My wedding day. Anxiety-hell

I got married two days ago. But I've been doing so badly with the damn restlessness in my legs that I couldn't be bothered to  write a post about it. Actually, I have gotten so far in my thoughts that I would like to surgically remove my legs. It's just driving me insane. I don't think this will ever go away so hopefully I'll get used to it with time. I could take sedatives because they tend to help but how is that a solution? Right, now I've started this with a lot of complaining again. All I wanted was to write about my "wedding".

So we had booked an appoointment at the town house/citizen center at 4 p.m. on Thursday. We didn't want any huge celebration or an actual party. There were three reasons for that: 1. we didn't have the money to actually host a party with a venue, music and food  2. I just didn't want my dad to be there because that would have meant that I had to dress and behave the way he wants to, and I didn't want my mum to be there because she would have overdone it. I mean, she called me the day before we got married and asked if I was going to have any flowers. It would look beautiful on the wedding-pictures. Erm, no. and 3. I have social anxiety and I just wouldn't have been able to get through a whole day where the focus is on me. I can't even meet friends or take the subway, how could I  able to survive my own wedding? So yeah, it was only me and my boyfriend.

I spent two hours to fix myself up. I didn't want to be overdressed. I just wanted to look "proper" and beautiful for my boyfriend. I wasn't overdressed, I looked goth but wasn't looking like I was on my way to the clubs. I was quite satisfied with the way I looked although I would have loved to weight around 20 kg less. I had terrible spasms in my arms and legs and felt really weak. I could barely stand on my legs. I started to worry that I had gotten some serious nerve damage due to the meds. That caused me some extra-anxiety. I was already anxious about the whole procedure. I had expectation-anxiety: I was imagining myself throwing up in front of a lot of people because of anxiety, or just running away because of a panic attack.

So I wasn't happy and excited. I guess that's what most people are on their wedding-day. I just wanted to get it over with and get back home. The spasms were painful, my legs were so weak and I had a lot of anxiety. So we drove to the place, walked in there (I actually had to wear socks in my high-heels because of some weird reason, my feet have shrunken and my shoes were too big all of the sudden. But as I was wearing black stockings, no one could really see it). I was shaking and just wanted to get out of there. I tried so hard to focus on my boyfriend so I wouldn't totally panic. You know, I wanted to marry him. I just wasn't happy about the whole procedure, me having to go out, having to actually be present and all that. I would have preferred to do it over the internet, some clicks and done. It has nothing to do with that I'm not romantic. Actually, while writing this post I discussed the issue with my boyfriend. I would (and he as well) have been much happier, more content, more excited about getting married via the internet. I wish that option would have been avaiable. So I didn't have to deal with all the negative symptoms of my illnesses. I hate anxiety and it kind of has destroyed my wedding day. But I hadn't expected anything else.

Anyway, we walked in there and there was this huge waiting area with wooden benches. And there were at least 50 people sitting, waiting for their appointment with the social services, the health insurance and the police. We were told to sit down somewhere and wait. So that was when the little bit of romantic feeling that I had got killed. Instead panic won! I was sitting there, my legs were involuntarily moving and I had the big urge to just run away. I focused on my boyfriend, held his hand, stared at the floor. I didn't even think about that I was getting married. I was indifferent to the whole thing. I started to dissociate and still damn worried about my legs just giving up on me. I wanted to get home. I hated the children staring at me. I was convinced people were whispering about us. I wanted to get away.

After about 15 minutes we got called in to a room. It looked like a room that was barely used. It was really dark in there. No one had bothered to turn the lights on I guess. Two women and a man followed us in. The man was the wedding officiant, the other two were witnesses to sign the papers. They didn't ask us for our ID-cards, nothing. We gave them all our papers, they got stamped, things were printed out. Then he asked us if we wanted to have the long or the short version. We both replied silmuntanously "short". You know, my boyfriend has anxiety iusses too and he was white as a ghost. I was worried he would faint or just throw up. Anyway, he asked us if we wanted to marry each other. We said yes. He said that we could exchange rings now. We didn't have any rings. He signed the papers. We didn't have to sign anything. We shook hands. We asked him to take a picture of us (my mum would have KILLED me if there hadn't been a picture). And that was that.

Then we went to sit in the car and smoke a cigarette. We kissed and both said that we were glad that it was over. We didn't want the "getting married" thing, we just wanted "to be married". So now we are married. We went home and had some cake. We got tons of phone-calls, sms, cards and Facebook-messages that day. Honestly, we counted, over 250 people contacted us. I have a lot of friends because I have lived in two countries and my family is huge. So yeah. Anyway, think if all those people would have come to our wedding. It would have been terrible for me. We later just sat on the bed and watched two movies. We ate junk food. We cuddled the cats. That's what makes me happy. Being together with my little family. Not a huge fake-romantic party!

So I'm married now. It doesn't feel any different to just being together. I have handed in papers to change my last name to my husband's (how weird it is to write "husband") and they said it will only take a few days for it to be approved. So I'll get rid off the name that connects me to my father. It will be the best feeling in the world, to see my  new name on an envelope. It's like finally getting my dad out of my life. He actually called me on my wedding-day. We maybe talked for a minute and he congratulated me. I was surprised about that. In some way I was happy that he at least had the decency to call. My mum had texted me all day long and we talked on the phone a few times. My brother wrote to me on Facebook and my sister and I skyped for an hour the next day. So my family didn't forget about me, despite all the shit that is going on right now with the divorce of my parents. 

I'm happy to be married. I think. I'm actually still a bit indifferent which has a lot to do with the weird spasms, the restlessness, the anxiety. I haven't had a moment where I could actually feel what it's going on inside of me. So yeah, my illness has destroyed my wedding-day for me. I couldn't focus on being happy. But it doesn't matter. I have done it, it's behind me and our relationship is in a new phase now. Sadly enough we didn't have any wedding-sex. We never have sex anyway. So yeah.

