Author: Viktoria

As humans we’re driven by achievement. Programmed to conquer. Wired to overcome obstacles, to evolve. If the summit is no longer surrounded by air containing the right amount of oxygen for the human species to thrive does not matter. It’s there: we have to climb it. Someone has to climb it. We as a specious must overcome this high point of ground and climb it!

I’ve made multiple efforts in my life to quench this thirst. To achieve something special -something worthwhile. Something I can show for that will make everyone realize that I’m good for something. Special. Achievements I thought would change how people perceived me, that mattered..how I felt about me..! I figured along with this I’d gain confidence and would find some peace, get rid of that thing inside of you telling you you’re a fraud waiting to be exposed. That you’re nothing. Bad, even. Be that stripped for talent, beauty, intelligence or a good personality. Most of us know the feeling, right?

I, for once, thought leaving Norway for South Africa for a year as an exchange student at the age of 16 would prove something. That it’d be something that would prove that I had something. Grit. Or something. That I was bold, original. But I failed myself in probably all areas that year and felt even worse returning. I didn’t do well in school, I partied way too much and nourished only one thing all year, an eating disorder that consumed almost all of me.

Years later I thought getting the education I did would definitely prove something. Because that was known to be hard. And only people with true passion and dedication, willing to abandon all social-life, would make it through. I experienced that I was average in most areas, brilliant in few, but if something less than particularly talented and even though I never missed a deadline I lacked the passion or dedication to risk everything for anything.

I also learned that I’m really good at decision-making, that I have a strong logical sense and great at solving problems. I’m a natural leader that has a large (positive) presence in a room. One that summed up the three years I went there at my graduation runway show by my principal actually. Whispering in my ear as he handed me my diploma: brightest smile of them all. I appreciated that.

Still didn’t change the way I felt about myself rolling my diploma up, tucking it in one of the many boxes and headed home for Bergen only to be left for many years in my parents attic.

Over the following years I’ve let go of that strive. No longer have it. It may creep up on me sometimes, but mostly serves as a motivation to get projects done.. And if I meet someone I’m intimidated by that embodies ‘everything’ I feel that I’m lacking in qualities, talent, ambition, beauty or achievements, I simply remind myself that I’m a really honest, kind, including person who’s really true to herself. I’m no longer afraid to say out loud what I don’t care about. Funnily enough, cause it sounds easy, it takes some gut to do that! And are qualities that are good and rare. Then I’m fine again. Because most people, I find, walk around pretending to care about shit they really dont only to impress others. To make themselves look more impressive or interesting. And they don’t need to!

Motherhood! Now I’m getting to the point..! Is my first big personal ‘now I know for sure that I’ve achieved something challenging that says something about me and that I’m really really proud of’ -win. People become parents every second of every day, yet it feels so special. And challenging. I’m not saying that getting children is the only important thing and without the experience you’re missing out (believe me, I thought I would for many years and am convinced I would’ve been as happy without it). For some people it’s their profession. For some it’s traveling. For some it’s their relationships, friendships. Family. Charity. Faith, politics.. And some hold a hobby above all, or spend all their time advancing their talent. A need to create and be creative. For me, I’ve realized, it was growing a tiny human and bringing him into the world. I get to show him everything for the first time and witness his awe.

I’m so damn proud of myself. I’m so proud of my son and the man I already know he is growing to be. So many of my insecurities are now just small pieces and burnt scraps at the bottom. And I really don’t give a shit about half the shit anymore. Everything I may achieve in my professional-life or otherwise are just sprinkles. Extra seasoning. The world and all the people in it can evolve as much as it wants now. I can stay right here and still be content with what I have done in this world.

And that,…feels really good. Plus I have a new best friend. He may scream at me for no apparent reason, suck the life out of me, pee all over the place, but he’s the brightest of lights when he smiles. I’ve never felt more special than when I made him laugh for the first time. It was the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard and it made me cry instantly.

I have so much to write about it though! Again; not gonna let this new role take over my whole being, but…humour me, if only for a second.

I’ve been sitting on a a lot of material for a couple of months now. I was just about to hit Post actually when my computer died and went to computer-heaven three weeks ago.. now it’s back, and with its new screen came new needs and new topics to address on this platform that I once created for myself. So here we go, finally.

I’ve been pregnant for 24 weeks now as of two days ago, six months that is – no need to get serious with the maths here, somehow it never adds up and never makes sense in the end anyways. But I’m roughly two thirds (an app my partner downloaded for our weekly amusement tells us I’m 60% in). Again, much like everything else from the health service; it kind of makes sense roughly speaking, but it’s also confusing and seems painfully unnecessarily complicated once you start comparing the weeks to the months to the percentages… But I’m pregnant enough to feel and see baby kicking and living his best life in there, pregnant enough to be oddly used to not enjoying wine as part of my meal, enough to feel physically limited and enough to have noticed peoples ignorance and stupidity around pregnancy on a general basis. I have so much to say here, but I’ll try stick to one main newfound issues that I have now added to the list over stupid shit I hate about people. Ok. Pregnant so far has taught me

One: ones physical business is no longer just your business.

