imposter

My imposter syndrome is insane.



I can never talk about my own feelings, or mental wellbeing, or anything negative because there is always someone who has it worser than I.

All my life I've let other people talk about their own mental issues over mine. Why do you think I've upkept this blog for six years? Because no one listens. No onw will listen-

Not even the ones who think they are listening. Who think they're so good at being friends. Those who thank me for being a good friend and always been there for them.

But they never give back.

Or well.

I never give them anything of myself.

No one cares about someone without scars, someone who hasn't gone to therapy, someone who hasn't been sexually assaulted and been open about it.

It's not tasty enough.

The truth? Yes it hurts me.

But I've been doing this for six years, always kept every damn secret to myself, always found alternative ways of not killing myself, always been on my damn own.

I don't think I'll ever learn to be open. No one has given me a chance.

And I hurt.

Long post about writing, pride and feelings

Oh wow, is it a new post by me after like three months of radio silence? This post will be just like my posts about achievement anxiety from one year back where I yelled into the void of the internet, please let me do it again.

If you wonder where I've been, I've been living mostly inside my head again (and my apartment because corona. Nothing spectacular.). The walls were thick and I was trapped. Don't know if I'm out my head yet, but for now, I just needed to get stuff out of me. Heh. But I've been feeling up and down lately, mostly up, almost always up. Writing really helps.

Anyways.

This post is mainly introspection of why writing.... comes so easy to me? Why I'm feeling proud of my writing. Maybe it is a personality issue, maybe it's a thing completely from training and practise, maybe it's an issue fed by outsiders, i don't know. If you read my posts from the autumn where I wrote this post and ranted about one of the best fics I've read being deleted and became really upset by it, this is kinda similar.

The enormous, overwhelming feelings I feel when other (fan)writers put themselves down and go through waves of insecurity (and even delete their stories) have proven to me something I can't control. It feels almost like a stab in my own heart. I don't know why, and I can't control it. I get frustrated when I can't relate at all to their feelings and I know feelings are ALL individual but... I still can't stop. And I feel weird for not feeling insecure. I made some deep thinking about my past and my relationship to writing and creating stories and this is the solution I came to.

Let me take it from the beginning.

The drive to creating stories, at least to the extend when you've been writing every day since you were like eight years old, is a personality trait. It has to be a personality thing.

I began writing when I was very young. And, yes, I admit it, I do have talent. I have that raw talent that has what it takes to make a good story and ever since I was a little kid, I finished the stories. Not all of course, because what isn't childhood if not having a thousand ideas to bring to life - multiple stories at the same time.

But one thing I finished when I was ten/eleven was a "book" that was 50 pages long. And I brought a whole story full circle. Each chapter has a little story in it, and it was essentially 25 smaller stories connected by one great narrative of a village where horses lived and ruled (I was ten don't judge me).

Is it a skill? Is it talent to be able to sense your way through a story and just knowing where it's going and how it will end? I don't know.

Okay, a middle note here about sharing your own creative writing. It's hard. Sharing your texts is generally hard. But not for me, because I know I am good. Sounds horrible, doesn't it? I've always known I'm good - always gotten praise, always gotten the validation I need, always gotten constructive feedback. Never have I ever doubted my own skill in creating a story. I wrote a little bit more about me being proud of my fanfic writing here.

And now I've begun feeling guilty for feeling that. It's hard.

Why have I never feared bearing that part of my soul and identity? I know my stories are generally heavy and I know they will get some kind of reaction, both good and bad (because some people simply doesn't stomach my stuff), and just that fact has been enough for me. I've gotten a reaction from people. It feeds me.

When I was twelve, I got a prize for my creative writing in school. The whole school and all the parents were watching. I can't remember the exact words the headmaster said, but he praised me a lot. I got praise for my writing. It felt so damn good. I was so proud and I was beaming.

But strangely enough, this didn't ignite good girl syndrome in me (which I've written a lot about a year back here). I've never felt "oh, just because I once was good - what if I'll never get this good again. I must write just as good as the last text/story" etc. Because the horrible truth? I know my next story or text will be just as good at the last one.

Is this a personality trait or is it just because I've done so much damn writing over the past decade that I simply know my own writing and myself so well that I also believe damn hard in my own skills.

These skills have of course been polished and trained over the years. Trained by re-writing a novel four times, trained by finishing said novel four times. Trained by writing five full length theatre plays.

The people who have read my novel have been astounded and showered me in praise. The audience to my play which was produced loved it. It scared the crap out of them, which I was happy about because that was what I aimed for.

All my life I've gotten validation. And I have believed in them. I've known they were coming. Never have I thought "oh the audience is lying to me, it probably sucks". I have looked at my texts and smiled and thought "this is so fucking good".

When I wrote about good girl-syndrome, I was mainly frustrated that I was different and don't have achievent anxiety (which *everyone* was talking about back in 2019 and I got angry at all the discussions because I couldn't understand them that well). I wrote a long rant about achievement anxiety here.

All my life women/girls/creators/every damn box I can tic been portrayed as the anxious mess. It's always about girls and young women "having too much pressure" on themselves, either by themselves or by society/standards and how can we make them feel happy, and no, I try to by no means undermine their feelings, but I have gotten so many dirty looks in real life for feeling pride and for being myself. For being secure, for loving my body, for loving the way I look and sound and speak and everything and I know people can't stand me for being that way so why would I like myself for it? This is a great dilemma for me, because two feelings crash badly.

