Eat my lover?

I am lying in bed, looking at a book I left on the coffee table last night. It’s about a cannibal killer who would eat his lovers after having sex with them.  As I stare at the book cover, I cry and I wonder how badly I handle my own love life. Right now I am 100% convinced that I will never be in a relationship again; I am just way too frail. I can’t handle the ‘Let’s just be friends’, it sends me straight into a full blown depression and my anxiety shoots through the roof. The loss of a lover/boyfriend is huge to me, since my social phobia makes me really isolated to begin with.

So what happens when I try to get out of my shell, I meet someone, I fall in love and then they decide to stop the relationship? I retreat into depression, total despair, days and nights of crying and going to that terrible place of ‘I really don’t want to be alive, anyway’. That’s a scary place for me as I have nobody to confide in. Then I start blaming myself. If only I wasn’t so emotional, if I could be different, if I could not over-react to every little thing, if I could just be a better master of my own feelings. But I can’t. I know that deep inside of me. This is me, I am anxious, I am overly emotional.

So now – having decided it’s not even worth switching the lights on in my flat – I am under the covers, crying the most hopeless cry I have produced in a long time, a voice in my head tells me to stay away from men all together. Some people can try out a relationship and move on quite happily. I can’t. It takes me months to feel okay again and before I see the light at the end of the tunnel, I see all my failures, my shortcomings, my sad little lonely life frozen in time. It will never be different. I will never find love and get to keep it. I just know it.

Dahmer – the serial killer I am reading about – said that he had to eat his lovers so they would never leave him.
I’d never eat anyone (yuck) but hey, I do understand the fear of being left alone. I fear what is already my reality: I am and will always be alone.  So now what?

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My mental illness

Drawn by early 20th-century commercial cat ill...

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I am one of the thousands of people who suffer from a mental illness. I have an anxious personality disorder, social phobia and reoccurring depression. I carry around the shame of it, the embarrassment , the guilt, the shock of how much this illness has robbed me of regarding family and relationships and life goals. There was so much I wanted out of life. I remember when I was a teenager, I would type on an old electric typewriter (before the age of laptops) and dream of becoming a famous writer. I’d dream about becoming a mother and having a family of my own. Everything would run smoothly, no problem. There was a long list of things I swore I’d never do, roads I would never go down, multiple ways of fucking up my life that I would make sure to steer clear of.

I am now 38, a noncustodial mother, retired, socially isolated and just suffered a break-up. Again.

I could never make friends easily, I prefer the security of sitting behind my computer screen. I have hobbies where I can be sure to be alone: Photography, writing, drawing, painting. Things that I can do on my own. I have no friends that come around, nobody to confide in except people online. That’s why the internet is immensely important to me – take that away and there really is nobody to relate to or talk to.

This was so not the way I pictured my life. I wanted other things, a wholly different result, believe me. I have fought and fought this mental illness all my life. It goes back to when I took my first steps (which I did rather late due to an operation).. I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t anxious. There’s always been this deep insecurity inside me and it feels like I never had a choice in the matter – I could never win this battle even though I have tried.

If there’s one thing I’d like to change, it’s the fact that it’s so damn hard to find a partner. Who can tolerate being with someone so isolated, so needy, so insecure? I don’t know. I haven’t found anyone yet. I have a few failed relationships now and I am beginning to think that love is really not possible for someone with a mental illness.

Which kind of ruins my one final goal in life: I want someone to love me and STAY.

I now doubt it will ever happen.. because of this damn illness.

Do you think it’s possible to be successful at love when you have mental problems?

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I guess it’s time..

To get back to writing. I’ve been away for a while and have probably lost many readers. It’s alright though, this blog mainly serves as a diary where I can vent my fears and worries. My life has pretty much been in turmoil lately on many levels. I won’t go into detail, I’ll just say that sometimes life hands you shit and you just HAVE to deal with it, no choice in the matter.. and so I have been away from here, not knowing how to phrase what I went through (and am still going through).

There’s been this revelation inside me. I am not good at being alone. You know they say ‘it’s better to be happy alone than miserable with someone else’ ? I am not sure it has quite sunk in with me. I’d rather be with someone. This should open my eyes in a big way to the fact that I am quite uncomfortable on my own. I know it’s a confidence thing. I need a guy to tell me I look pretty and I am sweet and he loves me. I need to feel needed. I suppose there’s this hole inside me where I just don’t feel good enough and I crave desperately for someone to fill it. Say the magic words. Then I feel it. I feel loved and worthwhile.
I know, I know, it’s a problem. Right now I don’t even have the strength to deal with it.

I just wanna sit here, have someone say ‘you’re amazing’ and believe it.  It might get me through the dark, bleak winter ahead. Afterwards I might seek to change.

Not now. I can’t.

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Am I impossible to love ?