Whether it’s casual talk about your last period over the dinner table or comments on how you look, carry, walk, dress, eat, drink, live, sleep, plan for, think like – it comes across almost as if people think that it is encouraged to the point of their obligation to voice their opinion on pregnancy to pregnant women. They love it. Including women who once were pregnant, women who never wishes to be, men who never has been nor ever will be, family, strangers, ages 5-95 – all of them; the group is type-less, genderless, ageless, frankly it is the most including group I’ve ever been so unlucky to encounter.! They just can’t help but to offer you their opinion.

It’s comical, is what it is.

I throw in a lot of goodwill for the older generations. I know they’re to some extent victims of their time and not one of them ever tasted the sweetness of privacy or equality like we have, so naturally they get some passes, they do. I can be gentle. But then again #metoo was many years ago. And I know your ass has been on Instagram longer than that. So at some point you, like everyone else, have to play by the rules of society of Today, granny, if you wanna participate. Because you don’t fool me…… we know by now that we should ask before touching other people’s bodies, right? It’s 2021. Covid and all that asides, that type of invasion on personal space should be scary to anyone these days. I don’t want anyones hands on me or my baby. Let alone his house. My covid-project…

So no touching, we can all agree on that. Now over to how you talk, you fools. I’ve witnessed, and this one really gets me, some people’s reactions when seeing someone pregnant that they haven’t seen in a while. The shock in some peoples’ voices when they see that they’ve grown…? “OH, MY, look at YOU. You’re huge!!!”

And I’ve always felt horrible for these women. No human should ever have to deal with another person’s shock or awe as a direct reaction to their physicality and have to come up with a response to diffuse the situation. Even when in a positive way, it still creeps me out whenever people make too big a scene regarding how another person look. Give it a rest, it’s just a visual, not the end nor beginning of your or their world..

Also, in this case (pregnant case) I’ve often wondered how few pregnant people people are actually exposed to during a lifetime, on an average. Because it seems to me most people don’t have a clue how different pregnant people look and how different people carry! Yet, the comments.. We would NEVER talk about peoples bodies the way we do pregnant bodies. Never. Seems people think it’s all up for grabs just because it’s..what? no longer just her body? I’ve got news for you.. it is just her body, still.

Some women start showing early and are met with gloomy promises of the Biggest Belly Ever Seen to Man should she keep growing like that, meanwhile she was just small to begin with.., or she simply started showing early? Women are being asked about non-existing twins, joked about due dates, questions about shapes, weight and sizes we would never dream of asking anyone about normally! Can you imagine sneaking up on Mildred after her lunch break, grabbing her belly asking her how she’s digesting that leftover lasagna, her stomach really does look a bit protruding today -why does she think that is..?

Who knows why some show late or early: More importantly: who cares how and why our bodies do half the stuff that they do? It’s amazing, let’s leave it at that. The way we live our lives, at the pace in which we do – it’s amazing the constant silent damage-control our bodies do for us. We should be thankful and stop calling it weird or inconvenient every time it reacts to something. That’s worthy of awe. The functioning of our bodies. Not the way it looks at any given moment. I’m so tired of it, aren’t you?

(And, quick reminder, a woman doesn’t jump ship once she’s pregnant, it’s still her body. Still something that can feel insecure, judged, objectified, sexualized, self-aware, uncomfortable in its own skin.. We still identify this vessel as our body…ok? Whatever you say to my “pregnant body” my body will hear, ok?)

I’m so grateful to myself (me and snoop d, same) I am where I’m at in my own skin at this point of my life it doesn’t affect me much anymore. These so called well-meant observations or tips or whatever of yours. But it pisses me off because I know the possible damage it could’ve done to Viktoria age 20. Even 25. She would’ve cared. She would’ve placed much of her value in looking great as pregnant, and taken any possibly negative comment as a heavy sentence. I’ve so far loved being in my body during pregnancy, none of the changes has made me feel any less than perfect. The only times I’ve felt insecure has to do with someone else’s comment. Have I felt the most attractive these past five months? No. But that’s beside the point here. All I can think of is that changes are good, changes are bound to happen, and maybe, just maybe I’m embarking on a new adventure in life where I won’t find a need for a thigh gap ever again. Who knows, maybe my body will forever be changed, and that’s ok. The least on my mind is worrying how I am looking or how I am going to look like after this, and how I can forever delete (?) the evidence that this beautiful life-altering experience took place?

Believe it or not, we’re busy doing important building-life stuff. We’re not initially waddling around obsessing over how we look whilst at it.. You do that!

Stop.

