Mittwoch, 1. Juni 2016

I sometimes really wish this wasn't my favorite song - but then I close my eyes and every single line and every tune echoes within

Somehwere I Belong

(When this began)
I had nothing to say
And I get lost in the nothingness inside of me
(I was confused)
And I let it all out to find
That I'm not the only person with these things in mind
(Inside of me)
But all that they can see the words revealed
Is the only real thing that I've got left to feel
(Nothing to lose)
Just stuck, hollow and alone
And the fault is my own, and the fault is my own

I wanna heal, I wanna feel, what I thought was never real
I wanna let go of the pain I've felt so long
(Erase all the pain till it's gone)
I wanna heal, I wanna feel, like I'm close to something real
I wanna find something I've wanted all along
Somewhere I belong

And I've got nothing to say
I can't believe I didn't fall right down on my face
(I was confused)
Looking everywhere only to find
That it's not the way I have imagined it all in my mind
(So what am I)
What do I have but negativity
'Cause I can't justify the way everyone is looking at me
(Nothing to lose)
Nothing to gain, hollow and alone
And the fault is my own, and the fault is my own

I wanna heal, I wanna feel, what I thought was never real
I wanna let go of the pain I've felt so long
(Erase all the pain till it's gone)
I wanna heal, I wanna feel, like I'm close to something real
I wanna find something I've wanted all along
Somewhere I belong

I will never know myself until I do this on my own
And I will never feel anything else until my wounds are healed
I will never be anything till I break away from me
I will break away, I'll find myself today

I wanna heal, I wanna feel, like I'm somewhere I belong
I wanna heal, I wanna feel, like I'm somewhere I belong
Somewhere I belong

Dienstag, 17. Mai 2016

A little vent

Hey there,

I'm sorry. I gotta vent a bit. Just to get it off my chest.

So. I've moved back in with my father. That is slowly sinking in. And it sucks. Memories come back. Of me growing up. When I am in "my" living room (I actually got two rooms, so at least I have lots of space), I look at the corner and see my bed. And I see myself. Crying myself to sleep. I hear my thoughts of back then. "Just 6/5/4/3/2/1 more year/s and you'll be free. It's just eighteen years. Then you have a whole life in front of you. You can do this. You just have to live through x more years." 
I feel like the spoiled little daughter. I mean, after all, I don't have it so bad. I have a roof over my head. I am financially rather well-suited. I now live in a big house with a big lawn and a big TV. There are people out there who are going through a lot tougher shit. But still.
A talk with F brought up some of the memories I had carefully sealed in the back of my mind. I don't like walking down memory lane. I don't like how I actually took some reassurance in the fact that there are railroad tracks just some 300 feet from our house. That the possibility of ending my life was there, and that it calmed me down. I feel like the development that I fought my way through over the past couple of years is gone. Because I cannot be myself anymore. I have to fit in again. I have to pretend again.
In the past five years, and even more so in the past year, I've started to grow into the woman that I am. Going to munches and play parties has actually allowed me to embrace who I am. Yeah. I admit it - I am into protocol. I actually love kneeling in front of a Dom because it feels like it's the place I am ... complete. Content with myself and the world. I belong there. It makes me happy. I believe in the idea of collaring. A collar really means something to me, it's not an accessory. Now I have to hide my toys and parts of my wardrobe. I have to be careful what I talk about. What jokes I make. Have to watch my every sentence - and yeah, that actually is quite some effort. I grew used to having my own apartment where I could have the flyer to the next fetish party attached to my fridge, my toy box next to my bed, my corsets prominent in my closet. I came home - and I was home. Now I feel like a child again, like a visitor. Like someone with no say.

There was something next Sunday that I've been looking forward to for more than a month. And the closer my move got, the more important it got. My friends and I wanted to go to the BDSM studio nearby - it's a fucking great studio - and C wanted to come, too. I've really been looking forward to this. Not only for him to mingle with my friends, but also because it's a huge studio and I was sure that he'd lose his shyness and reluctancy and we'd actually play. 
But the reason why I love attending munches and play parties is not because of "just some fun" but because I can really be myself there. You don't have to pretend. As a vanilla, you can go to the movies or a restaurant or something - and you can show what kind of relationship you have. Being kinky, it's not so easy. At play parties, you actually don't have to pretend at all. You're welcome to kneel in front of someone. It's okay to wear a collar. Everyone understands.
So I was really looking forward to next Sunday. Because it was a place and time where I finally could be myself again. And now that's gone because C has to work. He forgot about it. Just forgot.
I try to take the drama out of it. I don't like drama. But I was supposed to go to his place tomorrow after work. And I just don't feel like seeing him. It hurts that he forgot. And it hurts that I lost that opportunity to be myself.

