Fixing something as it falls apart

When I write about depression on my blog, it’s usually because I’m about to explode, so I need to get this down somewhere. I don’t really have anyone to talk to about this stuff. I can’t talk to my ex-wife (we’ll get to that part in a moment), and I’ve never felt that I can connect to my parents with this, although my mother and I are really close and getting even closer recently. But I still don’t want to burden my parents or my friends with this, because I’m afraid that eventually they’ll just grow tired of my whining. I go to a therapist a few times a month, but sometimes that’s just not enough, and I sometimes forget to tell her things.

Anyway, so I’ve been thinking about how I should write what’s inside my head right now, and if I should write it at all. I feel like maybe I’m exposing myself too much by writing about all this here, but somehow just writing it in a book doesn’t feel the same. Because I honestly feel better if there’s a chance that someone might read this and spare me a thought, just for the minute or two that they spent reading through this.

I came out of the closet roughly two years ago, and I have been struggling with this a lot since then. I’ve been in the closet since my younger teens, mostly confused about what all this means, and felt a lot of shame for what I potentially was. Let’s not go into detail which closet I came out of, because I don’t think it really matters that much for this text right now. Maybe I’ll write about that another time.

After coming out, my wife became hesitant of our relationship, and questioned it many times during these two years. I’ve tried to convince her that I’m still the same person, and that I love her unconditionally forever and always. Unfortunately, the real world doesn’t work like I wanted it to, and in November last year, she filed for divorce. And, even though I guess I sensed that something was wrong, I still hoped that everything would turn out alright, and that she’d stay with me. We have been married for eight years, and I thought our bond was strong enough, but evidently not. We tried seeking counselling, but without any result. Well, maybe the result was simply that she figured out that she wanted to leave. “Thinking about it” for two years has been painful though, since all our plans automatically paused. Our plans for rearranging our economy, buying a house, and getting kids, all came to a stop while she figured everything out.

When the day came that she finally told me that she wanted a divorce, and that she was leaving the country as well, it suddenly became so very real. It really felt like my world just came crashing down. Everything we built together was undone in a second. My ex-wife is not a very emotional person, but I am, and so I cried a lot that night. I’ve been crying on and off during the days and the nights ever since. We are still living together, and I’ve already gotten myself a new apartment, and we’ve sold the current one. But since she still doesn’t know how she will do with her moving plan, she will have to move with me and live with me until she’s figured it out. The fact that we have not (and will not for a while) physically separated yet, is tearing me apart. I see her everyday, and I just want to hug and kiss her, but I also have to try to not do it, as to get used to the fact that we are not a couple anymore. Another problem is that she seems to want me to hug and kiss her. She gets angry when I don’t, and when I refuse to call her “baby” like I used to. So, it’s a very strange situation for me. This is the only relationship I’ve ever been in, as we met when we were pretty young, and have stayed together for a while now.

I’m very driven, so the apartment that I fixed, was actually bought only a week after she told me about the divorce, and shortly after that we got the current apartment sold. All the boxes are packed and I have already planned everything in detail for the new apartment. But, at the same time as I’m trying to build up my life again, it keeps falling apart. It feels as if I’m trying to rebuild a house while it’s still being demolished. I build a wall but then it falls because an older wall fell over it. I know that I will get out of this, but some days are just so very dark and void of any motivation what so ever.

I just wish that she finds wherever she wants to rebuild her life, and move there. I hope that she makes the right choices so that I don’t have to worry so much about her all the time. I still love her more than I can describe with words, and even writing this is getting harder because my vision is all blurry now. I want to start repairing my life, and maybe eventually find new love somewhere else. I hope I can find love in a person that can accept me for who I am. I know, this all sounds so cliche, but this is all from the heart. A whining, crying, crushed heart.

Been trying to watch some series lately, just to pass time between work and my studies (I picked up a Japanese course, because why not). But sometimes I just can’t watch it. Any romantic or couple scenes, just makes me either awfully sad or surprisingly angry.

