good. I could study to become a director, an actress or playwrite, because I, apparently, am skilled enough in all of those arts.
But what if, WHAT IF, I actually manage to become someone, a name, in the field of theatre, WITHOUT studying it. If I just become someone because I'm a natural? This is pure day dreaming of course, because I'm not so filled of selfpride that I believe I'm good enough to compare myself to a professional.
Fuuuck, I'm so so exited.
I have not taken drugs. Not ecstasy. Because this ecstasy lives in me.
It consumes me,
I also love theatre. You may have noticed this already, hehe, but, my gOD, this drug, this drug is like ecstasy, like ecstasy, like ecstasy.
I am close now to... to work with professionals in the theatre field. And get money from it! Me! I'm not even a professional, I'm just this random woman who let acting comsume my soul and let random characters become who I am, like ecstasy,
like ecstasy.
And I happen to be a skilled writer. What happens when you join writing and acting? PLAYS! Plays about the things I want to see. I've been quite dominating when working in groups, and now, when working solo, ah, everything depens on me, ME!
Am I on drugs?
My ex-coworker and once my boss and teacher told me once that if I ever want to study the art of theatre, I have a chance of choosing whichever path I want. Because I'm good. I could study to become a director, an actress or playwrite, because I, apparently, am skilled enough in all of those arts.
Feel like a drug trip yet?
But what if, WHAT IF, I actually manage to become someone, a name, in the field of theatre, WITHOUT studying it. If I just become someone because I'm a natural? This is pure day dreaming of course, because I'm not so filled of selfpride that I believe I'm good enough to compare myself to a professional.
This is a drug trip.
Fuuuck, I'm so so exited.
I have not taken drugs. Not ecstasy. Because this ecstasy lives in me.
It consumes me,
I am esctasy.
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