A song by John Lennon, one of his best ones in my opinion (not that I’m bias or anything -it’s a Christmas song which means chances are high I’m gonna like it).. his opening line asking an infamous question reminding us all that another year has soon passed and that it’s time to look back and reflect on what we started off with vs what we’re leaving behind.

The the thing is it’s been a bad year.

It’s been filled with fear. Anger, division, sickness and loneliness and what will be, I assume, very long lasting global economical challenges. We’ve exposed more racism and violence many of us assumed blindly was something belonging mostly in the past. We’ve been isolated from our loved ones. We’ve lost jobs and income we depended on. We’ve been scared. Sick. Inhibited. To life and to live. The world stopped for periods of times, and I sure as hell lost a lot of hope and motivation.

As experienced and happy I am with busting my own ass working alone as a freelancer one would perhaps think this would be something I’m used to. That it would be, unwelcome as it may’ve been, a time to create. Expand and make use of. Some people have! I’ve heard. I mean, I look at the little one and I’m in awe over her will to keep going and to never loose focus. I, however.. I’ve been pretty useless in life for at least six months now and I’m starting to feel like I’m involuntarily on welfare for absolutely no reason. What the fuck have I actually done, looking back?

I’ve beaten myself up about it enough, that’s for sure. I’ve done some thinking about the last couple of years and where I’m at now.. and I’m pretty happy about a lot of things. Good things. But I miss being tired. Like real tired; head hitting pillow falling asleep instantly, waking up to your alarm not remembering a single thing you’ve dreamt-worn out tired.

Man, that’s some first world problems.

Nevertheless… I really cannot shake that feeling of not having accomplished.. anything?!

The year definitely started off on the right foot. Moving to the city, starting a new job I absolutely loved (and let’s not beat around the bush: a job I was pretty amazing at), loosing my shit and just about all sleep rushing off to the Oscars; I felt like I was on fire. Busy! Excited. Amped, pumped, Alive. Doing stuff that actually kind of mattered to someone else. And then suddenly it was all left feet. Wrong feet. Feet that didn’t even have to get out of bed, there was no reason. Two fucking lonely wrong feet with no place to go.

I did do one thing right. Perhaps the most important one.. I found something. The thing. But that can’t be all of it! We’re also here to do. To help and make big or small, just the tiniest bits of difference. To someone or something.

So! Going into this Christmas, the Christmas of 2020, slightly more than usual filled with middleclass-guilt – a Christmas we will forever remember as the one we kiiiiinda all wanted to get over with just so we could start fresh with the collective hope of a better year to come, I try to come to terms with the fact that this particular year, the thing that was done was Pause. Pause from any influence of anything else than our immediate surroundings. Pause from assuming and take for granted. Pause to miss someone. I for one am even more thankful and aware of the privilege it is to live my life with the support I get from my family, as well as my country in many ways…

I’m also just now facing another thought on the matter. A concern over whether we really learned anything at all. That’ll make a longterm difference in the way we’ve so carelessly lived our lives. Because we do tend to forget..

I just wish…

A lil snappysnap of my new friend, Mr Tree. Say hi. Note the friendly poke from Ms Vera there, on my right. Such a hoot that one.

When I took up running four and a half years ago after a short relapse with anorexia, I never dreamt I’d ever have a healthy relationship with working out, finding something I really loved doing. I started off running slow 20 minute runs around the neighborhood, always staying close to home doing little loops in case I’d go into a fit and start hating life and the world, to running five or six days up to 70 km a week. I’ve gotten to see my body get stronger and experienced my body as something to appreciate not only for viewing but for something that achieves and needs fueling every day in order to do so. One could say it saved me in some ways. I’d found, for the first time, a healthy way to rid myself of a lot of the emotions I’d been clinging on to for so long. I had so much anger without ever really finding ways to release. The only way I’d tried prior to it was therapy really. And therapy never worked for me. To some extent, it helped me of course. But at the end I think I’m too calculated and aware of other people’s judgement to express my true feelings about the stupid advice they sometimes give you to even bother seeking them.

From one extreme you’re more likely to move on to another. A lot of people with an eating disorder will encounter periods of restriction and perhaps excessive exercising. Personally I never went through long periods of this, but was definitely very aware of it (alongside with my family) at the beginning of my humble running career. I did however give running a lot of power. If I didn’t run for more than two days in a row it would affect my mood severely. Not that it had much to do with food intake or so much control, it just became such an important part of my identity I quickly felt frustrated and scared of going back to old habits to release the tension when I wasn’t able to. Just before my marathon in 2018 I got bad shinsplints and couldn’t run without pain followed by weeks of rest for over two years after it. Only recently the inflammation has subsided and I can now run weekly without pain. Which is amazing! But I see clearly how my goals have shifted from the last time I could run like this. I appreciate every run now. I don’t feel sad if I go a week or two without it. I just feel really, really good about the ones I do get. And that’s what makes me feel stronger than ever. Regardless of secretly wishing I had less or more of certain parts of my body, I’ve never felt more comfortable in it. Relaxed. I feel like I have finally reconciled with my body. And I can’t thank myself or the universe enough. That to me, is strength. Not being addicted beyond control. Not letting performance or frequency regulate my mood or my self-image. To appreciate what I am able to do instead of focusing on what I didn’t. My body has been stronger than it is today, no doubt about it. But I haven’t. And that kind of pride lasts way longer than the ones you get from temporary achievements.

