justanonlinediary2

[justanonlinediary2]

living alone again

I wanted to move into the city. After living on the country side, more or less, surrounded by mostly fields and farms, I moved to Stuttgart. I mean, since I was born, I lived in smaller cities around it, never less than an hour away from the capital of Baden-Württemberg, Germany and spend some time there throughout my life but I never actually got to know it and experienced everything that it had to offer. And at 25, after living alone for 5 ½ years, building a (quiet) life for myself, I knew, I was ready to go out and live, well, less quiet. The only problem: it’s one of Germanys most expensive city when it comes to rent and the chances that you get an apartment is close to zero. So, I was willing to move into a shared flat, as long as the room is big enough to fit most of my stuff. It was fucking hard - I had only 3 months to find something where I could bare to live for 2 years (as long as I’m in school) and the whole process of moving, while doing school full-time plus babysitting on the side and dating a guy who was untruthful towards his girlfriend, (probably) other girls he was dating at the same time and me, put me into a small (but in hindsight really important) identical crisis. I got lucky, I found a flat that I would later share with 2 other girls, we all moved in last autumn - first Elena and I, then Luisa. Elena just broke up with her boyfriend, worked as a nurse and had one last upcoming exam before becoming a doctor. Luisa moved in about 3 weeks after, still a teenager who just started university when she moved in - art and philosophy and it really got to her. Also, she was like a little sister to me. Now, 8 months passed since moving in, I am the only one left. Elena met her new boyfriend that winter, a doctor as well. She stays at his place most of the time and they are planing to get an apartment together. Luisa got depressed and moved back in with her family when I left for Paris in April. At first temporary but now she doesn’t now if she’ll come back. Although I kinda miss and liked how the three of us were when we freshly got together, the first weeks, I don’t complain now - I have a flat all to myself, at one of the nicest areas in Stuttgart. I’m right in the middle of where I wanted to be. But I plan to stay only as long as school goes - max. 2 more years and then I’m ready to explore more and challenge myself as I’ll be choosing to study abroad (hopefully, when everything’ll work out). So I got 2 more years left to explore this noisy and busy new life of mine and also to get to know more of myself as I’ve felt really behind in my life the last year and a half in my quiet town. No matter how much I love this fairytale I had all by myself there, it was time to move on…

[justanonlinediary2]

"open" but never honest..

I feel guilty. a while ago someone hurt me - he didn't do it on purpose, he didn't get that he hurt me and i don't know whats worse for me. Then i loaded it all onto him, my emotions, let it all out. "How dare you treat me like this?! I don't deserve to be treated like this, i don't, i fucking don't." I wrote this long text because he didn't wanted to meet me. But i wanted to stand up for myself, i said, i want to meet, so i can stand up for myself. Or for my inner child. The child that they didn't take honest, the child that they hurt. And i wanted to stand up for myself because i was hurt because how dare you to not take me honest. i had no other chance, if i can't stand up for myself in person, then i only could write. So i wrote this long as text at 3 in the morning because i couldn't sleep and loaded all my hurt into it - about me only being a side-project to him, about how he didn't actually liked me because of what he did and on and on.

I was right, he said, about almost everything. "almost everything".. and that just made it more painful because i don't know what of all the things i collected that went wrong, according to me, what of all that is right and what not. And it hurts to not know, to never be able to and that i didn't had the chance to stand up for myself. Maybe i wouldn’t have been so in rage in person, maybe the ending would have been more „honest“ to him.

We all know situationships are supposed to be like that - confusing. You should just make a cut and walk away from it. But when will i be strong enough? To "just" walk away when i get hurt. i would have loved it, if i just said, that i don't want to see him again. Walk away, quiet. disappear into thin air. i'll move on here, he'll go back to Paris, back to his girlfriend, back to being dishonest.

[justanonlinediary2]

Confession

I enjoy the sex I really do dirty nasty the dirtier and nastier the better Because usually Usually you can’t give me anything in return You got nothing together No emotional maturity I can’t let myself fall when I’m with you No I can’t Only when we have sex Then, out of a sudden, you want to give „it“ to me Everything Everything that I want Show me Prove me Call me a „little whore“ A little whore At least I don’t have to be anything for once Anything but a little whore I don’t have to tell you how to do shit Help you think Clean after you Be your caretaker Your fucking mommy In bed I don’t have to be anything Anything but a little whore A whore that gets everything that she wants And you can act like a grown man for once For once And give it to me Give it to me Everything Everything that I want I can say »please« And I get it A little whore And you lovee hearing me beg You fucking love it You love it so much that you do anything Anything For me To me Everything I’m begging for I’ll get It’s funny to me Really I would laugh if it wouldn’t be so sad too Because outside of the bedroom Anywhere else You’re the little bitch A little bitch A little whore

[justanonlinediary2]

