You can still contact me at svaha@iki.fi

31.12.02

It's six-thirty in the morning, and the psychiatrist's appointment is at nine. I have given up on trying to sleep - if I turn off the light and lie down I just keep sliding even further down into the black hole with my thoughts and start shedding tears, and my face just can't take any more salt water after the past two weeks. So I could just as well try to keep myself distracted with something external and insignificant, and where else to go for that than the Net?

I still don't want to go. I will be rejected again, I know it.

(Later) Well, well. The lady took me seriously and had found an alternative possibility of funding for therapy. She put my papers onward straightaway, and as we went through a quick recap of the unpleasantries in my life, she assured me that there was enough material there that it is quite possible that I will get the funding. If - if - it goes through, all I need is a good therapist, and finding the right one is no small task. First thing after new year, I will find the contact information for the therapist I used to see nine years ago and ask her opinion. If she still takes patients; and if she thinks we might still work together, as she specializes in child and youth therapy; I would be quite willing to work with her, and if not, she might have good suggestions. And Kalle's family contact will probably be able to help as well.

So, it will not end as year 2002 ends. It may still end a few weeks into it, but not here. Not now. For a while, I am still limping on okay. And so I will go and see people tonight. Starting now.

Let's not call it rebirth yet; the flame is not hot enough. But there is some glow in the embers, some small warmth, and for a while, it will do.

30.12.02

Had to miss a few days due to the Vampire game (after which I was home around five am) and a stomach flu that left me with a high fever. Inka had it last week, Anni got it straight after me; now we're hoping that the others in the house manage to avoid it. Not that we haven't done our very best to spread it: three of us were in the game, potentially exposing around sixty people; we had four guests over on Saturday night; and both Anni's and Lin's parents were here yesterday.

I must say I have rarely experienced anything as unpleasant as lying in my bed, hoping to die to escape the nausea, and having to listen to people in the dining-room talking about the things they were eating...

The game was okay, as usual, though I felt a little off. Have to concentrate when writing the report. (Was going to do it yesterday, straight when I got up, but all that barfing sort of made it a bit difficult.)

My heartfelt apologies to anyone we might have infected - stomach flu is the damnedest thing.

Depression update: doctor's appointment tomorrow. Don't want to go - it won't result in anything anyway. I am not deserving of help, I know - I've been hit in the head with it for years and years now. Why would it change now?

I suppose Kalle will drag me there anyway. I suppose I will go, simply to prove my friends that there is no hope anymore.

Tomorrow is the day of the coldest ash.

And I cannot even pray for rebirth anymore.

I'll tell you a secret: I don't want to die. I really don't. I just don't see any worth in my continued existence. I don't want to be a waste, a user. I want to be useful, to pay back my debt of life. But I can't. I don't have the strength left to do good or useful or even nice things. I don't even have the strength to provide for myself, far less do anything. So I cannot just go on like this. I don't have the right to live as a waste for ever.

As a positive postscript: the friend who got me so mad back at the beginning of November apologized on Saturday. Okay, she was drunk at the time, but it still felt sincere... and good. In a small way (as everything good is small under the shadow of these mountains), but still good.

If I'm still here after new year, I'll be glad to see her again.

I continue to feel so divided - one hand grabbing the thin wire of unreasonable hope; the other trying to close around the knife of reason and rightness. There are so many little things I still want to hang onto, at the end of that wire: people I want to meet - people I've promised to meet - at least once more... well, mostly people I want to meet. But what then? Little hopes, false hopes, that can carry for a while, but not raise. I cannot keep on living uselessly, only taking (and even then, taking nothing but crumbs).

Uh. Didn't turn out so positive after all. Sorry.

Besides, probably this is all talk, in the end, on the final line - I'm just trying to make God, Fate, whatever, believe that I really need someone to lift me up so I don't have to go through that unpleasantly tiresome task myself, because I'm just lazy. You'll see. I'll be here next year, too, whining about my lack of life.

And so it goes.

27.12.02

To quote the iconic Sondheim song, I'm still here. So far.

I wanted to offer a better quote to make up for that one, but it would be somewhat impractical, as this mood would require me to type up the whole of "Four Quartets" (look it up, if you want to - but remember that it's still copyrighted, so the complete text may or may not be on the Internet).

...No, I must show you these:

"So here I am, in the middle way, having had twenty years -
Twenty years largely wasted, the years of `l'entre deux guerres` -
Trying to learn to use words, and every attempt
Is a wholly new start, and a different kind of failure
Because one has only learnt to get the better of words
For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which
One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture
Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate
With shabby equipment always deteriorating
In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,
Undisciplined squads of emotion. And what there is to conquer
By strength and submission, has already been discovered
Once or twice, or several times, by men whom one cannot hope
To emulate - but there is no competition -
There is only the fight to recover what has been lost
And found and lost again and again; and now, under conditions
That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain or loss.
For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business."

-

"-- But this thing is sure,
That time is no healer: the patient is no longer there."

-

"Now, we come to discover that the moments of agony
(Whether, or not, due to misunderstanding,
Having hoped for the wrong things or dreaded the wrong things,
Is not in question) are likewise permanent
With such permanence as time has. --
People change, and smile: but the agony abides.
Time the destroyer is time the preserver --"

-

"I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope of the wrong thing; wait without love
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the hope and the love are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing."

