Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Hanging by a moment

5.14 AM, Borås, Sweden

Dear diary,

Oh dear. It seems like I'm suffering from terrible separation anxiety. I'm going through all my stuff, packing everything into boxes once again. My life, my possesions, memories - everything neatly put into a box and stacked. I'm having a hard time keeping myself happy while looking at that pile of boxes... what can it be... two cubic metres? Three? Such a tiny space, still it contains my whole life. My reality. Makes you realize how small and worthless your existence really is, just a tiny piece of dust in this universe. And yet we think of ourselves as superior, the human race. Talk about hypocrisy...

Anyway, I'm slowly starting to feel like this separation will be harder than I thought. When I first made the decision, it all went so fast. I got the call that Tommy had left us, hung up, sat down for a couple of minutes, then announced to Johan and my parents that I was moving back. Afterwards, I felt relieved. As if me moving here was totally unplanned, and that now I could turn things back on the right course again. But I'm not so sure anymore... The first reason I wanted to move here was to get closer to my friends. But when I finally got here, nearly all of them were no longer considered friends. So all I had left was my memories of the times I spent here with my ex-girlfriends... and that made me realize that once again... I was chasing after shadows of the past, desperately trying to make them become reality again. And that ain't going to happen, never again...

I've spent nearly a year here, 9 months at least, all while doing nothing to improve my situation. And now I'm leaving again. I'm going to miss this place, so bad. It feels as if my leaving is the end of an era, the final sign that I'm now giving up my 6-year long pursuit of the past. Yeah, that's right - for the past 6 years everything in my life has been about the past, I've tried so hard to make my memories into reality, a desperate try that has made me do terrible things to many people, some who have deserved it, and some who have not. As I sit here today, in front of this screen, I can honestly say that I regret everything, from the first moment it started. But then again, it was inevitable. My treacherous mind led me down this road, and took me to the very end more than once, only to cut the noose and throw me back out on the road again. Six fucking years of chasing, hating, bleeding, suffering... all for nothing. The people I have sought to bring back into my life have only gotten further out of my reach, some of them hate me and never want to see or hear from me again. I have successfully eliminated all my possibilites to share my memories with them ever again, or to have a friendly relationship with them. I've burned my bridges, and I've been standing on the other side, crying out for someone to rebuild them and let me walk back to where I came from, the only place where I felt safe. Six fucking years, gone, wasted on chasing ghosts, trapped in the prison of my own mind. Maybe it isn't over - I know it ain't over - cause' I'll never, ever, stop thinking about the past, and how much I miss it. If only I could go back in time, and do everything from the beginning. I would give anything to make things right.

I'm gonna continue going through my things, I guess... but this feeling is only getting stronger. Looks like I'm back at square one. Again.

Monday, February 22, 2010

Parallel dimensions

6.30 AM, Borås, Sweden

"And never moving forwards, so there'll never be a past."

Dear diary,

There's no telling where to go from here. Living each day as a lie, or ignoring the truth we all see clearly. Conforming into a pattern, and leaving no trace behind whatsoever. I just don't know how to handle things.

But hey, I'm doing alright. For now. Darkness, my old friend, has kept quiet for the last week, not a single word, not a whisper. Zip. Zero. Nothing. Maybe it's the calmness before the storm? I feel like fuckin' Gollum, sitting on that stone, speaking to the good and evil part of him.

"Leave now, and NEVER come back!"

Would have been cool if that had worked out for me, after all, I've tried to shake this far too many times. Anyway... what's up? What's happening? Not much, I guess. February 22nd today, a few weeks left until I leave this town, and move back to Småland. It struck me just this morning, as I stood and watched out the window, seeing the glow from all the lights in town leaving traces over the morning sky, the stillness outside... I'm gonna miss this town. Just not the people in it, but the town as well. Others might have trouble understanding my fascination for urban environments, but I find them nearly as beautiful as the wilderness, if not more beautiful. There's a certain feeling in the air, an aura that a city is emitting, that makes it so colorful, so interesting. When you're walking through a large city a warm summer night, alone or with a friend, go to a park or a similar location, and just sit down for a while and listen. The sounds of the city are so colorful and diverse; cars, the sound of laughter, screaming, talking, ventilation systems, the sound of the wind - everything mixes together into one big buzz, and you can almost touch the sound if you reach out your hand. I never grow tired of wandering through a city, with or without company. More often, the latter... since I have trouble finding people who understand this or enjoy it as I do.