After a week of silence

My last entry is from a week ago which is kind of shocking because I have so much to talk about and so many thoughts in my head. So I guess you'll get more than one entry today. You are all so lucky! Haha. My mum has left two days ago and I'm enjoying the freedom of being on my own. My boyfriend is still off from work but around him I can be myself. When someone else is in the same apartment, I always have to put my mask up and pretend that I'm alright. Really, only with my boyfriend I can be myself. I can't believe that he has actually stayed with me through all these years of poverty, depression, suicide attempts, throw backs and drama. This is one of the reasons why I have agreed to marry this man. Because he knows me. He knows how bad I can be doing. He hates my mental illness and he often says that he can't take it anymore. But still, he stays with me. And he has learned to give me my space. He knows that I HATE if people give me attention when I'm not doing well. So yeah, around him I can be myself. And use the bathroom without closing the door, run around in my underwear, without make-up. As nice it was to have my mum here to visit us, it was also really exhausting and I'm glad that things are back to normal now.

Last weekend we spent on the beach here at Alby lake. The lake is just around the corner from where we live, it's a two minutes walk from our building. I'm not so much into summer, beach, sunshine. I actually hate it. It has a lot to do with my body-issues. I have gotten really FAT and I would never show myself to anyone in a bathing suit. And no, I'm not whining, I think I weight between 90 and 95 kg so I'm actually obese. We packed down a blanket and some water and just went down to the beach. The first day we only sat there and enjoyed the view over the lake. We walked through the water with our bare feet and later sat down, smoked a few cigarettes and watched other people. There were two huge parties going on. One was some kind of Nigerian wedding and the other ones was a Sri Lankian party with a band and everything. The next day my mum and my boyfriend packed their bathing clothes and actually swam in the lake a few times. I was listening to music and reading a magazine and randomnly talking to a guy next to me. I love water, it always calms me down. I don't think I have ever had a panic attack close to water. I come from a sea town and I am used to the soothing sound water makes, the wind, the birds. So I actually enjoyed myself. It was a bit too hot for me though and on the way I got a minor panic attack because of that. I have low blood pressure and the hot sun tends to make me dizzy and that caused the panic.

My boyfriend and me at the lake on Saturday (I usually don't post pics of myself but you can only see my fat ass so I'm fine with it)

On Monday it was my boyfriend's birthday. We left in the morning and took the car to Mariefred. That's a small but cute town about 100 km South-West of Stockholm. We wanted to visit Gripsholms Castle which is one of the royal castles. It was so hot that day! USH! First we walked around the castle, looked at runestones they had dug up there and checked out the premisses.

One of the runestones. I love Swedish runestones. They always tell a story. I particulary love this one with the beautiful snake. It's about someone dying in a war.

They are really old, this one was from the 11th century. 

View from the castle-premisses over Mariefred. So beautiful!

It was quite expensive to get into the castle but we really wanted check it out. The castle is known for its huge collection of portraits from the 16th century and onwards. There are over 4000 paintings in the castle. The castle was built in the 16th century and has since then been part of the series of royal castles and has been rebuilt many times. For a while it was a prison.. It was so beautiful! We walked around the different rooms, looked a the paintings, the interior, the painted and decorated ceilings, the wallpaper, the beds, the prison-cells, the tower. I think we were in the castle for over three hours. Unfortunately you weren't allowed to take any pictures inside the castle. But many of the paintings were so wonderful and it was awesome to see the changes through the years, in the clothes of the people portrayed, in the style of the paintings. I really loved the castle. I think my favourite room was the theatre. They had their own theatre! It was so serene and beautiful. 

The inner courtyard with a wishing well in the middle

The castle from the back

Then we went for a walk in the park, looked at statues and the beautiful (but small) garden. It was really hot so we spend some minutes on a bench in the shadows. We then walked over to Mariefred. It wasn't a long walk but in the hot sun it was quite exhausting. Mariefred is such an idyllic and calm place. The center is exactly how someone would imagine a Swedish town would look like. There are only around 3000 people living there but many tourists were in town. Many of the movies based on Astrid Lindgren's children-books were filmed in Mariefred. We checked out all the small cute shops and finally found a place where we could have lunch. I had the most yummy smoked salmon. We sat outside, just looking at people passing by and later had some coffee and cake. We walked to the lake-side and there I found my favourite place in Sweden so far. It was so calm! There were all the small red and yellow houses in the back and there was open water. You could hear the water splash on the stones of the beach. It was so calm! There were barely any people around. I felt so calm and it was such an intense feeling. I really loved that spot. Anyway, later we walked back to the car and because I was so tired and it was so hot, I was quite anxious and really only wanted to get back home. 

The town house of Mariefred

My favourite spot

The last day of my mum's visit we spent mostly at home. We just went grocery shopping. My mum wasn't feeling too well. I think she realized that she had to get back home, to her problems, to the divorce, the money-problems and all that. So we just hung out, watched a movie, cooked lunch and my mum later took a walk to the lake. And then on Wednesday we drove her to the airport. I talked to her today and she is ill. She has a uterus-infection and high fever. She has gotten bacteria from somewhere. I assume it's from the lake. I guess I'm lucky I didn't take a swim in there.

