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[nevergonejusthidden]

Honey, you have to be a little bit more specific

I’m somewhat neurotypcial. Nothing stands out that much that my physocologist would want to do a screening. I am HSP, have some trauma (that comes out in a multitude of different ways), am a 4 on the enneagram, introvert. All this combined gives a odd little bird. If I post anything on sm, which is seldom, but then it’s often about struggles and how I try seeing past them. Most of the times the comments are validating, like “thank you for sharing”, “this is so true, I feel with you”, “you really put the words to it”, or some hearts. I don’t have that much of a following so I have never gotten hate or dissmissal. But sometimes I get the well meant “there is nothing wrong with feeling like this, everyone feels like that sometimes, it’s nothing wrong with you, don’t hate on yourself”.

I get the intention. It’s all well meant, it’s with with good intention, and never to invalidate my feelings. But it has bugged me, because it’s, how to say, somehow a fear respons from them. First off, it’s rare that I share something I struggle with at that time. The posts are about things that I have started to overcome or have moved past. I’m to private to let my inner life be seen by strangers on the internet, and then not let their comments affect me. So I protect my heart. 

Second, if I post a piece of my journey from pain, hurt, depression and suicidal thoughts, and someone says “I don’t like you saying it like that, because it sounds like it’s something wrong with you”, even if it’s with love, I get the urge to say “sweety, there IS something wrong with me, that’s why I’m on this journey!”. 

Because you know what, it’s okay if there is something wrong with me, it is okay if my struggles have pushed me past my breaking point and I’m a mess. That IS wrong, something wrong IS going on inside of me then and there, something wrong IS happening to me, and my trauma will make me do stupid things that puts me in the wrong! And that’s okay! I’m allowed to be wrong. That doesn’t mean it’s something wrong with me as a person, with my worth. 

And I think this is where the missunderstanding is happening. I put me struggles out there and name them for what they are, because they don’t define me or my worth. They are passing. This is lifes roadtrip. If I had said “my struggles makes me who I am, and what I’m worth, which must mean I am less worthy now as a human, because I struggle at this moment”, then there would be a problem. I am not the clothes I wear, and not the selfhate issues I have. 

So, if I would gain a following big enough to draw in the attention of haters, I do have an answer. 

“What’s wrong with you?” 

“Honey, you have to be a little bit more specific. There are a lot of things wrong with me and my life, but none of them define my value and worth. But with your question in mind, how do you define you?”

[nevergonejusthidden]

Create to live or create for life?

I have during a long time struggled with my creative expressions; painting, drawing, dancing and parkour, singing. Writing. Gardening. Designing houses. My longing for an medium that could help me balance my inner turmoil, I way to express how I truly feel, to lift the lit and let out steem. Help me regulate the pressure inside. Nothing gave me the ultimate rest. Over the years the burden in me grew and the outlet was to small. A tendril wasn’t enough to let the ocean in me find peace for the waves. My beach was under constant attack, the tide never residing back to it’s former levels, leaving me to take to higher grounds, fleeing further up in the hills with every onslaught of new trauma rising the sea. 

I was searching for a creative outlet that would stabilize me, that would hold back the steadily approaching sea line of emotions and out-of-control reactions. A wall that would protect me from everything. When nothing satisfied me I lay my own creativeness to the side, and started to consume other peoples art. It was thrilling, my soul was extatic. There are so much good in this world, so much beauty to enjoy and such an overflow of life to gain from. It gave me chills watching a particulair well executed line in parkour, piece of music, route in climbing or well earned trust between a rider and their horse. So much life.

I was content in some way. But I do think my motivation to seek these sources was skewed. In hindsight I see that it was me seeking healing for my pain, but looked everwhere but inside. I sought a replacement for my trauma. The crashing waves started to be heard again. I panicked, where did this come from, had I not escaped this? Was I not away from the ocean of pain that wanted to suck my soul down with it’s currents? 

My head are often spinning with thoughts, never settling, never slowing down. I try to prioritize my rest and it ends with me crying in a corner because I can’t see what to choose. What is the right thing to put my time to, should I paint? But what if it doesn’t come out any good? I have so much to learn, is this really the day for it? Can I even learn this? Maybe it’s a waste of time, I could take some time to my fanfictions or writing a blog post instead, but what should I write about? But if I write down all my ideas and pick one? But how do I know that I pick the right one?

All of this is trauma speaking. Trauma of never feeling enough, never feeling seen or understood, never hearing praise for me as a person but only about the things I can do. The bar got really high after some years. 

