Playing with fire

The dark passenger is back. The persistent backseat driver has moved to the front seat, tired of whispering in my ear, of looking over my shoulder while I ignore her. She is right here with me now, taunting me, tempting me.

I am playing with fire, flirting with darkness. I know that. But so far, I am in control. Or am I? How do ever truly I know whether I do something because I want to, or want to do it because it lessens that constant, nagging anxiety? And I am aware of my addiction to this, to these things. I know I will want more, I know how quickly it can reach a level of almost obsessive-compulsiveness, I know all of this.

And yet, I'm playing with fire. Telling myself that this time is different. This time I will remain in control. Maybe I'll prove myself right, maybe I won't. At this point, I don't know. Will it escalate or stop? Will I escalate or stop? But I will not cut my arms open, no matter how much I may want to, in the spur of the moment. That would just be too hard to hide. So I remain in control.

How did it start, again? Gradually sinking lower into depression, and then, mounting anxiety, even panic attacks. As I realised that I am not entirely depressed, that I could see much clearer what was me and what was, is, the illness, the depression, it was as if it changed. Granted, I am still depressed, suffering from painfully low self esteem, lack of initiative, lack of energy; I have lost my appetite, I cry easily, and I want to harm myself – but at the same time, I am happy and positive. Being able to see (feel) this means that I am not the depression, I am not the anxiety. I suffer from depression and anxiety, but it is not who I am.

Unfortunately, the panic attacks, being all tensed up and struggling to catch my breath, is pretty draining. And it affects my dance. I hate it, but am realising that I don't let it control my life; I try to lead a normalish life. I go out, I meet people, I work. When I take on my professional role, no one will ever notice what's going on. My friends, my Sisters, they see more. They feel me vibrating, physically, emotionally, mentally. But this is my transformation to go through, the fragile shell I feel around me is what remains of my walls, and because it is so thin, I have to protect myself. I don't let many people in. I can't. I won't. But every breath I take is a victory, every morning I wake up stronger, closer to breaking through the shell and spreading my wings in freedom, beauty and power.

I just pray that things don't go too far before then, and that the breakthrough isn't a breakdown. I am worried, and a bit afraid. Because I do want to harm myself – not seriously, just a little. And I have lost a bit of weight because of having no appetite and sometimes being too tired to force myself to eat, and even though I doubt I've lost that much, I am afraid that I might cross a line when I step through the mirror. I already have more thoughts of consciously making myself lose more weight, dieting, using these diet supplements. I register those thoughts, but I don't act on them. I just find myself reading the labels, comparing the nutritional contents, checking prices. It's a good thing they are expensive and I am way too smart to fool myself. I don't need to lose weight and I have no intention of doing so. Part of me wants to, but I won't.

Even so, I know that if I keep losing weight, it will be harder to resist as the dark passenger grows louder and stronger. So I pray that I will get an psych appointment soon and that I will keep making myself eat. More. I am not going back into the mirror! I am not making that particular journey again.

I know it's stupid of me to play with fire, but really, I don't know how not to. Even with the panic attacks that make me in a way worse off than I've ever been, and the incredible fatigue, depression etc, things are a million, billion, zillion times better that they used to be. I will get through this.

Yay me!

6 years… Some time now in mid-September, it's been six years since I walked down a street in my hometown Göteborg one night, kicking at autumn leaves, and suddenly thought: "I think it's over now." So simple, so sudden, so… undramatic. Matter-of-fact, even. Anorexia was no more. 25 years of my life were over.

Of course it didn't happen overnight; what had been an integral part of my life, at times the most important part, the one thing I desperately clung to, didn't suddenly disappear. It had taken years. But that very night, whose date I don't remember, marks my declaration of recovery, as it was then that I realised that my life was no longer controlled by the eating disorder. I wasn't controlled by it. I was free. I am free.

I still prefer to think of myself as free, rather than recovered, for the simple reason that I never regarded myself as being ill. I don't know what it says in my medical files; whether I was ever certified as being ill, or for that matter recovered. But it doesn't matter. To me, the eating disorder, all those anorexic years, weren't an illness; it was my way of living. What probably initally started out as a coping mechanism, that became a way of life, that became a disorder that took over my life and almost killed me. But not an illness or sickness. It was more than that; it was my entire life. It was what I grew up with, what I matured in parallel with, something that had always been there. I didn't have a "before" to compare with or fall back on; I don't remember a before, I was too young then. So my way out wasn't about rehabilitation, but habilitation; it wasn't about finding a way back to a healthy life, but about figuring out what a free, recovered, healthy life was for me. There was no key to this particular equation; I had to find it for myself. I had to create, or discover (rediscover?), an identity without anorexia. And, for that matter, without a whole bunch of other things. It took me a couple of years, but I got there. Obviously.

