Unexpected lesson in therapy

I’m currently seeing a therapist. It was a long time coming. This time, I actually plan on staying in the same city long enough for therapy to make a difference.

My therapist is a student. It does not bother me. Everyone has to learn at some point, and students are often hard working. But suddenly I red an article about psychology and therapy, and it described every little detail of my therapists behavior. Every word, question and movement was directly from writings. Nothing came from a real person, I had been talking to a book! It was a play! I felt betrayed and manipulated. But my therapist is a student that spent years reading books, and had just started talking to strangers in therapy. Having no experience, books and articles are all there is to fall back on. Not really a surprise. I felt stupid. Yet, why did I feel so betrayed?

I have a soft spot where people move in. People that have something about them, things I look up to and things I find important. This place is special, and I will do very much to make sure these people are well. I will fight for them to the end. This is not a problem. Most times. The thing is, I am not in control. Sometimes people move in that’s not invited. It took me some time to realize that the therapist had moved in. It angered me. People in my soft spot is important to me, and I grieve when they leave and goes on with their lives somewhere else. It hurts a lot. And a therapist will disappear. That is a part of the deal. It is not a friend.

People have always been important to me. I always go all in with everyone I meet.  It has taken me years to learn how to have acquaintances, how to have people I do not really know very well around me. It is the way I am. But others might not be the way I am. Others might take a long time to get to know, and they are annoying or sometimes plain evil. I love people easily and quickly, and being met with anger and evil hurts. With time this got to me, and I have grown very suspicious. Today I expect people to be hurtful and mean. It has left me incredible lonely at times.

Then suddenly I meet a easygoing and kind therapist who just like that moves in. And protecting myself from the coming pain, I shut the therapist out. I speak only of what I find important and necessary. Yet, this therapist person still lingers. Because even if I am suspicious and shut down, no one ever leaves my soft spot. I still care too much. And it will still hurt when my time with therapy is over.

I do not look forward to it.


What I remember of one boy

I feel that I’m looking at #metoo a bit from the outside. I have participated in the discussions, even written my name on lists. But why do I not feel very involved? Because; it’s not news. I have known this a very long time. I lost a job because I am a woman (that is what I tell people that don’t get why #metoo is happening). I lost male friends because they suddenly got the idea that I wanted them for more (that is what I tell people that don’t get how confusing it can be to be a young woman). I was lonely and had few friends as a child, because all my neighbors kids were male (that is what I tell people that needs to think about how they bring up their children).

About that. Some neighboring kids was tree years younger, and friends and classmates with my younger brother. They where to young to care. I played with them a lot. Until they grew up and started using cold behavior to push me away. At the time I was thinking it was because I was so much older. I had already learned that my presence was not wanted, and that was normal. Because, there was also kids at my age around. Particularly one of them.

I was best friends with his sister. I was at their house a lot, and she was at ours. But me being me, I had no problem having more than one friend. I did not, and still not, see any differences. We were all children! Sadly I was the only one thinking like that. I remember a great deal. He was running away from me, playing games that I was bound to miserably fail at, violently throwing hard green plums at my back, made me cry. He was a year older than me. And showed up to destroy things. Particularly the things I created. I learned to hide my creations, or they got destroyed. Clear as day I remember the snowman. It was huge! Me and my best friend had made it! It was made of two pieces, and not yet finished. I knew the moment he showed up, that he would tear it down. He had that odd smile plastered on his face, and just as I thought; he pushed the upper part of my happy snowman down. I learned not to show him that I cared for my creations, I learned he would always destroy. I learned that men always would destroy, specially what I cared for. Imagine the relationships I had as a young adult.

What makes me angry today is not the evil children, or the need to destroy what you love. It was his smile. His odd, weird smile that was completely off. It never fooled me into thinking he was a happy. I got the answer years later; he liked me. He was trying to show love.

Question; who the hell taught him to show love with evil?

