Vein, chapter 1
Do you see what I see? Those lights that flash everytime you close your eyes. It hurts.
When I was little, I used to see veins in my eyes. Everytime I closed my eyes, I saw blood-vessels. Red and white in the endless dark. I thought that if I open my eyes I wouldn't see anymore.
It scared me. Among other things that happened to me, I became more and more distant. I couldn't communicate with other people the way I wanted. Because I was scared. I was scared sleeping, closing my eyes, speaking, other people, school, laughing, going outside, phones, television, radios and lots of other things. I knew I was different. My parents reminded me of that. They tried to get me to therapy. I didn't want to go. I'm scared to talk to strange people. I swore that I would rather kill myself than go to therapy.
I didn't want to go anywhere. Unless I had to. Like school. I didn't have any friends, I always sat in the corner. I tried to be nice to everyone but it was hard. I hated them. I hated them because they were so happy. They were laughing and smiling and giggling like stupid little brats. It annoyed me. And they were pretty. I'm not. I have a purple hair. And that's because no one else in the school has a purple hair. I'm different. And I don't even want to be different. I want to be like anyone else. Happy and ordinary with a gorgeous boyfriend and cute little dog. But no. Everything seemed to go wrong with me. Oddness was like drawn into me. Like it was planned. It's a feature in me. A feature that I never wanted.
When I die, I want to be cremated. I have thought it a lot. I came to a conclusion that it's the best alternative for me. I want to leave this world fully when it's the time. I don't want to leave my body here to rotten. It's disgusting. But I don't want to die. It scares me.
I have spent a lot of time with myself. I have had too much time to think. Beautiful, horrible, sweet, disgusting, profounded and superficial thoughts. I have learnt to know myself. Better than anyone. And when the time is right I'll let someone else know me too. Maybe even better. Time will show. But for now, I want to be alone. I'm so used to it. It's normal to me. Edvard is my only support in the most difficult time. It's a cat. I became attached to it. He doesn't complain. My only true friend.
Music. My friend after Edvard. I love classical music. Grieg, Beethoven, Mozart and Tsaichovsky. Their music calms me down. I actually named my cat after Edvard Grieg.
Jazz, blues, ska.
Rock.
I listen to rock when I'm angry. Green Day. That band. Typesetting political arguments. I thought it was quite funny at first. That's why I never paid any attention to their music. Until that one day when I was sitting in a bus. I had a horrible day at school and I was more than happy to go home. Then it came. That sound that filled my ears. That stunning melody. Boulevard of Broken Dreams. I listened the words. Tears formed in to my eyes.
I thought only Swan Lake can get me in to tears. I waited for a few days listening to my dad's radio. I hoped that the song would come. It never did. Or I just wasn't there at the right time. I didn't have any possibility to get the album anywhere. And I don't even know where is the nearest record shop. I gave up. I didn't try to listen to radio anymore. I hated it. I didn't try to search the damn shop. To be honest, I didn't want anyone know that I liked that song, and that I wanted the album desperately. It was my first real secret. I enjoyed it. I didn't even tell it to Edvard. I made stupid delusions in my head. Everytime when my mom asked me what music I have been listening, I became paranoid.
Delusion of persecution.
Green Day, my favourite little secret.
Concordia res parvae crescunt.
When I was little, I used to see veins in my eyes. Everytime I closed my eyes, I saw blood-vessels. Red and white in the endless dark. I thought that if I open my eyes I wouldn't see anymore.
It scared me. Among other things that happened to me, I became more and more distant. I couldn't communicate with other people the way I wanted. Because I was scared. I was scared sleeping, closing my eyes, speaking, other people, school, laughing, going outside, phones, television, radios and lots of other things. I knew I was different. My parents reminded me of that. They tried to get me to therapy. I didn't want to go. I'm scared to talk to strange people. I swore that I would rather kill myself than go to therapy.
I didn't want to go anywhere. Unless I had to. Like school. I didn't have any friends, I always sat in the corner. I tried to be nice to everyone but it was hard. I hated them. I hated them because they were so happy. They were laughing and smiling and giggling like stupid little brats. It annoyed me. And they were pretty. I'm not. I have a purple hair. And that's because no one else in the school has a purple hair. I'm different. And I don't even want to be different. I want to be like anyone else. Happy and ordinary with a gorgeous boyfriend and cute little dog. But no. Everything seemed to go wrong with me. Oddness was like drawn into me. Like it was planned. It's a feature in me. A feature that I never wanted.
When I die, I want to be cremated. I have thought it a lot. I came to a conclusion that it's the best alternative for me. I want to leave this world fully when it's the time. I don't want to leave my body here to rotten. It's disgusting. But I don't want to die. It scares me.
I have spent a lot of time with myself. I have had too much time to think. Beautiful, horrible, sweet, disgusting, profounded and superficial thoughts. I have learnt to know myself. Better than anyone. And when the time is right I'll let someone else know me too. Maybe even better. Time will show. But for now, I want to be alone. I'm so used to it. It's normal to me. Edvard is my only support in the most difficult time. It's a cat. I became attached to it. He doesn't complain. My only true friend.
Music. My friend after Edvard. I love classical music. Grieg, Beethoven, Mozart and Tsaichovsky. Their music calms me down. I actually named my cat after Edvard Grieg.
Jazz, blues, ska.
Rock.
I listen to rock when I'm angry. Green Day. That band. Typesetting political arguments. I thought it was quite funny at first. That's why I never paid any attention to their music. Until that one day when I was sitting in a bus. I had a horrible day at school and I was more than happy to go home. Then it came. That sound that filled my ears. That stunning melody. Boulevard of Broken Dreams. I listened the words. Tears formed in to my eyes.
I thought only Swan Lake can get me in to tears. I waited for a few days listening to my dad's radio. I hoped that the song would come. It never did. Or I just wasn't there at the right time. I didn't have any possibility to get the album anywhere. And I don't even know where is the nearest record shop. I gave up. I didn't try to listen to radio anymore. I hated it. I didn't try to search the damn shop. To be honest, I didn't want anyone know that I liked that song, and that I wanted the album desperately. It was my first real secret. I enjoyed it. I didn't even tell it to Edvard. I made stupid delusions in my head. Everytime when my mom asked me what music I have been listening, I became paranoid.
Delusion of persecution.
Green Day, my favourite little secret.
Concordia res parvae crescunt.
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