The most beautiful woman in the world exists!

The most beautiful woman in the world exists!

She is ridiculously sexy and her name is Magdalene St. Michaels. She even loves cats! I would actually consider going into porn industry if it meant that I would get to make love to her.


Am I being a wimp?

I already know that I generally am, I’m just wondering whether I’m being now.

My father decided he wanted me to rent his apartment out to somebody, so that he can go travel. He intends to be gone for quite a few years. I can’t say that I blame him. My mother is dead, the Slovene part of the family has always ignored us;  we’re effectively alone in the country now. The family lives at least 500 km away. We have some  family in Croatia but they stopped communicating with us; I don’t blame them, considering what Father said to my uncle the last time they came to  visit.  I’m happy for him that he decided to do something with the rest of his life. I just didn’t expect to feel this forlorn about it as well.

I’m adult now, I can’t expect him to maintain a home for me his entire life. He wants me to eventually sell the apartment and buy one in Ljubljana. Which sounds like a good plan. I simply didn’t expect that I would feel this unsettled by my childhood home being gone. It was never a happy home. Being around my mother was not a calming experience; I couldn’t do anything right; the woman was quick to berate and beat. My father was never a nurturing person. I never had a safe and peaceful home.  So why does it matter so much to me that it’ll be gone.

Father is encouraging me sell the apartment, invest the money and move to Austria or Germany. He believes that with our name and ancestry, I should fit right in.  But it’s not like there’s a shortage of teachers in Germany. If I moved to Stuttgart, I would have an aunt there.

When I was living at home, I had a clearer perspective. I was perfectly aware that I had to get away from my parents and stay there. When I moved away, I started romanticizing home. I started having fuzzy images of parents receiving me warmly when I came home; they did, but that was because we rarely saw each other. I hate it that my mind is playing these tricks on me!

When my father leaves, I’ll be effectively alone in the country. I wonder though, is that perhaps the perfect time to move? I can be effectively alone in any country. I have a talent  for languages and I can be a wellness coach anywhere. Does everyone get this scared?

Things that are not there

I’ve just spent more than an hour of my life, sending things that don’t actually exist. Virtual things that are in a Facebook game. An awsome game but still. I’ve just spent more than a hour of my life, fiddling with a bunch of pixels, and I’m wondering what the hell is wrong with me. I would really like to know what is it, that drives me to spend my time, willingly absorbing myself in things and events that are not real.

If you value your time, don’t play Facebook games! Don’t start a Facebook account either! It’s a giant waste of time. Just stay off the social media altogether. Really. Unless you’re using it for a specific purpose, you won’t miss anything by not having an account. Of course, since you’re reading a blog post, that lesson might  have been lost  on you. It was probably lost on me as well.

I just can’t help but think that my life would have been better if I could get rid of social media. So be warned. Stay off the Facebook. Stay off its games. Especially  the games.  You can surface from under other things but the games just suck you in and hold you there for weeks at the time.

Crazy house mate

I have a crazy house mate. He used to be just a quirk. He would occasionally fixate on something and then yell about it around the house and try to accuse everyone of doing it.

He has an ongoing delusion that someone keeps torrenting large amounts of data, every time that his internet connection is slow. These are the occasions when he bangs  on everyone’s door and demands to know what we’re doing on the internet. It seems to me that he doesn’t have himself fully under control.

For some reason, he has fixated on me about the clogging issue. Every time that anything clogs (a toilet, a shower and three sinks), he accuses me of doing it. It has become a habit for him to yell at me and he has now threatened me with violence more than once. He also makes fun of my eyes – yes, I know that I have strabismus but a polite person would not make fun of a physical flaw.

He’s much bigger than me; he doesn’t have himself fully under control. I’m afraid that he’s going to do something to me. This has become harassment. I’m telling the landlady tomorrow. I shouldn’t have to move; he’s the one who just can’t leave me alone!

To shrink or not to shrink?