The diaries

I like writing shit about my life as if i’m telling a story and then reading it like its someone else’s. That’s what I’ve been doing for almost 10 years now and won’t be stopping anytime soon. That was the only thing that helped me dealing with fucked-up trauma from the past and actually cured some stuff that i thought would stay for all my life. Self-reflection. Not only sitting down and writing about happenings and feelings but actually analyzing your own behavior and then reading it months or years later and realizing the changes that you’ve made. I have books filled with my thoughts, f.e. when i had my last and biggest manic-episode, 3 years ago, and only because I wrote my thoughts down during that time, i was able to actually understand what was going on.. but, obviously, months later when i was in a better head-space again. I finally found a good therapist and then made copies of the pages from those books, i made a series of them after i realized what had happened - I called them „psycho archives 1,2 & 3“. No one is ever allowed to go read the diaries, not even my best friend. Even though she tried so many times. We’d sit in my old apartment, she’d take one out of the bookshelf, sitting on the floor with it on her lap, looking up at me with big eyes, almost like a little kid. »Can i read?« and i'd say: »no, just look at the pictures.« She’s only allowed to look at the doodles i drew or collages i made every other page. I only share things i write if i genuinely think they’re good (what rarely happens). I used to write lots of poetry and sometimes you just manage to explain certain feelings perfectly and then, obviously, you want to share that with your friends to see how they’re feeling about it. But other than that, no one was ever allowed to actually read the pages. And then I found her, Frau Z., the best fucking therapist ever. Tries (and mostly succeeds) to make me feel better and also tells me the shit that i don’t want to hear (but obviously have to in order to paint me a picture of my own behaviors). She was the first and only person that had access to those diaries that contained my entire fucking life and the resulting thoughts and feelings of that. It was hard to hand them to her but i knew that i could trust her and also knew that it was the only way to figure shit out - let someone have a look from „the outside“, let them look into my head. i didn’t hid anything in those books, they contained my thoughts, unfiltered, just „vomited“ out onto paper. I will continue with that because while i’m building the life i always wanted, i have to cure myself from the one that i had. But now i actually developed some sort of tiredness (maybe my meds just make me tired idk) but i can’t make myself sit down and write as often as i used to because it takes so much brain capacity to analyze fucked-up shit and it makes me nervous knowing that i have to sit down for, sometimes, some hours and confront myself with childhood trauma and people that hurt me with their fucked-up ignorance and now I have to think about their behavior, why they did what they did, in order for it to make more sense and i can slowly let it go. And now i brought it onto Tumblr because you kinda have to become a bit creative with the writing for it to not feel like work kinda. I used to write by hand and filled my diaries with doodles, collages or photos and i wrote poetry. I also tried video-diaries but i think that’s more of a project for the future, when i got a bit more time and am not occupied with school and work. I’m trying this digital-diary - thing now because i manage to write more by typing than by pen and that can be useful.

But maybe i should put everything on private, idk.. is that possible? Idk how Tumblr works now, it’s a bit different compared to how it was 13 years ago..

[justanonlinediary2]

Paris

I went on my first solo-trip (an actual solo trip, not the one when I was 18 in Chicago and manic). In April I’ve spend 3 weeks in Paris to get clearance. When I visited this city for the first time, for my 26th birthday, I was mesmerized. I left it with an aching heart and the desire to get to know this place and its people better. I spend the weeks following up my trip dreaming about living there one day. First, for my studies, and then building a life there. The birthday weekend in Paris was enough to make me believe that I’ve found a future-home and therefore, a part of myself that seemingly was “missing“ all along… how naive of me.

The first week there went smooth - I was „slow-living“ my life: Walking around (mostly the 10th district), eating pastries and drinking coffee and wine with Matthieu (my couchsurfing-host) in the evening. I started having really detailed and obvious dreams, mostly about the things that were wandering through my mind during the day. What is a home? Where do I belong? How would moving here change me? I also was trying to analyze the people - in the subway, on the streets, online and started comparing them to people from my hometown. I couldn’t define it. All along it didn’t seem authentic to me, their interactions with each other and with me. Still, there was a nonchalantness that didn’t really seem like it was „put-on“. But every time I found myself judging their „realness“, I had to remember, that I do not steak their language and am not one of them - I am simply just a visitor.

The second week I was really sad to leave Matthieu’s home because I felt really comfortable and I knew that Pierre’s place (2nd host) at Trocadero wouldn’t make me feel the same. I also liked spending time with Matthieu and I mostly felt more relaxed at the 10th arrondissement. Trocadero and Pierre’s apartment were right next to the Eiffel tower - which mean: lots of tourist and rich people and the tourist were the only ones seeming happy. That’s another thing that I’ve noticed: I didn’t get the feeling that the people were actually happy and then I asked myself: »was it me? Am I reflecting my sadness onto them? or am I .. adapting to my surroundings?« I still don’t know if I simply was focussing mostly on the people and their lack of „light“ because mine slowly went down the drain or it went down because I couldn’t feel any warmth around me? ..do you get what I mean? Anyways, I tried meeting people then, in order to not drown in my loneliness and lack of joy. So, here we go again: online dating! I found a guy who was willing to take me around on his motorbike one evening. We had some beers and cigarettes at the Seine and then went to a pizza place afterwards. I really enjoyed it and I told him so but, obviously, he was a man and he acted like all of them before: sex! and if he couldn’t get it he behaves like a stubborn child, or a cavemen that thinks with his dick… or just toxic. Not only was I annoyed by men again but had enough of meeting people in Paris in general after I was invited to a „home-party“, consisting of 2 people - a lesbian with a fuck-boy attitude who was seemingly bored of my presence and some mid 30 music-producer-guy (or something) that tried to convince me, after they’d made the drug-dealer come twice in 8 hours, sniffing lines after lines, that he’s totally not a fascist and hinting that maybe the 3 of us should have a threesome. And After I tried to explain current political happenings in Germany to one coked-out girl and and a dude, that had so much powder, weed and wine in his system that he pissed all over his own toilet, I was disgusted enough to go home. Lucky, the guy did the bare minimum and payed for my Uber and while I was really glad, that I didn’t drink just one glas more white wine (because then I probably would have vomited into that tesla) I was ready to spend the next days by myself, trying to process everything.