It was all a bit overwhelming for me, to have her around, to be out so much. Yes, I have had some nice moments and but my social anxiety blossomed up many many times. The worst was when we were having lunch in Mariefred and there were these two teenagers who couldn't stop staring at me. Eventually I had to switch seats with my mum, I couldn't take it anymore. But I must say that I'm proud of myself. I managed to go out a few times, I didn't complain and I saw some interesting and beautiful things. Who knows, maybe I'll even have the guts to go down to the lake by myself, with a book and some music. But I doubt that. The week with my mum was quite exhausting and I really need to rest a few days now. Today my boyfriend started a fight with me because he wants to do something "special" on our wedding day. Like eating out or taking a trip. But I don't want that. I want to be calm and happy and not anxious on that day. I want to focus on him and our love and not be overly aware of all the people staring at us because we are overdressed at a cheap restaurant. I think he has understood that now after he talked to his sister on the phone. She has social anxiety too and totally understands what I mean. I need rest, sleep and time on my own (plus with my two cats and my boyfriend) during the next few days. I'll read, write, play stupid Facebook-games and watch movies and series. That's exactly what I need!

*yawn*

I'm on my own right now so I thought I'd spend some time on the internet before I give it a try to exercise. It's really hot today so I'm not too sure how long I can actually sit on my exercise-bike. But a few minutes exercise is better than no exercise at all I guess. My mum has arrived two days ago and since then I really haven't had a calm moment. She's constantly talking. She has been through a lot lately, with the divorce and everything. So I understand that she needs to talk about it. But I'm not that receptive right now. Luckily my boyfriend is there too so he can say more than my "mmmm", "okay" and "I see".

I'm still on the Quetitapine/Seroquel. I tried to call my psychiatrist on Tuesday but he's on vacation. Just my luck. I can't really say yet what the meds is doing to me. The restlessness in my legs comes and goes. And it can really get to the point where I'm just pacing up and down the hallway. It's a terrible feeling and it can drive me crazy. But it's not there constantly so that's good. I'm really tired, exhausted and sleepy. Sometimes I can barely keep my eyes open. That's a side-effect that has just come some days ago. I also still feel dizzy and weak sometimes. I still feel more stable though. I haven't had any suicidal tendencies since I started taking the med. I haven't cried, I haven't been sad. But I have anxiety and panic attacks. It's a bit worse than my normal anxiety. But if I'd take a sedative I'd just fall asleep because I'm so tired already. And at the moment I'm still taking the Propavan too which means a doubled hangover. Something needs to be done about the restlessness in my legs. Maybe it will go away by itself?!? Maybe I can take some med against it?!? Maybe it will disappear once the dosage is increased?!? I really need to talk to my psychiatrist about that but he won't be back until Monday. 

Two days ago we took the car to fetch my mum from the airport. I actually enjoyed the one hour drive. It was raining a bit, we had the windows open, I smoked, listened to the radio and talked nonsense with my boyfriend. It was relaxing. But when we arrived at the airport the sun was really hot and there were way too many people. So all the calm feelings I had inside of me kind of disappeared. The drive back wasn't as relaxing because my mum was constantly talking and well, she sometimes behaves like a teenager. For instance she screamed as if a bee had just stung her when she got some bubble water on herself. That kind of freaked me out. I hate when people scream! We had a nice evening though. I cooked dinner and the three of us just sat at the table in the kitchen and talked. Well, I was mostly staring out of the window but I listened and got really upset when I heard about all the rumours that my father has spread about my mum. 

Yesterday I was forced to get up early. Well, not really early for "normal" people, but early for me. And I was so hungover from the meds! Ush. We had a proper breakfast and then we went to a huge mall close to where we live. We wanted to check for clothes to wear at our wedding. As I said before, we don't want to make a big deal of the wedding, it will only be us anyway. But we both don't really own any "proper" clothes. My boyfriend found a pair of pants at a second hand store which look really good on him. It was just weird to see hm in something else than tight black jeans. I found a skirt at H&M (and a dress with small cats on it, really cute, but not for the wedding) and a pair of high heels with studs at a cheap shoe store. So now we have everything we need. We'll look proper. I was so exhauted! It was hot and buying clothes about the worst thing for me. Nothing ever fits, I always feel the judging looks people give me, like "how can she buy something here, she's way too fat"-looks. It's exhausting to get in and out of clothes and shoes for a few hours. And I was already tired because of the meds. So when my mum and my boyfriend decided that we should have lunch there, I panicked. I didn't show it but I guess they realized it because I got really snappy and grumpy. I hate eating out! We went to do some grocery shopping afterwards and I could barely stand straight anymore. I was so tired and exhausted. I could have just slept right on the floor at the supermarket. Ush. 

Today my mum and my boyfriend are in the town, taking one of those boats which goes around in the archipealague and then in the center of Stockholm. I called them an hour ago and they really seemed to enjoy themselves. My boyfriend loves to go out and my mum loves touristy things. I have decided that I'll go out with them tomorrow instead. The Pride Festival is going in Stockholm right now. You know, the LGBT-festival. And tomorrow they will have the parade so we will go and look at it. I don't know how long I can actually stand on my legs and if the heat will be bearable. But I'll give it my best. I want my mum to have fun and my boyfriend should enjoy his days off from work. I didn't complain anything yesterday (apart from being grumpy before lunch) and I won't complain tomorrow. Somehow I'm looking forward to it, somehow I'm not looking forward to it. Then on Sunday we'll have a day at home, maybe just take a walk down to the lake in the afternoon. The laundry needs to be done and we need to do the grocery shopping. On Monday it's my boyfriend's birthday and he wants to do something, to be out. So we'll take the car to Mariefred and visit Gripsholm castle. I guess I can always go and take a nap in the car if it gets too much. We'll either take picnic things with us or I'll pay for a meal. I still have that much money that I can pay for three lunches. On Tuesday we'll vist my boyfriend's aunt. And on Wednesday we'll drive my mum to the airport in the morning and in the early afternoon, T, my social worker will come and visit me. I actually cancelled on him this Tuesday because I hadn't slept much the night before and the restlessness in my legs was unbearable. So yeah, I have losts of things planned. And I still feel side-effects from my med. We'll see how that will work out.

