oupps.... [31 Mar 2002|10:45pm] [ mood | bored ] What do people say behind your back? Find out @ digitalcharisma 1 comment|post comment

do we want peace? [08 Oct 2001|06:28pm] [ mood | scared ] [ music | fred (imperiet) ] the pics are done. elin is at home. the food is cooking. and 118 persons will never walk again. will never wake up, turn off the alarm clock and fall to sleep again. they will never get a hug or a kiss. they never said goodbye. im so scared that im one of them nineteen days from today. ive always loved flying and now im scared to death. first world trade center and now this: two planes collide and crashes into an airport in milano. im scared. barcelona - something ive dreamed of for so long. a trip i need so fucking much. do i dare to leave? and if i go, will it kill us? yesterday us and uk bombed afghanistan. like i wrote earlier. is this a response? or is it just circumstance? i m s c a r e d. i dont want more politics, more war, more argumenting, more pro or cons. peace, for fucks sake. does anyone know how to spell that word? post comment

::panic:: [08 Oct 2001|12:19pm] [ mood | nervous ] [ music | joyful girl (ani difranco) ] i was at the interview today. johanna, who did it, was really nice and cute and stuff. she wrote like five pages about what i was talking about. in less than an hour the photographer is coming over. help. but im pretty much prepared now. i was cleaning up in panic and still have like a zillion dishes to do, but fuck it. i have to call some woman. elsa. im gonna ask her if she can help me with my fucking food-problem. well my fucking non-food-problem. anyway, johanna asked me if i eventually wanted to be in some kinda a panel discussion thingy like once a month. im so fucking crazy. i said yes. i was picking up my passport. im ready for barcelona, but so fucking scared of the flight. us and uk have been bombing afghanistan. we fly to london and from there, with british airways to barcelona. im so fucking scared of a terrorist attack. imagine to burn. its so horrible. im so afraid. i dont want to die. its true. after a year of journal entries so depressing and suicidal that they themselves would be able to commit suicide - i dont wanna die. i want to l i v e. post comment

[07 Oct 2001|08:38pm] [ mood | anxious ] [ music | harm of will (björk) ] im waiting for elin. shes in the shower. ive been able to eat some pasta and right now im filled with my longing for her. for elin. the most beautiful thing that there is. 1 comment|post comment

oh yeah [07 Oct 2001|04:48pm] [ mood | blah ] [ music | aeroplane (björk) ] i cant eat anymore. not until my stomach screams out loud it gets something to eat. i think of food all the time. im thinking of it and that i cant eat it. im fucking weird. im so glad that i have my elin. but its cruel. its so cruel to make her see me like this. crying. by the table. i want to be like i was before: love food, eat food, eat lots of food. all the time. its just some weird idea. its gonna pass. it have to pass. post comment

fishfuck [01 Oct 2001|10:31pm] fuck is a very useful word. almost as useful as the word FISH. the best thing someone can do is to put in fish instead of the real word and try to understand me. i will understand. of course. im sad cuz: *ive lost my ability to write just in time for my first examination. *not one fucking therapist wants to give me an hour of her precious time. *skinny people eat fucking yucky soup to become skinny(er). for fucks sake. but i cant take it. i cant. i wont. write anylonger. the best thing in the world is music that kinda floats around in a room. it feels like bathing in music. swimming in music. elinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelinelin: you are perfect, ok? you have hair, nose, mouth, chins, neck, arms, hands, boobs, belly, fish, legs, knees and feet who are the most beautiful thing that have ever existed. dont fucking loose weight. cuz if you do, i will. if you, who are so fucking b e a u t i f u l are about to loose weight - what do i deserve? not food. i hate myself. i hate my hair. i hate my eyes. i hate my teeth. i hate everything about me, including my [non existing] ability to write. post comment

unbroken [20 Sep 2001|11:13am] i also want to be unbroken. why can i be unbroken? post comment

fuck [18 Sep 2001|05:41pm] [ mood | crappy ] [ music | my stomach screaming... ] i need a therapist. i moved like three weeks ago. and left my old one. i was at the psych clinic yesterday. she told me that their therapist didnt have time for me. i was at the school therapist today. she doesnt have time for me. im too old to go to ungdomsmottagningen. what the fuck am i supposed to do? i need a fucking therapist. without being able to afford a private one. fuckfuckfuck. i fucking need it... post comment

