2014
10.23

About how I cope with life

A few days ago, I logged into my art tumblr, and was met by this:

I’ve been following you on Twitter for over a year (maybe two?) now and really think you’re a great person! I’m kind of shy to talk to you, but I just wanted to say that I suffer from depression as well and seeing you cope as well as you do has helped me cope better too. If you’re up to it, I’d love to see you draw a picture depicting different things that help you cope with your depression. Anyway, thanks for just being you. :)
Anonymous

I got really happy.  I like helping people, and I know how difficult it can be contacting new people, so I wrote a quick reply.  A thanks.

I decided to work on this.  Drawing about things that help me cope and make me happy; what’s not to love about it?  Today I sat down to think about it.  What helps me cope with depression and my life being difficult?  What can I actually draw?  How does one draw ‘conlanging‘?  How does one draw ‘remembering‘?  I wrote it all down.  First sketch notes: this is what I want to have in the drawings (because by this point, it was clear that this could not be just one drawing), this is what I want to say.  Then real text: this is what these things mean, this is why.  Then I began drawing.  I slowly realised how to draw ‘conlanging‘.  I still struggle with ‘remembering‘.

It will take several days to finish this, so I thought I should make it a blog post while working on it.  This blog post is pretty much my second sketch text.  I put it here, because perhaps it can help someone.  Perhaps it can make someone smile.  Perhaps it is just a good thing having it here on my blog.  For future reference.  For remembrance.

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2014
06.20

(to know the rain)

i want to throw my head back and scream
“nothing matters but the rain!”

i want to whisper back to the sound
“i love you – i love you, rain”

sounds of remembrance, sounds forgotten
the sound of thunder, the sound of rain

the darkness who has always been the same
the only one who can outlive the rain

the thunder who was before fire was
the thunder who is always chasing the rain

i want to walk into the world reborn
the world and my spirit washed by the rain

i want to pray with the sound of the water
for a new beginning all shrouded in rain

i want to read the old secret languages
the streams on the window and sand by the rain

i want to share this with you; the smell
and the taste and the caress of the rain

i want to take your hand, lead into the dark
i want you to know the rain

i want you to know the rain
my heart was drowned in a torrent of rain

i want you to know the rain
because nothing matters but the rain

2014
05.09

Paradise

[I originally wrote this on the 20:th of August 2008, and I found it again about twenty minutes ago.  I thought that it was pretty interesting to see this thing again, so I decided to tidy up some grammatical errors and make it clearer and publish it here.  It is still far from perfect, but I did not want to edit it too much.  Enjoy this trip back to the past!]

This morning, I had a very tragic dream and when I woke up I was so sad that I had to get up and just walk around in my home for a while.
It was a dream about the quest for Paradise.  The longing for Paradise.
About the hope that some day everything will be wonderful, all by itself, without us having had to do anything to make it so.
And of how in the end there will never be a Paradise.

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2013
05.06

Suddenly saw a tweet from Muddasheep about PHQ being ten years old now and remembered the happy funtimes (sarcasm) when I was much younger; when people hurt me all of the time and PHQ was the only place I felt accepted.  The only place where people weren’t hateful at me for being who I was.  When people in school bullied me and threatened me and were generally terrible at me for standing out, I had a safe place because of the community at PHQ.  I had a place where there were others who were standing out, who were also going through rough and terrible times.  We could feel comfort in knowing that we were not alone even if we were countries apart from one another.  I had a safe place in which I could take my anger and frustrations out on nameless victims, faceless things, and pretend they were people who had hurt me.

Back then, I was not feeling very happy at all about anything.  I was probably not the best friend one would have; I was pretty caught up in my own darkness.  My own problems.  I did what I could to help others, but I was not as grateful back then as perhaps I should have been.  I wasn’t good at feelings.  I wasn’t good at talking to other people and telling them I cared about them.  I hope that somehow people knew in some way how much they meant to me.