(Four Quartets by T.S.Eliot, parts of East Coker V, The Dry Salvages III and II and East Coker III respectively)

I need to write a lot now, but it's again almost three am, and I absolutely need to be up in time tomorrow - it's the day of another Vampire game, so I have some sewing to do (among other things, such as colouring my hair and trying to decide which of my poems I could pass up as written by Kaarina). Lin is going as Mari, too.

Christmas? Oh, it went well enough, I suppose. I shopped a little on Monday evening (mostly books - cheap but classy) and bumped into Jatuli at Stockmann's fabric department (where else? :)), and we spent some time over food and books, gossiping on life and tomorrow's game. Paula had been a darling (when isn't she?) and arranged for the renewal of my prescriptions, but I forgot to pick them up before going to town on Monday, and by the time I got back it was too late. So predictably I could not sleep on Monday night and ended up missing the train I had intended to take to Lahti on Tuesday morning. That turned out to be no big problem, however, as Anni picked me up from the train station in plenty of time for Christmas porridge at her home. (I had gone to the pharmacist to get the medication in the morning.)

It was a very nice evening; her family was very warm and nice and the food was wonderful. I got the cutest little angel pin from Anni's mom and a gorgeous silver and crystal necklace from Anni (I had opened the rest of my presents before I left - no sense lugging them around). Later in the evening, when they went to visit relatives nearby, I fell asleep in front of the TV for a while. Then I had to drag myself up and have a late-night snack and a game of trivia, sort of a "Facts of Finland" version of Trivial Pursuit. We played in two teams, and - I am sorry to say - we all sucked. Shameful, I know.

On Christmas day, I again slept too late to catch the noon train (no wonder, as I had slept two hours the previous night and gone to bed around three after all the Christmas traditions), and most of the afternoon seemed to be spent on travelling. I stopped at home and then went on to Suvi's place, where she and her mother and a mutual friend who lives nearby had already dug into one of the most sumptuous dinners I've ever had. The evening passed amicably, with lots of food, some wine and Bristol cream (no worry: I said upfront that someone needed to make sure that I only had two glasses of alcoholic beverages all in all, and that was it), comparing experiences with families and the Finnish healthcare, and general chatting. Suvi and I tried to watch the Extended Fellowship, but decided to give up after skipping through disc one.

As a sidenote: I still can't sleep normally. At Suvi's place, I knew that the cats might keep me awake, so I took half a sleeping pill. I noticed that before it kicked in, my pulse was far higher than it should be at rest - so I still get panicky reactions when I should try to relax and not worry about what's it going to be like to wake into another bad morning. And in the middle of the night, when the pill stopped having an effect (3-4 hours only for a half one), I promptly woke up and had something of a job to get back to sleep.

Boxing Day was lazy, lounging around at Suvi's, watching Branagh's Hamlet on TV, reading and petting the cats, while Suvi worked on the materials for the Vampire game and did some reading of her own. In the evening I took the train to Leppävaara to visit Topsu and Heli. We talked a lot - which was very good - and made plum tarts - which was almost, but not quite, as good. (No, the plum tarts were wonderful, but the talking was even better, and more important, this time.) More cat stuff was in order, as well; I had almost forgotten what a champion charmer Alvari, their Burmese, is...

I got home rather late, but there was still time for an episode or two of Buffy, some ice cream and a sauna. Today, more Buffy, shopping for the game and planning for the costumes (the theme of the party in-game is an artistic charity dance) and then some more Buffy. We'll soon be through season three, so there's going to be a small break from it. Which is good, since I am now completely hooked...

It was watching some rather emotional episodes of Buffy that made my fingers itch again. I know - so unoriginal, isn't it? But so what? Being able to feel any emotions besides pain, shame and apathy is a big plus for me at the moment, so who cares if those emotions were prodded on by something as juvenile as Buffy? I don't. Or at least I try not to.

But now it's time to sleep. The stories can stew a bit longer.

Though I think I finally know how to get over the block in the story that so far carries the name "Rumours". We'll see.

22.12.02

I suppose I should go into more detail, if this is to be in any manner a truthful account of the different aspects of clinical depression. I warn you: this is going to be long, detailed and probably terribly unfair to those overworked people in public healthcare, but I have several angry people around me to back my own anger. I can't prune my words this time; I just have to get this out; and I know I tend to be wordy when describing something thoroughly. I can only say I'm sorry, but I think this is necessary, even if it is less artistic than I generally try to be.

So. It started on Wednesday. Again, Kalle tried to get me up and calling that psychologist acquaintance of his, and again, I didn't. This time I was still too far into sleep and not at all ready to face the world, far less someone new to explain the depths of my loser-ness to. So I slept. Neither did I answer my phone, which (as it turned out later when I was awake enough to check) was ringing because A Certain Someone was hoping I could hang out with him in town. Talk about irony.

(And, of course, these things have absolutely nothing in common except the coincidence of timing, and I know it. Still it gave Anni the opportunity to lecture me on the necessity of duty before earning any fun. Blech.)