And just like #metoo, this is not news. Still today we excuse our young boys into thinking that violence and power is sexy. That a boy pushing a girl means that he likes her. That forcefully kissing her is positive. That she will think good of of him if he climbs the highest tree. Let me tell you; we do not. There is NO way to understand such behavior as good. Pushing feels angry, forcefully kissing feels like violence, and climbing the highest tree is stupid.

If you do not stop, the girls learn that love hurts. And will accept attacks such as #metoo is all about. Because he abuses out of love…

I see #metoo a bit from the outside because I am a bit on the outside. I learned that things I create is worthless to anyone but me. If I involve myself in anything, no one will care, and if they do, they will destroy it.

I hear he is living a happy life now. I sincerely hope he is living a happy life now. And I sincerely feel like destroying it too.

What I remember.

Weekends was always nice. No school in two days. Sleeping as much as I liked. Peace and quiet. Saturdays was always like this: porridge at noon, candy at six, home made pizza at eightish in the evening. Always the same. I loved it. It made me feel safe and guarded. My family was always there, we all loved Saturdays. The only peaceful day, and the only day that was the way I liked it.

As time went by, I grew up. Started my teens. Started wanting more. Friends was never my specialty, but I had some. One at least. It was a puzzle, because I lived in the middle of a neighborhood full of kids. Some was younger, some older. A few my age. As a teenager I started taking walks. Just walking. Specially late Saturday afternoon, before bedtime. I remember opening the door, shoes and coat on, and hear music. Music from the neighborhood. From the nearest house. As a child I spent a lot of time playing instruments, I could hear that it was not a recording. It was someone playing together. Guitars, bass, drums and singing. A band. My neighboring kids had a band. And I was alone.

This happened nearly every Saturday evening, for some time. I will never forget THAT feeling of loss.

But I never questioned my loneliness then. It was a feeling I needed to get used to growing up I supposed. Today I know why. The bass player had laughed at my actions up in my face. The guitarist threw away a drawing I made for him as a child in disgust. I never gave away drawings again. The singer, always destroyed everything I made. There was no need to make snowmen in my neighborhood. He would tear them apart. Every time. With a silly smile. I wonder till this day what I did wrong.

Thinking further; I liked giving away beautiful things as a child. I usually left wild flowers at my aunts when she was out. Never heard anything from her about that. One time I found the first flower of the year, and run to my cousin to show him. He ripped it apart and put it in some mud cake he had going on, laughing. He was good at laughing. One time I asked him if the cock laid eggs. He never answered, just laughed up in my face.

I did not think of my sadness as bad or wrong or a hazard. It had always happened.

Today I can not stand these people. I know they are grown up now, and probably good people. But this is not about logic or intellect. This is childhood pain. And compare to them, I have to live with it. Rest of my life.

Arga, gamla och nödiga.

Vissa saker man upplever visar sig vara viktigare än de verkade från början. Som att man råkar flytta in bredvid en granne som visade sig bli ens bästa vän. Vissa tänker “vilken tur att jag just den flytten hände, annars hade jag aldrig mött dig!”. Andra tänker inte över det alls. Jag vill skriva om en gång jag tänkte mer och mer efterhand. Och hur bra de är att tänka efter vad som egentligen händer.

I går städade jag en stor affär. Det är mitt jobb i sommar. Jobbet tar över tre timmar, det är tungt, det är mycket att göra, så jag satte mig tungt ned i soffan när jag kom hem. Trött fick jag tid att tänka lite. Och jag sa till den andra som satt tungt i soffan efter en lång arbetsdag; “De hände nått konstigt på jobbet här om dan. Jag fick skäll av en gammal man”.