Another thing that happened was, that a certain feeling came back, which I was convinced would never return again. One day, as I was walking through the streets, the face of a stranger caught my attention. The look of his face triggered it - at first I thought he looked so breathtaking that I simply was “falling“ for him and I was just blown away but after some days that feeling of a “crush“ developed into darkness. I started to feel disgusting, used, abused paired with lust and desire, followed by shame for my own feelings. It’s been a while since I’ve felt that way but ultimately could explain to myself why „it“ returned - that feeling, that followed and haunted me mostly in my early teenage-years: I wasn’t really stable in Paris - I didn’t have the stability that I’ve built myself at home. I felt lost, alone and confused, maybe also a bit stressed but I’d like to believe that coincidence and a bit of faith let that man cross my way at this exact moment - I had to stare at his eyes just for a split second in order to realize what is happening and what I need in life in order to not feel like I used to: stability & for that I need a stable home and loved ones.

That was basically it - after I’ve realized that, I was ready to go home and process all of it. But there was more than a week to go and at this point I became just grumpy and annoyed but tried not to show it or act out on it. I tried to make the best out of my last days there: I still went out to explore, or went shopping or took myself out for meals.

At the beginning of my trip, even before I had left, I was scared that it would be heart breaking for me to leave Paris again, that my love for it would grow bigger after that trip but instead, my heart was aching for home. I was really happy when I sat on my train back and god, that feeling when I came home, took a shower and snuggled into my bed, excited like a child who couldn’t wait to wake up the next day, giggling just thinking about it. It was bliss, really.

I still haven’t found all the answers that I was looking for but I know they will come to me eventually, one day. For now, I am just happy that all of this brought me so much thankfulness - for what I’ve built and what I have now: the people around me and that I was able to experience what it means to have a home and a place that makes you feel peace and happiness just thinking about it. That in moments like loneliness and sadness, I know what I have to remember in order to feel better. And for a girl that grew up and experienced the things that I have, I am really fortunate and proud to have found what I was looking for and needed when I was a child and growing up.

Although there’s so much shit happening, so much I still have to heal from and am scared that I will never - at least I love the life that I have now, with all its places and people in it.

[justanonlinediary2]

What is happening?

A few days ago I thought: »what happened to Tumblr?« That question pops up every once in a while. Like a few months ago, when I was talking about it with an old friend. »Remember Tumblr?« Like the Tumblr? Around 2012? When it was full of porn and shit you would usually just find on the dark web? Teenage girls who would re-post pictures of anorexic girls or melancholy quotes as if we’d known shit about life. Or that one girl in school that became “famous” by posting depressive/ suicidal quotes and pictures of cut-up tights and cigarettes and hickies. How many hours did I spend in front of my laptop, decorating my template, with it’s own playlist and customized cursor and all that shit..?! Because when my generation of young teenagers became old enough to spit their emotions (powered by puberty’s hormones) onto the keyboard, MySpace vanished.. and where else should we go? Facebook? Imagine granny who wanted to upload her blurry-ass-pictures of last Sundays dinner seeing your 14-year-old self posts gifs of people fucking.. Tumblr was the page for people who were too young when MySpace was a thing and whom were too bored and too „cool“ for Facebook, right before everyone hopped over to Instagram - so Facebook’s & Instagram’s In-between kinda.. but you can’t compare it to either of those. There will never be something like it - you just had to be there. Don’t get me wrong, nobody’s mourning those pro-ana-sites or this whole glorification of self-harm and other mental-health-disorders but more how creative and „free“ we were. …And I kinda miss hiding behind a blog and letting it all out without people knowing me. Also, I’m not gonna lie, I kinda got hysterically excited when I opened the “html customize“ bar. But I gotta be honest, I’m not a teenager anymore, I’m 26 now and highschools over. I‘ve built a life since moving out at 18. Life as an adult comes with so much shit but you still need an outlet no matter the age. Since 9 years I write diaries, my thoughts to paper. I got a lot of books filled with words from day-to-day life in my basement and I think I will never stop writing. Because writing down your thoughts, unfiltered, is the best and most honest form to keep a record of how life is at this very moment.

I still write but not as much as I used to. So I thought I’d bring it on here. Just for myself and to re-live some nostalgia.

But it also feels "cringe" ngl. So i hope no one will ever read this.