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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.