If you like my (sponsored; because I’m such a cool person) running gear btw, it’s from https://www.stronger.no/no/

It’s inevitable that one of you at some point will move on. Start a new chapter in the book of your life that confirms one last time that what once was is now in the past. Chapters including the words I and Me, more so than We and Us.

Most people, I’d imagine, find this hard. Especially confusing if you left each other on good terms. It can almost feel like you’re leaving all over again. This time for good, it’s final. You are no longer that person to each other. That slot has now been taken over by someone else. And that needs and deserves a bit of time to sink in. Because, unjustified as it may seem, it’s painful to both of you.

I’ve been pushing away that feeling for a little while now. Since meeting my new boyfriend I’ve been filled with love and happiness yet at the same time a heavy sadness manifesting itself in my entire body. I can feel it almost every day. Every time I think about it I’m struck with guilt. Grief. Uncertainty as to whether it’s the right time/ is it too soon? How openly should I do this? Am I ready? Have I moved on sufficiently? And will I be able to survive hurting someone again if it doesn’t work out? All fairly normal concerns I’d imagine. But Oh, so heavy.

Thing is, I’m really happy. But the wish for him to be as happy as I am.., I don’t know how to express just how big it is. It feels like a need, almost. For me to be able to fully enjoy my happiness, I need him to be as well. Once I start thinking about it the familiar welling of tears from a place so deep inside causing me to feel like I can’t breathe without sounding like I’m going through labour, it hurts too much. And I stand without tools to cope.

I’m not trying to victimize anyone. Him, nor myself. And this is important. But I’m gonna take a moment to address how complicated I’m finding love is. Love is the most natural feeling in the world right? The very reason we exist. To love, and to find love. To know true compassion, towards ourselves and others -it’s the whole point isn’t it?? When you find that, where you truly wish someone the best, when experiencing that someone else’s needs suddenly become your own.. That honest love. Selfless and pure.

That… If that’s not the prize.., the goal and absolute point of it all, this hard work, the loss and pain, then I don’t know what is.

Putting it like that, we can understand the magnitude of failing. Right?? Of losing it. Through endings; be that death or just separating, one way or the other. It must be in our nature to loose something within ourselves when it happens. Feels unnatural, hurting someone you only wish to make happy. It’s brutal! putting it like that?? I think so. Feels wrong and not good at all.

Yet.. love is fickle. It’s meant to adapt. To change. Refocus and reboot.

As we cannot bring back the loved ones who no longer is, we cannot keep nurturing something that will not grow. So we have to at some point dig it up in order to plant new seeds. And the potential to love.., your soil, which holds the amazing power to nurture and grow beautiful new things didn’t change or disappear.

As he so lovingly, with his head held high, let me go, I too must put my feelings aside and give his soil room to grow new things. Because it can’t when I’m in the way. And I think I get that now.

So this is my (fully aware of my slight cowardliness putting it out on this platform) attempt to come to terms with it all. And saying it. To myself and the universe. Respectfully. Because I know you’re doing well (I have spies all over town baby). With an honest wish I could do more, but an acknowledgment that it is not my place.

What is it with people who feel like they’re entitled to comment on another person’s body?

No, really – I genuinely don’t get what that’s about.

Is it to express some sort of power? Because unless you’re a bodybuilder who’s worked really hard to shape your body a certain way, most of us just look the way that we look. We can change to some extent with time or different circumstances in our lives, intentionally or not. But by commenting on it, out of the blue, you’re kind of reducing the person to a thing to be judged based on something that’s got nothing to do with achievement or qualities as a person.. It can feel degrading. And what are you supposed to say? Thank you? For what? Acknowledging the fact I have a body?

It can also be interpreted that we’re here for other’s viewing pleasure (this goes for women mostly). You know; like history’s taught us. History and art has shown us countless of times that if a woman weren’t for pure pleasure or reproduction, you were pretty much useless and something to be hidden in the kitchen. You were either blessed with good looks, or one out of maybe three skills seen as good female traits.

And oh my god if it’s a negative comment on your body.., may it be sarcastic, suggestive or made with the intet of amusement.. It can leave you speechless.