And the winters.  The times I almost killed myself and ended up in the psychiatric hospital and people from PHQ sent “get better soon”-emails, which I read from the computer in the library when I was allowed to go there.  I remember one time when I disappeared a while and people from PHQ tried to make sure I was still alive.  Showing that I mattered to them, in times I felt as if everything was hopeless; that no one cared if I lived or died, or probably would be happier if I just disappeared.  But that was not true; it took me years to realise that, but it slowly, slowly begin to sink in.  A community of people playing a game about killing people were the ones who cared about me when society and teachers and family failed me and didn’t seem to care.  A community of people who played a game about killing people were the ones who had places in their hearts and minds for a broken creature like I was back then.  Who had patience, love and compassion to share with me, loyal and kind people who refused to give up on me even when I myself did.  I don’t think this equation makes sense in many people’s heads, but I think that by acknowledging our anger and inner monsters we could keep them under control and do something creative with them.  We could turn them into things which worked for us.  PHQ gave our monsters a place to play and blow off steam while our hearts and minds hung out and helped create a place where we could grow as people.

Most of those who I talked to back then will probably never know how much they helped me and mattered to me, but they were a great help growing up and getting better.  How they helped me keep some grip on sanity and how they helped me grow.  And I do feel much better nowadays; I feel strong and creative and rather cheerful usually.  When I have bad times (and my, can they still be really bad!) and people are rude and cruel to me, I know by now that if I just carry on, putting one foot in front of the other and keep on living through sheer stubbornness, things will get better again.  PHQ helped me to get through times like that over and over again until I learned that bad times pass, and this would not have been possible if it had not been for the friends I had back then.

Countries and worlds apart, but together in my heart.

I must of course give a special thanks to Muddasheep as well, because his kindness did get me through some really bad things.  His encouragement when I tried to do things.  Gave me someone to send strange letters to and sent letters in return which I could read when I was feeling lonely.  He was great company, and so was his music.  It kept me company through endless nights of insomnia and nightmares and writing.  It kept me company in school; carried on a CD I had in a small CD player I always brought with me.  I brought it with me to the hospitals when I was committed there in the winters, and I could cry to that music, I could growl it very, very angrily.  With his music in my head I did not have to feel alone, even when I was cut off from everything else, locked up in a small, yellow-walled room.

And it kept me company through joyful times as well; I brought it with me on trips and on vacations.  I once forced my family to listen to his music for several hours straight while they were trapped in a car with me while we were going somewhere; I cant remember where.  I suspect they mostly put up with it because it was one of the few times they could see me looking genuinely happy.

I still listen to his music almost daily.  Create new memories to it, remember who and were I used to be and how far I’ve come.  I realise how much better I am feeling now, how I eventually came to a time and place where I can be happy and sad and strong and weak with people I would never have met or loved or cared about if I had died all those years ago.  I’m still drawing nowadays, because Muddasheep didn’t laugh at my hopes of becoming an artist back then.  I have taken up music and I hope to one day be brave enough to put it on the internet.

I am still around, I am still alive and I would probably not have been if it had not been for people like the ones I met through PHQ at a time when I really needed it.  Even if I have drifted away from PHQ almost completely, I do remember you with fondness.  I hope that you are all doing well, that you have found happiness and joy and love.  That the hard and bad times passes quickly when they visit you.  I hope that you are surrounded by friends, that you meet challenges and that you overcome them.  I hope that you have friends to drink tea and eat cake with.  I remember a time when I felt alone, and you were there, and you will always be a part of who I am.

You will always be with me, worlds apart but always in my heart.

/Pao (Panterdjuret)

2013
04.21

Yesterday I wrote a bit about how adults constantly lie to children while at the same time telling children that lying is a bad thing.  Today I thought I should take up a few ways one can attempt to become more consistent.

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2013
04.20

There is a really worrying double standard in how many people treat children.  On one hand they tell children that lying is wrong and bad and punish children who are caught lying.  On the other they tell their children about Santa and the Easter Bunny with a straight face, and in some cases punish the children when the children figure out the truth.