Anyway, the day passed and it was time to run to the special geek showing of The Two Towers. I had sort of oscillated between dressing up as a hobbit (as Anni and Lin were going to be Uruks, so I could have been their little captive) and just grabbing a basic long dress from the costume closet. As I could not find my hobbit cape anywhere (and I realize it is shameful to admit to owning such a thing :)), I stuck to the safe choice: my old blue wool dress, which I actually wore for FOTR a year ago, so it was sort of fitting. We rushed to the theatre in record time, met lots of friends and acquaintances and worried about Petri and Paula making it in time (due to a break of communications, Petri ended up going to Tennispalatsi and had to rush in at the last minute).

The movie? Well, I was surprised at how completely it grabbed and overwhelmed me, as I had had warning of many changes from the book. However, I was quite happy to accept most of them, as I thought there were good thematic reasons for them - themes that I consider true to Tolkien's vision but that could not easily be presented by following the book 100%. Three things I did not particularly go for: Theoden's "exorcism" was very heavy-handed and clumsy; Aragorn's little sidetrip was altogether unnecessary; and the Ents were not depicted as well as I could have hoped for. But everything else... yes, I was sold. AND I WANT MORE *N*O*W*!!! WANT!!!

Falling into the visual imagery of that world was amazingly easy and quick, and the adrenaline high that followed was the most profound since Wanderer III (not that I am much of an adrenaline junkie as such... but still...).

There was also this small incident after the movie that brought me a post-high all of my own, but no more of that. It just made me feel good - that someone noticed my mixed expression after the movie, and that that someone was an important someone.

Anyway, a group of us who had been sitting together ended up having a drink (coffee for me, as I was driving). And then disaster wormed its way into a very nice evening. Someone came up with the idea of Anni's bottle of whiskey and finishing it up at our place. So we did.

Anni went to bed early, since she still had a few days of work left, but the rest of us went on, and had not only the rest of the whiskey, but also two bottles of red wine that were leftovers from an earlier party. And I forgot how badly I take to alcohol. After two shots it was already too late: I was happily high and did not remember it would not stay like that. And as the others only got a comfortable buzz from the same amount, they did not pay attention either. For a long time we all had fun, and then I don't remember. I have a total blank, blackout, whatever. It's as if someone else - another personality or something - had taken over... I think, as I still can't remember, but I have reliable accounts of having been up and walking and talking.

(Now, bear in mind - please - that this was a total and complete accident from my part. I was not planning on getting drunk at all; after all, a week ago I had two ciders and two rum cocoas, and I was only mildly buzzy, even if it made me pretty sick afterwards, so I honestly thought I could handle a few drinks, and by the time I couldn't, I didn't notice it any more. I just had a good time... until I didn't, and the world disappeared.)

The next thing I remember (besides a single flash of three seconds which unfortunately proves that I, or this "other personality", ended up doing something very stupid that I absolutely had not wanted to do when sober or even when comfortably drunk) is much, much later, in the upstairs bathroom, arguing with Lin who has just grabbed a razor from my hand and is trying to keep me from getting to it. Then, flashes of hysterical crying, the police (one of whom - the one who mostly talked to me - was distinctly rude and only managed to make me whimper and apologize again and again), and begging for Kalle not to let them take me to the hospital. Lin had called Emergency when I would not settle down, and Kalle, who by then was waking up, also thought that I had come close enough to suicide that it was best to take me to the hospital.

I was slowly getting some reason back, so I agreed to go, and we waited for the ambulance for quite some time. I went nicely enough, I suppose.

At the emergency they put me to bed and told me to keep calm and wait. So I waited, for the better part of two hours. I could not sleep despite being tired and still rather drunk, so I ended up pottering around or trying to read, while having the concentration of a disturbed monkey and the mental equivalent of the raw skin of a burn patient. For example, I remember getting hysterical again when I heard some of the nurses at the emergency reception talking about how something was not their problem and should not be dumped on them, and I was sure they were talking about me... and most of you reading this will know how bad I am with even imagined rejection or reprimand, even when sober. I also told the male nurse who I suppose had been assigned to check on me that I needed to go outside to not start feeling sick, and I did go, twice. After all this I was told I could soon meet the psychiatrist, but then the nurse took another alcohol reading and said I could not go for a long time yet, as the psychiatrist would only see me when I had got all of the alcohol out of my system.

I was getting very uncomfortable and scared, so I told the nurse that I could just as well go home to sleep the booze off then. He said I could not, since as I had come in by an ambulance, if I left without seeing a doctor, they would have to call the police to pick me up again. He said he'd ask about the psychiatrist again, and came back saying I'd get to go next.

And I panicked about seeing someone who did not want to see me in the first place and would probably consider me an alcoholic who had no real depression anyway... and I went out, ostensibly to catch another breath... and walked home. Five kilometres.

No-one came after me.

