Schizorant

You come to realize that the people who’ve known you the longest, your own parents, actually don’t know you, but know of you.

That the people you’ve interacted with the most in life don’t make any effort in getting to know you.

They take no interest in you, and if you share you get empty platitudes quickly turning the conversation back to their lives and needs and wants.

You feel like you belong to the family, but realize that you’re not there because of love but due to some hidden social obligation. You were assigned a family at birth, but you’re unable to get another one.

When the people who should get to know you take no interest in you, what does it say about you? When striking up a conversation with a random stranger met at a bus stop is as encouraging, as hopeful as a conversation in a phone call with your own kin, what do you make of it?

They gave me their genes, but instilled in me a deep fear of connection, of showing emotions, broke my sense of self down into pieces that no longer fit together. And where others are sad, clinically depressed over this, over the realization calling late at night, I’m not. I’m empty.

The vessel should contain love, but all I’ve ever felt was fear. Fear of the loss, fear of bonding. When all of my interests are turned to algorithmic phrasings, the “need to be said”, I’m reduced down to nothing but something with utility rather than a purpose. It shouldn’t be necessary, it’s not with others. Their relationships are effortless, but I need to prepare for even a simple phone call. Failure to prepare leads to awkwardness, to nothingness.

As I’m writing my thesis I’ve not received a single question about its aims or purposes, nor are any of my interests given weight. As quickly dismissed as I’ve uttered them, shot and left bleeding out in some alley behind a dumpster. And all of this so that they can dominate the conversation, so that they get to dictate the topics. Their needs are always highlighted, but never a sincere question about my own requirements or wants.

At the end of the day you realize that you’re not actually a daughter, but a being transposed onto them, but unnoticeable other than an empty plate or chair. They don’t know or care for any of my hobbies, my interests, all my fun turned to silence. While speaking with them all I notice is this crushing silence, the questions that should naturally arise never do. And at the end of the call that’s all that I hear, and the ironic thing is that the emptiness is also all that I am.

You get to a point in your thirties where you realize that nothing and no one waits around for you, time isn’t easing up, that you’re just a drop in the ocean. You’re not going against the stream, the stream is simply an illusion of motion. You’re standing completely still, a notification buzzing on your phone makes you light up, but it’s just another one about the temperature outside. No one remembers who you are, no one thinks about you, no one knows you, and in fact no one cares about you.

You return to what you think is the root, you attempt to reach out to something fundamental, something at your core. You’re looking back, reading messages sent to you in 2010 realizing that it hasn’t been a few years, but literal decades.

Messages between best friends who never reached out again, game invites you never accepted, another day wasted on the couch, while your best friend whom you ditched school with is married with kids. You’re stuck in a prison without walls, without guards, without limitations written down anywhere, but in your mind. In you. The very fabric of your soul has enshrined basic limitations that you’re unable to escape from.

For a moment you can dull the pain, the discomfort, you can avoid facing reality, you can pretend like you’re drifting towards something not realizing that you’re simply passively watching as the world goes on without you.

And time and time again you return to the notion of making a last ditch effort, a singular attempt at some sort of escape. You’re foolish, this is all there is, all that will ever be. And you’re left staring at your one and only answer. It’s written down plain for anyone to see. But are you brave enough to read it?

Jeg føler meg annerledes, som om ting falt på plass på en nokså mystisk måte. Denne bloggen var og er i all hovedsak ment som en slags “brain dump”, men jeg har ikke vært like inspirert eller motivert til å skrive som jeg var tidligere. Objektivt sett har veldig lite endra seg, livet ligner på det livet jeg har levd de siste årene, men samtidig så føler jeg meg utrolig tilfreds.

Det er kanskje feil ord å bruke. Jeg føler meg egentlig som et glass med vann, det er som om jeg endelig har en hensikt annet enn å stå tomt i skapet. Men det er ingen hensikt. Denne følelsen av zen er relativt stabil, og vedvarende. Den er positiv, men også ganske rar.

Det er liksom tilsvarende likegyldighet, uten de negative assosiasjonene en ofte forbinder med det. Jeg føler at jeg svømmer mindre, det er mer som om jeg bare flyter, men ikke retningsløst. Det er med hensikt, og krever ingen krefter av meg for å opprettholde og vedlikeholde.

Vi får se hva som dukker opp etter hvert, men akkurat nå vil jeg se hvor dette fører hen.

