When I moved back to my hometown, I felt like I was getting inside a safe cocoon. Into the safety and silence of a womb. So I am holding on to that feeling of safety and familiarity as hard as I can. Even if the number of family and friends here grow fewer and I live with the ghosts of my memories, I still feel safe. Over a year ago I was just moving with the flow, whether I was going in circles or moving forward I was free to do and to go anywhere. And I was getting prepared to leave my hometown as long as I could follow the only way I knew. Then she came into my life, and I knew I had to postpone my plans if I wanted to get something I never had before. I'm not afraid of living alone. Loneliness is familiar and safe. I knew that. I knew that when I allowed myself to fall in love and take the risks that came with it. Every time I got frightened I said to myself, that I know loneliness, and I do not fear it. It's this new unknown road I want to follow. To see where it takes me. The new adventures and sights for me to see and discover. It's the death of my loved ones that I fear - intently I fear that. So when I finally understood, that I lost my love, it felt like death. Like someone I really loved had died. It brought anger, desperation, depthless amounts of sorrow that cut in too deep and sickness filled my wounds and overflowed. But the anger of betrayal and exploitation kept me going. Now my days are filled with living day to day. Surviving from the bad memories. Getting whatever enjoyment I can. Trying to keep the waters of my mind still and silent. As long as my mind is still, I know I can get better. That this won't get as far as I fear it might. There are too many monsters living inside my head that I can't let them get out. I need to deal with them and leave them behind me. This is something I thought today, as I was walking home in the damp rainy dark, but with a smile on my face. I met my loved ones today, I talked with them for hours. I really wish all my weeks were like this.
And now I will share with you another subject, which is somewhat new even to me. I don't know what kind of quality the modern school sex-education has, but in my time, which surprisingly isn't that long ago, there wasn't much talk about the fact how many different kind of people there are. I think there might have been something in the book we read, but we never really talked about it. It came as a surpriseeven to me, since no adults talked about homosexuals, asexual's, transgenders or any kind of type of people who aren't white average heterosexuals. I had to learn about this whole another world, which existed all around me, from television series and movies and eventually from the internet. Because all those natural things, those aspects of people were mysteries and unknown to me, I had to learn about those things from the hard way, which in my case meant years of wondering, feelings of being an outsider - though my basic being is an outsider, so it didn't take any more affect than it regularly does. I had questions about these feelings I had, and I turned to the wondrous world of the world wide web to appease my concerns, and after some reading and weeks of self searching I carefully came into the conclusion that I was - in fact - an asexual. It's really something that varies from person to person. It appears and means different things in different people. I don't know what kind of mental image people have of asexuality. I thought it was being someone who doesn't want to have intercourse, and of course that notion is the right one. The whole matter in a nutshell. I don't really think about that thing much. It made sense to me, and I've been going with it ever since. I think the percent of asexual's in the whole world was approximately 1%. At least trying to find comrades is a bit difficult inside the borders. I think there's not much else to tell about asexuality. It's simply the opposite of sexuality. Sexual people can just imagine the opposite and that's it. And then there's the difference between people. Not every sexual's want to have sex all the time or want it in some specific way and there's just a lot of differences between all the people in the world. I can't point out some specific things about asexuality that would be universally true besides the fact I already established previously. I enjoy beauty that I find appealing. I like to draw and paint women - with or without clothes, and usually without them, and it's all just my affection towards the gender and especially towards women that have the kind of beauty I find intoxicating. So I guess for sexual people you might add some desire in that scenario, but for me it's just adoration and affection. I'm still figuring out what being asexual practically means to me. I'm still new in that. All I know is that I can love and I can feel all kinds of affectionate feelings. I might write about this subject later on as I try to understand it in more deeper levels. I mean that who thinks about average, plain things like their eye colour all day long. Maybe new kind of revelations come to as time goes by.
I decided to continue with me presenting these life-lessons I've obtained (unwillingly). Depression is something I came acquainted with about a year ago. At least I think it was a year ago and I think it's depression. There's this tiny little detail in my family's medical history, that might affect me, and it's bipolar disorder. It means that you're depressed but you also get mania, and both of them are in their own way dangerous. If I would have that (since I am not a shrink nor can I at this moment honestly say anything), I might have had it for some time now. Who knows. And now I'm losing my trail of thought. Before I got depressed, and I was getting more and more sure about what it was, I had had a quite average mental health. Nothing really surprising in that section. Anyway, since depression is becoming a common epidemic, I thought I should write something about my own experience in that matter. Unfortunately I'm still right in the middle of stabilizing it, so I can't really give any story about defeating it. All I can tell you is that when you start to suspect that you might have it, you need to get help right away. It's not something that goes away by itself. I know there's a group of people, a generation, that doesn't believe in psychology, mental disorders and medication (my father is one example of that), but that kind of thinking makes you your number one enemy - and enemy to every person you come in contact with. You're going to become a danger to yourself. And maybe even to others. I got help, I got to wrestle with one doctor about the subject of needing therapy, but now I got an appointment for some kind of clinic thanks to another doctor. A part of me is relieved and anxious about getting to pour all my heavy burden's out in the open, but I'm also a bit skeptical about what kind of person will be there to listen my worries. I've had an experience once about talking to one therapist who seemed to be really indifferent and/or bored and maybe a bit annoyed. That would be the perfect, fitting reaction to a cashier, who had to listen to some customer go on and on about their life, while the cashier was trying to go to a lunch break. But I don't want to talk with any medical professionals who look like they don't want to hear it. It was a really weird experience. I guess I feel a bit scared of running into another therapist who's like that. I can understand why some professionals would get tired at their work, but it's not good for the patients and customers to have their experience tainted with such indifference. I don't want to be a trouble to anyone nor do I want to waste anyone's time. So I'd rather keep my problems to myself, if there's no one willing to listen and care. Still, my bad experiences aside, therapy is always better than remaining medicated. Medication still is a pure relief. Imagine something stretching your mind to the breaking point and something just lets it go before it breaks. It's relief and bliss. The feeling of normality. There's so many things in life we take for granted. Whether it's warmth, dryness or feeling psychically normal, we don't appreciate those things until they're taken away from us. Still the medication doesn't affect you forever. I had at the beginning Escitalopram Actavis 10 mg, which I had to change into 20 mg after a few months, when my depression took a turn to worse. But the 20 mg didn't seem to work. It relieved the worst feelings at first, but soon it didn't affect me anymore. I had to change my medication. And the doctor described me Venlafaxin Orion 75 mg. I don't know what part of that medication worked, but it did. I've been feeling good for over a month now. I cannot remember what was the maximum effect-span until it stops working as well, but I guess this story is something that will continue over time. I'm hoping for a happy ending. All the people who have been depressed and known to me have gotten better in time, so there's always hope if you don't give up on yourself.