When I got home, it was around twelve, and I had worked myself into a state of total desolation. I tiptoed to my computer to update my unofficial will and then downstairs, planning to find another razor and do it properly this time. (Now, I know - or at least as well as the general wisdom goes - that it is not easy to kill oneself by slitting one's wrists... so it has always been a kind of a hope that it could be a last cry for help that would finally be taken seiously... pitiful, isn't it? But it's not that I'm sure, and I was low enough not to care.) I dug a razor out of a disposable ladyshave, got a nice pillow and blanket from the video room and settled myself and that sharp, shiny, untrustworthy-looking little piece of metal on the shower-room floor.

And I lay there for minutes and minutes, an inch between my wrist and that stupid little piece of scrap metal, and could not do it.

Finally, properly subdued by my cowardly fear of making holes in human skin, I dragged myself to my own bed and called the hospital like the good, nice girl I was, to tell them that I was home and that I was going to sleep.

They said: "Oh, okay, well, the doctor already decided that we didn't need to send anyone to go after you. And by the way, some friend of yours called and was worried about your keys." And I said - like the good nice girl I still was - "Oh, okay, that must have been my housemate, I'll call him myself now."

And that was it for them.

I called Kalle and reassured him that I was home and far too tired for any foolishness right then, and then I took the last half of a sleeping pill I still had (I was still too anxious to fall asleep otherwise) and slept until five pm.

When I woke up, my housemates were having a conference. It turned out that Kalle had thought that a doctor had received me, and when he heard that this had not been the case, he got really mad. It also turned out that the hospital had not told Anni anything when she called to ask after me - not even where I was, though after a long negotiation they had "kindly" told her that I was not there anymore. And it turned out that my housemates all thought I should go back and see a doctor now. Kalle had talked to some people he knew and trusted who were in the psychiatric profession and he said they also thought I should definitely see a doctor. Then, too, he was willing to drive me to the hospital and stay there with me so that I could not panic and run away again.

So we went. And no, I did not mind. I was glad - so glad - that someone took me seriously and was worried enough to go to trouble for me.

We got there around half past six. They recognized my name at the registration room, but we had to wait for three hours before we even got to see the doctor on duty, and I was getting thoroughly scared that they would not see me at all by then. In the end, we were called in - Kalle came with me to ensure that I would not start shielding and denying and apologizing again - and I tried to explain everything as well as I could: both the accidental circumstances of the night before, and the more constant circumstances of my depression, my feelings of worthlessness, and my thoughts on how I had no purpose; no right even; to live anymore, as I was nothing but a waste of energy, time and space. I've said the same things to a lot of doctors, but I suppose this time the emphasis was a little more on the plans for the ending of that worthless existence... as Kalle said it had been in our talks lately. (I had not even noticed, honestly, but he was right.)

The lady doctor on duty turned out to have a satisfyingly sharp eye and honest manner, and she took me seriously enough. She said she thought I was in a real need of urgent help, though not by coercive measures (duh, I could have told her that... but she was very nice and insightful). I would see the psychiatrist on duty, who would then decide if I should stay at the hospital right then for a while, or come again the next day, or something.

We waited for another half an hour (not too bad), during which Kalle got me some food and a lip balm (all my face was dry and chapped for crying so much), and then we met the psychiatrist. He was very nice too; a guy maybe close to my age; and he said he was really worried about me and that he thought it would probably be best for me to come to the hospital and stay at the ward for some time, while they could work on what kind of treatment would be possible. He said I could stay straightaway, or come again in the morning, when my papers would be read by the consulting psychiatrists at the emergency psychiatric ward and they would schedule a meeting to make the decision to keep me there or try to find some other solution. He said he wanted to write me in then and there, but that as I was not prepared and the incoming ward was not a very comfortable place, if I promised not to do anything that night and to come back in the morning; and if I had people around me to see to these things; it might be more comfortable for me to go home for the night.

So we said okay, and went home. Anni and Lin and I watched some Buffy and in general had a comfy home evening, and I even got to sleep for almost reasonable hours. That was when I wrote the entry where I said I felt incredibly relieved and free - because I did. I thought I was finally taken seriously; that I was finally, at the last line, going to get the help to become a whole person; a useful person! I did not have to try so desperately anymore. I would get help. I would get better. I would become someone who could help others.

How wrong I was.

In the morning, I woke all by myself, and around nine, Kalle asked if I wanted to call the psychiatric emergency ward to ask about the time of my appointment, or if I wanted him to. I asked if he could, and so he did. But the psychiatrist at the other end wanted to talk to me personally before issuing any appointment at all, and somehow we did not understand each other at all. I felt she was trying to get me to say that I was fine now, or that she could just advise me to call again to the Tikkurila mental health care office - something I had not been able to do for two months, even after having run out of medication. I told her that I had explicitly been told to come back the next day, and that I had been considered ill enough that hospital care was a real possibility... and now if she was not going to see me, I was not having any more of the conversation. So I hang up. No, it was not wise, but I was not in a state to be reasonable.

Kalle tried to call them again; no answer. A while later - perhaps a half an hour - the psychiatrist called my phone. She said she did not mean to imply that they would not see me, and gave me an appointment for half past ten. Kalle again promised to take me there and at least wait until the appointment; possibly come with me.

So we went, once more. I packed the most basic necessities in my bag in case I was to stay at once: two books (one a comfortable Pratchett, one the new Eco, "Baudolino"), the portable CD player and some CD's, two notebooks, lots of pencils and pens, and basic cosmetics. I thought that someone would probably tell me what else I would need (or could bring). I was scared, but optimistic.

