Sylvilel

- You’re never gonna do it. - Never gonna do what? - Write that book you want to. - Oh. Why not? - You’re not good enough. - Why am I not good enough? - You don’t write everyday. - I don’t write everyday? - No. You just sit there, thinking it all up inside your head, but you never get it down on paper. - I see. And that means I won't be good enough to write a book? - No. Yes. Yes, it means that no, you won’t be good enough. - Okay. So what do you propose I do, then? - Write something else? - Something else? - Yes. Something better. - But how can it be better if I don’t write at all? - You just gotta change. - Change? - Yes. - Change how? - Change into a better person. - Someone else than I already am? - Yes. - But I can’t do that. - But you have to. - But that’s impossible. I am me. I will never be anything else. - But you could try. - You know, I did. Remember? - I suppose. - Remember how that went? - You got depressed and ended up hating yourself, and thinking everyone else hate...

So many things wanting out. All at the same time. It was a long time since the time when she felt time slow and become endless time. It was a long time, since so many things had wanted out at once - and found a way. She tried not to stop. Her mind was a vortex and her fingers a blur; she was a willow and a fire and a gale and a monster. She was a girl. She was a woman. She was a girl again, and her fingers hesitated; then, she was a woman again; a wild, feral, raging, all-consuming goddess, out to destroy the world, or heal it. It all depended. Now, she was a sea; still, deep and blue; fathomless blue, and fathomless deep; then a wind broke, and she was a crashing tide; then a gale broke, and she was a maelstrom; then an itty bitty shell floated down her middle, and she was a girl again; eyes saucer-wide with wonder and curiosity, and the tide stilled once more. She picked up the shell and studied it. Tilted it sideways and edgeways, feeling the pearly smooth white with her eyes; tast...

It was a different kind of day. This day, her eyes almost swiveled around in her skull, just dying to be done with the world. Her mind was aiming for mindful, but frankly it was very little mindful , and a lot just full . Those who’d never felt streaks of white fire shooting in web-shaped patterns through their head hadn’t yet lived. It was an out-of-touch kind of day. Waking up, she’d felt more than ready to face it, but as it progressed, her mind tilted more and more sideways. Finally, it slid into a gooey-grey gulf garnished with slate gravel, and she watched in fascinated horror as her mind chewed itself to rags.

 “You all right?” “Both - yes and no.” “ That’s not cryptic at all.” “I mean, I don’t know this for certain, but I’m fairly convinced you of all people know what it feels like to carry this insufferably heavy baggage around, and yet you just know - you just know you’re gonna keep on living, one way or another, even - even if you loose your job, even if you loose your home - even if all you have left are the rags on your back, you’ll just - continue.      ‘Basically just because we don’t know how to stop.” “I guess it’s pure stubbornness.”

  ©Sylvilel Heisann. Ei stund siden sist, ja? Det har skjedd mye i livet mitt de siste årene. Jeg har flytta ( 1 000 000 ganger). Bytta jobb. Knekt arma. Fiksa arma. Fått meg hund. Mista katta. Tatt opp hundekjøring igjen. Skrevet litt. Skrevet litt mindre. Håpt at jeg så smått skulle begynne å bli voksen (feira 31 forleden). Erkjent at jeg kanskje aldri kommer til å bli voksen. Ja. Livet har vært turbulent for ei som aldri har hatt  et liv før. Det er mange tanker som har hopa seg opp over lang tid. Mange følelser. Mange traumer og gammel bagasje. Mye som nå vil ut på én gang. Her i sommer innså jeg at jeg kom til å trenge samtaleterapi igjen. Så jeg tok kontakt med en privatklinikk i høst, og går nå til to flinke terapeuter som virkelig brenner for faget sitt. Det er jeg fornøyd med. Det som kanskje er det vanskeligste nå, er at jeg ikke har hatt kontakt med meg sjøl på veldig lenge. Jeg var på vei inn i en god stim i vår, men så - La mye press på meg sjøl i jobben foran som...

©️Sylvilel It's been a long time since I felt as run-down as I do now, so it's actually a little hard to admit that I'm not doing so well at the moment. But I choose to view it as a symptom of a forward-moving process. Considering all the mental changes I've been through over a very short period, it would be ridiculous to think that my body woulnd't eventually catch up with the mental exhaustion. So now it's evidently time to take a step back and let things run their course for while; let all the hard work process, and see what becomes of it. Since I'm not at all a perfectionist/idealist (read: sarcasm), it's difficult to let go. I am really  bad at letting go. But some wise idiot apparently said that you should fake it 'til you make it. Also, in nine days time I'm having another surgery on the arm that I broke last August, which isn't exactly mood-lifting. But that too is part of a growing-process (pun intended), and I'...

