I want to give my therapist a hug

I get it now. At least a little.

A therapist will not be personal with you, because they don't want you to be "colored" by their personality. Let's say the therapist tried to act youthful in front of you, because they wanted to appear as an equal. For some, it might help, but what if all you wanted was a safe haven from the bullying in school. An adult to share your frustration with. Wouldnt the youthful expression throw you off, and reinforce the notion that nobody understands you, and they will probably respond somewhat the same way as your peers?

Or let's say you share something a little quirky about yourself, and they express with surprise and a comment such as "Oh, that's a little unusual." Wouldnt you feel as if you couldnt share anything after that?

That's why they need to be rocks. They need to have zero personality, just like a robot, but still be able to turn on emotions if required. I have lots of respect for therapists and psychologists who work clinically. As a patient, I feel like apologizing every time I'm there. Not because I necessarily do something wrong, but because it must be incredibly exhausting to listen to people's issues every day and still be compassionate, patient, and present. I feel like asking them about their day. Giving them a hug, or a cup of tea, and tell them they're doing the best they can. I feel like using the session on them, instead of me, because I'll be fine, truly. Will they be? I don't know. Probably. Maybe. But also, maybe not.

Am I thinking too much?

I'm not addicted to drugs. Thank God. Too bad I'm addicted to hating myself.

Tumblr is starting to get outdated (sorry T, but it's the truth, and I think you've seen it coming from afar). Unless it gets some crazy update and changes name etc, I think this website is pretty much doomed to follow forgotten sites such as... idk, omegle? I'm too young to have proper examples, but you get the point. Tumblr is a deep pit of people just like me. People who just want to vent, without the pressure of the whole world looking. Okay, so I'm aware this is open to everyone, but it's not like my brother, sister, or parents is going to check Tumblr. So, if some stranger from the other side of the world sees this, then that's fine (hi!), as long as that person doesn't knock on my door and confront me with the cheesiest posts I've ever written.

Also, have anyone noticed how the world is a lot blander lately? It's sort of lost its spark, or is that just me?

Happy sunday.

Putetanker

Vi bruker så mye tid på å sette sammen oss selv, som om vi er ett puslespill der alle bitene har en plass. Jeg begynner å tro at det ikke er tilfelle. Jeg tror vi dytter biter inn i plasser de ikke passer inn, bare for å få en falsk helhet. Vi kommer aldri til å bli ett fullt bilde, for vi er hele tiden i utvikling. Vi er en prosess, og hver dag legger vi til en brikke. Vi er ikke ett puslespill, men ett tårn uten ett endepunkt. Når vi ar brukt nok minutter, dager og år til å bygge dette mesterverket kan vi se utover en fantastisk utsikt. Denne utsikten er livet.

Brussel

I de siste tre årene har jeg hatt vanskeligheter med å sette ord på tankene og følelsene mine. Jeg tror det handler om en "freeze respons", der jeg har fått så mye inntrykk at det indre livet mitt har blitt nummen.

Når jeg reiser får jeg kontakt med meg selv igjen, og en storm jeg vanligvis ikke klarer å temme ebber ut. Om ikke alltid fullstendig, så delvis.

I Norge lever jeg i ett vakkert, men stivt postkort. Alle skal være på en viss måte , og det påvirker meg mer enn jeg ønsker å innrømme.

Jeg lurer på om verden hadde sett ganske annerledes ut dersom vi ikke la all vår selvverdi i det vi oppnår. Er det ikke nok å bare være menneske?

Picking myself up has turned into a sport at this point.

I think I ruined another friendship. Awesome.

To writers:

As we grow older, we tend to exchange our imagination with experience. If you're lucky, you might get both.

You know, I've never really understood when writers try to draw readers in by describing their book as a "tale of love and betrayel" and "the protagonist rises from the dust of her despair, through pitiful neglect, and rebirth like a phoenix"

Honestly. Don't tell me what it is. Show me. Don't tell me it's gonna be dramatic. Create the drama.

I'm chaotic, but I'm chaotic exciting. I'm wild, colorful, full of flaws, but it's not really flaws. it's more like valleys, and we like valleys, because they give us water and soothing shadow when we've had enough of sun. I'm darkness and sunlight, and the moon, all at once! I'm a tornado and a silent beach. Both! I'm energy, I'm loud, and I'm alive. I like it that way.

Sometimes I follow the bird with my eyes until it vanishes around the concrete block. Sometimes I imagine it still. Sometimes I think I see it. Sometimes the block bends, to show the feathers of the bird again. Sometimes I think the birds know. know that I watch it carefully and imagine its life. The corner wabbles back and forth, and I think the entire world around me is collapsing. The bird is watching me, from behind the concrete block. The bird rush through the block and bites me. Its feathers fall off, alongside the dirt on the buildings roof. The ground beneath me crumbles, and the bird knows. It knows ive been watching it.

I wish I was different, but same.

I wish I was me, but better.

I wish I had faults, but the right faults.

I wish I had abilities, but not the ones I have.

I wish I could be seen, but on my premises,

I wish life did what I wanted it to.

I wish I could accept life as it is

I lie, and say I do, to convince them,

or to tell myself,

that I am well.

Is time standing still? Is everything linear, or a circle? A square? A ladder, or a well? Am I flying or drowning? Grasping for air, suffocating, or am I just alive? Am I crumbling under pressure, or thriving? Am I controlled by the unsteady waves of chemicals, or do I have a will? Are everyone else geniuses, idiots or fake? AM I human or a leaf, waiting to fall to the ground. Is a day a day? Or a memory? Are we in the same boat, or am I alone? Will I meet somebody after my boat has sank? In the ocean? A fish? Will I be able to breathe? Is it even relevant? could I be a nothing? Could everything around me be unfortunate events of clashes between dreams? Dreams of giants drousing off on the planets. Is earth just a dream? A dreamer-planet?

I was climbing yesterday. It felt like yesterday.

I almost fell, and my young heart jumped. Made itself ready for impact. I climbed higher. My body was made for this. Truly.

It's today. It doesnt feel like it. I sat quietly. My old heart got ready for impact. I fell down. My body wasnt made for this. Truly.

This is a fifteen second and ninetyone year old story.

Dreams are the most cruel thing I know.

We were playing in the sand, then what happened?

Why am I here so suddently?

I wanted to keep playing in the sand.

♡Love letter to you♡

You've always been the sensitive kind haven't you? Felt like it was wrong, that you acted too dramatic internally in every situation. Sure, you kept it in, but all it did was carve out something fundamental. Apparently whatever you do define your worth.

I'm here to tell you, that you can relax. Nothing you do define your right to be on this earth. You are worthy of a spot out there, and you deserve to look after yourself, because the most precious love we get is from ourselves.♡

Forgive your mind, it's only trying to take care of you. Truly, you should appericate it.♡ Your timeline is yours, and remember, there's no future, it's only now.