Två dagar innan hade jag och en kollega städat den enda kundtoaletten i hela affären. Den var jättestökig, pappershanddukarna hade trasslat till sig i mekaniken, vi försökte få ordning på den, torka handfat och toalett, nytt toapapper skulle på plats, allt det där man gör när man städar en toalett. I dörren dyker upp en person. Det händer tyvärr ibland, folk kommer och tittar på oss när vi jobbar. Vi jobbar vidare. För vem vill väl gå på en risig toalett? Personen kommer in i rummet med oss, och här blir det udda. Ser han dåligt? Efter ett tag börjar han högt prata om att han minsann har jobbat inom service i många år, så beter man sig inte, och vi borde gått ut så fort han dök upp och låta honom i fred på toaletten! Frågor om han vill vara på en smutsig toa och info om att det inte fanns fungerande papper hjälpte lite. Jag hade valet mellan storbråk och att gå ut och låta han gå på den smutsiga toaletten. När han var klar skulle han klaga på oss till affären vi jobbade i.

En 80 år gammal man som tycker det är okay att skälla på en som gör sitt jobb och försöker göra det bästa för honom som kund, skälla på städare, skälla på yngre kvinnor. Han har ju uppenbarligen fel. Världen har gått vidare. Vad gör man, det är bara att glömma. Alla har dåliga dagar på jobbet ibland. That’s life. Ta tag och gå vidare.

I går skulle jag städa samma affär igen. Skönt, jag hade varit där förut, visste vad jag skulle göra, det är bara att jobba på. Slippa tänka. Det var först i bilen på väg till nästa jobb jag kom på att jag hade ryckt till ibland. Ryckt ur min rutin. Men jag skulle jobba mer, och körde jag vidare.

Väl hemma på kvällen, när jag satt och pratade i soffan, kom jag på varför jag ryckte till. Jag ryckte till när eldre män med grått hår var i närheten. Det var här jag börja tänka, och inte bara ta vardagen för given. Hade denna gamla man två dagar innan gett mig ett trauma?

Rycken jag hade upplevt, gjorde att jag kom av mig en smula. Det gjorde att jag fick ett litet adrenalinrush. Det gjorde mig orolig. Det gjorde mig skrämd. Tänk att i tre timmar gå runt och vänta på att få skäll av äldre män i grått hår! Han hade avsevärt försämrad min arbetsmiljö. Han hade ändrat en trygg arbetsplats och ett mentalt lättsamt arbete till en otrygg arbetsplats och mentalt tungt arbete.

Men det är så lätt att ignorera. Det var ju bara några ryck! Men det är inte det. Inte om man två dagar senare kommer till samma arbetsplats, och det är helt förändrad. Jobbet blir mycket, mycket tyngre med oro i kroppen.

Nu är ju det är en enda händelse som hände mig. Det är inte raketforskning. Det kommer inte förändra mänsklighetens historia. Men tänk om det händer ofta med många. Tänk att få skäll för jämnan. De blir inte astronauter. De blir rädda. Då har man ändrat mänsklighetens historia. Tänk om alla de som är rädda, och lägger massor med energi på det, hellre skulle bli forskare och astronauter? För inte att tala om hur mycket lyckligare och lugnare de skulle bli även om de inte väljer bli astronauter?

Allt detta berättade jag i soffan i går kväll. Om jag inte hade börjat prata om vad som verkade vara en märklig händelse på jobbet, så hade jag heller inte insett hur djupt han påverkade min vardag. Hur illa det egentligen var. Och att det enda sättet att få det hela ur kroppen, var att berätta om det i soffan. För nu är det lugnt. Jag rycker inte mer.

Klagomålet hörde vi ingenting av sen. Jag vill tro personalen i affären reagerade som oss. I kassan satt två andra yngre kvinnor, och de känner också till detta. Vi har ju en tendens att träffa på arga gamla män oftare än andra.

Cut in two.

When I walk in the biggest city I have ever lived in on a sunny day. On old streets with tiny shops selling odd and strange things. I walk past people sitting down laughing over a beer. The took their chair with them outside on the street drinking their coffee. I want to open a shop too, and sell my stuff. Live there and be a part of the old city, be a part of them and know them. Say hello, and know that whenever during the day or night, I will never be alone. Not really. Be a part of it.