Everything wasn't great that September night; everything still isn't. From time to time, I go through periods of anxiety, I tend to get depressed when I get exhausted, at times I've got a head full of thoughts about whether or not what I'm feeling is normal. I'm human, everything will never be great. But I no longer self-destruct when I feel bad, I don't place my feelings on the plate before me or in the loo. I'm not eating disordered any more. The dark mirror has lost its grip and lure; I am free.

Long and Negative Rant - getting it off my chest

There are days when everything is just wrong, and no matter how hard I try to stay positive, use affirmations, mental pep talk, change the things I can change and accept the things I can't change, I can't muster the positivity. When I open my mouth to say anything about how I am, I hear this whining bitch who Just Isn't Me. So that's a topic I shy away from. I don't want to bitch and moan, I don't want to be this wandering dark cloud that may just suck up everyone else's good mood. And I most definitely don't want to sound like a victim.

I'm overtired, overstressed; undervacationed and underslept, and have two more weeks of continuous hard work before the big deadline. I can't ask for an extension, as it's already been renegotiated, and if the book is to be published this year, it has to start going through the publishing house mill soon. And because I was a bit optimistic and thought I couldn't possibly need more than three months for the script, and forgot that in this business, work tends to come in torrents rather than in trickles, which it did, and was very much affected by the heat earlier in summer (affected meaning mentally semi-incapacitated), it has become somewhat stressful. Most of all, of course, I was very optimistic regarding my own workload capacity, as I keep forgetting that I still am not back where I was before last autumn.

I don't like to moan about my work situation as I am absolutely aware that I have chosen to be freelance, and thus have to accept what that entails. (How much of that choice was really a full choice and how much was a default choice can be discussed; but the fact remains: I chose to be a translator.) But there are parts about this that I haven't chosen, namely the flow of work. I've gone most of the year with very little work, so when there is all of a sudden lots coming in, I have to take on as much as I possibly can, as I desperately need the money. It is a choice, but parts of it is necessity. So I've gone from less than half-time to three parallell projects and way too much to do, which is actually pretty normal for this industry. But since my focus is not the best, and doesn't get any better from sleep deprivation as I haven't been able to sleep well for months now, everything takes so much longer than it normally should. And I'm feeling more depressed and anxious, tired to the point where it feels unhealthily tired, and my body is reacting to it(which isn't strange, since it was probably a PTSD reaction last year and it takes longer to recover from than a year); but what can I do? This is the only job I have, this is all I can. I have a deadline to meet and I need the money to not only pay my bills, but to pay for dance classes and workshops in autumn, and to be able to *Goddess willing* start my 2nd spiral of the Priestess of Avalon training. So I really can't say no to work assignments even if I could do with some time off.
But I still don't like to talk about this with others, as I don't want to be dismissed with "it's your choice".

Come to think of it, there's a lot of things I don't speak about now. I can see a pattern here... Whenever I'm lower, more tired, sadder, I turn away from how I feel and focus on other things. Usually other people's feelings and needs. This time, I've actually thought that I'm dealing with it beautifully by working with affirmations and positive thoughts, which have worked to a degree, but realise that doing that I don't really get to the bottom of the problem and work to solve it, when I should really be doing both. That is of course assuming that I a) know what the problem is, and b) can solve it.
I am very much present in my emotions, so there's no denial of them, but when I start getting too negative and tired, it feels more positive and productive to focus on positive things rather than negative. Letting myself be consumed by stress, sadness, weariness, powerlessness or whatever I may be feeling in the moment, won't make anything better, so can it really be wrong to focus on the positive?

