I remember I lived in an empty home for 5 years. The apartment was literally quite empty. There was basic furniture, nothing more, nothing less. My now ex back then and I didn't want to 'build a home' because we were 'working towards something better'. Spending too much time and money in our current place, would keep us from our 'goal' (buying a house, invest, etc). It sounded reasonable. In theory it might sound logical, but in reality you end up living in an empty shell for years, and you never really nest in your home.
I remember that two months after that relationship came to an end, I was trying to help my 80 new plants to survive their new situation. I needed to turn my house in a home as soon as possible. I've always felt at home in forests, so with that in mind, I went to the garden store. With not much knowledge of plants (except for how you can use them in UV reactive food), the first ivy in pot died within 6 weeks. Next, all the other ivy bid me adieu too. It was some kind of plant-bug that 'took' them. While ivy is considered weed by some, and easy to keep, no ivy plant survived their childhood at my place. For some reason though, all the 'difficult' plants requiring more care, have been doing just fine.
Now, I'm standing in a different place, filled with plants, again, a year and a half later. Some of my old green friends came along, and some new friends were added. When I walk through the living room of my house now, I drench my mind in all the colours overwhelming my eyes. Twenty different shades of green, seven different shades of yellow. Patterns in red, pink, blue and green, everywhere. There are paintings on the wall of the artwork I've collected. On the ground, carpets made of recycled material from local stores supporting third world countries. Cozy areas with couches and large pillows. Lanterns with candles, in every corner. The big green leaves from my Alocasia Macrorrhizos plant form an umbrella above the rotan chairs in front of my window. Minerals on funny tables, it's all, very gezellig, we'd say in Dutch. Something between cozy and comfy and warm and nice. I've furnished a home with my first pay-checks in 8 months and made it look like the image I had in my mind of it. It looks and feels dream-like, and that's a strange thing; being able to touch something that before was a fantasy. All I have to do now, is just, start living again. Inside it. Inside the house. I have to keep smiling. Because things are much better now.
That's what you tell them. You're allowed one pass, one break-down. Now, it's time to pick up your life, like a normal person.
The world keeps spinning and hasn't stopped one second while you were 'out of the game'. I know we grow, and that rivers flow, and that people sometimes have to go. Change is inevitable. But did I have to go?
Things change slowly when your depression is in remission. You're no longer in the water, but on a raft in a river. You're not drowning anymore, but suddenly you have to become a sailor, and you don't know how to what anymore. Pills strip you of the fear of going outside. Pills fight the thoughts that scream people can't be trusted. Pills bring you to sleep at night.
Everything revolves around medication. Medication to keep you in check.
Sleeping brings nightmares. For nightmares you get other pills; pills who fight them. Pills who change your body and mind. And because those nightmare-pills give you shitty side-effects, you get some other pills to fight those side-effects, too.
My raft is medical and dissolves in water. It then forms a thick bubble around me. It keeps me safe, both from the real world, as from the water. I'm somewhere in-between, and I can't escape my bubble without risking I might destroy it. The chances that I would continue to float on the water without it are small. I might just fall, and drown in the water after all.
It feels as if I can see the roses, but can't smell them. As if I can touch and see ice-cream, but can't eat it or feel its temperature. As if the senses to experience something truly, are taken away from me.
Everybody experiences thoughts and their mind and place in the world differently. Some people live very internally, inside their inner world. Others don't. Some people think and link in words. Some people think in memory, some more visually.
A great way to find out how other people think, is by playing a word-game: Throw random normal words at each other. Each person given a word has to mention the first thing(s) they link to this word. Some people will give definitions or locations or explanations of the word, others will focus on how it's useful for human beings (technical/practical thinking). Some will link the word to a memory. There are a bunch of tests online to find out what 'kind' of thinker you are, and science and psychology are still in debate over the subject. The right information to understanding consciousness we might never acquire. However, if you would play the game I just mentioned with people, you could find out in what way, and how, people think differently. What they actually see in their minds when they think. It's not about finding out about someone's morals, but finding out how the basic structure of someone's mind translates, connects and processes things. Find out how someone thinks, and you can find out how to communicate with them in the best way possible. For example, in their language. Sometimes, it's the same language as yours.