Jeg ser han i min hverdag, bevege seg rundt hemningsløst, uten ettertanke, fullstendig i kontroll over egen kropp. Jeg ser ned og finner tydelige spor etter han i synlige årer på hendene, årer som sprengende slanger fylt av en gift han ikke merker, men som jeg svømmer i under hans overflate. Den livnærer han, men kveler meg.

Selv lufta gjennomsyres av hans lukt, et maskulint preg bærer hvert åndedrag, og jeg klarer knapt å trekke inn luft. Antrekket er svart, med jeans og hettegenser som maskerer en virkelighet full av de vakreste farger. Inni han finner jeg lilla, turkis og gul, men alt de andre ser er mørkt og avfarga.

Når er det min tur?

Hans herredømme er fullstendig, fullverdig, fullbrakt, det eksisterer. Hver bidige morgen ser jeg hans ansikt i speilet, men det skulle være motsatt. Det skulle vært meg, men det ble aldri virkeligheten jeg ble gitt. Du løper, du trener, mens jeg er stengt inne i et fengsel av kjøtt uten evne til å reagere eller handle selvstendig. Jeg blir bare dratt rundt, forflytta fra sted til sted, og ingen spør hva det er jeg vil fordi ingen erkjenner meg og min selvstendighet.

Han er uavhengig, mens jeg er lenket fast i ham, fullstendig avhengig av en illusjon de færreste ser gjennom. Jeg forsøker å skrike ut i dyp eksistensiell smerte, uten evne til å lage en lyd, uten evne til å bli hørt – hvorfor hører selv ikke han meg?

Alt jeg hører er stadig konstanteringer av hans eksistens, og jeg føler at øynene mine fylles, det er en bekreftelse på hans totale dominans. “Bror”, “mann”, “han der”, selv navnet foreldrene ga dette fartøyet trigger min angst. Jeg blir dratt under vann, men jeg makter ikke stå imot. Alt blir og er mørkt, og jeg vet ikke hvilken vei jeg skal gå for å skimte et lys.

Ingen ser meg, for alltid dømt til å leve en eksistens bak en falsk fasade. En konstruksjon sosialisert til å følge bestemte mønstre, og med det undertrykke meg selv fullstendig, hver eneste dag. Jeg dyttes ned i gjørma slik at han kan se over gjerdet.

Jeg føler meg så misunnelig. På hans frihet, mest av alt. Jeg lengter etter den. Men dagen går mot slutten, og jeg gleder meg. For mens han faller i dyp søvn mister han sin makt, sin posisjon. Det er da jeg får muligheten til å bevege meg. Jeg får scena helt for meg selv.

Den øredøvende lyden forvandles da til vakker musikk, og med øynene lukket fylles jeg av ekstase. For mens han lukker øynene ser han ikke lenger, men det er da hun ser.

It’s an absurdity, looking back across the years realizing how much I’ve missed out on, realizing I’ve harbored a child for countless years. Understanding just how many decades of love I’ve already committed to a child I refuse to look in the eyes, knowing they’ll never see me for who I am.

I’ve paid child payments for decades, each check a barbed wire I’m forced to climb over in an attempt to get further in life. You’re now 14 years and counting and I still don’t know your name. Your presence is still felt, sometimes I’m able to go a few years without acknowledging you, and at the same time I’m forced to confront you daily. Ironically I feel better after confronting, but I get further by ignoring you. How strange because this is such a non-issue for most people.

They’ll give me outdated advice, as if I haven’t already tried everything, as if I’m somehow unable to recognize the blinding reality I’m forced to feel each day, as if it hasn’t already been seared into my mind. I can close my eyes and still visualize it clearly.

How awful to end another question of “what’s your plan for the weekend?” with another series of “dunno”. I used to come up with elaborate details, make up entire stories, but nowadays I’m way too tired to do so. People are economically broke because of social committment, they can speak with ease about this or that restaurant, this or that café, this or that place of entertainment, whilst all I’m able to elaborate on are awesome series, online content, my solitary existence bleeding into a quasi-parasocial world, crashing like waves into blissfull ignorance.

The worst part of it all is the fact that I’m actually just not able to cope. Not for long. That isn’t to say I’m nearing the end at all, but more so that I’m just not able to maintain this illusion that everything is going great. People are at a surface level, each interaction just a puddle, and I’m not able to cope. I could be puddle-faced, but nowadays I consistently break my nose trying to dive in. I am who I am, and that realization has brought me more joy than anything else.