Today was one of those days. It's been raining on and off for most of the day - and no light rain, at that - I still haven't finished the work I've planned for today but went to dance class anyway. Since February, the dance has pretty much been a huge source of joy and creativity, and an outlet for stress and any emotions, but for the last two weeks (with no dance, as it's the summer holiday), I've felt less enthusiastic about it. And with being stressed and having no energy, it may not have been the wisest thing to do. I sucked!
Nothing worked the way I wanted it to; there were steps I should have learned but had no recollection of whatsoever (could be that they learned them in the first weeks of the summer course, when I wasn't there), and not only did I feel bad about it, I also didn't learn them as fast as I wanted to as the channels between body and brain appeared to have shut down; I didn't feel like I was able to follow the class like I normally do, I felt SO out of place and really struggled to stay present and focussed, but no. I'm just so disappointed in myself. Of course I'm allowed a bad day, but surely by now I should be able to expect more of myself than this?
As usual with me, low self esteem seems to be paired with a high degree of perfectionism. So I really can't do anything right today,

The mirror didn't make it any better, because we are so not friends right now. I've put on weight this summer, too much weight, and the problem is that I don't know why. If I knew that I'd overeaten, at least I would know why, but now I don't. And it doesn't help that the few people I've mentioned it to have said words to the effect that it suits me and that I'm still slim; showing that everyone can see that I've put on weight. It's not just my imagination. I hate it to a degree most people wouldn't understand, and I know that it's not rational.

The mirrors in the dance studio today were particularly evil, and when I was already panicking over how bad a dancer I've become in just a few weeks' time, let's just say that it didn't make it better. I am bigger than I want to be - and what I want is no longer a sickly skinny ideal - and I don't feel at home in my body. I hate the look of it now to the extent that I feel weepy and angry and desperate, but I'm too smart to do something drastic about it. I'm more hoping that it may be stress induced and will normalise when my life gets back to a more normal pace. Having said that, I wouldn't mind dancing in a dark room without mirrors, or in a burkha, next time.

Do the body issues get to me because I'm tired, stressed, and have lower self esteem, or do I have lower self esteem because of the body issues? Where's the hen and the egg?
Are they ED related or normal? How freaked out and disgusted with your body is normal to get? I will claim that as long as I'm not doing anything stupid because of the body image issues, it's not an eating disorder, or even leftovers of it, but normal body anxiety. But I will probably never know where you draw the line between normal neurosis and the remains of the ED. All I know that it is my choice whether I ever go back to the ED behaviours.

The day is coming to an end, I have more work left to do, and feel relieved that it will soon be time to sleep and a new day tomorrow. This too shall pass.

Sweet oblivion

I'm tired, feel like I have no energy to interact even with my friends. Maybe that's because several of my friends have needed my energy lately and I have been an attentive ear, a sympathetic friend who listens and questions and dares to go deeper into the real issues. Apprecieted most of the time, but not very rewarding for me. I get no kicks from gratitude, and I don't feel all warm and fuzzy when I can help someone sort their shit out. I just feel more like a mentor than a friend and am so longing for my peers, my equals, my older sisters with their wisdom and experience. Am sick and tired of being the voice of reason, the wise friend who people come to for some unloading. It's gotten to the point when I almost don't want to talk to them at all, I want everyone to back off instead of asking me for anything at all, even to listen to their positive stuff. Because I just really don't want to care; caring takes too much energy. I'm a natural carer, I have almost limitless energy, love and attention for friends, but there is a limit and I'm close to it.

Right now, I choose to close my close relationships as the friends who were close have been too needy and unable to understand my dynamics, and I just can't be bothered to let them in. I choose to close parts of myself off to anyone who comes asking for anything - even for positive things - as I don't want to give anymore. For some it may come as a relief when a friend asks how they are doing; for me it doesn't work if said friend has just unloaded a lot of stuff. I don't volunteer information. I hardly ever do, and when I do it's only to a very select few. It has something to do with trust, but more with energy. It also has a lot to do with the dynamics of any relationship and the fact that I prefer to unload for a therapist than a friend. I talk to my T rather than to friends even though I don't always let her in on the entire picture either.
I'm way, way more open to friends, have more people who get to be there more for me and whom I can ask for support - when I choose to - and I'm way more open and honest with my T too, but I need for her to push me. I wouldn't lie to her, but I don't volunteer anything and I'm a champion at hiding stuff. If I don't want you to know, you never ever will. Unless you're a bloody great intuitive.

I'm seeing my T today, after three weeks of holiday, and where I felt last week that I had so much to talk to her about, today I feel like I don't know what to say. I feel blah, bland, cut off, blank, numb. My mood is the mental equivalent of a shrug. I'm sort of positive, or at least not depressed (right now), could easily access that happy, smily part of me and still be genuine. But I don't see why I should. I'm not interested in spilling my guts out to friends, but am not sure how well I can put it into words and tell my T. I think it's time to see her less regularly, forthnightly instead of weekly, and I really don't know what I may need to go into with her at the moment. Perhaps that's because I'm too cut off emotionally, perhaps because it's a blind spot that she can see but I can't.
I mean, I don't really have any huge issues anymore, I don't starve or purge or cut, I'm not in a messy relationship (or any relationship), I've managed to say No to friends when I don't want to give anymore... I'm coping. She can't change my life, she can't get the work/money to roll in, she can't get me hooked up with D or anyone else, she can't change me or the people around me. But she can help me get a perspective, she can ask the right questions, she can question and mirror me - and she knows me better than anyone.