Someone recently said something about my body. I smiled. Nodded. Acted as if I was grateful for the observation. I understood where the person was coming from, so I didn’t make a big deal out of it. It’s a good thing, yes? You’re looking good and healthy, right? Gained a bit of weight? Which I really haven’t. I, like most, am a living thing that fluctuate between a couple of kilos. In hindsight I’m actually quite pissed off at myself for not saying something. Words about my body or weight can bother me for days, depending. Luckily it doesn’t affect my eating-habits anymore, but still; dooooonnnnn’t. Just don’t. Pisses me off. I’m not and you’re not for other’s to judge. We do enough of that ourselves, thank you very much.

All this being said, I compliment people all the time. Men and women. If I think they look good. Or if I can tell they’ve made an effort. I have a genuine interest in expressing one’s self through how we dress and carry ourself, so I have great appreciation when people do so. I admire it.

“You look nice.” “I love your outfit.” “Nice hair.” Whatever;

honey, you’re doing great.

This: totally acceptable. Encouraged.

And frankly, to finish this off nice and strong; I don’t think people should praise weight-loss as much as they do either. It seems people are always associating loosing weight with success. As if all weight-loss is a reflection on people’s well-being and happiness. New and improved. Why is the standard position on the topic that everyone wants to loose weight? It seems everybody wishes they did, that they somehow know they’d feel better about themselves a couple of pounds lighter. It makes me sick to my full stomach to think about this being totally acceptable to bring up in everyday conversation.

But hey, by all means: compliment me, please. I know I look fabulous, when I’ve made an effort at least. My body however, I can’t put on or take off in the morning. Not for you to decide how well I did.

Quick checkin to say that I really am doing fine. These things may come and go. And that’s fine. I can at times observe them as a spectator, try to work through it, or get devoured by it completely. None of them dangerous. I know that. So don’t worry! When I write about these things it’s mostly because I’m tired of it, saddened, but not afraid. But you’re sweet for saying. Sweet for asking.

Working on a project with the first and the little one at the moment, which makes me happier than most things in life. Work and purpose.. Never underestimate. I do however spend a lot of time here.

Other than that I had a great weekend free of discomfort. Now looking forward to easter. I predict lots of lamb meat (yes I am one of those not ashamed to say I still eat and love meat. (I only eat it a couple of times a week though -hold your vegan alternative horses.!!)) and bubbles. Because bubbles goes with everything and don’t you let anyone tell you otherwise.

In doing new things and shifting stages in life I find that one out of two things happen. One: you see the skills you’ve learned, the things you’ve studied and mastered and how much of your challenges and shortcomings you’ve left behind in your past. Good times. Great feelings happening. Creates confidence, energy and motivation to go further. Nice. Or two: you get a sense of “relapsing”, left with feelings like you’ve just gotten smacked in the gut, face, preemptive strike-style waxed, stabbed in the thigh with a piece of glass -whatever; like you just left a safe space behind you, you idiot, and are now facing some of your old challenges and insecurities again. Ones you thought you’d moved past and left behind. This is challenging. This is where I, quite surprisingly actually -thought I was at my a-game, am finding myself. Currently.

I’m almost stunned. I’m fine, perhaps more confused.. And scared. Not a freaking out scared, I’ve dealt with this earlier, but shit.. Am I going back to some place I’ve almost buried and forgotten?

But then I thought.. It’s not the same. I reject it and refuse it to be. It can’t. Because I’ve been further, I’ve seen myself rid of this. If you just breathe now, Viktoria.

It’s the panic-attacks. The build-up has slowly snuck back into my life and I feel that fear.. that familiar fear of the next panic-attack coming along with the next unexpected turn of events. And oh my god I forgot how painful it was.

I’m so tired, without really lacking any sleep.

And I have the tools! I know the drill..! But it’s crazy what happens once the ground beneath you feels like it’s disappearing! You forget. All of it. Everything. Out of your hands. Personally, I feel like I shrink. Internally. I’m embarrassed. Feel weak. The thoughts of others (not the thought of others, but the thoughts other people have)… It’s as if I can hear them through how they look at me, they feel so real. Loud. Might be looks of compassion, wishing they could help me, or understand.. Doesn’t matter. My head has already decided for you what you think of me at this very moment. And it’s not good. And the conviction that the next second, my next action, the next something that is going to happen, will determine the rest of my life is so strong.. Heart pounding so hard, it actually hurts. And it makes me sad. I think it’s impossible to understand how someone who hasn’t felt it can understand. Because it does sound ridiculous. Not real. Fake fucking news. And I know that. That’s the most ridiculous part. I know it. I’m not even scared of it, I’m a bit pissed off to be honest. And it’s just Painful. And I’m not sure how I’m going to deal with this this time around. It’s been so long..

So I have to find a way to use this. How can I turn this into something useful.. Or simply, how do I get past it? Do I just try to let it pass through? Like a cold breeze, as something that saw its opportunity to latch back onto me while I wasn’t paying attention because I was busy balancing three chairs; one steady old one and two new ones? (I did just get new chairs, danish design, and wasn’t able to stabilize more than three out of four due to a difficult screw situation involving four different hex keys from Skeidar. I screwed up. Or not enough) I can feel though that I don’t really have the fight in me. I’ve fought this one before, for almost a decade, and I have no interest in indulging the idea that I won on false pretenses and now have to do a rematch. That, my friend… won’t do. The thought makes me so sad to be honest I feel bad for myself. Not depressed or anything, don’t get me wrong; huge difference. But I do feel scared for sure.