I am really close to giving in to the thought that I am unlovable. I am so socially awkward and anxious that it is impossible for anyone to be with me. I’m not 100% sure of the truth to those words but I am coming scarily close to believing them. Sure, I am in love but there is this huge wall standing right between us. The wall of social phobia. I try, I really do. I try to overcome my feelings of inadequacy, I try to stop judging myself so harshly and I have succeeded in actually pushing my own boundaries. But I have also failed miserably. I’ve had to give up on meeting his friends that he was so eager for me to meet. Huge disappointment. Pretty soon those awful words ‘let’s just be friends’. Ugh. I hate those words. They might as well be ‘you’re too weird for this to work out’. I know, I know, those words were not said. They’re the interpretation of a very anxious and shameful brain.

So I have to ask myself, am I really unlovable? I mean, if I can’t do all the ‘normal’ couple stuff, go out with friends, double date, hang out with another couple.. am I then doomed to live a life alone? Perhaps. I have said in a past relationship that I would be more than willing to stay home while he went out with another couple or some friends but he’d have none of that. He’d rather sit at home with me and sulk about not being able to go. He made me feel so ashamed and horrible (because I let him).

I never want to isolate anybody. Perhaps people feel that loneliness and anxiety is contagious. I so wish someone would look behind the anxiety and the challenges it brings and see this wonderful woman I really am. Just give me a fighting chance to test my boundaries before they leave. I know the problem is mine and mine alone; my biggest dream is just to be loved entirely, anxious or not. I know I sound like a whining child right now and full of self pity. That’s not the case. I don’t pity myself, I am merely expressing that I am holding on to the last thread of hope . . it cannot be true that I cannot be loved.

Yet experience tells me so. Some broken relationships behind me where anxiety played a major part in destroying things. Lots of other problems too (I am not accepting all the blame) but I know for sure what my own part was: Being crippled by fears and worries.

I can remember hiding in the bathroom while my ex husband had company over. It was that hard for me to face people. That’s how low a creature I considered myself.

I suppose it’s difficult to love someone who has these kinds of challenges because it affects so much of my life. I just wish so badly that someone would have the patience and the understanding and the strength to stand by me through it all.

Underneath this cloak of anxiety there is a very beautiful, lively, funny, sexy, fully lovable woman. I know it.  Where is the guy who will see her?

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Scalpel, please

Various scalpels

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A thought occurred to me tonight (too many thoughts seem to occur to me all the time). This particular thought is one that I have been pondering for quite a while and it’s the answer to the question: Why do I panic when I have to meet strangers? It’s not actually what happens before the meeting; it’s what happens afterwards: I dissect. I take every word I have spoken during the conversation with the stranger(s), then I pick at it with my scalpel and I take everything apart.

I wonder if I sounded right, if they understood me correctly, if I looked dumb while I spoke, if I had something in my face that seemed out of place, if I upset anyone, if I seemed too quiet and so on and so on. This process already begins during the ‘meeting’ or get together with someone I never met before. I start wondering what they’re thinking of me as I speak and my throat dries up. Then the awful thought: What if I lose my voice and I feel nauseated suddenly? How do I excuse myself?

Then when I am done with my scalpel, I am not left with the clarity I was so yearning for.

Instead I have this bloody mess in my head, unspoken words, things I should have said, things I could have done better, ways I could have seemed nicer and more clever. The grade is pretty much always negative and the mess equals a massive headache.

I am so, so hard on myself when I have to face a stranger. Having never met them before,
I am pretty sure to come out the loser. And why is it a competition anyway? Meeting someone is not supposed to be about comparisons – who is more clever, who is more pretty, who is more entertaining? No wonder being sociable is such a pain for me! There is absolutely no relaxation or enjoyment in it.

That’s why I keep myself pretty isolated. No scalpel needed. And like any surgeon, I do need my rest to be really good.


Dear doughnut.. I mean Jesus


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Dear Jesus, please help me lose weight. Until this point I have counted on the LWBSOMAAD Factor: Losing Weight By Sitting On My Ass All Day – and alas, it has not worked. Let me just admit this to you right away. I am weak. Can I pass the candy department at the supermarket without buying anything? No. Can I (recently) pass the bakery without feeling an immediate, intense need for doughnuts? No. I may decide that today I will exercise – at least go 10 kilometers on my bike that is situated right smack in the middle of my living room and in front of the television and lo and behold, no exercise has been done when evening arrives. By then I enter into the ‘oh well, tomorrow is another day’ state of mind. Putting it off. Eating a little so I don’t feel so darn guilty.

Then in the morning I look in the mirror and act surprised. Like I am looking at some stranger who has absolutely no will power. I used to be slim back in the day but now I have drifted into this lifestyle of not moving a lot, eating unhealthy junk and whining about how I need to lose weight.

I keep thinking ‘Just do it’. It can’t be that difficult to get out of my chair. I might possibly have a tiny bit of a computer addiction going on. I admit it. Perhaps I should start small, take baby steps. Like go 1 kilometer on my bike per day. It sounds absolutely pathetic, I know, but it is a major step for human kind. If I keep doing what I am doing now, I can stand next to Oprah and she will appear slim. No offense.