We got there. Kalle decided that he could stay to come with me, for which I was very glad. There were two young women, probably around my age again, or even younger, a psychiatrist and a psychologist. I talked a lot, and according to Kalle's judgement, I gave a pretty accurate picture of how things were.

And the result was a total disaster. The result was zero. Nothing. Nada. Rien. Not even a renewing of my prescription. Of staying at the ward, the psychiatrist thought that I would just get bored and frustrated very soon, since they had no group sessions or anything during Christmas; there was only room at one of the closed wards which had a lot of seriously psychotic patients; there was no open ward at all; the only plus would be a psych. nurse to talk to. I never asked and she never said if it really was true what she implied: that there was no psychiatrist on call at the wards. Can it really be true?

The other option they offered me - the only other option they saw - was that they would call the doctor at the Tikkurila mental health care office again and ask for her to get me an appointment as soon as possible; that she could then continue evaluating me and the possible continuation of my medication and the possible need for more consultation. I'd been there before, and I had nothing against the doctor, but she had made it clear that the mental health office could not offer me regular, sustained therapy, and neither I nor the girls evaluating me had any idea whether she was available at this time before Christmas, and if she was, when I could get even the first appointment.

I panicked, naturally, but it did not help. They said they simply did no see any other options. And they also thought I was not really willing to commit to therapy, when I expressed doubts of being able to go to the mental health office in a state of uncertainty about the future of any help there. Bloody hell, THE ISSUE IS NOT MY COMMITMENT, BUT MY FEAR!!! I am quite willing to commit, but I can't go about asking for - demanding for - thinking I deserve to have - regular help and therapy, unless someone makes it clear to me that it's okay; that I deserve it; that they believe I am worth it and that I can be made into a human again. And if they can't promise me help, then obviously they don't think it's okay for me, personally, to have it, so what would be the point?

Can it really be that this particular syndrome - this total lack of any worth, up to even asking for help - is so rare that they did not even recognize it? Can it be that I was still too aggressive in how I spoke; that I was too verbal, too slick, so that they maybe thought I was just an attention-seeker? Can it be that I did something else that made me seem stronger and more okay than I was? Can it be that there really is no help for someone over twenty-five who does not have enough money for private therapy?

And why didn't they even renew my prescription? Or even ask if I needed something to sleep while waiting for the call from the mental health office? For sleeping has been very difficult during these days: I cannot sleep until I am totally exhausted; even ordinary sleep is so stressed that I wake up with a headache; and I have disgusting nightmares.

On Friday night, I dreamed in vivid and nauseating detail that my ex-husband raped and humiliated me repeatedly. Considering that even the thought of ever having had that person touch me makes me feel sick (no, it's not a mature way of dealing with your past, but that's how it is), the dream was almost more than I could bear. I still feel like I want to vomit when I remember it.

Kalle, Lin and Anni have been with me most of the weekend. I slept on Friday afternoon, exhausted and crushed. No-one called from the mental health care.

In the evening, I spent a lot of time on the phone with both Dad and Paula, explaining everything to them, and fending off calls and messages from Mom, who is naturally terribly worried, but who unfortunately cannot help me now. She is too close: if she comes to be with me, I will only get more anguished because I will be subconsciously reacting to her worry, trying to make her worry less, no matter how I actually feel. So I just said what I really think: that the best she can do is to go on with her own Christmas plans and not twist them around me. I don't know if she got it; I fear not, as Grandma tried to call me yesterday (we were supposed to go and spend the Christmas with her). I didn't have the guts to answer for fear that she would be trying to tell me to go there anyway and not be so mean to my Mom. I don't know, I may be unfair to her, but that's what I feared.

Paula, on the other hand, was wonderful. She was all fire and fury on the phone for how I had been treated and how important it would be to arrange for that therapy for me, and it made me feel so much better. Kalle has also been a pillar of quiet strength and compassion (I have rarely seen him as mad as he was when we got home from the consultation on Friday) and told me that these therapists he knows personally also wondered about the decision of the consulting psychiatrists. And Anni and Lin have shared pizza, chocolate and long sessions of the third season of Buffy with me. This evening, we all went to see Spirited Away and enjoyed it enormously, as everyone else seems to have done, too. It was beautiful.

It has been agreed that I will spend Christmas Eve with Anni's family, Christmas Day with Suvi and her mother in Espoo, and I thought to call Heli and Topi to see them on Boxing Day (since Heli said they are spending Christmas here). I can't really leave any further in the hope that I get an appointment or more - as at the moment, I honestly am not in such a good shape that it is quite safe if the wait extends over New Year.

So we wait for tomorrow. There's not much else we can do.

How can I be so sure? How can I talk about killing myself with such confidence, if I could not do it on Thursday either, or even try? Well, the fact that there is no worth in my life has not changed, and time is running out. No more waste. No more waiting; no more whining and begging for one more day, one more meal, one more comfort book, one more chocolate bar, one more episode of Buffy or B5 or whatever... one more Harry Potter fanfiction chapter, one more time checking if someone has emailed me, one more possibility of seeing a beloved face... One more quick fix, that's all these things are. They do not represent a will to live, no, they are just comfort snacks - just like in the bulimia thingy: just one more piece of bread, one more banana, one more bag of crisps, one more, one more; before having to throw up and face reality.