“Do what you love and people will come” is great advice for others, but it just doesn’t happen organically for me. The child keeps me locked in, unable to share, unable to be part of something more. I see them in the eyes of people when they look past my mask and finally realize just who I am underneath. I get along well with some, are you especially strange I fall for you completely, but are you normal you tend to project your normalness onto me, hoping I’m one as well, and when interactions over time leads you to understand me better you reject me. And I’m left without any meaning behind it all.

Every single aspect of my life screams out in pain, in isolation and loneliness, my room is filled with artifacts, with gifts not given, with words not spoken, even my bank account shouts loudly. I’m economically viable, saving up everything I get, but only because I have nobody to spend any of it on. I live a frugal nearly pitiful existence barred from all the things that people spend money on. People want a larger house, more room, more stuff, while I already have all the things I want, all the things I need. And still, late at night, I realize how much I’ve lied to myself – I need more.

As I wrote when I was 13: “I’m left standing at a beach looking back at footprints left by someone else who walked here before me and I’m wondering where they went as I stare back at them erased by the waves rushing in, leaving nothing but barren sand and taking the memories back to sea.”

I’ve nurtured this child for countless years, fed it my pain and suffering, let it grow underneath my cold and calculating exterior, underneath the smile I’ve painstakingly painted on lies a child in need of a hug, of touch, of love. But this is also my comfort, my way of being, my reality. I know no other way to function, this is the language I’ve learned, the only way I can communicate, the only way I can work in this world. I’m well fed, live in a comfortable apartment, I can freely walk around and express my thoughts and opinions, freely function in a society designed for freedom, partake as much as I want to, I’m materially secured for years even with no employment. And still, I need more. But not much, I’m not looking for someone to carry my burdens, people can’t offer me advice I haven’t already heard or given myself, I’m just looking for someone, a connection that’s deeper than a puddle.

I’ve recently fallen in love. A huge array of feelings I never thought I’d feel has been unlocked, and it all comes flashing forward, it all feels meaningful, every interaction cherished, every parting filled with sorrow, but I can’t do anything but hope I’ll get to see you tomorrow. I want more, but I know I’m biased when reading your hints, I can’t trust anything but the most direct communication. I want you but at the same time how the hell can I want this, my life, for you? You deserve more, and so I’ll just walk around next to you feeling joyful I’m privileged enough to spend it with you, even though we’ll never see each other again in a few weeks. It will break my heart, but at the same time I know you’re destined for more.

“I must be the reason why
You have given up your smiles
And the hope inside your eyes have been stolen
I must be the reason why
You must tell me all these lies
Wishing you a better life without me by your side”

In a strange way I hope for rain.

Where did these emotions come from? Suddenly I’m like a teenager exposed to the strongest emotions I’ve felt in decades, a feeling of dread at our parting, a feeling of overjoy at seeing you. Just a sign of life from you is enough to elicit a deep feeling of happiness. I still don’t know what I’m gonna do with these feelings, if there’s a any wiggle room or even space in your life for me, but that’s honestly beside the point – I have these feelings again, the hope for a better future with someone I love, and more importantly – who loves me.

I have no idea what you’re feeling, or if you’re thinking the same things that I am, but I know for sure that whenever I think of you I blush a deep red, my cheeks almost feel swollen with love. I’m bursting at the seams, just about able to contain it all. For the longest time I was able to not feel a thing, but as if someone flicked a switch I feel strongly again. “Strongly” can’t describe it, it’s all-encompasing. Genuinely there’s nothing I want more in my life than to sit with you awaiting your bus, just completely betwixted by your very presence. You’re a gift that keeps on giving.

I feel it in the pit of my stomach every time I chance a glance at you, your eyes light up the room, even the way your hair falls a certain way is enough proof that there’s beauty in this world. I’m a writer and every single time I write down your name it’s as if I’m giving life to this fantasy, as if there’s something holy or magical to your very name written down. Ah, but I don’t know what to do with it, not at all. Soon we’re both destined for more, for something different, and I feel like time is slipping away from me, as if we’re destiny but ment to be in a different universe or another life.

I’m usually so good at rationalizing everything but I have no objective facts or truth to support my conclusions in this regard, just your very face looking my way is enough to make it hard to breathe. As if the air suddenly weighs a ton, as if someone is standing ontop of me as I lie down.

You and I walked to your bus but it drove off before you got the chance to enter and I just wanted to scream loudly at how unfair the world was when you told me your bus stop was on “this side of the road” whilst mine was on the other side. In a way symbolic of our relationship in general, we’re on opposite sides of the road from each other, but I just wanted to spend eternity on your side. I walked across the road but I couldn’t separate myself completely so I stood facing you leaned into a pole of some kind completely enchanted by you.