You know... it's funny... when you have a dream where you cut your hair, everyone says that it means that you will go through major changes very soon, and that it is positive. I cut my hair last week, a completely new haircut, and ever since I haven't had problems with my mood. It has been almost constant, without any ups or downs. Maybe what they say is true. But to be honest, I think it is because I feel better about myself. I feel more attractive, and my apperance is my first shield against the world around me. If my armor is cracking, it can hurt me, and now I feel like the cracks are getting fewer and fewer. I've had major mental breakdowns because of all the anxiety I have concerning my own ability to uphold my self esteem. I can honestly say that everything is depending on how I feel, if I feel strong, sexy, attractive. I've spent countless nights lying awake, trying to tell myself " I can make it, I look good, I'm a good singer, I know how to be a performer." but never really having any success in making it into reality. But now, I feel like I've taken a big step towards making that true. My dream. I mean, who's gonna listen to a band where the singer is a stuttering, nervous little bitch, trying to look cool but failing miserably? I wouldn't. So much about this style is depending on image, looks that kill, the fact that people are attracted to a certain stereotype - the classic rockstar. Rude, mean, self-centered assholes with a bad temper, but still with an amazing ability to get laid and look good while doing it. I've never really believed I can meet the demands of that stereotype, and maybe I never will, but I'm sure as hell gonna give it a shot.

What if this is a turning point? The one thing I have been waiting for forever, but never reached even once. When everything has been chaos inside my mind, when the walls are falling down around me, the one thing I wished for was to feel that once in a while, it goes the other way too. Hit the brakes, do a 360, and then it's full speed again. In the right direction, this time. I have a whole lot of catching up to do, I'm 5 years late to this party, but I'll do my best to enjoy it anyway. After all, things are looking brighter in the near future. In just a few days, all my debts will be paid by my father when he recieves the final payment for the auction of our farm... and it is a huge weight that will be taken off my shoulders. Second, moving back to Jönköping doesn't feel like moving backwards in time, instead, it feels like a new beginning. Getting closer (as close as it gets without living with each other) to the band, and being able to focus more intensively on the creative process that ultimately will propel us into superstardom. Or better.

This post is getting a bit unfocused and messy, but it shows clearly what state my mind is in. I feel like I'm floating in space, a small planet drifting aimlessly through the vast reaches of the universe, colliding with meteors all the time, but drifting onwards anyway, scarred, but an experience richer.

This might work out this time around.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

The worst in me

6.34 PM, Borås, Sweden

Dear diary,

Time flies by. Every second that goes by is a countdown. T- your life, and still counting. You wish you could make every damn one of 'em worth it. Worth being alive. But you just can't, you can't make yourself feel alive any longer. Everything you do, from the smallest thing, makes you tired. Even getting out of bed in the morning is a hard task, and takes every inch of determination you can muster. It's safe to say that this - in the purest form of the word - is hell.

I feel like I am repeating myself. Like an old record skipping on a beat, over and over again.

I can't live like this. I need to get out of this.

Do I get out of it? No, fuck no, everything I do only takes me further down this spiraling hellhole that is my life. Everything's just dead inside, my creativity has since long fled the field, and took every little bit of vitality with it. I'm breathing, but I'm not alive. Time flies by.

6.52 PM

I can't handle people anymore. It has been getting far worse than any time before, and the bare thought of approaching someone, talking to someone I don't know throws me into an anxiety attack. Even speaking to people over the internet puts me on needles. And I don't know why, why the hell am I so afraid of contact? Why can't I handle being social and extrovert like everyone else? Imagine what a major fuckup it would be... I can see myself standing there on stage, freaking out because everyone is looking at me, and running away from there. Fleeing, like the useless coward I am. Useless. Fuckup.

7.53 PM

Well, what do you know. Anger turns to hate, hate turns to helplessness, and now I'm back to normal again. Still pissed off, at myself mostly, but looking forward to things again. So...what was it... like... 1 hour? Yeah, 1 hour. That's all it took for me to go straight from deep depression to feeling alright again. Fuck you, manic depressive disorder.