©️Sylvilel Fuck. This trudge again. Allright: So clearly, I am not doing as fine I wish. Right now, I'm not sleeping, because I'm brooding over people in my life, and my life. I'm brooding over the fact that my roomate is very non-talkative, and I don't know how to deal with that, because I have never once in my life not been around people who didn't  share thoughts and opinions in some form or other. Now this  might be because I have always been easily impressionable, and prone to letting others take the lead. That's fine. But I'm not anymore. I'm brooding over how annoyed I sometimes get at people who always  share their thoughts and opinions in some form or other, and how that is completely unfair, when I  am the one who usually encourages them to. I'm brooding over how people are constantly annoyed or mad or hurt by my direct way of talking, and how that often makes me the big bad wolf. I'm brooding over the fact that ...

I - I don't know. I have things to say, but I don't know how to say them. My tongue lies dead in my mouth and my thoughts are all knotted up in each other. If I pull on a thread from the wrong end, it will all unravel. I thought I was getting depressed again, a little while back. But it's not that. All in all, I'm in a good place. But I'm tired. And I'm lonely. I have a lot of big thoughts on my mind that I need to air out, but no one to really listen to them. As of right now, I am a little lost, and I have nowhere to turn. As always, it's best to stay put until any possibilites present themselves. I know change will come eventually. It's the wait  I can't handle. There are so many things I want to be doing. So many skills I want to start developing. I'm ready to set a new course in life, but like I said, I have no fucking clue where to beign. And I've wasted so much time already; I want to start something that feels right  from the s...

©️Sylvilel 11. mai 2011 (Original tekst) Jeg merket de nakne anklene mine mot innsida av skoene mens jeg gikk. Jeg var utenfor verden, og hadde verden inni meg. Jeg kjente en makt jeg ikke hadde kjent på lenge, om jeg noensinne hadde det. Til og med stemmen min da jeg snakka til meg sjøl ( "Jeg må bare skrive ned noe før jeg glemmer det" ) hadde en myk, behagelig klang, full av roen som plutselig falt over meg. Jeg satte meg ned på ei bildekkhuske, løfta de Converse-kledde beina mine opp fra sandgropa, og kom til å tenke på ting. Lufta like før et regnvær er underlig paradoksal. På samme tid er den både klam og varm, med et isnende drag i seg. Tilstanden begynner å gå over. Jeg belsutter at det kan være lurt å legge skrivesakene fra seg. Men hva skal jeg gjøre da? tenker jeg. Vipps så er jeg tilbake igjen. En døsig, trøtt svimmelhet nesten, full av sjelero, og fri for stress. Verden er så nær nå, her i parken, og likevel så langt unna. Jeg...

©️Sylvilel I sometimes wish I had the guts to pack my things and travel the world. It's such a futile thing to say, because there really is nothing stopping me, not even insecurity anymore. I'm just - I don't know. Not afraid. Not nervous. Lazy? Maybe. I don't know what to call it. Anxious? Maybe that's a better word. Not bad anxious. Maybe I'm afraid that it won't be all I want it to be. If all goes to plan, I might be travelling to Copenhagen this Christmas. With a friend, visitng another friend. For some reason, doing something completely  different for Christmas this year appeals a great deal to me. Someting has happened to the family this year. Both my mum and dad's. Not just this year, specifically, it's been a long way coming. But I feel it more now than I used to. I want  to believe it's because I've  changed. And it probably is. But there's been a few major turning points somewhere along this particular year too....

©️Sylvilel For those of you who don’t know, once upon a time I spent the better part of ten years dealing with depression. In the last three years of that depression I also dealt with anxiety, paranoia, and panic attacks. Long story short, I had problems taking care of myself in a satisfying way, and I drove everyone away from me. This December it will be two years since I was released from therapy. It’s been a good and productive two years, and I feel like I’m finally looking at an endgame where I get my shit together. I’m doing the stuff I like, and making choices based on what’s best for ME rather than for others. This March I had a bit of a setback, to the point where I considered going back into therapy. But as my therapist always told me: “You’ve got the tools, and you know how to use them.” So I decided to try another strategy first, one that pretty much worked for me since I was a kid: Namely writing. The journal you see in the photo has been my therapeuti...