I wanted to share a thing about me, my gender and gender stereotypes in general. Short rant I wanted to write. It's a complicated subject, but I don't want to get too deep into it. It's not the reason why I wrote about it. This is something that came to mind since I've been sharing things here like decorating for Halloween, listening old vintage songs and mooning over old books and the Moon and what not. I've had a difficult life - well, who hasn't. Because of my past and the things I've learned, and because I've spent most of my life being alone by myself, I've learnt to be freely myself and express myself as I wish without being constrained with assumptions of stereotypical male-behavior. Maybe not in every occasion but most of the time I can be myself. I try to keep my appearances as neutral as possible with strangers, but I really don't like to pretend to be more masculine than what I really am. And by that I have to point out that I am talking about personalities here, although I know that some men have problems with physical appearances. Especially the goth men, who like male-skirts and eyeliner and all that. The society seems to be more tolerant to let women be whatever they want and express their personality as they wish, so women can act feminine and/or masculine and they can have hobbies with all kind of things mixed together without causing public judgement and criticizing. Women can knit and go boxing without anyone even blinking their eye. But men don't usually get that kind of tolerance to be whatever they want and do whatever they want. Usually men who act too feminine can get ridiculed - most likely by insecure weak-willed men, but sometimes even by women, which I found surprising. A gender that has been fighting to get the same rights as men can have double standards. But since it all depends on the person, I won't get into that subject. Many men have confronted that kind of women, but you're going to remember the negative experiences more likely than the positive ones.
Who would want to get badmouthed by strangers for things that don't really deserve of getting any kind of ridicule. Some might say that you shouldn't care about what other people say. But it's hard not to care, because you're not doing anything wrong but you get hated for doing what you like and just being yourself. And being hated is hard. No one should live their lives while being hated. I really don't know if being hated would make you handle it better with time. I rather keep my personal quirks to myself and to people who know me, and might even like those quirks. Then I don't have to deal with hatred and endless arguments. Being hated for who you are goes for most of the artists, non-heterosexuals (or nonsexual's since to some sex measures the amount of masculinity), geeks, nerds, and pretty much most of the men who are passionate about something that isn't publicly accepted as a proper thing for men to do and like. It's the modern way, though. I don't personally know any guys who wouldn't have some hobbies or interests that wouldn't be considered unmanly, but I have only different kind of artists and nerds as my friends, so I can't say I would know how my reality differs from others. I know most of those guys don't care about what people think, but still I doubt they would go telling strangers about the dvd of "My neighbor Totoro" in their bookshelf. And that's the whole point of my rant. I never apologize about who I am, and I think that's something everyone should learn to do. I don't know if you can learn to deal with being hated, but I think at least you should let yourself become what you are, what feels good and natural for you. You can't live in a constant role. I cannot even imagine what that kind of a life does to a person. I felt like I needed to explain that I'm not a stereotypical guy, and there's not going to be any stereotypical manly-subjects here. And I will not apologize for myself.
*
He trembles in the bitter wind
Until it's time for us to speak
Whilst others here are sleeping sound
I'll slip away by floorboard creak
Upon the hill he'll hear my secrets
Shock the colours to bleach inside
Whilst others there are sleeping sound
Just we two will confide
Listen to his body moan
Make a wish and send us home
To spin the gold and silver stitches
We can turn his rags to riches
With frosty jack on fingernail
Thro' shoe black smile he'll tell-a-tale
Come whisper thro' your lips of straw
A moment torn forevermore
Listen to his body groan
Make a wish to send us home
To spin the gold and silver stitches
We can turn his rags to riches
My so-called friends say you're not alive
I'll bake their bones for telling lies
Then pull the pastry from the pie
And pour the gravy in their eye
Listen to his body moan
Make a wish and send us home
To spin the gold and silver stitches
We can turn his rags to riches
*
Wish I had some pictures of my own to show you, but I will leave that to this amazing Halloween-blog. All those pumpkin-oranges, sickly violets and foxfire-greens look just great.
Just click this image to check that blog out:
Following these updates gets me into the Halloween spooky-mood.