save. me. now. [16 Sep 2001|07:31pm] [ mood | sad ] [ music | vänner (lars winnerbäck) ] i must be so hard to live with. one second: strong, happy, settled. i finished roughness this morning. purposeful. strong. we did go home. and i fell. fast. imperceptible. i ended up as someone lying in my bed and didnt speak nor moved. i lied under my blanket. lying still. so fucking still. i have a party this wednesday. which means. food. wine. scary people. the theme is GLAMOUR. i have to put glitter on my cheeks .and. they will see me. im going alone. some people in my class are going. but i will go there by myself, be there by myself. i dunno a fucking person. two weeks in the same class and everyone know each other except for me. it costs twohundered fucking crowns. im really too sticky to go - it will be hell - but still. i must go. a sweater with glitter on it. glitter on my cheeks. fuck. i will feel so awful. i will die. slowly. im going by myself. i dunno a fucker. and the panic is approaching me, faster than i can handle. faster than ever before. post comment

wordswordswords [05 Aug 2001|08:10pm] [ mood | sore ] [ music | down (suede) ] i have a sore throat. it hurts. i am with elins family. her brother is fucking fifteen years old and a pain in the ass. her sister is twelve, hates guys and is so cute. in a way i want to be twelve again. but i wasnt a cool, cute, powerful twelve-year-old. i had enormous teeth, ugly clothes, glasses in pink and blue plastic and was fucking scared all the time. scared of the cool girls, of the guys, of doing right, of doing wrong. scared. we are on our way to emmabodafestivalen. we leave on tuesday. i really dont want to go. im so weird. i have been feeling good for so long: almost the whole time since i last met elin. but not anymore. not anymore now. i dont know why. i was just falling into it. i fell into it and i was going to do the only thing that helps: lie down in elins bed and let anis voice sink into me. a half sentence: im gonna take the money i make... silence... and when i took the tape out of the player it was broken. no ani. one more stupid thing that make me. break. number one: the rose i bought and gave you. it cost a fortune. of course. bought on a festival. but it was for you. you accidentally broke the stem . you put it in your bag. you didnt save it. you put it in your bag and when you pulled it out all the leaves had fallen of. i broke it even more. walked over it. smoked a cigarette. said no to alcohol. the same thing as the ten beautiful ones. big. different colors. i gave them to you on our three-months-day. they stood there in their vase until they were too old. i put them in the bad-smelling garbage. and they were gone. the tape - the music that is everything for me. the music that means something and saves me. that you hate. the tape that would save me, that didnt matter for you. i guess you threw it away. and my throat aches even more. just like my soul. festival: to eat strange food or not eat at all. to drink alcohol every day/night. to be ugly among beautiful people - thin, blackhaired, fishnetstocky, conversy glittergals. i hide myself in converse, fishnet and lucky strike. but still i fail. i am a strange hybrid. not pop. not rock. not right. not good. the only thing i can be is. wrong. thats why i dont want to. but i will. im too stingy to not go. fivehundered crowns for the tickets, twohunderedfifty for the train down there, twohunderedthirty for the train home. i cant put almost thousand crowns at nothing. on going home, lie under my blanket and not doing anything. what i miss to be a real glittergal is some neat cuttings on my arms. and a life. and some looks. and a smile. or am i supposed to look difficult and suffering? to be one of them? im pretty sure that youre not supposed to cry when a tape brokes. at least not if whats on it is a american punkfolkrocksinger. one of those with big american accent and lyrics about strength - not about feeling awful. why do i love ani? shouldnt i love pop? cut-your-wrists-pop, like my "friend" fredrik called it. nope. time to end the oh-woe-me-journalentry. time to step back into reality. fuck. post comment