Having a similar way of thinking, doesn't mean miscommunication isn't possible though. I've always been afraid of miscommunication, which is why I always ask questions to understand what's going on, and describe things in detail, so I'm not misunderstood. It can be annoying. More annoying is when people translate your message the wrong way, and you have to fix problems caused by miscommunication. Sometimes it seems impossible, to speak freely, without being misunderstood and attacked.
I've always spent much time in my head. It's a great place to hide; behind your eyes. Medication has taken me out of my head though. Before, walking through a crowd was a big 'hmmm'. Now, I pick up conversations and notice details. Sounds are harder, light is brighter, and patterns are horrible. The medication fights my mind, but at the same time it finally opened up a world to me I managed to ignore for 27 years.
I remember asking my doctors if this was what 'autism' felt like when I started noticing what first seemed like the side effects of the medication. I knew they were testing me for the diagnosis, but many of the 'signs' of autism I didn't notice until I started to receive medication. I didn't want to be diagnosed with something I didn't have. They reassured me they would take a lot of time diagnosing me, and they would take everything into account. The medication was working; it was taking me out of my head.
It took some time to accept that the hard sounds, bright lights and annoying patterns I suddenly experienced 10 times worse than normally, weren't a side-effect. I just hid in my mind for so long, I found out how to ignore them. Now, medication which helps me with fighting depression and anxiety, makes it much harder. I found out how to ignore sensory overload, which was by hiding inside my own thoughts for example. I often hide in a meadow when I'm in my mind. There's a nice big tree near, and rocks, and the sea, in front of me. In the back, a beautiful forest. It's always windy, but warm. Not too warm though. The air smells of forest and sea; moss, decaying leaves, and salt. The smells meet perfectly in the middle, and the sun shines bright, always. Sometimes there's rain, followed by beautiful clouds changing colour, turning the sky in an oil painting. The nights are full crickets and fireflies, in the morning there's dew on the grass. When I need time to think, I often hide in that world. I can't see it straight in front of me or around me, but the vision in my mind is so clear and intense, that in a way, it does happen in front and around me. In my mind. I'm at two places at the same time, and the inner world is what helps me to focus, and hides distractions from the external world.
I wish I could spend more time there, but my medication makes it hard at times to escape, especially when the numbness takes over.
I sometimes wonder where other people hide in their mind. What their peaceful state of mind, looks like, inside.
But then I remember that you can never believe an answer to that question anyway, because you can never verify if someone were to tell a lie.
Maybe we should be lucky, that science still has found no solution, and that we weren't born to truthfully communicate. What if you could read people's minds, and all you heard were horrible thoughts? And you find out that behind what we do, always a reason lies? And that sometimes, the mask we pull up, can distract from the reason, and make other people only see what's most expected, but not see the truth. Maybe if we knew everyone's intentions, everyone's reasons, we wouldn't like each other very much anymore.
Some things don't have to be told. But telling the truth, should never be a crime, nor should it be punished as one.
I wish people would stop punishing me. I wish those sending me nasty things could spend a day in my mind, and relive the past 9 months of my life in there. Maybe then they would understand I have grounded reasons for my rainbow of emotions, and why I spoke out the way I did. Maybe then they'd understand that most things I've written regarding my abusive relationship, I wrote (and write) out of fear. Out of fear that the things I described or shared, would be twisted and used against me otherwise. So I had to share it first. Openly give that information, that makes me look bad also, in order to protect myself from someone who told me which things they would use things against me.