"Being different" makes me frustrated because I don't know how to tackle it. It should be a good thing, I should be all good because I don't feel insecure like ever, especially not in my writing. I love everything I write. I love writing, that is why I do it.

And when I hear other people talk ill about their own writing I empathize too much and too hard. I wrote a post about what it takes to be a good writer here  and to this day I still don't know the answer.

Talent, spite, training, personality?

I still don't know.

But I have now lost my original thought and just had to get stuff out of my chest. I just wish I would be as happy as I was before. But I am happy overall. I just wish I can feel happy about being happy.

this life is just a fucking shit show and i am uncapable of living in it

A video for all of you

Wow, this video hit pretty close to home. It never went as bad for me as for this girl in the video, but I have showed signs of this disorder when younger.

I wanted to break a bone soo badly, I wanted to ride an ambulance, I wanted to get hurt because it would feel good.

The reason the disorder never blossomed out for me was when I talked about my desires to get hurt to my mom when I was a kid (I must've been around ten or eleven). My mom cared and talked in great lenght about this with me, and to just get acknowledgement and to be seen without having to hurt myself, wow it saved me.

(later on I hurt myself for completely other reasons than attention).


I never got to the stages of actually hurting myself on purpose, but I dreamt about it, often. I was jealous of friends with broken bones.

I still sometimes dream about it, but rarely.

But as I've written on here before. I would love to have scars. Just have to find a way to get them.

Why did it come to this?

You have probably seen some lame jokes on IG that are similar to this:


Me when giving mental health advice to my friends: cue something extremely inspirational etc and a picture describing love and care

Me when handling my own mental health: cue someone getting kicked


I am so tired. Sad. Stressed. I would like to lock myself in and just listen to music. But I don't. I get up, do my work, try to be a good wife though I'm failing at it because I'm so wrecked, smile and laugh, sit in the tram, hate myself, rinse, repeat.

Why did it come to this?

Why have I fallen down into a pit of darkness again, after such a good autumn? I loved my life in the autumn, everything was so awesome.

Why do I sometimes vomit even if I'm not sick?

Why do my blood vessels leak even if I don't have a bruise?

Why do I feel so down all the time?

I don't want to feel so sad all the time.

A grey fog and a black rim

We had our first show last week! God it was intense. I was acting six days in a row, for the previews and everything.

I leave home a little after 16, arrive a little bit after 17, and the show starts at 18:30. The show ends at 22. I am home around 23. That's a full work day.

I've got a master to write, school to attend, and a horse to take care of during the days.

Trying to write a play that's going to shit, and writing a new novel on top of that.





I was close to relapsing last week.

Oh fuck how scared I became, because the feeling that was slowly creeping up to me was so everlasting similar to how I began feeling when at my lowest point 2016, which I've written in quite detail here before (scroll back to last spring or so and you get it all).

I never want to feel the same way I felt in 2016. I was so suicidal and to that acting was the best fucking thing happening to me. It's true. Acting was better than having a boyfriend.

In the autumn I felt better than I've done in the longest time ever. That's why I didn't write so much here, because this blog was defiled with negative feelings and I didn't feel them. I was close to manic during the autumn, I was the most creative I've been ever and now in hindsight, it was almost sick.

If the dip from that manic period was greater I would've started to suspect bipolar disorder, because I was so high on everything. Especially my own fantasy universe.

My relationship was taking a toll from that period. I neglected my husband (then fiancé) because my fantasy universe was more important. I used to be active on snapchat, but suddenly I realised I hadn't checked it for days. I was shocked when checking insta stories, which I used to follow hourly, and I realise some of them are 23 hours old. I hadn't simply checked IG all day.

I became slightly worried, because nothing in my real life did all of a sudden matter. My own fantasy universe was everything to me. I was so high on it I became almost detached from reality.

My wedding was heavy for me. I loved it of course, but because I had been so detached from reality planning for it was a pain in the ass. Thinking about the future is and was very hard for me. I lived so hardcore in the present that planning a wedding was very difficult for me. I don't like planning and I grew very frustrated, especially during January. That was the same time the acting rehersals began multiple times a week and my manic period turned into something similar to depression (wow I really sound like a bipolar person when writing it down).

I forgot to tell people important details. I neglected stuff, I couldn't focus.

I loved the wedding. Such a wonderful day.

And after the wedding, this tired feeling never left. And when I had been acting for six days in a row, and was so exhausted, my anxiety came back.

The stress. The fucking stress/anxiety and darkness.

I don't know what to do. I've gotten lost again.

We got fake blood!

We got fake blood! In the show I'm in. I die there, or my character dies, and at first we were promised fake blood and fake blood is always nice!

I like playing around with blood

 Anyways, we were going to have blood, but the director decided to cut it out as it turned out to not fit in the scenario.

But now we changed it again and now I get to smear my whole face full of that blood. Nice.

I'm living a very stressful time right now. The premiere is on Friday for my show and every night this week we got rehersals so we're on fire on Friday. I've got hell of a lot of school work to do and I'm writing that damn thesis. I am really, really tired and can't get much done when everything falls down on me at once.

Please have patience with this little bloody me.