When I sit in the house on the island. Where I can be a carpenter, staple wood against the wall. Make something if them. Plant my herbs till my fingernails hurt, and pick up the mail by the distant neighbor and say a quiet hello. Trek in the mountains and sail on the sea. Eat fish I my self cached.

In between these worlds is where I live.

They say choices is our worlds worst trouble. We should be happy, it could be so much worse of a trouble. But we can not handle it better just because it is nonessential problem. I believe them, it is our worst trouble. We are a generation very aware about what could be. And very aware that what could be, might be better.

It is hard to find rest.

Out of work

There is a certain charm about all these students bicycling in the snow. Outside the library the bikes was parked in 1 meter of snow! And why do they bother? It is very much heavier than walking or the bus!

But then I  think of the obvious ‘fuck you world!!’ that comes with it. To just hop on your bike and leave for school, just because you can, or just because you always do. The snow be damned! Like every morning there is a little bit a struggle in a way that we can handle. Studying involves a lot of sitting on your arse anyway, so what’s a little bit of snow?

I have been out of work for a while. First I tried to sleep as much as possible, the days where so long. Then I started working out. In the end I got depressed and sad, and played silly games on my phone all the time. The feeling of being utterly alone and meaningless is crushing to me. Routines is very important in this situation. When you work, free time is relaxing and fun! If you have a job to go to later. You might think that you can just relax when you don’t have a job too, but it’s really the other way around. Your head is constantly fighting heavy emotions, and on top of it you do not have any money. At all. Not even for food. This life is a real pain. Nothing in our world full of safety and luxury comes up to it. I am lucky. I do not starve. I have people that loves me and helps me. And I have a job now. I am lucky. Very lucky. I got help with the money. I learned how to deal with the emotions.

It’s human to always try to find ways not have a hard time, not to struggle. Watch good movies instead of bad. Eat good food instead of bad. Take a hot shower instead of cold. That’s because life is full of shit anyways. Until the day comes when nothing happens. Workless, meaningless, worthless. Lonely. Being out of a job means a lot of time to do what you want! But what you wanted stops shining, even the bad things stops. Life is flat. So I had to find ways to make bumps. Like biking in the deep snow. That’s hard. That’s tiresome. That kind of shit makes you angry! But it’s nice when it’s over. Then I could be happy. If only just for a while.


The naked man in the picture

It wasn’t anything criminal, don’t worry. It was a picture a friend of mine showed me from his youth. The picture was taken just after he and a friend had been running in the snow naked. They where very happy smiling and covering their most intimate parts with their hands. It looked very cold.

My friend was only eight years younger. Not that much. But I could still see that he was young. Above all, he was thinner. Like a stick actually. And I said; SO SMALL!

And that’s it really. That is my story.

BUT it turns out, the feeling was a little awkward. Only a little, I did not really care. Until I came home, I had some time to think. At home I asked what felt out of sorts? I got the answer; he was thinking that I commented on his private parts.

I did not even see his private parts. They where behind his hands!! HOW could I comment on that??

This part about the human race. I do not understand. We seem to think ourselves past every obvious fact because it feels right. 1: I did obviously not see private parts in that picture. 2: The guy was thinner. So what am I commenting on? Guys? Really? That he was young. Of course. Nothing else was smaller in that picture compared to today.

I do not say that we should feel less. Or that we feel wrong. But it is still important to know the difference between fact and feeling. And YES facts takes some work. Feeling do not take that much work. It is just to open your mouth and tell everyone what you feel. But what if that affects people? Very much? That is a question every grown up needs to think about before opening your mouth according to me. That awkward feeling came from my friend that was so focused on his nakedness, that he heard what he did not want to hear.

People, we need to start thinking deep. Not only what ME, I feel at the moment. What will the consequences be? Will someone get hurt? Will the country and the world benefit from this from ten years on in the future? What am I really telling people with this?

People, you are smarter than this! Let me be clear. I come from a war family. My own grandpa fought 1940. We do not wish to see that again.  I will give an arm and a leg for that not to happen again.

With love from Scandinavia.