It’s not only my wife that has been the hard part for me these past two years. I’ve never felt so oddly alone in my whole life, and I’ve always been quite introverted and kept to myself as a kid in school. I didn’t have a “gang” until I was 16, when I found some really good friends that I still hang out with today. But right now I just can’t see my friends. I don’t want them to see me like this; sad, whiny and hopelessly deprived of sleep. My relationship with my parents has been quite bumpy, ending in my mother starting to support me a lot. It’s just that for me, my parents are one unit, and the other part of that unit refuses to see me for who I am, and it feels like he is keeping his eyes shut and ignoring the whole situation. He wants everything to go back to “normal”. He even thought this was all a “phase” (Who the hell has a phase at 25?), and that I would go back to normal after a while. Normal being the way he wants me to be, the old sad and depressed me that conforms better to his world view. I’m more depressed now than before I came out, I’ll admit that, but it’s not because I regret coming out, but more that the reaction I got from my family was way worse than I thought it would be. My sister even asked me not to come to my nephews birthday party, because her friends would be there, and she didn’t want to be embarrassed by her colourful sibling. That’s the thing you learn about people when it all gets down to business. Their happiness and life stability (meaning that the world as they see it in their heads needs constant confirmation, like a child), is more important than mine. That’s why I decided a while back, that fuck everyone else. Anyone who can’t just accept this for whatever reason, is no one I need in my life, ever. It’s hard to cut off family, but I wont be giving them many more chances now (My mother is excluded in all this because she has been fantastic). I think that’s one of the most important lessons in all this, that a healthy “fuck you” did really a lot of good. Of course now I’m struggling with the thought of getting divorced, which will take a while. But I think that as long as I can get us to physically separate as soon as possible, then it will all just work out in the end. If only 0.1% of the world’s population could consider liking me, then that’s still around 7,500,000 people. So I think I will be able to catch a fish eventually. Just need to learn how to forget the old one.

I actually (depressingly so) thought of a good way to describe the feeling of living together like my ex and I are right now. Since we both obviously still love each other, but she wants to leave me because of my fancy wardrobe. It kind of feels like one of us is dying. I feel as if any one of us has a deadly disease, and that we are both just hugging it out and crying, waiting for one of us to just die in our sleep. Sometimes I just wish that I did, because some days are just too much to handle. There are days like today, where the dark void inside just grows uncontrollably, but it also fills with water all the way up to my head and out of my eyes, as if it’s trying to drown me. There’s just no stopping it. This weird and horrible feeling of getting left behind by the person you thought you’d grow old and die with. I hope that at some point she will find new love, which she absolutely deserves; and I truthfully hope it’s the right one.

I just wish it was me.

F̴̰̆ī̴̙r̴̹̀e̵̫͊ ̵̗̀w̷̦̃a̴̞̅l̵̜̉k̸̞͋ ̷̣͋w̴̛̗ǐ̷̲t̴͈̊h̷͖̀ ̴̰̍ḿ̶͕ë̸͓́

There’s this place. It’s a high place. It’s not a mountain; not a hill. It’s just, a high place. Sometimes when I feel down, for whatever reason (be it random depression, good movie, book or game that came to an end), I go there. There are almost never anyone up there, and there’s this field where you can sit and watch the view. It takes about thirty minutes to go there from the city where I live. On a good day, sitting on that field, I can see the tall buildings in the city. As the sun sets, the light reflects in the windows of the tallest one; blinding me. It’s absolutely tranquil.

Through the years, the need for visiting this field has grown. I don’t feel unstable, yet I sometimes feel that reality and my dreams overlap. During my night adventures, I often have a problem telling dream and reality apart. When I was younger, the sleepwalking was just a “thing” I did. A thing that my parents and I had to get used to, and find ways of handling (Which they did. Not by planning, but simply by adapting to whatever method worked to get me to go back to bed without drama). Growing older, it became more troublesome, especially when I moved out of my parents house. Living alone while studying, there was no longer anyone to keep an eye on me and my nightly activities. The risk of crossing some line was always there. But as far as I know, it took many years until any lines were crossed. A few years back, the first line was crossed when I had a nightmare where my necklace was strangling me. To get out of this horrible situation, I ripped my necklace to pieces, spreading the pieces all over the bedroom. I also swallowed a piece of it, for some reason.