I've been thinking about baking some chocolate-buns that we can have for tea and tomorrow for breakfast. And then there's still the exercise. I also need to make/create a birthday card for my boyfriend. I've also promised to cook dinner tonight. I guess I'll start with the card, then the exercise, then a shower, then bake the buns and then start dinner. I also want to read today, and watch another episode of American Horror Story. So I won't have a lazy day in my bed. Although that's actually what I wanted this morning. But instead I had breakfast with my mum and my boyfriend and once they left I cleaned the apartment a bit, opened the balcony windows, watered the flowers, took care of the cats, done the dishes and applied for student benefits. It's funny how people always think that the mentally ill are lazy bastards and do nothing. I can't even remember the last time I've just sat in front of the TV doing "Nothing".

My father - the psychopath

It has taken me some days to actually swallow and get over the fact that my father is a stupid asshole. I have always known that but I have had some hope that he would somehow change, that he would grow up. Because that's what he is: an immature, agressive, bullying, self-centered teenager. I haven't written that much about my father in this blog (yet) because I really haven't dealt with the huge influence he has had on my life, in a really negative sense. He destroyed my childhood. He destroyed my sister's childhood. He is the one that created my anxiety. He is the one that has sucked the self-esteem and self-worth out of me. I only began to realize that I'm worth something when I moved to Sweden, away from him and his demands. He is the reason why I tried to commit suicide when I was five years old. He is one of the reasons for my PTSD and the flashbacks I'm having. He is the reason why I don't go back to Germany to visit my friends and family. The anxiety gets too much. I can't stand being in my childhood-home.

Let me give you a short description of my father. He was born in the early 1940s in Iran and moved to Germany in the early 1960s to study at university. He never finished his studies but instead started working as a bodyguard for stars like Jimmi Hendrix and as a bouncer in some really famous clubs. He met my mum, they got together and after 10 years they got married. He is 13 years older than her.

 He is a really mean and self-centered person. He beat the shit out of us when we were children (well, my brother got spared because he was the "boy" and welll, boys are worth more than girls in his Iranian mind). He is kind of stuck in some old school Iranian values. But I must say I'm glad that he never forced his religion onto us. He is a muslim but not a practicing one. I have never seen him pray. It's weird because his brothers who still live in Iran are very open-minded and love their families unconditionally. You are never allowed to say what you really think in his company. That's where he and I always clashed. I say what I think. And I'm educated while he is stuck in his own little world in his head. So I know a lot more things than him.

 He is a really materialistic person. For him it's always about money. He doesn't like to give any of his children money. We were basically always the ones with the cheap clothes and never had any money for anything. Whilst he owns a huge Mercedes Benz and spends his money on drugs. But his still living in the delusion that he paid everything for us, that he supported, that he gave us all the materialistic things that we wanted. That's bullshit, we never got anything! I had to start working an extra-job when I was 14 so I could go to the movies, so that I could go on class-trips, so that I could buy the odd CD every now and then.

I think my father is a psychopath. He is really bad with animals, he beats dogs, kicks cats. He never shows any sympathy and has never been empathetic. The only time I saw him cry was when he had heard that his mother had died. For him a lot is about status and how others see him as a man. I always got to hear how ashamed he is of me because I'm a) overweight b)goth and c) I never shut up and I have my own opinions. The most important thing for him is how others see him, he wants to seems like a respected man. That makes him really shallow. He has never, not even once, told me that he loved me or that he is proud of me.

 My father is a drug addict. He has been smoking opium for almost 30 years now(he started when I was a baby!!). I somewhat always knew that but I first really got to know some years ago when my cousin and I discussed the matter. I think a lot of the agression and inhostility in him comes from the drugs. He has basically lived through my childhood in a daze. Drugs and being high is even less an excuse than being a mean child-abuser. 

He treats and has always treated my mum with disrespect. I have seen him beating her up tons of times. I have seen him smash her on the head with a frying pan. I have seen him throw things at her. While he was in his drug-daze she had to work full-time and raise three kids. But he still says that he worked his ass off for us. Hell no. He was at work in the evenings (my parents owned a restaurant and later a shop), closing the store. That's all. He spent lots of money on his stupid opium instead of doing something nice for the family.

He thinks that a man should be respected. He thinks that my family should be grateful for him paying everything for us. He thinks that he is an angel and we are all just disrespectful liars. He tries to diminish the beatings, the absence of love and the hatred he had towards us. He calls it a slap in the face, motivation and tough love.

So now you know a bit about my father. I have written all this to give you a background to what I'm about to tell you now. My mum and dad are getting a divorce ( I have already written about this). My father announced that he wants a divorce and that my mum is supposed to move out. Although the house is her family's house, her parents got it from the state after WW2. But my mum just didn't want to fight and she is kind of scared of my father. My mother moved out a week ago and it all turned into chaos. He was there the entire time while she and a friend tried to carry out things from the house. Although he had promised to let them be. He denied my mother to take certain things. He called her a whore. He acted really aggressively. And it all culminated when he threw a cup of hot tea at my mum's friend. The police was called and my mother was able to at least get a few things with her. My mum loves her new apartment. But she is afraid to go out, she is afraid that he would be around the corner, she is afraid that he will kill her. I just hope that things will calm down, they don't see each other right now which is good.

