Monday, June 19

my inner cat and horse must learn to communicate.

The things I hate and love about this blog are that I always change the layout and I'm very straight-forward in my way of writing. These are my horses and kittens. Each thing has a horse and a kitten; a strenght and a weakness. That I change the layout often has both. Its horse is that it shows who I am, the changing and the variation, and it gives viewers new experiences. Its kitten is that it shows how indecisive I am, and that's not cool. That I write very straight-forward and not very descriptive equally has good and bad sides. It's bad side is that I don't come of as being very exciting to read. People know what they get, and that takes the fun out of it. The good side, the horse, is that I don't come off as melodramatic or fake. I was reading Stephanie Klein's blog and often I love it, the way she writes and everything-- but sometimes it just gets too thoughtful, too mysterious and too deep. Where you raise your eyebrow and go "No, really?"

At the psychiatrist I got to find my horse and my kitten, my weaknesses and strenghts. Instead of combining these, I usually just show them one at a time. That is what we're going to change together. I had to close my eyes and seek within my soul. It was very interesting.

I talked to Andreas. I was fucking emotional. I apologised to him and cried constantly in the hours I spoke to him. I've let go of the things I've held against him. I do not need to have a conflict with him. I haven't seen or spoken to him since the night we did our bonding. I am puzzled when it comes to him, and I wish I was all he had. Again. I really need him, and I hope I can cope with having just a part of him. What is this boy to me?

Wednesday, June 14

noone nowhere

Last night I lay in my bed, about to sleep, when Andreas struck my mind. Inpreventable, I started crying. I remember when crying was a big deal to me. Back then, I would get out of bed or out of my chair to look myself in the closet. The red, wet eyes, the tears, the tightened chin and the croocked eyebrows. I liked it, and it made me cry even more. Now, my facial expression isn't exciting any longer. Crying is as normal to me as washing my hands after I've been to the toilet. I hardly try to stop it. When I cry, I just lie there, sit there, stand there, wherever I am, whoever is around, and I just cry. I know the tears will come sooner or later anyways, I know there's no use in stopping them. Whether I'm talking to Kasper in front of the supermarket, or if I'm lying in my bed trying to sleep on a hot summer night. I was listening to U2's "One". All of a sudden, the whole song was about Andreas. I saw him in every word.

Is it getting better
Or do you feel the same?
Will it make it easier on you now?
You got someone to blame

You say one love, one life
It's one need in the night
One love, get to share it
Leaves you darling, if you don't care for it

Did I disappoint you?
Or leave a bad taste in your mouth?
You act like you never had love
And you want me to go without

Well it's too late, tonight
To drag the past out into the light
We're one, but we're not the same
We get to carry each other
Carry each other

Have you come here for forgiveness?
Have you come to raise the dead?
Have you come here to play Jesus?
To the lepers in your head

Well, did I ask too much, more than a lot?
You gave me nothing, now it's all I got
We're one, but we're not the same
Cos if we, hurt each other
Then we do it again

You say
Love is a temple
Love is a higher law
Love is a temple
Love is a higher law
You ask for me to enter
but then you make me crawl
And I can't keep holding on
To what you got
Cos all you got is hurt

It has now become a song I cry to. As well as "A whole new world", which is Peter to me. "Sometimes you can't make it on your own", which is my very own song. Andreas has now officially put his foot in everything I love.

I saw Kasper, his big brother, in Aldi. I saw him, and I just froze. My heart raced and I forgot everything I had meant to purchase. When I left the store, he went with me. I was on cloud 9 with him. I told him that I had started at a psychologist. He asked why, and I could only answer "Your littlebrother". I started crying. Infront of Kasper-- whom I haven't seen in a year, except for when being very drunk. I really care for him, and not even in front of him, can I mention Andreas without crying. He told me that Andreas didn't hate me, and didn't mind being in the same room as me. I cried even more. I hugged Kasper goodbye. I was happy the next many days.

It's going well at the psychologist though. She's getting to know me better. I still haven't told her how serious I am about Andreas. How much he means to me. She did ask me why he was so fantastic, though. I didn't know, I don't know. It's not as much him, as it's the way he makes me feel. The way he made me feel. We talk about my past, my family and my Christian. It's all very breathtaking.

I'm tired of thinking about him all the time. I'm tired of crying. I cry over the loss of Andreas as a friend, the same way I would, if I lost a brother to death. Although this dead brother just keeps coming back to remind me that he's dead. YOU GAVE ME NOTHING, NOW IT'S ALL I GOT! WE'RE ONE BUT WE'RE NOT THE SAME, IF WE HURT EACH OTHER, THEN WE DO IT AGAIN, LOVE IS A TEMPLE, LOVE IS A HIGHER LOW, YOU ASK FOR ME TO ENTER, BUT THEN YOU MAKE ME CRAWL, I CANT KEEP HOLDING ON, TO WHAT YOU GOT, WHEN ALL YOU GOT IS HURT...

Saturday, June 3

playing house

When I was young, I often played "house" with my friends. One would be the father, one would be the mother, a doll or something would be the baby, and then we'd just play-pretend to be the perfect family, the way it should be. My mother, my father and I did that yesterday, as he was picking up Laura. We sat around the table, with cookies and milk, and my dad actually asked me; "How are you doing?"
It was nice, cosy, but as when I was young, I knew the game would end soon. Both my mother and my father were like the kids in the kindergarden who never got their way when you discussed what game you wanted to play. They both looked like they'd rather play Monopoly or football or anything but 'house'. I wanted it just as less as them. Yet, we all continued to play.
The game ended soon. My mother brought up the subject of who was going to pay for the psychologist. I was thinking, while they talked. A funeral can cost up to 13.000,-
10 hours with the psychologist: 7500,-
I wanted to give them the figures, just so that they could compare the prices and decide whether or not they would be more optimistic about giving away money to save my freaking life.
My mum actually had the nerve to later say, "The worst is already over, isn't it?"
The little me inside my head was jumping up and down, grapping her hair and just screaming, kicking and crying. I still feel as bad as I did 3 days, 3 weeks and 3 months ago. The only difference is, I no longer cut myself. I cut myself to get attention! To make people realise that I FUCKING hurt! And she has the nerve to say it's passed, just because I no longer do the cutting? Well, I'd be more than delighted to take that knife and jam it down my arm if she wants it written in blood. I cry on the inside, I do it a lot, and I do it all the time. Even when I'm laughing on the outside, when I have pure wrists with no scars, when I can dance around my room, when I sleep with Christian. I hurt. I still cannot believe she could say that to me.

The game ended soon, and we could go back to ignoring each other. The attention that I wanted somehow seems useless. I don't lake the fake attention I've been given. It's not fair. It's really not fair. It's like showing me how things could've been, if only people had cared for me more.

Fuck you Andreas, fuck you. It hurts so bad you love it, and it hurts even more knowing that you don't care.