I like to call this the “line of violence”. It was the first time I had done any other activity other than talking, walking and opening the occasional door. On top of that, I had used violence, plus putting something in my mouth that I then swallowed. How can I know all this though, since I was sleepwalking? I have mentioned this in previous posts, and I usually describe my sleepwalking like being at the cinema. I see and remember everything, but I’m not in control (My subconscious me is, or Stranger, as I call him). The line of violence made us remove all objects in the bedroom that I could grab and throw, as a precaution. There were still other types of reoccurring incidents, however.

My most common adventure, which happens almost ę̦͚͉̥̟͆̌̀̈̀͝v̧̻̹͇̹͋̾̒̌̅͠ͅȩ̛̠̥̻̞̥̑̏̽̽̕r̛͔̭̜̻̲̲̾͐̀̋͝y̨̛̖͖̘̙̮͛̒̓́͝ night, and has been for the last ten years, is some sort of odd phobia. I sit up in my bed, and feel like there’s something in my throat, or that I can’t breathe. I then throw myself out of the bed, and run out of the room to drink water from the tap in the kitchen. In an attempt to stop myself from doing this, I now always keep a bottle of water next to my bed. I still have the incidents, but now I drink from the bottle instead, which makes the night slightly calmer.

Managing my nightmares has become easier lately. I write them all down, in great detail; as soon as I wake up. The idea is that the dreams that fit a certain pattern, will be included in a horror story that I’m working on.

The problems that are still unsolved, though. The first one is the fact that I may cross more lines. I crossed another one just a few weeks ago, when I left the bed, opened the balcony door and went out on the balcony. The reason? There were “bats” in the apartment, and I had to let them out. To do this, I opened the balcony window, and stood there until I woke up and came to my senses. What if I had decided that the apartment was suddenly on fire? Would I have jumped out the window to a certain death? The best way we have been able to solve this problem so far, has been to block the door with a large AC unit. So far I haven’t been able to move large objects while sleeping, and so far this has stopped me from entering the the balcony again. The second problem, is my grip of reality. By each year, I feel how my grip is getting looser and looser. When I was a kid, I would realise where and who I was rather quickly after I woke up. Even when waking up outside of my bed, I would understand the situation, shrug, and go back to bed. These days it’s getting harder and harder. After waking up outside of bed, in the middle of the night, I can sometimes stand in the dark for several minutes, just to get back my sense of reality. It’s hard to describe it accurately, but it feels like I’m not there, or that I’m still in a dream, trying to understand what’s going on.