Plus I only have one more snus left and no fight in me to go to the store.

Maybe I just need to sleep a little bit. Maybe this, just writing this and acknowledging to myself that this apparently is an issue for me right now will make it go away. Maybe I just have to accept that this might come and go for the rest of my life? Maybe, I just..

That’s a tough one.

I’ve made a habit and daily chore of checking the apartment for spiders and others unwelcome every night and every morning. I have to kill my own spiders now. And apart from that one regular week a month the other one was gone to work, I haven’t needed to do that since I was seventeen and living in Africa. So that’s new. Maybe not the most interesting or significant new, but new, nonetheless.

I’ve never lived alone before. And even though I’m scared to death of feeling lonely, I’m excited. I’ve felt safe all my life. Financially, emotionally and physically. It feels good standing on my own little feet for once. Not that my feet’s been jelly before, but, you know.. I’ve had to get a second job and am now buying my own furniture, so a little less jelly, I must admit, they have become.

I’m learning the house and we’re getting to know each other. I’m learning the sounds from my hallway when the wind’s at the door. The fridge gives off little noises at times I haven’t been able to classify as other than randomly. The little flusher gets caught up sometimes and keeps flushing until you give it a nudge. The heat’s perfect set on thirty-seven degrees, even though it isn’t thirty-seven degrees in here. The windows in my bedroom are old and leaking air, but it gave me a little breeze on a stormy night like the one the other day, and I didn’t mind. The energy here is flawless as far as I’ve felt so far. I’ve been lucky ever since I came here. I’ve always, for some reason, bought items at certain times, in which I suddenly needed. There’s no stubborn locks.. A calming buzz, which I happen to love, from the air-drier in the hall. No moist. I have a small fridge, no freezer. But who am I having to plan big dinners for anyway? There’s a shop right around the corner and I don’t surprise myself in the kitchen very often when I eat alone. I’ve always just had a four-pack of salmon servings, frozen berries I’d never make smoothies from and bread in there, anyways, which I’d never use. I have bookshelves. A nice kitchen with tiny green tiles and wood countertops, with room for all of my (surprisingly many) kitchen supplies. Who knew I was that domestic.? I have a big bathroom with ideal lighting for applying makeup. Enough shelves for my Christmas-elves. A washing machine and a drier, which I’ve never had nor tried before! -now that’s a kind of excitement only a child could get on Christmas Eve y’all, and I’ve never felt more spoiled before in my life (the towels come out lukewarm !!). One of the kitchen lights is out and I could have more natural lighting, but that’s about it. And who’s counting anyways?

And it’s in the middle of Bergen.. My city. I cannot begin to tell you how good that feels. And how beautiful it is when it greets you on your doorstep. Every day.

Even though I quickly learned that you have to walk ten times as far living inside on the very inside of the city than when you take the bus home. In that sense Bergen seems bigger now. But then again, you don’t have to take the fucking bus home.

First night in the apartment.

First, slightly rougher morning, in the apartment.

Why do people get so excited for others when they make bold life choices, yet never make some themselves? I’ve given this some thoughts lately and I have a theory, bear with me.

Whenever you get news about a friend, colleague, even that girl you went to primary school with, who quit her job and moved to the opposite side of the world after her wife left her. She fucked off to pursue her life-long dream of… I don’t know, kettle farming (or cattle farming.. these days honestly, who knows) or joining the Red Cross. Where she’s now met a gorgeous humanitarian and they now have a baby on the way and she’s never felt happier. We immediately gasp of admiration and want to hear more. Even more often so we’ll end up taking a good look at our own lives and how we’d wish we’d do something like that as well. How brave is she? She basically gets to have two lives! But how bad was the marriage anyway to begin with..? Could there be a hot humanitarian with a second family out there for me too? So now we’re trying to assess (her, the happy kettle (or cattle) farmer) the person’s history and character trying to figure out if there was something, anything, in her personality or if there was anything in particular that happened in her life which could have triggered this sort of crazy irrational behavior which led up this result and would make some sense out of all this. What chain of events happened to this woman which lead her to this blissful carefree way of life on this ranch on the other side of the world?

And was it inevitable? Depression? A cry for help? Sheer craziness? Maybe just to get away from her wife and take back some sort of control or meaning or even dignity? Desperation is what it is.

If we like the person, we might stay on the Good for her -wish I could do something like that -train. For a while. If we don’t, she’s naive and she’s simply lost it.