I don’t wanna push you away so I doubt I’ll ever make these feelings heard or known to you, I don’t wanna come off as intense or aggressive or pushy or needy, but I desperately need you. I need you like I need air, like I need food, like I need water. More even. And I’m fearful of these emotions because I don’t know if I can offer you all that you deserve. I know how much you deserve to be happy and I dunno if I can provide you with more than that, so I might just keep silent, shut up shop, keep pretending I’m just really, really, really friendly. But there’s no one else I would want to spend my time with, and I don’t know what to do. Oh my Lord, I’m so scared.

It’s a tidal wave of emotions I haven’t felt in such a long time, a deep sense of trust I have in you that’s frankly perhaps unearned in a way but a sense deep inside of you of something more. Why did they have to make this so tricky? Whether through creation or evolution, why did it have to hurt so good? Time is slipping away and I don’t want to do anything but spend my remaining time with you. As the butterflies twirl around in my stomach by the sparks I get every time I catch a glance into your eyes I know they belong with the flowers.

At this point I should’ve figured this one out years ago, but I’m still hopelessly uncertain, and I claw my eyes out trying to catch a glimpse of the truth. Tear my hair out trying to make room for the enlightenment ment to illuminate my world, but at this point I’m just too afraid to ask –

I feel like I’m so doomed. A late bloomer showing my flowers when snow falls waiting to blanket the landscape in destined white and cold, frozen over. How am I to survive in this climate?

I try to keep a face on, a certainty, a confidence, but I’m torn apart daily. Plucked leaf by leaf, and now I’m a barren flower standing alone in an empty field glancing at the setting sun wondering how, asking the why, asking the who. From where shall I find grace? From who shall I find refreshments? I carry a lifetime of neglect packed into an ill-fitting garbage bag I’m lugging around too afraid to dispose of because I can’t be certain what I’ll lose in the process.

Who can I reach out to? I lack the very leaves ment to siphon water to my core, my very structure broken, I’m standing there naked swaying with the wind, nearly uprooted. My yellowing turns a darker shade of brown, my green turns ashy, my vision cloudy, but there’s not a drop of rain coming my way.

Should I fall apart right here and right now what have I even done but stood still in a field all by myself, awaiting my turn, not realizing that it passed by me a long time ago, in a place long since forgotten. The first snow sit atop of me weighing me down, my will to sustain myself forsaken by the turning of the season. Darkness creeps ever closer, and I can’t do anything but continue to remain hoping the sun will grace me with another day.

On occasion I’m confronted by my own self-made hell, my own machinations manifested in a lonesome existence. The issue isn’t really the solitude, because I genuinely thrive in my own company, the issue is the consequences of that solitude.

Often times I’m able to sort of ignore the reality of my situation by distracting myself by means of either doing something, like watching a series, playing a game, reading, or just thinking about other things, but then, in a moment of silence, it comes crashing into me at high velocity.

I’m smacked in the face by it. My reality is fucking bleek.

I’ve had a day like that today, where I’m forced to recognize just how utterly and absurdly alone I am. Not forced by an external actor, but rather just by my own emotional state of being. I feel sad, basically.

I’m always constantly aware of it, but it seldom makes itself felt like it did today. Like I have no one, not a soul. Everything fucking hurts today but I have nobody I can share my pain with, no one who cares beyond the most casual empathy you’d get seeing a stranger cry on the bus. I barely kept it together today, almost suffered a full breakdown in public. My resilience kept me afloat, which I’m grateful for, but at the same time shouldn’t I cry? Why can’t I just cry?

Like I have nobody I can even send a text to for some comfort, or a pick-me-up, or just someone to share a funny meme I saw with. I’m taking in water but I have no way of keeping myself dry. I haven’t had a genuine friend in such a long time, it feels like I’m just not of this world. Most times it doesn’t bother me, I’m still able to soldier on, but today I just can’t. I feel it in the pit of my heart. A sort of heaviness, or rather perhaps the lack of it. There’s a massive hole left gaping open unable to be filled, and I’m just walking around with it.

As I said previously, I can often paper over the cracks, that’s my default way of life, but some days it’s blown away exposing my empty and blistering core. And it hurts badly. It’s as if I’m suddenly unable to ride my bike, unable to really connect with people, unable to function as I usually do. As if all memories and experiences of a thing I’ve done a thousand times is erased and I feel like I’m doing it for the first time again. I get nervous, uncertainty hits like a brick through the window.