That's it. Just a short vent. Had to get that out of my system.
xoxo
Kiwi

Donnerstag, 12. Mai 2016

I am absolutely in love with that song and listen to it on repeat and have it stuck in my head and it's just a lovely song that I love love love love love


Don’t do as I have done
Win where I have lost
Have where I have none
Don’t let your demons drive
They’ll just steer you wrong
You won’t get out alive

Because you can’t unlive the pain
You can’t rewind to yesterday
You might never find your place
In the time that remains
So if tomorrow never comes
From living fast and dying young
I hope the best is yet to come
In the time that remains for you

Don’t get me wrong
The mistakes I’ve made along the way
Made me who I am today
The time is gonna come
You will wake up and realize
Just how fast your life goes by

Because you can’t unlive the pain
You can’t rewind to yesterday
You might never find your place
In the time that remains
So if tomorrow never comes
From living fast and dying young
I hope the best is yet to come
In the time that remains for you

Because you can’t unlive the pain
You can’t rewind to yesterday
You might never find your place
In the time that remains
So if tomorrow never comes
From living fast and dying young
I hope the best is yet to come
In the time that remains for you

The time that remains for you
For you
The time that remains
The time that remains

Mittwoch, 11. Mai 2016

Yet another insight. Or: Why I need to go hiking in Scotland

Hello there,

I've had another epiphany - I'm on a roll, am I not? (Slightly sarcastic here. And slightly not.)
It's been a long time that I've actually sat in front of my computer and typed this. I mostly blog via email these days because the need to write something down usually doesn't come over me when it suits me well. It either happens when I'm typing on my phone, or when I'm at work. The whole blogspot-interface looks unfamiliar by now.

So. Two things happened. And they came about in conversations with the two people that have the most insight into, well, me. M and F.
When M talked to me and told me that she didn't think that any sane and healthy person could fall for an eating disorder and that she could very well understand why I acted the way I did. Not only was that a huge relief - but it also got me thinking about how I've been around food and myself as a kid.
There's this book. Which is intended to help people overcome their eating disorder. But honestly, it's a huge motivation/thinspo/role model of how to really fuck up. "Wasted" by Marya Hornbacher (see an article here - an article that actually motivates me to get an updated edition, though the thought of re-reading it terrifies me because I know of the book's possibly triggering influence). Anyways. So there's this book. And it begins with a flashback. Marya at a very young age. I remember envying her. Having felt like that this early, and I only began developing my ED at 15-ish, 16. She was like the ideal - the role model, the idol - all that I wanted to be. (Yeah, we're going deep down into fucked-up-wonderland here.) And she had started so early! It was like her path had been laid out in front of her all along. And I struggled so hard to be fucked up. I could never be as sick as her. It was unfair, really, that I hadn't been ED'ed at a young age. - I really remember thinking and regretting that. M's words made me have a look at my childhood again. And there's some truth in her words.
But it needed another conversation with F to open my eyes. We weren't talking about anything of much substance. Like, only chatting - not touching issues on purpose. We were talking about a hiking tour that I wanted to do in September. Scotland. Now, I'm not much of an outdoor person. Like, I have my dog and I walk him and I enjoy walking him in the forest for two hours or so, but that's about it. I don't like camping much, I have no orientational skills whatsoever. I'm not too fond of nature, growing up in the city. Like, I don't panic when I see a spider, but I guess you get the idea. I'm also not really in shape. I'm also not extremely adventurous. Like I have to do this or that. All these new trending activities that apparently you have to do when you're in your twenties. Like surfing. Or hitch hiking. Or traveling with no plan where to go. I'm a boring person, to be honest. Or, let's phrase it somewhat positively: calm, reasonable, down to earth, content with my every day life.