Ą̡̦͔͖̖̋̏͐̑̉́s̘͓͖̯̯͕̑͐̐̓̌̿ ̲͉̹͖̰̅̈͋̈͐̊͜m̜̻̝̠̘͍͋̐̍̅́͝y̧̛͙̝̝̝̮̒͋̊͗́ ̹͕͇̹͓̖̋́̇̐͛̕ŝ͎̟͈͔̝́͌̑̚͜͠a̡͙͖̖̖̭̋̃̄̋͝͝n͙͈̻̳̭͙͛̂̑̆́̇i̡̹̙͕͙̞̎̈́̈́͗̿̕t̼͎̳͈̯̝͗͗͆͆͆͠y̛̛̮͓̗͍͕̤̏̈́̓͆ ̧͉̻̤̺͔̔̾̃̂̚͝s̨̨͔̬̙̣̾͛̿̂̒͊l̨̰̭̘̻̥͗̊̈́͂͌̚o̯̭͈̟͕͓̿͋̍̀͊͝w̢̢̮͉͕̯̌̽̓̀̄͠ļ̜̖̥͇͖̂̂́̀̂͝ẙ̨͈͇̤̻̊́͋͠͝ͅ ̝͚̰̪̠̋̍̔͛̽̿͜s̢͙͖̱̙̪̏̊̋̍̓̋l̢̝̞̭̰̪͌̑̓̈́͋̚î̥̪͇̺̣͉̊̃̇̋̔p̨̟̺͇̟̰̅͐͋́̇́s̨̨̪̗͙̩͂̊͊̇̈́̍ ̡̢͍̬̮̌̑̇͂͋͠ͅą̪̮̦̠̲̽͌̀̍͆̐w̳̜͖͕̼͔̉͂̅͌̈͠ă̢͕͕̫̭̯̅́̀͠͠y̡̩̤͎̰̘̏͒͐͂́͠, other parts of me become clearer. I’m able to work on a project more efficiently these days. I have always been hyperactive, so for someone on the outside it may not look like anything has changed, but I can notice the differences. I can work on a project for a long period of time, without the need for sleeping or eating. I’ve always been creative, and this is another part of me that has been going into overdrive lately. I have so many wonderful ideas that are constantly popping into my head. I write them down with as much detail as I can, and when I read what I wrote, several days later, it still sounds fantastic. I just hope I can realise some of these ideas before my mind is too corrupted to be of any more use. I feel that at some point, my mind will simply degrade to a state where I can’t think straight, and where the well of ideas has simply run dry.

Maybe, in ten years or so, I will be that crazy aunt in the family. The crazy cat lady who speaks nonsense and never gets anything done. She mostly sits around all day, counting stamps and arguing with people on the TV. I just hope that this is nothing more than a weird feeling. A side effect of my hyper active mind. That my sanity is here to stay, and instead, some changes to the way I think are simply misinterpreted. I hope I will have a happy ending. That I will live together with my partner, until we grow old and die of age. That at least some of my work will reach the outside of my notebooks, and that I will live a healthy and stable life.

I’m not really good at drawing these days, but I wanted to attempt to depict the feeling of a creative period where insanity grows in ones head. The drawing below is the result of that. It’s a dark itching feeling, like stress, that stay with you for a very long time. So far it has always gone away, and only come back during my most intense periods of work . However, these periods have become increasingly intense lately. In one sense, I’m grateful, as I can create beautiful things that I’m proud of; but on the other hand, I feel that it comes with a price. A price of a slowly deteriorating mind.


Ì̸̢̙͔̪́͌͝’̶̡̰̩̫̓̓̈͝m̴̬̼̪̫̒͊̀͝ ̸̤̯͚̘́̄̈̓n̵̡̢̛̥̈͊͐ͅo̸̱͔̘͔͆̽͂̚t̷̯̥͌͆̍͜͝ͅ ̶̙̘̰̜́̽͋͝ś̴̞͕̣̰͒̊͗u̶̢̼͍̭̓̉̊̏r̵̝̗͈̖̓̃͊̉ḛ̷͉̮͎̓̇̈́̆ ̸̨͙͓̻̓͌̓̿i̵̹̼̝͈͐̊̿̅f̸̟̮̻͇̃́̕͝ ̶̣͕̬͈͑̈́̒̈t̶̡̨̫̘͑̍́̾ḥ̴̡̻͉́̈̊͗į̵̣͇͎͗͋͆̚s̷̰̟̹̺̔̐̒͝ ̸̱̠̻̃͗̀̇ͅi̵̲̜̗̞͛̊̽͝s̷̤̺̘̭͆̓͋̑ ̴̲̳̦̬͑̊͆́r̶̮͓̬͍͐̇̀̈́ę̷̗̫̔̓̀͝ͅǎ̴̢̧̩̥̀̎͘l̶͎͚̬̱̐͂̕͝i̶̻̰̣͐̒͊́͜t̴̡̢̼̥̆̅͛͠y̴̯̪̞̞͛͊͛̎