The day before my sister and my mum were at the house to fetch some things and he called my sister a whore, told her that she isn't his daughter anymore. My sister is the one that got beaten up the most of the two of us. She is smoking weed daily to deal with her anxiety. She is too proud to look for help. She has been on a sick leave for depression twice though. She has always tried to keep the relationship with our dad alive. But that day she just cracked. My mum later told me that she had been weeping, crying, screaming. I haven't spoken to my sister. I know her, she will be somewhere, travelling, on the beach, with friends, high, trying to distract herself. And keep it all bottled up. We have only twice in our adult-lives talked about our childhood. We have the same feelings around it all. She also has real difficulties to be in that house and around him. I just can't believe that he is making things her fault, that he is mad at her for helping my mother. I can't believe that my father in no way realizes that he is guilty, that he is at fault, that we all don't respect him, that we are afraid of him instead. I would really love to call my sister (we have had our differences, she has bullied me all my life, even beat me up while we were sharing a flat and I don't really respect her drug-abuse) and just tell her to stand up for herself. To not creep back to him. Just because someone is your biological father doesn't mean you have to be there for him. But I'm sure she is already in touch with him again. I hate to see her crawl for him. 

Another thing: I'm getting married in about two and a half weeks. I'm not having a wedding, I haven't invited anyone. But my father is paranoid and suspicious and thinks that everyone is invited but him. I don't want to call him to convince him otherwise. I don't have the strength for a discussion with him which will only result in him hurting me and calling me names. My grandmother, his mother, has given two very beautiful necklaces (which belonged to her mother) to my mother. My sister and I are supposed to get those necklaces when we are getting married. I have only met my Iranian grandmother once and I felt an instant connection with her. She was a writer, an artist, she loved music. She had led a difficult life as she was forced to marry a 30 years older man when she was 11 years old! But throughout her life she has been strong and just kept going and always found time for the things she loved. Everyone from my Iranian family who knows me tells me that I'm a lot like her. We share the same talents and we have the same ability to express ourselves with words. She died in the middle of the 90s. So she gave those necklaces to my mother and I have the moment in my head, I remember the exact words that were spoken, I remember the warmth in her eyes and her long grey hair. I remember it all. So, my mum wanted to take the necklace with her so she could give it to me next week (she'll come to visit me). But my dad took it from her, accusing her of wanting to steal and sell it. What the fuck? He said that the necklace is from HIS mother and that HE wants to give it to me. But the necklaces were given to my mum? And she will see me in person before my wedding! I have no plans in visiting my hometown any time soon. And I'm not even sure if I want to meet my father ever again. I won't contact him. If he calls, I'll answer. That's my decision. We haven't really spoken in years anyway, only through my mum or involuntarily when he picked up the phone when I wanted to speak to my mum. I'm really upset about this! It's not about the necklace being exclusive of expensive. It is about the necklace coming from my grandmother, the only thing I actually have of her. She has intended it to be mine at my wedding. So what the fuck? How can he be so selfish? I don't care about him giving it to me, I find that gesture to be a lie! I know that my mother was handed those necklaces anyway, I was there! I'm so upset about this!

So during  the last few days I have been trying to avoid thinking about my family, despite the fact that I was skyping with my mother every day and she kept telling me the latest news. But it's not working. All the hatred, all the anxiety and fear, have eaten me up. Honestly, I want my father to die. I know that it won't help me with my PTSD but at least I won't have to have any new bad and anxious memories connected to him. He is over 70 years old, he is a mean drug-addict. He should just drop dead. I know that's a mean thing to say. I don't want him to get killed and I don't want to kill him. I just think that enough is enough. He has used up his reasons to be alive. He should just stop torturing us. I don't care if I sound like a mean and resentful bitch. I used to be indifferent about my childhood, about his involvement. I think that was a defense mechanism. Now all my real feelings come up. And again, I don't want to hear how forgiveness can make me feel better, or to find a meaning in it all. There is no determinism, there is no meaning in anything. I'm not religious or spiritual. I'm atheist and logical. I don't want to forgive him. I just want it all to be over. I want to him to stop exisiting so he doesn't destroy our lives even more. 

I'm trying, really trying, I promise

I'm anxious and restless. But that's nothing new, is it? At least it's not the kind of restlessness I had when I tried to get off the Propavan. I have slept 9 hours last night and that's exactly what I needed. So at least I'm not too exhausted today. I still feel really hungover though. As always I had lots of things planned for today but I really haven't done much yet. I just washed the dishes and tidied up the the bedroom. Let's hope there's more that I can do today. I have a lot to write, a letter, reply to an email and finish a short story I have been working on for some time now. 

The anxiety feels a bit increased which could have to do with that I'm supposed to get my period soon. All my mental issues get worse when I'm pms-ing. My period hasn't been exactly regular lately though. So I don't know. The day before yesterday I was really suicidal which also tends to happen before I get my period. So I just hope that's the reason why. I  read up on suicide-statistics and some discussions on why suicide is selfish. But I'm not in that state of mind today. I have actually started planning my mum's visit. We don't have any money, she doesn't have any money. So we have decided to fill the car with petrol with our last savings so we can get out while she is here. I was thinking about doing a picnic somewhere in a park, taking a walk somewhere in nature, on my boyfriend's birthday we'll visit his favourite café. Yesterday I have also been checking up on exhibitions and museums which are free. I have seven days to fill with things. We'll stock up on food before she comes so we don't have to eat out. My mum hangs a lot on chatrooms on the internet so she can use my netbook. I already have fixed a cable through a wall into the guestroom so she'll have internet there. I think we'll somehow make this week work. My boyfriend is also off from work that week so if I'm having a bad day, the two of them can go out together. I'm never happy about my mum visiting. I have to be pretend to be okay. And my routines get disturbed. I have to get up early in the morning for instance. I have to be social. I have to go out. But yeah, she only comes around once a year so it's okay.