But the immediate reaction of admiration is almost impossible to avoid, and we do tend to cheer each other on if only for a moment. Because we very briefly imagine our own lives taking a turn like that, we get a little rush of possibilities and hopes for something else… because let’s face it we’re never really completely happy with our lives the way they are. If you’re one of the assholes who are, you just wait for it. You’ll either regret your career or your premature children eventually. Because we can’t have it all. And it’s in human nature to wish for it. We’re naturally competitive, always have been, and we all want the best waterhole on the highest peak overlooking our kingdom. I’d say always will be, but we’re about to wipe ourselves out entirely. Perhaps it always would be the thing that killed us. Certainly was what made us unhappy while we were here.

But back to the bold life choices. Thursday’s a bit too close to the weekend for this kind of realism.

Obviously I’ve just made one of the hardest choices of my life which, thank higher powers, is a universally known hard choice to make, which leads to me being met with understanding and in some cases enthusiasm in various forms. By that I mean Good for you for following your heart. Or That was brave of you. You did the both of you a favor. Or It’s a whole new life for you- what’s next?

Excitement.

I’ve also seen doubts forming after the reflection they’ve just made on their own relationship in the split second after I’ve told them about my new reality. Which makes me kind of happy and kind of sad at the same time. Because all ideas that’ll possibly change your life should come from somewhere deep within. If I ever felt like turning my world upside down as a result of something I read or heard, I’d probably be better off working on listening to my gut before putting that plan into life…

I’ve also thought about another reaction we have when the news of someone making a life-altering turn in life present itself. A dark one but a very typical trade we have as humans. Skadefryd. Schadenfreude. I don’t think there’s an English word for it. But it’s the thing you might feel when your prettier girl-friend shaves her head? That’s the one. The joy of someone else being slightly worse off than ourselves can manifest in the most sacred and the very best of us. You’re now the more desirable one of the two of you and it feels good. I mean, at least from afar. She’s obviously got the face for a bald head should someone ever go down that road. But seeing how big of a percentage of idiots that’d never go for that but rather a mediocre beauty such as yourself with the short skirt and wavy long hair, you still end up winning. The numbers are in- you’ve done the maths. But you praise her, lie her right to her face and make sure to let her know just how much you admire her. As much as you cross your chest thanking yourself it’s not you, you make sure she knows how fabulous it is and how you’d wish you were that brave.

(Even though your friend’s fucking awesome. she did that for herself)

I actually did do that, so Go fucking me. And I absolutely noticed fake praise coming from a place of “Why the fuck would you do that to yourself, but also good for me because you’re less of a threat to my relationship now”, and genuine responses.

I’ve always been the risk taker. And been met by both of these assholes. The ones who genuinely admire you, though perhaps out of a slight jealousy, and the ones cheering you on urging you to keep doing it because they take pleasure in watching the demise of another person’s life unfolding in front of them.

I’ll keep making choices that scares the shit out of me because I don’t want to be one of those people. I don’t want to wish for someone else’s life. And jealousy has never been my thing. And pouring water on a drowning man in order for me to feel better about my shitty life is also something I’d rather not do. So. Conclusion! Take some risks will you? I thank fear every time because it keeps me appreciative. Fear of hurt, of being humiliated, fear of abandonment… I feel it EVERY time I take a risk. Being uncomfortable is a good thing. Keeps you humble! And without sounding like someone trying to write a self-help self-fulfilling self-love book: discomfort makes you notice comfort. It’s tension and release baby. Create some – Get some.

In the meantime I’m gonna lay low for a little bit. I have taken a lot of risks lately and finding myself in a place where I need some steady. I need more income, more steady income. I need a place to live. I need to relax for a moment. I’m done with the tension for a bit and I’m tired. In a good way. Calm kind of tired. But tired none the less.

I’m a person who’s not normally scared of offending anyone in here with my words… I’m not afraid of words. Anyone elses’ nor my own I think. So this is a first for me; not knowing if it’s appropriate to write this at this particular time. But I’m on the run daily here and I really need my blog now. I tried writing just for myself but, for some reason (?) it’s not enough. It’s as if I have to send it out into the world, give it to someone else to feel completely rid of my thoughts. For a while, that is. So I’m giving myself this gift today and I’m sorry if it’s too soon.

So here goes. Just short of three months ago I made the decision to leave my husband. And it’s the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. By far. I have left someone I still love and brought pain to someone I adore. I’m finding myself for the first time in a very long time in a space and time that is barely sufferable. I actually (which is why one should always knock on wood and wear a helmet and swim vest) thought, I actually thought, that I wouldn’t feel this level of pain again, ever, in my life. I thought I was done.

I think I’ve gotten a couple of really unexpected, really horrible deaths in my life which has left me having to go through some really shitty times. Really shitty times. I’m no longer scared of depression. Of fucking up. I’m not afraid (except from birds, fuck those guys) of much. I feel that I enjoy things but don’t really own anything I couldn’t loose… I couldn’t dream of anything causing this, this pain that can only come from something that can be defined as unbearable despair. That pain that is almost unthinkable, much less manageable, leaving you only capable to allow it out in daylight in a really small dosage at a time.