One day, soon, if something in this screwed-up head does not change, I will be able to throw up what I've gorged of this worthless life, and find the courage to let go.

I've been pretty incoherent in this account, and there are a lot of thoughts I'd like to put down in addition - thoughts that I managed to express while talking with Kalle on Thursday night and Friday night, or that I just had in my mind at some stage - but I'm getting too tired, and tired is good right now. Maybe tomorrow. We'll see what's in store then, anyway.

I hope I have not been too brutally open to some of you.

20.12.02

Well, I hoped too much. As always.

I feel like a total idiot now, for hoping.

Apparently, there is nowhere for a depressed patient to go to in this city. I should have been brave enough to get that razor to my wrist yesterday; maybe they would have taken me seriously then. (The psychiatrist on duty last night did, but I guess he promised too much.)

Too tired. Too much pain. But if I promise Kalle (who was good enough to take me to the hospital yesterday and today and wait with me all through) I won't do anything stupid just today, I won't. I know what promises of loyalty mean.

19.12.02

"...And my love find the light of day
in the light of the universe.
Dance my Esmeralda."

(Later, much later)

So, it has finally happened, now that the year of last chance is ending: my last chance.

I am going to hospital tomorrow, and I will either stay there for a couple of weeks, full time, or visit as a day patient for an intensive period. I'll know after the evaluation meeting tomorrow.

I am terrified - naturally - and hesitant and doubtful, but also relieved. The struggle to be a good girl and hang on to optimism and always end every conversation with a positive note and always, always believe one must manage on one's own is OVER!!! IT'S OVER, AND GOD, I. FEEL. FREE!!

I'll give a more comprehensive account of the proceedings of the past two days later. And if I can't get to my net connection before it, I wish you all a peaceful and safe and love-filled Christmas.

17.12.02

I seem to have caught the flu after all.

Dang. And it had to be just today. Can't feel at all properly excited about the ballet, when I just want to curl under a mound of blankets and sleep.

(Later) I had forgotten how the Second Act Adagio of The Nutcracker makes me feel. I am thankful that no-one was recording my expressions while hearing the music and watching it being made true, because I'm sure my face was positively indecent with rapture. That piece of music is completely beyond all words. It is love and triumph and exaltation and revelation and longing; all those things that I've been glimpsing in my dreams lately, but never reach in reality.

I need to get it on CD now.

It was so good to be at the ballet again. No less so because I was so afraid of going to the Opera house among the thin and beautiful ballerinas and wannabes that I behaved abominably towards Anni... and she still dragged me there by the hair and made me enjoy myself. There were many interesting scenes and a lot of beautiful dancing in this version of The Nutcracker, but I am afraid I was less than impressed with the precision of the production. We sat rather high, so it was easy to see if anyone was out of formation - except most formations were such a mess that they barely existed! And the musicality - sticking to the correct beat of the music - was so sorely lacking that I can only imagine the problem must lie in the repetitor(s). It can't be that all those talented dancers are totally incapable of following the correct beat; it must be the fault of a totally rhythm-deaf repetitor.

But the principals were very fine. I especially liked how soft and refined Carolina Aguero was in the ballerina role.

After the ballet we went to have a bite a Santa Fe and ended up having a short conversation on some delicate stuff. No more on that for now.

I tinkered with my Welcome page today: put up some links to people and added another path in, or towards.

The flu is being merciful and giving me some time before it really hits.

16.12.02

Another episode from the Dreams-R-Us factory; just as addictive as the last one... This particular dream did not tap into the same childhood fantasy as the last one, but into something closer and more realistic instead. It made the emotion no less sharp; the triumph no less joyful; the regret no less deep. This feels distinctly unfair.

Of course, one could take this to mean that my dreams are trying to tell me something - but, hell, there's nothing to tell! There's nothing to do about the longing; no new information to share, no wishes I'm entitled to make. So no matter how hard it feels, I don't really have any options but to grin and bear it until it goes away.

But oh - again, I was so content for that short moment of illusion... so complete.

Gaiman got it the wrong way round. Death is the brooding, mysterious, slightly frightening-but-oh-so-alluring stranger with the stars in his eyes, and Dream is his irresistibly kind and nice sister who makes you like them both far too much to stick to your good judgement.

I did not do much today. We watched the FOTR SE, and then I took Paula and Petri home. I was briefly afraid of having caught another flu (there are at least two strains going around at the moment, and I've only had one of them yet), but it seems to have been a false alarm. Oh, and I guess I can mark two actual moments of contact on today's plus column: someone liked yesterday's poem, and a friend emailed me simply to talk about some matters on her mind.

Those are both meaningful things. True things.

Today's column of actually being of use only gets two small marks: I arranged for tickets to the special showing of The Two Towers for P&P, as well as another couple who could not make the reservations early enough.