I do long for the sweet oblivion of anorexia, the mad focus, the tunnel vision, the situation that nothing else matters as long as I lose weight. I really do long for it, for the drama, for an escape from this drab reality. But I know I can't go back.

Tempting, but no thanks

Will the temptation ever die? Will there ever be a time when I no longer turn to my shadow self when things get rough? Will I ever not look in the mirror at the first signs of trouble? It's still a gut reaction, a reflex, to step into the shadow and let that part of me whisper just a little bit louder when this life gets too stressful, too frustrating, too full of duty and too lacking in sex, fun and creativity.

So I'm a passionate person, and I've found that the two sides of my passion are creation and destruction. If I don't get my kicks one way, I need them the other. If there's too little creativity, I become destructive. It's not the least surprising, although the realisation that this is really the case came as a bit of a surprise. But it explained everything perfectly. In my life, I have for long periods of time had very little room and/or energy for creativity, and lacking that creative outlet, I have found other outlets, mostly destructive ones. And I never understood that my penchant for self-destruction had anything to do with the passion that I sometimes misread as intensity or hypomania, but is just a very natural, fiery, earthy passion. That is, until I understood.

When life becomes too full of stressors, mainly in the form of lack of money, and there are more duties than fun, or I feel stress and pressure and don't know how to express it, how to release the energy, I turn to my shadow self. This is how I have done for many years, and even though I rarely act on it, I turn that way. It is my default reaction. That part of me seems like a twisted comforter, an escape into a reality that deals with problems on a completely different scale.

I can be so very, very tempted to let that side of me take over for a while, to let the stressful thoughts drown in the whispers of my shadow self and just obliterate everything else. Just for a while it would be wonderful to hand the wheel to my dark passenger and let her drive. Just for a while. But I know it doesn't work that way. I don't trust myself to let that other side of me out for just a bit, because I know that if I give her space and listen to her, she will always demand more space, more time, more of me. She is never satisfied with just a little. And if I'm feeling vulnerable and really, really want an escape from the pressuring, stressful reality, I might just as well be tempted to give just a bit more space to my dark, destructive side... and more... and more... Not intending to step back into the mirror fully, into the dark glass, but just as a small way out. And I know too well how hard it is to step out again, to tear myself away from that escape - I've done that too many times in the past before I stepped away from the mirror.

So I am tempted, but I don't go there. Not very far, anyway. I'd love to, just for a while, just to rest in numb oblivion, but no thanks.
Because I know I will want more and more and more. This is my drug of choice.

The Dark Passenger

I was watching Dexter on Monday evening (we're probably a season or two behind the US), and was absolutely struck by some of the things said about addiction. I feel just the same! Being a recovered anorexic, I still know the addiction to starvation, food abuse and purging, although I no longer live it out. The anorexic in me is quieter, but nevertheless always there. In that sense, I define myself more as a "sober anorexic" than recovered, as I'm not sure whether I will ever be completely free from that part of me, that part of my life. I don't live it anymore, but it's not gone.

Lila: Like a thousand hiding voices whispering: "This is who you are". And you fight the pressure, the growing need rising like a wave, prickling and teasing and prodding to be fed. But the whispering gets louder, until it's screaming: "now !". And it's the only voice you hear... the only voice you want to hear. And you belong to it... to this... shadow self. To this...
Dexter: Dark Passenger.
Lila: Yes. The Dark Passenger.

My dark passenger works just the same way, although I no longer have to fight her as hard as I once had to. But the whispering gets louder every now and then, and there are times when I want nothing more than to follow her lead, give myself away to the shadow self that is still, always, intrinsically a part of me. My mirror self, the girl on the other side of the mirror, my dark sister, my dark twin.
I can't deny that there are times when I choose to be her, to follow her instead of doing what I know would be "right". How can something so wrong feel so right, so natural? The main difference from Then is that I have a choice, I choose when to listen to her, when to follow her; I don't have to, I don't get anxious and panicky when I don't.