I’m up to about 30 minutes a day now.

I can think of two things I can only imagine, loosing a child and the love of your life. That’d do it as well.

I just never factored in the fact that I could be responsible for someone else’s pain by choice. Never thought about it. Never thought I needed to pick up tools to manage the aftermaths of hurting someone like that. Maybe there are none. Maybe feeling like this is inevitable.

Then there’s that unsaid thing that I’m not really allowed to indulge in this pain, not really, since I’m the asshole doing this to us.

I’m not going to get into anything more for now as far as the why’s and how’s, as the screen’s already a puddle and I fear for my Macs’ life as well as my consciences’. I don’t know if I am even capable of putting it in writing yet as I am barely mastering surviving the feeling of it… But I’ll say this for now; it was not a premeditated thing. And he’s dealing with it amazingly. We’re doing it our way. Together. He’s my best friend and the only one in this Universe who knows and gets the truest me. I’ve never been more proud of that man. After 10 years. Never dreamed I could think any higher of him, but here we are. He’s still surprising me. I’m in awe and in total gratitude.

I kind of lost my phone last night

Or just left it at our last location before swimming in the sea at 03.00am, at best. Which I hope and am obviously leaning towards. Not that I really care. Too much. I don’t care too much. It’s kind of nice being without it. Plus I always enjoy a good cleanse of the phonebook list. Starting fresh.

But one does feel like one’s fallen off of the face of the earth and should something happen to you it would take at least three days before anyone would find you. Your corpse, that is. You’ll be dead by then.

So I’m just checking in to share that. And remind you that I’m on messenger guys, should anyone suspect my death at one point. I’m talking to my family and near friends. If you’re not family or near friend please don’t contact me on messenger.

Also, this has been my view tonight. It’s been such a warm, humid, windy and absolutely beautiful night and it just started raining. So I’m sitting here unable to move away from the windowsill and this sunset. No pull from the tiny mesmerizing screen seducing me with it’s beautiful contents to make me feel even more alone and inadequate. It’s good.

Without any further ado or any other way or any person in the world to say my good nights to, I’m saying it here. Good night, world.

Aaaah I’m sick……….

I realize it’s that time of year, that seasonal weather where it one day touches 30 degrees, then the next is clouded with 11 degrees and a storm brewing behind the mountains surrounding this city of ours that is home. But see, now our happy wardrobe’s already out and we refuse to go back once the sun sets and the temperature drops. Plus we’re most likely marinated in some sort of alcoholic beverage, since it’s summer and all, and we tend to sit for hours on end when we finally can do so up here. I don’t mind too much though, having a cold. But my throat’s very sore? That doesn’t happen often. At least if I haven’t been smoking the previous night..

Jeez, took me like three tries before ‘throat’ felt right. I never write that word apparently.

I feel like shit though. But that’s fine. I probably deserve it.

What I also deserve is a fucking medal for how fast my hair is growing. I mean.. It’s finally at that point where it’s boring me and I want to cut it. Not going short again though, just getting a style. Now it’s just.. there. I’ve been craving bangs for a while.. Don’t know if I’ll do a short or a long one. Guess I’ll know tomorrow in the chair.

This is how I dry my hair btw when I have long hair.

I wait till it’s almost dry before I put it in these two buns with a slight twist backwards. If I feel rich and fancy I give it a spray before I blow-dry it a bit while in these buns. Always cool down before you take them out. Then it comes out with a soft romantic wave that looks nice as fuck, effortless and natural-looking. I hate over-styled looking hair and this way never fails.

See?

I have extremely thick hair though. May not be as good of a solution if you have very fine hair.. To dry it while ‘holding’ it down. Maybe dry it with more air.. Depends. I always go for no blow-dry rather than over-blowing my hair.

That’s it. No one asked, but several of you like my hair nowadays. So thought I’d stop being an asshole for a minute and share my routine.

Before I cut it again tomorrow.

Bye

A touch of summer!

All though I am a summer-opponent and self proclaimed winter queen, I must say I do appreciate the sun once here. Walking outside with bare feet, dress on, ass out.. Makes you feel sensual.

It’s nice. I like nice. Carefree with the blissful fact that you can put your sunglasses on and never look anyone you don’t want to in the eye. My tits are down here. Please. People can be so insensitive.

As it arrived it went away in a couple of days obviously. But was enough to get me excited. I shall greet this summer with high hopes and great enthusiasm.

I mostly stayed in working though, but I still love just getting those rays of sun through the blinds.

Unless it’s over 25 degrees. Fuck that, I’m out. Nothing to do than play outside. Have to shave my legs soon on a regular basis. But that’s life. It gives and you take. It takes and you give.

That’s all.