Now, on the other hand, I've been totally useless for several hours and need to get to sleep. I have plans to work on the computer for all of tomorrow, and there's the ballet in the evening. It is such a luxury that even the anticipation feels quite unreal. Thank you, sister of my soul...

Today's motto comes from a TV series called "Sisters" that is being rerun in the afternoon slot. I haven't watched it before, but I have some idea of what it is about (the lives of four grown-up sisters), and there was a line of a thanksgiving prayer that struck a chord. Something like this: "...And thank You for teaching us that we cannot hope to do great things, only small things with great love."

That is something I desperately need to get into my head, though I don't think there is much hope for it.

I am beginning to have serious second thoughts about using English in this diary. I probably don't even realize how inane I sound most of the time. Is that good or bad? Well, it keeps the self-criticism at bay, so that I am able to write in the first place - but what good is that if what I write is crap?

I can't decide which is worse.

15.12.02

Käsi jättää ikkunaan harmaan liekin

katso miten lähellä yö jo on

ajattelen kirjoittaa sinulle vielä kerran,

vielä kerran

pyytää nähdä sinut vielä kerran,

vielä kerran, vain hetken, vain ajatuksen, vain 
mitään merkitsemättömän mihinkään viemättömän
kemiallis-biologisen reaktion verran; että elävä kuvasi 
peittäisi tappion ja hämmennyksen ja 
kivun 
siksi hetkeksi, joka vielä on kestettävä hymyillen

kun lasi lopulta voittaa kämmenen 

ja pimeä nousee 
           korkeimmalle korokkeelle

I wonder if this is how divided personalities begin - with the alienation of conflicting emotions? How can these thoughts be in the same head; in the same mind? The above on one hand - feeling so tired that one can only have the strength to think of finalities and wrap-ups - insignificant but quite real plans on the other? Which is true? How could they both be, and the other emotions as well? Is fear really so great a magic that it can encompass this all and still rule unchallenged?

I'm not making much sense, but that's because I'm far too tired. Four hours of sleep last night, after the game and helping with the cleaning up afterwards, waiting until the last ferry from Suomenlinna, missing the last train, getting a ride from Valtteri's mother and driving an even more unlucky soul home with Kalle's car. I did have a few moments of general existential doubt after we missed the train by two minutes and did not yet have a plan B, but in the end, it wasn't too bad. I had some fun moments in the game, and I felt that I only did my duty afterwards. I think there is a lot of potential in that story, if only the boys can develop it properly for the next part.

Still, I don't think I am going to tell you where my thoughts went in search of exaltation when my character was meditating to get her magical powers back to full strength. You can guess anyway.

I was rather amused and mystified by certain social interactions before the game, but if I start analyzing them here, I will simply blow them completely out of proportion. I'll just say that I don't understand how easily people seem to be able to wave cheerful goodbye to disagreements on unforgivable things, not to mention more difficult and unfathomable social occurrences. Or maybe I've just become too strict and stiff in my old age; maybe I should just be glad for the ability of the young at heart to forgive, forget and go forward to more fun.

I woke up all on my own this morning in any case (believe me, no-one was more surprised than I was myself!). Today was a family day; a Christmas party at Mom's place, with Petri and Paula. Lots of satisfyingly traditional food, good humour and intriguing packages I am not allowed to open yet. And too much coffee to combat the Sandman, so mow I'm hyperactive and overtired.

Petri and Paula are coming tomorrow to watch the Special Extended FOTR.

And even so... when I start praying, the strongest and most lasting image in my mind is of cutting my wrists, to cry for help. The only reason why I still haven't is that it would be a false way of trying to get attention, and I could just as well save the time and energy of medical emergency people for some true accidents and either get myself up by myself or cut myself down for good.

And yet, here as always, the insidious paralysis of fear stops me from accomplishing either.

I just can't help wondering... how is it that that image comes up in a conversation with God?

Mentioning the Sandman just reminded me that once I wrote about eighty pages (single-spaced size-10-font pages, that is) of a Sandman fanfiction story that actually had some teeny-tiny inklings of original ideas, or at least old ideas presented on reasonably novel platters. Unfortunately, that story died with the hard drive of my old Amiga, in my previous life. Just like an incredibly long and boring Dragonlance fanfic I was also writing at the time...

The loss of the former is one of the few true regrets I have of that life. The loss of the latter isn't.

13.12.02

I managed to get myself into my wools and linens (helped by the fact that Lin borrowed my black and blue outfit the weekend before last, so the jewellery was still in place) and to the pub night (helped by a ride from Jukka, who had agreed to pick up Noora from her parents' in Puistola). I actually had quite a nice evening despite the fact that even the few drinks I had made me quite thoroughly sick this morning. I must have the worst stomach for alcohol in the world; if the fun-to-pain ratio were like this for everyone, no-one would touch the damned stuff.

Still, the ride home was almost worth it. The whole car got into a dare that everyone must reveal something personal, and some of the revelations were quite jaw-dropping. Despite that, the end feeling was positive - at least for me. And no, you are not going to hear a single secret from me; we promised not to spill.

For most of the evening, I had quite a job keeping myself from babbling stupidly on several things I definitely would have regretted later - but I succeeded, and was glad. When we got home, Inka and I had some tea and chatted about life, the universe and everything and got to bed around half past four.