Somewhere right now I am trying to find a way to learn, that my motivation was to fill a hole that was created from by a lack of sharing my inner world. I was trying to stack the hole full by finding the right way, no, the ultimate way to express myself, as if that was the problem. I was trying to fill the hole by working from the outside in, when all my soul is screaming for it to take a breathe and throw myself in to the depths of the ocean. I’m sitting on the highest place at this point, with the water licking my feets, nowhere to go anymore, no higher shelter.

Isn’t it so that the hurt parts of me are drowning out there? Isn’t it so that my soul is longing to be whole, to find those missing peices that I left behind when fleeing the rising water? Isn’t it so that I am the only one who can save me? Isn’t so that the ocean is not my enemy but instead there resides the force and motivation I’ve been seeking on dry land? 

Ocean, I take a risk and a plunge, here I come, ready or not.

[nevergonejusthidden]

To start something new

Is to sometimes pick up something old.

Since I first learned to write and read I would journal. I don’t think I have any of them left, but I remember the first ones being filled with bold sharp letters telling about a bird flying by, or a tree I climbed. With reading came realisation that there are stories to be told, there for us to grasp and put in a more accessible form. So I ate the words, everything, plowed the little school library, devoured it without breathing between the bites. There were no distinction in what I consumed, it was books! It was food for my soul! Why would I hold some things higher than others?

And then I stopped. 

I was broken down.

I was not prepared for what life throwed at me, and I fell.

I could not read anymore. Even my favorite books, the ones I knew by heart, was to overwhelming. At some point movies became to much. Music was starting to take more than it gave. All expression of art had become intimidating to me. 

And I hid. Most preferable from people and their opinions, but many things scared me at this time. I went in to the darkness and disappeared.

At some point, I was introduced to pinterest. Oh, what a marvelous place to loose oneself. And sometimes find oneself. I found beauty and creativity, people enjoying art for the art itself. And I found the concept of fandom. It was astounding and perplexing at the same time. So I got lost. But this time not to hide, but to explore. 

And so I found fanfiction. What an intriguing idea! It enveloped me. I began to read again. With english not being my native, with a huge insecurity about me learning something new, and just an overall fear of new things, it was a tremendous slow start. With no knowledge of the fandom, finding good works to read was a stumble in the dark. But I loved the characters and couldn’t stop. Maybe I needed that slow process, my heart had been hiding for so long, it was tough to start coming out in the light again.

Some years ago my husband suggested I would start a blog. Either for the creative things I had began at home, or as a kind of journaling. I resented it immediately. To big, to soon, to close. What if no one would read it? What if someone did?! That seed latched on to me though, despite my refusal. My opposition was the fear working in me to keep me safe from anything potentially challenging. Over anything else, fear seek status quo. I wasn’t falling anymore, but nor did I rise. 

But what fear and shame didn’t care about, was that I was suffering. Dreams, thoughts and longings in me wanted out! My fear and shame voilated my will to live and express myself! 

This is not the time for that story, but I broke loose. First the fear was washed of me, and second the shame melted away like snowflakes in a warm hand. And since then, since the very confiding and low roof I had build over my heart was teared of, those seeds of dreams have come out in the light. And to my surprise they had already started to grow, under that oppressive hinder, and they were strong. 

So I started to write. For me, in the midst of brainfog, doubt, and selfhate, this was unthinkable of, and it shook me. Where did this energy, inspiration, this courage come from? But as I survivor of depression I can look back and see the threads and bread grumbs that led here. When under water, barely coming up for air, I couldn’t see how near the saving boat was. 

My creativeness didn’t come over night, from nothing. It was build up over time, in a concealed place. Sometimes things grow in us whether we now it or not, but they can’t come to full bloom if we don’t let them out. 

This is a long post, and if you made it down here, I am honoured. You took time from your day to read my thoughts, which I take as a compliment. To honour and celebrate my wins, I will allow myself to be feel weak. I didn’t get this much healhtier to obtain a facade that must hold at any cost. No new roof, no new ownmade hinders, no new confidment. Just the process. Just one step at the time towards something that I right now can’t discern. But when I get there, this moment, right nowl will be something to look back at with fondness, because it was another lead, another breadcrumb on the neverending road that is living.

[nevergonejusthidden]

By oriorwriter

“Forgive imperfection, but require progress“

[nevergonejusthidden]

Beaten and broken 

I brush off my hands and start to climb the cracks 

Through the holes the light can reach my soul