I have been outside the appartment yesterday! For the first time in five weeks. I just needed to get some things at the supermarket, beauty things, hairdye. And it felt good to put some make-up on, fix my hair, put some decent clothes on. For the last five weeks I have been running around in long shirts and leggings.My boyfriend told me several times how good I was looking It went alright although I had a panic attack in the parking lot. So my weeks of isolation are over! Next week my social worker is back from his vacation so I'll have to meet him once a week. Well, but I'm still having trouble meeting friends. I still haven't replied to A's message. And yesterday P asked if he could come over but I told him I was busy. I hate myself for that! 

At the moment I'm trying to force myself to call my father. His grandmother has given my mum two very expensive necklaces. She is from Iran and she visited us once when I was maybe 10 years old. That's the only time I have ever seen her. She died in the early 90s. So those necklaces are for my sister and me, for the day when we get married. I'm getting married in August and I really want that necklace. I have nothing else to remind me of my Iranian grandmother. So I told my mum I want her to bring it along when she comes to visit us. But my father refuses  to let her take the necklace. He thinks that she wants to sell it. My father is delusional! She would never do that! So he told her he wants to give it to me. But I haven't been in Germany for three years and I'm not planning to go there any time soon. And he knows that. So he said he'll send it instead. As if that was safe?!? So I need to call him (should have done that days ago) and tell him that I want my mum to give me the necklace when she is here. I just don't have the courage to pick up the phone right now. I know it's going to be a difficult situation. He'll badmouth my mother. But I want that necklace because I want to have something to remember my grandmother by!

I have an appointment with my psychiatrist next Tuesday. I'm a bit scared of that meeting to be honest. I mean, I haven't done anything he had told me to do. I still haven't tried a whole Valium one more time. I haven't taken the Seroquel. And I have been isolating myself, been suicidal and didn't call any helpline or asked for help. I just know that he'll give me that disappointed look. I wonder if he will say that it seems like I don't want any help. Or if he'll say that he can't help me anymore. I have even thought about cancelling the appointment. I just hate to admit that I'm complicating things.

I'm having my third cup of coffee for today. It's time for lunch/dinner soon. I think I want to read until then. So far I'm not hating this day yet.

Nightmare

I woke up at 7 a.m. this morning. After about 4 hours of sleep. And do you know what woke me up? The feeling of intense fear and utter disgust. I had nightmares, again. I still haven't figured out if those nightmares are because of the Propavan or if they are actually coming from my own fucked up imagination.

My nightmares are never about monsters or any kind of fantasy-worlds. They are about reality. And that's what makes them so scary. They seem real. So this time I dreamt that my father raped me. Isn't that just jolly?!? My father and I aren't close. We never were. I talked to him on the phone yesterday. It was more of a mistake than a planned thing. I wanted to call my mum but he answered the phone. They are still living together. My mum will move out in about three weeks. Anyway, we hadn't talked in 6 weeks or so. I told him that I'm going to get married. He didn't say anything about that. Whatever.

When I was a child my dad constantly beat me and my sister up. Not my brother though because, well, my dad is an Iranian and boys are gods while girls are whores. He beat us up a lot. We were never allowed to voice our opinions. He was basically a total dickhead. He stopped beating me because I threatened him to contact the police if he beats me one more time. I think I was 14 years old. He continued beating up my sister though so she moved out when she was 17, just to get away from him. My dad is a drug-addict. He is 70 years old. And he is still a drug addict. He has smoked opium for the last 40 years or so. And that's why he was such an asshole to us. Well, I actually think he is a psychopath too, you know, has antisocial personality disorder. My mum told me the other day that he now uses MY CHILDHOOD-ROOM as a growing place for fucking cannabis. He is just really fucked up. He basically should have spent the last 30 years in jail, in my opinion. For child abuse, for beating up my mum, for domestic violence, for possession of drugs, for dealing with drugs. But it was difficult for me to see all that, for anyone in my family to see all that. We were involved, we couldn't look at it objectively. Now we can. And it's now that I'm not angry anymore,  I'm just shocked about what a fucked person that man is!!

So I think the phone-call yesterday triggered something. My father has never sexually molested me. At least not that I can remember. But really, I should remember if something had happened. He is not that kind of person, even if he is fucked up, he is not a rapist-pedophile. But in my dream he raped me. He came in my mouth, he beat me,. he burnt me, I could taste his semen in my mouth when I woke up. And the moment I woke up I was choking on my own vomit. So yeah. Great way to wake up. I have been molested and raped. I have been through some shitty stuff. And that got somehow mixed up with the fear I have for my father, and his control-issues. Terrible, terrible, terrible.

So I didn't get much sleep last night. I have had the most horrifying nightmare. This day is going to suck, I know that. Damn!

Desperation

I have been feeling really desperate for the last few days. I can't find a better word to describe my state. I have been detached from reality and I have been close to giving up. I am trying hard to not let my dark thoughts and anxiety drag me down even more. But I'm slowly falling back into old patterns. 

I am trying to remind myself to think of the future, to plan for the long run and to not be too short-sighted. The emotions I'm having right now will pass, they won't stay with me forever. I know that. But my brain somehow doesn't want to work with me. I get desperate, I want it all to end, I see no future, I see only darkness. I can't motivate myself to do the things that I love. For weeks I have been thinking about the DIY-project, my jacket. I love altering my clothes. But I just can't get started. What's the point? I won't go out much anyway. So why do I need an awesome jacket?

My changed patterns scare me. Because I know what they have always lead to: suicide-attempt and hospital. I'm fighting. But my emotions are strong, especially this anxiety that is driving me mad. I am pacing up and down the hallway, wanting to scream out the pain. I have even been crying. I hate crying. I lay down in the middle of the day. Just being in bed, starring at the wall. Feeling gloomy and alone.

I have been detached from reality. I have been detached from my positive feelings. I have been in a bubble of anxiety and sadness. No one can reach me. My boyfriend is worried. I am trying. I promise, I am trying. But I am desperate. I don't want to feel like this ever again. And it probably won't ever get any better. 