I've been under a lot of (financial) stress lately, and very frustrated, and that always makes me low, depressed, I lose my appetite, eat less real food and more fast food, sweets and junk, and unlike many others I seem to lose weight when I eat "bad foods". I've lost a bit, enough for my therapist to be happy with it, but not enough for anyone to be really concerned. At least not me. I still feel that I have some distance to when the Dark Passenger starts screaming, although I am aware that I'm pushing it a bit. I did put on some of the weight again, but have absolutely no desire to put on more. I've never wanted to put on weight, ever, but I did anyway because I had to for health reasons, and to get out of the ED. I'm far from back there, but like I've said before, I'm aware that I'm playing a possibly dangerous game.
Some days, when I'm particularly low or stress-induced anxious, I want to block out all other voices, the voices of reason, and just hear her for a bit. It wouldn't solve anything, so I don't, apart from for a while, and I wonder if I would ever let her get into the driver's seat again. What would it take for me to step back into the mirror?

Dexter: I just know there's something dark in me. I hide it. I certainly don't talk about it. But it's there. Always. This dark passenger. And when he's driving, I feel.... alive. Half sick with the thrill, complete wrongness. I don't fight him. I don't want to. He's all I've got. Nothing else could love me, not even, especially, not me. Or is that just the lie the dark passenger tells me? Because lately there are these moments when I feel....connected to something else, someone. And it's like the mask is slipping....and things....people....who never mattered before are suddenly starting to matter. It scares the hell out of me.

My mask has slipped and I am most definitely connected to something so much bigger than anorexia, and that is my safeguard; I have too much to lose to ever let my shadow self take over again. This fact, that I can't go back without giving a lot of things up that I don't want to lose, no longer scares me as it used to do. It has become a fact of life; if I choose that dark path in the mirror, I will lose something. A lot of things matter a lot more than being skinny, and the illusion of control is just that: an illusion.

But the dark passenger is still there, still teasing, taunting, wanting to be fed and heard. She is part of me, just like my shadow is always a part of me, but she is the dark passenger, not the driver. And she is me.

The Lure of the Mirror

At times I wonder if it is ever possible to be totally free from the ties to the mirror, to break completely free and never look back. How many years down the line is that, in that case? Do I even want to forever completely sever the ties, if I can? They say it takes as long to be free as it took to hit rock bottom, and in that case I have many more years to slowly break the chains, one link at a time.

Most of the time it really isn't on my mind. I can look in the mirror and appreciate what I see without feeling the slightest desire to step back, not even the smallest inkling to step on the scales. Other times I am curious and hear the siren's song again. Quietly and from far, far away, like fairy music in my dreams. But I hear it, and if I listen to it, give room to the oh so quiet voice from the other part of me, that part that has shrunk, almost into oblivion, but is nevertheless always with me, a part of me; if I listen to that voice, to the alluring lilt in its seduction, I know it will grow stronger. It has no hold over me, not yet anyway, but can I safely say that I will never give it hold over me? No. I'm being honest here: I will always be able to choose to go back. I don't know what it would take to push me into making that choice, and it won't be one easily, casually made, but the choice remains. I have too much to lose to want to take the risk, now, although I sometimes wish I didn't have to feel this much.

But there is a middle ground, between being completely outside of the mirror and being inside it, and I am playing in that area, sometimes comfortably far away, sometimes challenging myself to step just a bit closer to that smooth, shiny surface. You know you want to... And yes, I do. I want to be able to have one foot in the mirror and still be free. I want to eat the cake and not eat it; I want to be healthy and yet slightly less than healthily slim. Not unhealthy, but just not normal, average. I want it all, the drama, the high, the rush, the feeling of pushing boundaries, and still be sane, focussed and able to lead a normal, happy life. Impossible? Hrmph! Impossible is nothing. I.e. it shouldn't be impossible; it doesn't have to be, does it?

I do miss the drama a bit. Not that I'm a drama queen, because it was always my hidden, secretive inner drama. A bit of Sturm und Drang in the Good Girl's dull life. OK, so I'm not as good a girl any more, and there's definitely room for passion, drama, a spicier life, and it's not usually that dull, either. But occasionally, I miss the internal drama and the secret life. And I still fear normalcy, whatever that is. I don't want to be normal if it means being average, mediocre, mainstream, like everyone else, invisible. That's not me. They tell me I'm anything but invisible, but then how can I feel so invisible?