People in my social network know. Not everybody, but a lot of people. A few weeks ago a vague acquaintance walked up to me to hug me. When I was in the hospital, a cousin I hadn't spoken to in years sent me a card. When I see people I know in the street, they're very friendly and kind and smile a lot. Most speak to me softly, as if I'm fragile, and about to break. It doesn't make going outside a lot of fun. Every meeting with someone I'm reminded about what happened to me. Yes, it's my own fault people know, because I spoke out myself. But can you imagine the threat that was held above my head? That someone would tell a bunch of lies about me if I didn't stay silent? Someone who had a lot of fans? If I didn't speak out, and he did what he threatened me with, maybe now people would look at me in disgust because they'd believe his lies. Sure, a bunch of people on the internet tell me to kill myself, but at least the people I know in the area I live, aren't aggressive. That's what I'm holding onto: it could have been much worse.
Just a small selection of some of the hate I've been receiving from Exurb1a fans.
So how did it get to this point?
It got to this point because Exurb1a blackmailed me. He blackmailed me, and I needed to protect myself. He actually had the balls to accuse me of blackmailing him, to scare me, to silence me. In the Skype message below, you can see what Exurb1a sent me before he blackmailed me on Skype audio.
In the conversation below Exurb1a claimed that I said that if he wouldn't come over to the hospital, I would release personal information about him, which is a blatant lie.
The truth is that after I had the ultrasound and found out I had a miscarriage, the day after I was hospitalised. When Exurb1a found out, he told me he would come over to see me and be there for me.
He didn't come however. Instead, he left me there for 12 days to rot, and didn't contact me anymore after he said he'd come, while I was hospitalised and suicidal. He promised on his own accord he'd come over. After 12 days not hearing from him I contacted him to confront him with his scumbag behaviour. I told him I was done with him, and that he was emotionally bullying me (which he had been doing for weeks) by being a dick one second, and then being nice again the next second, and making promises, which he later broke again or lied about. He then claimed he never said he would come over to see me (while I just miscarried, after he assaulted me and raped me). He tried to convince me I was going crazy. I later found out he had been drunk (again) when he made the promise, and couldn't remember it.
I told him that him not coming over while I had his miscarriage, after he abused me, proved again what an anti-social dick he was, and that so far I didn't have any proof he was a good person.
He asked me if I wanted him to still come over, I told him it was up to him, and that I needed him 12 days ago. And 6 weeks earlier, the morning after he abused me while drunk, and that he hadn't been there for me.
The next day, as you can see in the Skype message, he blackmailed me. It started on chat, and continued on Skype audio.
If you want proof the above chats are from Exurb1a:
You can see his icon in the Skype conversation. I've blurred his face and name however. This was a sent video message from Exurb1a himself, which he sent after being moody and rude to me. (He used to call me bitch a lot even though I told him I didn't like it.)
After the blackmail I disappeared offline for weeks. When I finally decided I didn't want to be afraid of him anymore, I spoke out.
Exurb1a never released the statement he threatened me with. It was all bluff, to scare me. He's been silent throughout everything that happened.
He's not really silent though. He's great at being a coward and is good with passive aggressive subtweets. Notice the dates on the tweets below (and someone calling him out).
It's not the first time he's done it. It goes unnoticed by most people because he wraps his passive aggressive comments in clever jokes (notice the dates in the tweets).
Fed up of Brits being cast in movies as devious and evil. We're pleasant people. And if you don't agree, we'll break in and kill your pets.— Exurb1a (@Exurb1a) 8 mei 2017
So if you think Exurb1a hasn't been speaking out; he has. You just have to see through all his smoke and bullshit to see it.
At no point, has Exurb1a requested his fans in any way whatsoever, to back off, stop telling me to kill myself, or to leave me alone and not tell lies about me.
I think that says a lot about his character.
But I know who he is already. All I can hope for is that nobody else gets hurt by him, and gets to see the side of him, he hides for the world, but didn't hide from me. The side that brought me hate, hurt, and took away all my dignity.
Pillows and tables are nice. A new home is lovely. But I'd get rid of all the material things, if I could just feel home again in my body. In my own brain. If I could only swap the fear, hopelessness and dread that has been accompanying me for months, and could get back the person I was before.
But again, I know we grow, and that rivers flow, and that people sometimes have to go.
So let me go.