i'm so fucking scared [21 Jul 2001|10:54pm] [ mood | scared ] [ music | håkan hellström LIVES inside my head... ] the one who can respond to this, please do so, cuz now i'm that fucking scared again. almost exactly a month ago i was demonstrating PEACEFULLY in gothenburg against the european union, the european monetarian union and shit like that. i still get a lot of "yeah and karyn was in gothenburg and threw rocks hehe when we were doing that hehe" and its pissing me off and i almost start yell at people you really shouldnt yell at (like anita, my boss for two more days and marie-louise my kinda boss who noone ever have seen doing anything for two more days). some people were throwing rocks, burning furniture from restaurants and pretending there was a war going on. yesterday it was time for italy. the leaders for the eight richest countries in the world were sitting by a table, were shaking hands, were smiling into the cameras and discussed a minute or two how to solve the problems of the world. on the streets there was a war. bigger. worse. fire bombs. burned garbage and police cars, destroyed, empty stores. the police had big guns, and every weapon you could imagine. a person. a guy. twenty-three years old. had one of those thingies you put out fires with. he was about to throw it on a police car when a police, inside the car, picked up his gun and with two bullets executed him. one bullet in the forehead. one bullet in the cheek. to really be sure that he was dead the police backed over him with the car and drove away. are the police here to PROTECT us? this guy, carlo guiliano (i think thats how its supposed to be spelled) wasnt a fucking angel. he was masked, he was about to throw something really heavy at the car. but did he deserve to get shot? did he deserve to be ran over? by the police. maybe he deserved to get arrested. to end up in jail. maybe. i dunno. but he didnt deserve to to be shot at, driven at, be treated like shit and have the pic of his death on every newspaper in the world. on the first page of aftonbladet he lies dead. you can see the hole the bullet went in through, the blood around him. a month ago a swedish guy got shot by the police. yesterday an italian guy got shot by the police. and im so fucking scared. i want to be able to demonstrate. i want to demonstrate without maybe being shot or killed. people talk about forbidding the rights to demonstrate. what is left then? a dictatorship? a country where you arent aloud to speak, to protest. is that a dictatorship? if it isnt, tell me what it is. people are shot on the streets by people whos jobs are to protect. to retain peace and freedom, to keep crimes of the streets and arrest suspects. a person was shot with two bullets. and im so fucking afraid. answer. answer me if you can. when is it the right thing to shoot someone and run over him with your car? when hes about to destroy your car? when he pulls out a gun? when i threatens to kill you? in this case it was number one. is it the right thing to do? post comment

violently happy... [14 Jul 2001|04:53pm] [ mood | happy ] [ music | ...i en sp?rvagn n?gonstans...aaaaahaaa... (h?kan hellstr?m) ] elin and i had a big cabin by the sea. it had a lot of rooms and like a trapdoor to the kitchen. we had sunshine on the porch in the mornings and sat there eating melon and after that we went bathing. i was windy, like fourhundered fucking meters per second, but we were bathing anyway, cuz in the nothern parts of sweden they're not bathing to refresh themselves, they are bathing cuz it's summer, noone cares if it's hot or cold weather. we ate melon and food and small sandwiches. were riding the bus a lot and made out. it feels so ridiculous to put words on it, noone gets it anyway. like what's so special with riding the bus? it's special with her. it just is. her cute cheeks are sunburnt and she is totally freckled. her lips are so beautifully shaped and her eyes blue. i have cut her hair to short and not really even. she is about to colour it again and right now it's more brown than black. she is CUTE. she's tired of being cute, she wants to be pretty. in the winter she's pretty. in the summer the freckles and the red cheeks make her cute, like freckles do. ? i have butterflies in my stomach by thinking about her. i love her most of all and she's mine. she is the most wonderful person on earth with her madness and fears, she has so many that i suddenly seem normal. she makes me strong. i call and arrange stuff. for her. for me. for us. i'm reserve number one for college in ?stersund. which means that i maybe can live with her. i maybe can see her every day and not just really intense for a week or a weekend, not at all for two, three weeks and then: boom. intense again. i am one person from waking up next to her every morning and fall asleep with her every night. are you going to college in ?stersund? you will get a big pink towel with yellow dots on if you give me your place. no, but, seriously. move to ume? or stockholm or malm? or fucking wherever you want. but let me be with elin... please. post comment

depression vs heroinaddiction [04 Jul 2001|03:16pm] [ mood | worried ] [ music | nu kan du få mig så lätt (håkan hellström) ] my zine is almost done. i'm done writing and all i'm going to add is if someone send me an essay or something. kat(e) sent me a poem. it's beautiful. i like it. silence i count the time a it takes a single tear to make it's way slowly down my cheek, you think i can't stay silent, but you're wrong, my patience out weighs your fury, i have practice at this, my record on my silence is eight hours, my words would be to good for your kind, and i'd never fall for your trap, dissecting every syllable and undertone is not what i need, your mind escapes all meaning, so i sit here in silent protest, writing this little poem inside my brain, as you waste your time with anger and disdain how can anyone treat their child like this? it's weird. i'm worried about suz. i don't know her very well, but she's fucking fighting against the heroin and it feels like it doesn't matter what i do or say, she will put the needle in her vein soon anyway. i don't want to loose her. i hate drugs. i hate everything that grab you, hold you and refuse to let go. the worst thing is that i can put her addiction next to my depression and see similarities. i sound like a total weirdo, but in some way i don't want to feel better. in some way i'm safe in it. i know how i feel, how everything looks and i can't fall deeper. i want to win over my depression. i want suz to win over the heroin. i want kat(e) to win over her dad. et cetera. i want everone to be fine. let everyone be fine now. please. post comment