A friend of mine is trying to send me to a psychiatrist. I don’t quite know how to tell her that I don’t want to go. I realise that I need help. It’s clear to me that I need to do something to get rid of my more idiotic behaviours. I will admit that psychiatry can be useful. It was certainly extremely useful for me to find out that my peculiar patterns of behaviour are not a part of my personality, but were forged as consequences of my environment’s ever-loving behaviour.

I just don’t want to be one of those whingy self-absorbed people, who spend years on psychiatrists couches and regale everyone with stories of their twisted subconsciousness. I refuse! I’m not too thrilled about the jargon either. I don’t want to know that I’m a “survivor”, that I’m “prone to bouts of depression” or that I have “triggers”. I don’t want to be a survivor! I don’t want to contemplate my subconscious motivations. I just want to correct what I want to correct and be normal.

I don’t want to tell my friends about it. I keep having to, because they can tell that something about me is off. It makes me feel like a freak though. Sometimes they just stare at me and say nothing after I tell them, which makes me feel like even more of a freak. That said, I am fully aware that I need to do something, otherwise I’m just going to be repeating my little cycles of isolating myself, ignoring everyone, ignoring my work and generally fucking up my life in perpetuity.

Why all the anger?

IT’S IN THE PAST.  –  Of course it’s in the past! I remember it. Where the fuck else is it going to be?

LIVE IN THE MOMENT.  – I don’t need a lecture on the subject from you. If I didn’t know how to live in the moment, I would have killed myself by the time I reached puberty.

FORGIVE AND FORGET. – Forgiving is one thing. Forgetting is not feasible, when the incidents have spanned nearly 3 decades. I’ll have you know that I loved my mother dearly,  in spite of all  the shit she put me through.

WHY WORRY ABOUT IT? – Look, it’s not as if I do it deliberately. It creeps up on me.

GET OVER IT! – Post-traumatic stress syndrome is not something that you can just get over. I’m doing the best that I can with a very crappy upbringing as my mainframe, so fuck you very much!

I received a strange mix of  abuse and love throughout my childhood. The rest of the family lived in other countries, so it was just the three of us. I suspect that my mother had a nervous breakdown when I was still small, and it went undiagnosed. I do remember her being addicted to tranquilisers.

There are friends that I’ve never had; there are social skills that I’ve never learned; there’s an academic career that I didn’t have; there are instruments that I wasn’t allowed to learn how to play; there were lessons that I wasn’t allowed to take; there were relationships that I never entered into because I was so terrified of people. There are time and energy that I’ve spent, mentally running from abuse because that was the only way that I could escape. There are addictions that I’ve incurred because I was never taught the skills of managing my emotions. There is so much potential that was taken away from me!

It still takes enormous amount of energy for me to be sociable. I like socializing with people, I just have to contend with this bullshit programming that tells me, that they don’t want me around. It’s an insidious programming, part of a crap mainframe and I don’t know how to fix it.

I’d like to thank the academy…

I’m grateful to people who research the consequences of childhood abuse. I’m perhaps even more grateful to people who keep publishing articles about them.

Without them, I wouldn’t know what my periodic isolations of myself and spinelessness during them meant. I thought that I was a weak and lazy person.

I didn’t know why I just knew that nobody would ever  care enough for me to reach out to me. I didn’t know why I just knew that nobody would want to touch me.  It was very hard to even identify it. I just knew that when a person is faced with choosing me or somebody else, they would invariably choose somebody else, and I wouldn’t say a word in protest.

I’ve identified a lot of my behaviours. The articles say that they are typical for adult survivors of childhood abuse and neglect. I had thought that I was just an enormous weirdo. This just didn’t occur to me in the past. These convictions really don’t just go away. It’s not a matter of positive thinking. It took me a while to realise why it’s so difficult for me to regulate my emotions. I had thought that these were my character flaws. I thought that something went wrong with the foundation of my character.

I’m incredibly relieved that I’m not just enormous weirdo. I can do something about these behaviours that are slowly killing me. I don’t know what, but it makes me feel better to know that I can. I can now just catch a behaviour and treat it as if it was a rash. Annoying, unsightly, but not terminal.

So this goes to everyone who is raising awareness about consequences of childhood abuse! You have my gratitude.