The negative thoughts are racing through my head. I'll never be able to earn money, I'll always live off my boyfriend. I'll never be part of society. I'll never contribute to anything. I'm nothing and no one cares if I'm dead or alive. I'll never have real friends again, all the people I know have probably already forgotten about me. I'm just an annoying burden to the few people I talk to. I am nothing and I'll never be something. I've been fooling myself all these years, I'm not smart. If I was smart, I would be something. I would be able to fight this off. I'm weak. Just a burden.

And then I get weird flashbacks and foreshadowings. My head is filled with images from my time at the hospital. Psychotic people, screaming people, lies, pills, side-effects. The feelings I had back then come back, I feel just as desperate, just as sad, just as suicidal, just as anxious. Then I'm thinking about my dad killing my mum. I am so worried about her moving out and how he will react. He will be furious. When I'm in some kind of dreamlike state my mind paints horrifying pictures of my mum getting beaten to death by my  father. Those pictures scare the hell out of me.

And that's not all. My GAD-symptoms have been worse. I feel nautious all the time. I feel like throwing up. My stomach hurts. I have the runs. I am shaking. I can't focus. I hate when my body and my mind both scream "anxiety"!

I can't fall asleep and I wake up constantly. My sleep is not sleep, it's a turmoil. It's nightmares. It's sweat. It's desperation.

I can see myself from the outside and I know exactly what to tell myself. Think about the future. Remind yourself of the good times. You never know what tomorrow brings. You have gotten through such periods before. Activate yourself. Motivate yourself. Don't go to bed in the middle of the day. Eat properly. Exercise. Distract yourself. Do the things you love doing even if they don't bring you that much pleasure right now. Cook. Write. I know all this. But my brain has put up some kind of defensive wall. My brain has lost all of its rationality. 

I'm desperate. And I'm afraid of how far this desperation can push me. I want to die. I don't want to die. I want it to stop. I feel like I deserve feeling like this because I'm a bad person. I just want peace. Desperation. I'm nothing.

Trying

This is the first day in two weeks that I'm alone at home. My boyfriend is working and P had some appointments to attend. It doesn't feel too bad. I just need to stay occupied with doing something. So I have been cleaning, reading and listening to music. I think I'll try to exercise soon. The sun is shining and it's warm. I'm not too bad although I'm terribly tired and Mr.Anxiety is fucking my mind. I'll just try to be busy and not give my brain the opportunity to create destructive thoughts. I've actually had some interesting discussions on Facebook this morning, about intellectuality and who can be defined as an intellectual. I think it all comes down to a wish for knowledge and the ability to question doctrines. 

I skyped with my brother for two hours yesterday. We talked about my parents and how we should behave. We both agreed on that we don't want to pulled into a war, we don't want to be stuck in the middle. My mum had called him and said that she wants to stay with him for a time which of course puts him in a difficult position. And she can't really decided what she wants either, first she wanted to come yesterday and today she said she still needs some days to think. I'm there to support my brother. And I'm somewhat glad that I'm not in Germany. Moving to Sweden, moving away from my dysfunctional family was the best decision I've ever made.

Some days ago I thought that I didn't want to meet a psychiatrist. I didn't see the point because I don't want to try any more antidepressants at the moment. I'll only end up in hospital if I do. Really, if I try new antidepressants, I want to be in the hospital in the first place, so I'm safe. I always get extra-suicidal in the beginning. Anyway, I think I need some other sleepingpills. The Propavan is making me tired the next day and it still doesn't make me sleep properly. And I don't want to take Zoplicone every night because I really don't want to get addicted to it. Maybe there are some other pills out there? I remember taking a sleepingpill that made me psychotic, I can't remember the name though. Damn.

Tomorrow T will come over. If I tell him about what has happened with my cousin, I'm sure he'll suggest that I get admitted to the hospital. And I'll say no. And we'll both be grumpy. I really wish I could somehow cancel my appointment with him. But I know I shouldn't because he's the only help I'm getting right now. Blah.

I'll watch Dowton Abbey now and exercise while watching it. My boyfriend will come home in an hour. I'll have to re-dye my hair and cook some dinner. Keeping busy. I haven't left the flat for 22 days now. Is that something to be proud of?

(It smells like barbecue, I'm getting hungry. I'm jealous of the people down there at the beach with their barbecues. I should get on the balcony and stare at them angrily. Haha)

I can't handle it, it's TOO MUCH, I'm losing it

I'm so exhausted! It feels like I have partied all night, drank at least 10 bottles of beer, smoked two packs of cigarettes and then slept for like an hour. In reality I've slept five hours, tortured by nightmares, constant waking-up and a restless body. I haven't exercised for two days. I have become totally passive. I've somehow become a ghost, just sitting in the soffa, starring at the TV. I'm close to the edge, close to losing it. I can't handle the things going on in my life. A healthy person would probably break down so it's no suprise that I'm a wreck.

The whole situation with my parents hasn't improved. My brother went there to talk to them and both my mum and dad pretended to be okay. But I talked on the phone with my mum yesterday and she was crying and didn't know what to do. I told her to be reasonable and to THINK. She is a very passive person who often just waits problems out and hopes that they will somehow go away. But I, my siblings and every one else think that she has to go and save herself. My father can't be controlled and he can explode in rage easily. I'm really afraid that he will kill her. I understand that she has trouble leaving it all, everything they have built up together. She comes with the lamest excuses for not packing her bags and leave. So I tried to talk some sense into her. Things will only get worse, especially if she has been to the lawyer and filed for divorce. She has friends, she has family, a lot of people have offered her help so she just has to call someone, pack her bags and get out of there. I'm so worried. I hate this drama. I hate my father. And I hate that I let myself be effected by this so much.