irrational [30 Jun 2001|12:30am] [ mood | tired ] [ music | om gyllene år (kent) ] i wake up beside you with tears in my mouth. i wake up of the heat but i'm. freezing cold. um. yes. i'm tired. slowly i'm going down. though i don't know why. it's one of those days when the rollercoaster is slowing down and slowly, slowly, i'm heading towards the bottom. not fast. not quickly. i've got time to see the danger - rock bottom -, i've got time to try to stop, i've got time to try. and to fail. i've been taking my pills for three days in a row now. i've been going to work five days a row now. i've been missing you six days a row now. it's dark outside. in the nothern parts it's daylight, but it's dark here. joakim berg and i are sitting here together. it's soon one o'clock. if i stay long enough jen will go online. i miss her. missing. sti is knocking truths into my head and elin makes me warm. in a week i will be with you. buying a bikini. in my shopping bags bikini bottoms with legs and a bikini bra that kind of looks like a tank top. in my head furious thoughts. sickly designed bikini pants, small triangles over the breast or maybe a halterneck-thingie that make my tiny boobs to small nails on the plank with a cone on. remember this, darling: you are beautiful. you are cute. you are a wonderful person who have the most beautiful tummy and the cutest legs i've ever seen. eat pastries and cookies. don't let them take you down on earth. eat whatever you want and like. break for the first time in maybe ten years the circle and STOP THIS DIET, YOU ARE FUCKING PERFECT. post comment

the rollercoaster [28 Jun 2001|02:01pm] [ mood | thoughtful ] [ music | rollercoaster (kent) ] you say that i scare you. i scare you when i behave like someone else. you like the karyn who eat icecream in the middle of the night, threaten people with little plastic knives, eat dinner for breakfast and sweet pepper and crisps for lunch. she who laughs and says funny things. she who wants to live. thats the up's of the rollercoaster. from there it's a ride straight down. in my down's i'm thinking of knives, of cutting my hair off and stop eating. i don't know. i don't know why. i don't know how. i want to be calm. i want to take my pills and straighten out the rollercoaster. and literally spoken it's funny. in the rollercoaster in liseberg. but in my head. when i struggle to come up. it takes time. days. weeks. that i struggle. it becomes better. and better. i feel fine. until i reach the top and everything is turned upside down. enormously fast is the way down. i'm dizzy - i can't breath, i'm giddy, i can't smile. up. down. up. down. all the town. you make the up's to come more often. you make me able to stand the down's. you help. you save. and i'm wishing for you and me. post comment

summer heat [27 Jun 2001|05:05pm] [ mood | calm ] [ music | hell yeah (ani difranco) ] lost little girl in hurricanes of love and pain trying to find peace of mind. the words ran through my head. ran. together with lonely daisychains. i walked through grass and daisies. walked over them. broke them. like words broke me i broke you. the warmth around me. the noise. voices. feet against gravel. the building project. cars. my dress is glimmering. i lit a cigarette. ignore the fact that i have to eat. ignore. my lunch turns to words turns to warmth turn to smoke. it's burning in my skin. i carry your heart around my neck. it connect you with me. the warmth is sticky. the warmth is soft. in the park we are walking. mommies with prams and icecreams, teens with bikes and water, drunk trashy men with their bottles. and. me. i wish i had a daisy. a daisy who is glimmering pink in the white. when i was six years old. i woke up to dew in the grass. my nightie was white with small, small tulips. we went outside. damp grass, nighties and our blue swings which creaked. i want to be there. again. post comment

echoing blechoing [24 Jun 2001|02:19pm] [ mood | sad ] [ music | shy (ani difranco) ] i'm empty. inside. it's empty. i'm echoing. i'm pounding. i can't find myself in this fucking emptiness. i hate my paranoia. i hate my strange thoughts. i hate being like this. i hate lying next to her and feel tear down my cheeks. tears tears fucking always tears. hate her asking me why and not be able to answer. i just don't know. i haven't been taking my medication for so long. i haven't lived for so long. i'm feeling empty and wet and cold and warm. no food in empty stomach. no makeup on pale, ugly skin. i don't exist. easiest that way. post comment

empty emptied echoes empty [21 Jun 2001|12:36pm] [ mood | intimidated ] [ music | ramlar (h?kan hellstr?m) ] i have lost the ability to speak. it's stuck. in your. hair. mission: blackmailing. i won't put my journals back if elin doesn't write something every day. elin doesn't write every day. so i won't put my stuff back. but elin doesn't write a new journal if i don't write something before we go off to ?stersund. so i'm writing. woke up from kisses. in the warmth and her arms. i've been sitting in front of the screen for thirtyfive minutes. for these lines. i can't write anymore. i don't remember how. i can't do it anymore. empty. empty. empty. empty. i have lost the ability to speak. it's stuck. in your. hair. post comment

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