Fucking hell, what’s the matter with me? I want to connect with people but it’s as if the people I want to connect with aren’t on this plane of existence. A whole culture erased and removed, and I’m forced to deal with people I don’t recognize or I don’t understand. I don’t wanna wear this fake persona, it tears into me, and I’m left so fucking exhausted by it, but if I let myself be myself I don’t know how others will react.

The worst part of my reality is realizing just how much of a stranger I am, even to myself. A huge and barren landscape I’ve never explored because I fear what I’ll find on the way. More than anything I wish I just had a single person I could ask for reassurance or comfort, who I could reach out to in order to know how they felt about me. That’s the only sort of objective answer I’ll get, not that I’ll rely completely on their interpretation of me, but at least it’d be an answer to the question I’ve asked all my life that’s given from someone other than me.

“who am I?”

Jeg skriver ofte noe gjentagende om visse temaer, og på helt nye måter, samt en oppfriskning av eldre emner. Jeg må likevel tilbake til vennskap, fordi jeg føler på så mye rundt de.

Aristoteles mente at det eksisterte tre typer vennskap, eller at de kom i tre former.

• Vennskap basert på nytte: Disse vennskapene er basert på gjensidig fortjeneste. Hver person får noe igjen for vennskapet, og er noe en har med en kollega eller en medstudent. De kan oppleves veldig sterke, men i det nytteverdien forsvinner så oppløses også vennskapet. Altså, når du slutter i jobben så får du heller ikke meldinger fra de, eller når en praksisperiode er over så opphører også årsaken til kommunikasjon.

• Vennskap basert på glede: Disse er basert på gjensidig glede. Dette er gjerne noe du bygger opp gjennom gjensidige interesser, hobbier eller noe som gleder en. Hver person får noe igjen for vennskapet, og det styrkes gjennom å gjøre en aktivitet, men i det denne gjensidige gleden forsvinner så opphører gjerne også vennskapet.

• Vennskap basert på det gode: Den høyeste og lengstlevende formen av vennskap. Den er basert på gjensidig respekt, beundring, og et ønske om at den andre skal ha det bra for sin egen skyld, ikke ut av egeninteresser. Disse vennskapene tar lang tid, og krever felles verdier. De er sjelden.

Det er ganske åpenbart at hvis alle dine interesser og aktiviteter er ting du gjør alene så evner du bare ikke å skape gode relasjoner til andre. Det er en naturlig selvfølge. En naturlig konsekvens. Skjer A så må B skje som en følge av det. Jeg har aldri vært interessert i ting som ikke også ga meg noe, jeg er en ekstremt uavhengig person, som aller helst foretrekker mitt eget selskap, samtidig som jeg er så jævlig avhengig av andre, og ønsker så frytkelig sterkt å ha noen jeg kan gjøre noe for. Jeg vet hva jeg må gjøre, men jeg bare gjør det ikke.

Jeg konstruerer en ekstrem standard for alle folk rundt meg, og når de ikke når opp til disse så halshugger jeg de. Ikke verbalt, ikke fysisk, men emosjonelt. Det er som om de er en helt annen person enn den jeg trodde de var, når det slettest ikke er slik. Jeg innser egentlig at jeg gjør det for å holde folk på avstand, for å ikke slippe de inn. Det er en forsvarsmekanisme som gjør at alle vennskap bare blir værende på nytte-nivået, fordi der er det trygt. Når vi beveger oss over i andre former så skjer det ting i meg som gjør meg usikker, engstelig, redd, og fryktelig påvirket av de. Dette er normale følelser, men jeg vil bare ikke stå i de, ikke litt engang. Så da kutter jeg det heller ut enn å forsøke. Det verste du kan få er avvisning, men får du det så er du jo egentlig i samme situasjon som du var i før du ble kjent med dem. Så hva er problemet?

Jeg lurer alltid på hvilket inntrykk folk sitter igjen med av meg. Hva er det de tenker om meg? Hvordan er det jeg oppfattes i et rom? Hvordan er det jeg faktisk ser ut når folk ser meg sitte et sted?

Jeg har tidligere skrevet at det ikke er opp til meg hva andre tenker om meg, og det stemmer jo, det føler jeg og mener jeg, men når jeg får en relasjon til noen så endres dette. Da er det plutselig veldig viktig for meg hvordan jeg oppfattes, og jeg elsker å høre hva andre tenker og betrakter rundt meg.