So I play with the mirror, test the strength of my ties to it, see how far I can push the boundaries before I feel its pull, before I start seeping into it. This is nothing new and not entirely conscious, but I've become aware that this is what I do. About a year ago I felt that I was too big, and decided to lose a bit. Nothing much, just a bit. And slowly, oh so slowly, I have. No dramatic changes, in spite of the tough times with an unwanted pregnancy and a manipulative man in autumn, in spite of the constant stress of money and work (or no work). I haven't given up eating, given in to dieting, or to compensation/purging behaviours. Still go to the gym too seldom for the membership to really pay off. But it's in my mind, and it's been there on and off, like an undertone or a subaudible, hidden track in my thoughts. And it's summer, and I'm under a lot of stress, feel emotionally exhausted and low, and that always affects me somewhat.
For a while, a week or so in May, I thought I might choose that path again, when the weight thoughts were stronger than in many years after I'd had to weigh myself at my GP's before an asthma exam, but I held back and worked with the thoughts and why they had appeared so strongly. I was proud of myself for that. I am in control, I choose what to do and will not give in to any fearful thoughts. But the fact remains: I have lost, willingly, even though I have been more or less happy with how I look for months. I can look in the mirror and be happy, satisfied. This is new, I never felt that before I broke out of the mirror. I can actually say that I look good and feel beautiful. Not every day, not all the time, but often enough. And yet... Do I think I look better when I am slightly smaller? (Not obviously underweight, unhealty small, but just a little bit less than average.) I don't know, I really can't say. But here is enough (another new thought). I don't want my breasts to shrink, because I've lost half a cup size and I like my breasts! So no more. That's what I say. Now, the test is whether I will stop and just stay here. That is where I know the game is, the challenge of whether or not I have stepped ever so slightly back into the mirror's shadow.
Let's see. For now, anyway, I am still my own and in control of my behaviours, and I have no intention of giving that control over to the darker part of me, to the mirror girl...

~L~

Journeying through the mirror

I stepped out of the mirror years ago, and yet... I can't help but wondering whether I will ever truly leave it. Whether it will leave me. Perhaps I will forever live in the shadow of the mirror that for so long held me captivated; a prisoner of my own fears and twisted ideals. Don't get me wrong, the mirror no longer controls me, and it has nowhere near as great a hold on me as it used to have, but there is still a strange fascination and at times a temptation, an enticement. It can lure me, but I know far too well what I have to lose to want to give in.

I am recovered, as far as recovery ever seems to go. There is no way to sandblast away what was or the reminders of what I spend so many years doing to myself, and I have no desire to. I am the sum of my experiences, my knowledge, my healing as well as my wounds, and to deny my past would be to deny my self. When I say that I am recovered, I mean that I no longer live with an eating disorder 24/7, or even an hour a week. Anorexia no longer controls my every move and thought. I don't starve or purge or binge because life seems unsurmountable or I feel like crap, I no longer give in to impulses of self-destruction or endulge in self-injurious behaviours on a regular basis. I live a fairly normal life with fairly normal behaviours - as far as I've been able to understand "normal" anyway. I think I will always be recover-ED. A sober, non-starving, non-purging anorexic. Can there be anything else after 25 years on the other side of the mirror?

This state of being recoverED is not a bad thing. In fact, it's wonderful. Even the dark days are better than how the light days were there, on the other side. They sure can feel darker, but how could it be otherwise; this life has nuances, an endless display of colour, light and darkness; countless emotions, although I am still struggling with them. As I let more light in, the darkness seemed darker, more scary even, for a time. In all honesty, I still feel more comfortable in the dark, with the darkness, the deeper emotions, the introspection, the raw feelings in the depths of being. I like the light, but it somehow seems... insubstantial in comparison. Superficial. Love and light and sweetness and all that. But life is more than love and light - it's also death and pain and darkness. I grow by passing through the dark patches, by breaking through the veils of fear that still surround me. By walking through the darkness, going through the deepest depths of despair to reemerge in the light. I feel at home in the dark, but I need to balance it with light to be able to live. Too much dark breeds depression. Just like a plant needs light to survive, so do I.

But I am still not so sure about being normal. Whatever that is. When I think "normal", I still get a feeling of mediocrity, being average, not being special, being invisible. That form of normality is not for me, and I have finally realised that without feeling that I should make excuses for wanting to be like everyone else. I am beginning to realise that my balance, my state of normality is not necessarily trapped in the in-between space between the highs and the lows, the grey-scales of the comfort zone where you are safe and don't stand out too much; my in-between is a balance between the highs and lows where I get them in a more or less equal amount. But it's still a bit scary to fully accept that some people will always see me as "too much" as I don't want to live life in greytones or in a comfort zone of being average. I am not average. I am me.