Anyway, it’s late, I have been up since the crack of dawn and I have done absolutely nothing exercise wise all day. I have eaten way too much, of course .. and my mind is absolutely confused (probably too much sugar)!

I’ll sleep now. Tomorrow morning I am starting over. New attitude, new schedule, new outlook, new.. whoa, a cream doughnut.. yummm…

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Change my diaper?

 My birthday was pretty darn good. I originally thought I was turning 37 until the day before when someone informed me it was really 38. I lost an entire year. It’s alright though because with age comes wisdom. So they say.

I spent the day with my parents and one of my brothers (my son was still vacationing with his dad). We ate out for lunch and for dinner we had some rather delicious Chinese food. Baked shrimp – OH GOD, how amazing!

Without becoming too philosophical in my old age, I have decided to start collecting owls. They are wonderful, beautiful creatures. Wise like me. Plus they can twist their heads all the way around.. unlike me. Fascinating. So if you have any owls left over, please contact me.

By the way, I was being kinda whiny about turning 38 and I was wondering out loud whether half of my life has gone already. My mum (another wise woman) told me that the best part is coming. I do believe she is right. I just had to have a little think about it. I, as a woman and as a human being, is at that stage in life where things are finally starting to settle down a little bit. I have a bit of life experience, I am starting to recognize which men are jerks and which ones are alright, I am more comfortable in a lot of areas of my life. So if I only get calmer and more secure the older I get, I am fine with aging.

On the other hand, there’s that nasty time coming when I will need someone to change my diaper. Dilemma.

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It’s my birthday

Thank you, thank you all !

Today I turn .. err .. 38 and I just want to thank my blog readers for giving me such a huge warm welcome to WordPress. When I made this switch, I really didn’t think I would get many readers but I have been pleasantly surprised. Lots of readers, lots of people commenting! So thanks so much.  Now off to have a very special birthday breakfast!

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Is it alright to have no goals?

I spent yesterday afternoon driving around the Danish countryside with my parents and one of my brothers. We didn’t really know where we were going; we just got in the car and drove around, searching for water holes and wild animals. It was a wonderful afternoon even though the wind was awesome and we got a few raindrops.

It’s my 37th birthday tomorrow. I don’t want to get too philosophical about it, except to say that just when I think I have life figured out, it throws me a curve ball and not much makes sense anyway. One comfort though: It’s like that for everybody. Maybe we’re not meant to know all the answers. We’re meant to just keep walking, keep experiencing, keep learning. For someone like me, it’s a rough ride. Like sitting on a roller coaster ride and not having a seat belt on. I keep wanting to grab onto something so that I may breathe easier.

This year I am celebrating my birthday with family. I plan to eat cake and try to breathe easy for the day 🙂

What would happen to us all if we stopped making goals for our lives? Are goals necessary for our well-being or does life get more exciting when you are goal-less? You just live in the now. Now is all there is. If you can spend an afternoon with the family just driving around aimlessly and yet have a wonderful day making lovely memories, can we do the same in life? Just wander around aimlessly and still make a beautiful life?

I wonder.

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Miss, will you help carry my books?

Ted Bundy's 1968 Volkswagen Beetle. Bundy owne...

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Ladies, I want to ask you about Ted Bundy. For those of you who don’t remember him, he was a nasty serial killer who murdered a lot of young women across America in the seventies (maybe even as far back as the sixties). He drove a VW bug, he was charming, he was (according to some sources) chameleon like in his appearance and demeanor.

Would you have gotten into a car with this man? Let’s say you see a really handsome young man struggling to carry a bunch of heavy books because his arm is broken and in a sling. Or let’s say the same handsome young man just needs your help for something. He tells you ‘it will take two minutes‘ and smiles. ‘Come with me to my car‘?

Would you do it? Unfortunately a lot of women did fall for this trick that Ted Bundy used to find his victims. I think about it a lot. Was it really so easy? Just smile and act helpless. Did he have such tremendous ‘luck’ in finding victims because this was the seventies, people were more open-minded than now, more oblivious to any danger. Lots of hitchhikers about. We’re in 2011 now, we’re watching Criminal Minds, CSI and other crime shows, we’ve heard of some major serial crime cases in the media. The seventies was a different era for sure.

Still I can’t help thinking, girls are still being raised to be kind, to be helpful, and of course these are not traits we want to lose in our society. But at which point does it become dangerous to be helpful and kind? Once upon a time it was safe to help a stranger to his/her car. It was alright to have a stranger help carry your groceries to your door. It was even alright to let the male landlord into your flat while you’re there alone.

Is that still safe? Should we be aware of everyone who might potentially attack us in a vulnerable moment? Are we harming our society by constantly being so aware? We lost our innocence but perhaps by losing innocence, we gain some insight and we save some lives? What do you think?

If a handsome young guy asked me to help carry some books to his car, I might wanna help. I might carry those books and when I lean in to put the books on his back seat, he might hit me over the head and take me somewhere to kill me.

With that thought in mind, should we just stop being kind to strangers?

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