I yrket så er det meg likegyldig om folk ikke liker meg, eller er lei meg, eller ikke tenker noe spesielt om meg. Jeg er profesjonell, uttøver omsorg og jobber med etisk bevissthet, men sånn når de går hjem og snakker om meg så betyr ikke det så mye hva de faktisk sier og mener om meg. Dette har også gjeldt andre medstudenter, men noen folk vil jeg at skal tenke godt om meg. Hvorfor faen er det plutselig så viktig? Åh, det er så jævlig slitsomt.

Jeg opplevde litt amperhet, litt irritabilitet med en medstudent i praksis, og plutselig trigga det en rekke tanker i meg. Jeg følte meg litt lavt nede, var jeg ikke interessant? Hadde jeg gjort noe feil? Jeg forstår jo rasjonelt at det ikke er slik, at det antakeligvis bare var en dårlig dag, og alt sånt, men plutselig er det viktig for meg at denne personen anser meg som en positivt innflytelse eller noe godt rundt de. What the actual fuck.

Det går ikke over noen grenser, og jeg greier rasjonalisere meg vekk fra disse tankene ganske raskt, og ting løser seg jo umiddelbart, men hvor kommer disse grunnideene fra? Jeg tror mye av det handler om at jeg, til tross for en fasade av veldig selvsikkerhet, dypest sett er en veldig sårbar og usikker person. Jeg lener meg veldig på enkelte jeg føler enorm tillit til, og når disse har dårligere dager så får jeg også en dårligere dag. Jeg føler så enormt med de at deres stemningsleie påvirker meg igjen.

Jeg spurte hvilket inntrykk de hadde av meg; jeg var en anstendig person “skikkelig”, som kjøpte fra butikk, med en ekstrovert energi. Det er jo ganske sjokkerende hvordan jeg framstår i praksis og i jobb, og faktisk fungerer privat. Jeg er jo klodens mest introverte person, mens profesjonelt er jeg omgjengelig, kjærlig, og personlig. Jeg må da kunne smelte disse sammen, og jeg merker også hvor intenst jeg savner når jeg kommer hjem igjen. Jeg vil bare snakke i det uendelige med denne personen, jeg får så mye energi av en-til-en, spesielt når det blir litt dypere, men wow. Hva er det som skjer med meg? Jeg er så jævlig et overkomplisert primitivt menneske, fullstendig avhengsla emosjonelt og psykisk, med en totalpakke som skreder over uendelig mange diagnosekriterier. Jeg skal ikke sykeliggjøre meg selv, jeg er ikke psyk, men jeg tenker veldig på dette likevel.

Jeg har liksom begynt å smelte dette sammen til en viss grad. Jeg er en person som deler i mye større grad enn tidligere, er mer påskrudd, ikke så mye internalisert. Det er likevel vanskelig fordi så få evner å forstå hva det er som skjer. Jeg må føle en viss grad av forståelse for at vi skal bli venner, og det er ikke alltid jeg gjør det. Og da blir vi ikke noe mer enn medstudenter. Dessverre. Selv om jeg vil.

Jeg føler også ofte på en urettferdighet, de jeg kommer best overens med har alltid til en viss grad et snev av en barriere mot meg. Det kan være forskjellige ting – alder, hobbier, interesser, men jeg føler ofte på det. Jeg ser at de sitter inne med noe de ikke får delt, det er nesten litt låst, men jeg har ikke nøkkelen, eller jeg mangler den der og da. Og det skjer hele tida, det er som om vi må varmes opp igjen. Forholdet blir godt, og på glid, men så separeres vi og da må vi varme det opp igjen for å komme tilbake til de gode samtaleemnene. Men er det faktisk slik eller hva skjer?

Jeg føler også ofte at folk er veldig omgjengelige en periode, så låser de seg, og jeg forstår ikke om det er noe som faktisk skjer eller bare noe jeg antar. Dette er spesielt tydelig når, f.eks., en praksisperiode går mot slutten. Da slutter liksom de fine sosiale samtalene, og mye bærer preg av at vi ikke lenger skal være med hverandre.

Jeg tror grunnleggende jeg sliter med separasjon, med å gå vekk fra relasjoner som har blitt bygd opp, at jeg føler bittert på tapet av noe, og ikke evner å se på det som noe positivt. “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened”, greier jeg ikke.

Problemet er ikke egentlig de andre, eller noen andre, eller en eller noe, men meg selv. Jeg har låst meg selv, jeg deler ikke like fritt av meg selv, og når jeg ikke gjør det så tar jeg heller aldri sjansen på meg selv. Det er jeg som er låsen, og derfor også jeg som må være nøkkelen.