And if that isn't enough, my cousin contacted me via Facebook yesterday and told me that she was standing on a bridge and seriously considering to jump. She contacted me because I am familiar with suicidal thoughts and urges. I didn't even know where she was so I couldn't contact the police. I mean, I knew she was somewhere in Austria but not specifically where in the country. You see, she is Iranian, lives in Italy but her boyfriend lives and works in Austria. She has gone through a lot of shit during the last ten years. A divorce, a custody battle for her daughter that has been going on for five years now and so on. Anyway, I tried to be calm and replied honestly. I didn't want her to feel like I was persuading her into something. I basically told her that I often come to the conclusion that I don't know how tomorrow will be, I don't know anything about the future and it could get better. I'm not talking about fooling yourself, I personally know that I'll never be "cured", but I know that I can have happy moments. I told her that she needs professional help. I talked with her for an hour, she texted from her phone. I tried out to get to know where exactly she was but she didn't want to tell me. Eventually she left the place and went home to her boyfriend (ex? he has cheated on her). And she promised me to contact a friend who is a doctor. And this morning I got a text saying that she has spoken to her friend and that they will meet up on Monday and figure something out. I personally think she should be admitted to the hospital. And she needs to be evaluated, blood-tests and all that. And she should be on medication, she has suffered from depression for years but was always afraid that taking psych-meds would negatively effect the fight for the custody of her daughter, that it would somehow shine a negative light on her if she had mental issues.

I had a proper breakdown after we finished talking. And then my mum called and we talked for an hour. After that I just broke down in my head, hysterically crying, shaking. It was all TOO MUCH to handle for me. I get why cousin contacted me, I mean, we usually don't talk much. But she knew that I wouldn't judge her and I have experience with these things, and well, I'm still alive so I somehow must have strategies to get through suicidal periods. But honestly, I don't. I end up in hospital, I get pumped full with medication and professionals try to talk to me. So I'm not angry at my cousin. I'm glad that I could help her and I'm glad that she's still alive. But all this just broke me. I had to take a sedative (I hadn't taken one in over 6 months!!) and unfortunately it didn't help as much as I hoped it would. It's only Oxazepam after all. But it calmed me down a little, my phsycial anxiety-symptoms didn't disappear but my thoughts got clearer, I could think properly.

So I just had lots of pizza and ice-cream and watched a movie. Then I took both Propavan and Zoplicone and hoped for a good night's sleep. Which I didn't get. I really don't care about exercising and routines right now. I'm in no state for that. I have to survive, this is fucking crisis-time. So I'll try to eliminate my vulnerabilites. I'll try to do things I like.

But there are so many musts. And I know that I feel worse if I don't follow my routines in the long run. But just give me this weekend. I need this weekend to be about survival, no mondane stuff like exercising or doing the dishes. I'll start over on Monday again. Next week I'll maybe even finally go to that hobby-store so I can start with some DIY with my clothes. Oh, and I ordered tons of stationary yesterday because I'm running low on it. I think I bought like 5 kg and paid around 90 Euros. But it made me feel good, now I don't need to buy stationary for a year or so. Still, I need to get my ass to that hobby-store next week.

And I hope I won't do anything stupid this weekend. I really feel tired, tired and exhausted. Of life. I really just want to rest forever. I want to make it all go away. I need to fight.

Family hell - my parents are getting divorced

I don't feel well. There is a huge chaos in my head. And at the same time I'm somehow indifferent. Or maybe it's just dissociation. I don't want to feel so my brain just shuts down. But in general I'm an anxious mess. There are too many bad things happening in my life right now, I don't know if a healthy person would be able to cope.

My parents are getting divorced. I don't think I've written anything about my family on this blog, there might be something about them in my "About Me"-section. I'm not close to my family. My father is from Iran, he's an opium-addict and violent. He used to beat me a lot when I was a child. He also abused me verbally. I'm quite convinced that his behaviour is the main reason for my mental illnesses. I only stayed in contact with him because he was living with my mum and I didn't want to cause any trouble or arguments.

My mother is a sweet but passive person. She's somehow living in denial, she just blocks out a lot of bad things. She's pretending that her life is perfect. But my dad has been beating her since the beginning of their relationship 40 years ago. She just couldn't get herself to leaving him. That's really one of the things I'll never forgive her, that she stayed with him although she knew that he was beating us children. Anyway, my mum has now realized that she wants some fun in her life, go to concerts, go to the movies, travel and all that. And she has found the internet and loves chatting with people. 

My dad doesn't get it all and doesn't want to change his life. He has started spreading rumours about her, talking to me and my siblings, telling us that she has dementia, that she is cheating on him, that she is selling her body. What the fuck?!? So some days ago he told her that he wants a divorce. Really, she should have left him a long time ago and now he wants a divorce?!? He's being a real asshole about it all. He told her that she has to move out when she told him that it's her parents' house, he slapped her. He has started moving money around so he won't have to pay her anything. I guess he is used to Iranian laws where the woman doesn't get any money. 

I'm quite sure that all this is going to turn into some kind of war. My dad is totally convinced that he has the right to everything. My mum is just scared right now. I have told her several times that she should pack some bags and move to her brother for a while. I don't trust my father, he might just kill her in rage. I really could see that happen. I understand that moving to her brother would mean a break from the life and the standard she has had for decades but really, it could be saving her life.

So I'm worried as fuck. I don't want to be pulled into this. I don't want to have anything to do with it. It's not like I'm neutral, I hate my father. But still, I can't handle this. My sister is bascially saying the same thing. So, how do I cope with this? I also have to worry about not having any psch-help right now. And my boyfriend is home sick with pneumonia. This is too much for me.