I am of a very firm belief that this really has to end.

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2013
04.18

(springtime rain)

springtime rain cold as winter
spring summer rays and then rain
and then a cloudy cold
and then hesitant sun
and nothing stays
makes a consistent weather

cold cold cold
melting ice liquid snow
cold cold cold
a long way to go
before summer

a freezing wind
over fields of mud and dirt
rotting grass
and last year’s flowers
yet more rain
before the sun
can dry and warm the earth
and let the water down
to the sleeping seeds
waiting thirsty roots

cold cold cold
melting ice liquid snow
cold cold cold
a long way to go
before summer

2013
04.18

Blog thoughts

Perhaps I should at least begin updating my blog with my daily hundred words or something, so that at least something happens here?  It wouldn’t be very difficult at all.

Last year I wrote about three entries for the entire year, which is far from as much as I should write here.  I still have the idea that everything I write on my blog should be at least five pages of a deep analysis of something super important or I’m not doing it right.

It’s something I’m trying to get over.  Still, I don’t want it to be only a diary either.  And I am afraid to be too much all over the place with my content, but if someone read this blog they probably already know me and how wildly my interests vary.

Perhaps I ought to just try to write something here every day to get into a habit of doing so again, even if it’s just pasting my daily hundred words which I’m also trying to get into the habit of again.  (I have been slightly more active on my Tumblr, on which I mostly write short things which are terribly angry, bitter or both.  I really cannot recommend reading it unless you’re a fan of bitter and angry.)

Last year was a bit of a black hole, though, because of an experiment which kind of got out of hand and then needed five or six months of recovery time.  This winter was the first time in quite a while where I could function again, somewhat, and well… you all know how well I function during winters.  (If not: not well at all.)

But now spring is here, it’s soon time for my New Year celebration, and things are generally looking as if they can be a lot better this year.  So why not try it out?  And if I write too rarely here, please poke me on Twitter (Panterdjuret), where I’m almost always around.

Good luck, to us all.

/pao – 18 apr 2013 – 14.29

2013
04.05

It seems as if spring is finally returning again.  About a month ago it made an heroic effort but winter fought back and spring was postponed for a while.  Yesterday I thought I saw something green peeking up hesitantly from the dirt in my rhubarb bucket, and when I had a closer look I saw that under the old leaves of last year there were actually new ones!

rhubarb

 

This was exactly what I needed to see after such an unusually long and difficult winter.  The nuthatches and magpies are out and about, looking for good nest sites out on the mountain, and in Paolair my plants seem to do better now when light is returning.

Some of the plants did not survive the winter, nor did my mother’s mother.  Most of the rats did not.   I still doubt the last two rats will make it until the New Year’s celebration.

Still, I am waking up.  I’m in less pain and I feel a great deal of hope and joy.  Not only because it’s spring though, but also because of my visit to NordicFuzzCon.  That deserves a whole entry for itself any day now!

(This is a blurry photo a friend of mine took of me playing with one of the fursuiters there.)

(This is a blurry photo a friend of mine took of me playing with one of the fursuiters there.  The collie is unrelated; the German shepherd is related.)

 

I got to meet old friends which I meet too rarely, and also quite a lot of new people and new friends.  I walked away with a lot more hope than I came there with, and also quite a lot of inspiration for next year.

But I just thought I should write a spring update and show that there is still life in my seemingly dead branches; that I too will flower soon again in the light of the spring sunlight.

/pao – 5 apr 2013 – 19.57

2012
11.05

Not much has been written on the nano yet.  Perhaps I’ll go to the library and see if there can be more writing done there.

I do have a lot of ideas.  It’s writing them down that’s the problem.

This night was full of uneasy sleep, dreaming, waking, and nightmares.  Well, perhaps not really nightmares, but very uncomfortable and they woke me up with a mild panic each time.  I walked a round in my lair, drinking some water, before I returned to them.

/pao – 05 nov 2012 – 12.34