But for a couple of months now I'm having this idea of hiking through the Scottish Highlands for a couple of days. On my own. Well, with my dog.
London has been some kind of trial for that. Of course, going to a city is quite different from the Scottish highlands, but still. I was there somewhat on my own. Well. With WhatsApp and my friends and a stuffed cow to take pictures with.
Anyways. We were talking about him teaching me how to read a map and use a compass, because I have no clue at all how that works. And we were joking. About how he really needs to teach me those skills or I might never come back. Now, I know that I'm not a quick learner when it comes to these skills. And I was jokingly asking him how big his wish was to hike through the Scottish Highlands (to guide me). And when he said that if we really got along as well in real life as we do online, then I could ask him again and maybe he'd say yes to accompanying me. That's when it really struck me that I needed to at least walk part of the way completely on my own. To really find my own way. To learn to listen to my body. Rest when I need rest, eat when I'm hungry, turn left when I feel like turning left. Camp on my own. Really be self-sufficient. Just me and nature.
I always knew that Scotland was a challenge that I needed to master. That it was something I have to do. But only by casually dropping the comment that I need this trip to learn to trust and rely upon my own body because I have never ever done so, I realized why I needed it so much.

Turns out I've been fucked up all my life. Oddly enough, this is some kind of relief. It lifts some of the guilt of enforcing my ED off my shoulders. I've always been estranged from my body. Always. Stories my parents used to tell me come to mind now.
I don't recall much of my childhood. I'm always impressed when people are able to tell you what they did with 6 years, or even last week. I have a bad memory when it comes to these things. Not that I don't pay attention, or that things are not important to me - I just tend to mix them up. Anyways. My parents like to tell me how when I was a toddler I would be really, really careful when getting into the sandbox. Other kids would run into it, sometimes falling face first into the sand. But I would walk to the edge of the sandbox, then turn around and, gripping the edge, first step into the box with one foot, then the next. And if I fell, I'd fall on my butt. - Sounds cute, doesn't it? Like a really, really careful child who doesn't want to get dirty. Who looks out for herself.
I think the reason for me acting that way is a different one. I think that I didn't trust my body. I think that I took the most "elegant" and careful way so as to not humiliate myself and because I didn't trust that I'd not fall on my face. That explanation just feels ... right. I'm not saying that I can recall climbing into that sandbox, hell, no. But I can see myself. And I just feel like that's the reason.
I also remember not climbing fences. Because I was afraid I wouldn't make it. I didn't trust my body enough to pull me up. I remember physical education. How I wouldn't do any of the more risky exercises. Like it took me weeks to dare to try the forward roll, and some more till I had enough courage to try the backward roll. Because I didn't trust my body that I could do it. As a teen, I took trampoline classes before I started playing Basketball. And I always sticked to the easy exercises because I didn't dare try a flip or something alike.
It all falls into place right now. All these memories. These little bits and pieces that I've never connected.
I don't think I ever thought of my body and mind as a unit. As belonging together. That my body is a part of me. And that I can rely upon it. That it'll carry me. That I can actually achieve something. On my own. It's sad, really.
But I've always been fucked up.

The bottom line is: I won't go hiking this September. I'll go next year, in May or something. I'll go hiking in Germany, and I'll try to get into shape to manage the Highlands. And while I don't fucking want to be alone for eight days or something, I also need to be alone for some days. Maybe a friend will accompany me for half of the way. I thought of combining two hiking tours. It's all just an idea so far. But one that needs to become reality. Soon.
I feel that I am getting closer to getting better. Somehow. Seeing these connections helps me understand and reflect and get better in the end. But if I ever want to become one, I need to learn to trust my body.

xoxo
Kiwi

Montag, 9. Mai 2016

Another brief remark

As much as I dread that I have to move back in with my father, as much as I'm afraid that it'll risk my mental health, that I'll transform back into the 16 year old girl who couldn't stand up for herself. As much as these fears haunt me - I'm also kind of glad. It may allow me to focus on establishing eating habits and routines again.
I developed me ED under that roof and I know that I can perfectly hide it. But it can't get as out of control as it does when you're the only one checking the fridge. And I also kind of feel that the identity thing set something in motion.

M said something ever so helpful. I was so afraid that other ED'ed people might judge me for actively jumping into this mess. But she said: "Healthy people see pro Ana and judge it for the bullshit that it is. But if there is already something wrong with you, if you already have a glitch in your brain, it seems appealing to you."
(Sorry, M, for raping your words like this. But they meant a lot to me!)

Moving my first things to my Dad's tomorrow.

xoxo
Kiwi

Sonntag, 8. Mai 2016

Just to clarify

I love the previously posted "manual" on how to love a broken girl. Every single line is true. Every goddamn line.
Everyone except one. I refuse to accept the term "broken". Yeah, I'm damaged goods. There's parts of me that might never heal and that might be mended but not completely. Linkin Park has a wonderful phrase for that: when the paper's crumpled up, it can't be perfect again.
But broken? I refuse to identify with that.
I felt it was somehow important I said that.

xoxo
Kiwi