The hangover resulted in awful dreams... and the rest of today has been rather miserable.

Back later, I have to meet Mom in town.

(Later) Oo-kay, so even after the Les Miz concert ticket, Mom wanted to splurge on Christmas presents, and now I know I will get some expensive vanities again. It's wonderful, because I can barely live without some of that stuff, even though it's too expensive for me right now...

Nothing else is new. It's bedtime again.

I'm still waiting for information on tomorrow's larp. And I still need to finish that article on The Magic Carpet.

I absolutely have to mention the thing that gave me enough positive push to get out of the door yesterday: Dougie called to chat and to tell me he liked my pages. Thank you, sweet friend. :) And remember to send me those links for nifty graphics!

12.12.02

Trying to put together a coherent whole out of people's reports on The Magic Carpet for "Larppaaja". Not being very successful, and having problems of keeping attention directed.

Wondering if I have enough energy to go to a Greywolves' before-Christmas pub evening tonight. I would like to, but it means having to dress up in a historical outfit, which further means having to think of one's appearance. And I find that about as pleasant right now as a public flogging. Less, actually.

Should write many other pieces as well (such as four game reports, several personal emails and a few other things). Keep having attention wander every three seconds.

Feeling distinctly not good.

11.12.02

Depression update: I was supposed to call that therapist Kalle knows... Guess if I did?

Too scared. Too self-conscious.

Social update: I don't know who my friends are. And I miss them. All of them. I still don't know how to stay in touch with people. I have several emails from really nice people I should - and want to - answer, but I never manage to. There are several people I miss so badly I could even risk contacting them... except then, in the end, fear wins. And I don't. Anything.

I don't trust anyone anymore, so I end up displaying trust in the strangest circumstances. (In other words: I ended up having an honest heart-to-heart with The Girlfriend. It was a very nice and understanding chat, and there was a good reason for it, but I can't help being worried that something unpleasant will result from it, sooner or later.)

Usefulness update: Took care of the postal forms of "Larppaaja", and now they are on their way despite the mutual ignorance of both me and the kind gentleman behind the counter. Returned some incredibly-long-overdue books. Transferred some pictures for the next "Larppaaja" onwards.

Creativeness update: none, but some of the love scribblings finally irritated me enough that I tinkered with them a bit (mostly by erasing stuff).

So, another day of reaching for meaning and having it elude my greedy little hands.

10.12.02

A very difficult day.

I am starting to find it more and more difficult to stick to my promise and be open here, since it seems pretty clear that people take these words in exactly the wrong way. Look, guys, writing this is not an indication of total mental collapse - quite on the contrary: this diary is another means of coping. A treatment, if you wish. It's not a miracle cure - nothing is - but it definitely helps to cope.

And no matter how awful I feel, give me a purpose - give me some trust - and I will return that trust. Give me meaning, take me in, and I will sit up, lie down and do tricks, smiling all the while. I know the meaning of promises, and of loyalty, and I am slowly learning what I can and can't do. And I want to be included.

Provided I survive to next year, of course.

I've been feeling very lonely and small after hearing some doubts of my ability to handle something I've handled quite successfully - with praise, even - for three years now. That should explain the above.

Yesterday I had leftover energy to put up some old ranting in addition to the diary entry. Now I just want to dream some more. And perhaps, write what I dream. Perhaps.

In other news, we finally got all the "Larppaaja" issues, both old and new, posted.

09.12.02

As luck would have it, once I finally got to sleep, I slept until afternoon, and when I finally came to, the cleaning-up was done. Well, easier for me that way, though I was a little ashamed - I had been so emphatic about seeing things through to the end...

Some hours passed comfortably at home with nice people, a mound of pancakes, jam, ice cream and maple syrup. Then I did what I've done so often lately - fell asleep under my big cloak that I'm using as an extra blanket, on top of another Dune book. And when I woke up in the evening, Anni had messed up my keyboard, and I could not figure out how to put it right, so I could not read my mail or write anything.

Last night... well. Grace aplenty. Serves me right to get exactly what I asked and more: dreams that went straight through my heart to the deepest, sweetest bitterness of memory; to childhood and romance, memory and hopeless hope at once. I was happy. And I did not want to wake up. I was happy, dammit!

Will I ever feel such a sense of contentment in truth again? Such camaraderie; such understanding; such belonging? I have felt it - I know, I remember. But are such things illusion that we only manage to believe in - truly believe in - when we are younger, and then in the end it is shattered for each of us? Or have I lost them because I am not worthy of such things? That I was only given those glimpses in ration, for a few moments, to test whether I could properly appreciate them by growing to something more than I was... and when I did not, there was no more happiness forthcoming?

No, I do not believe in blind chance. I believe in purpose and meaning (though not, of course, through every tiny detail - there is a lot of chance in life, it's just not all there is). But for me, purpose and meaning are gifts that I obviously do not deserve.

Those dreams were happiness. Pure, simple, straightforward joy of existence, of love, of playfulness, of creativeness, of understanding. Oh, this was a bitter grace!

I remember something a very wise and compassionate friend and confidante, a priest, once said to me: "Sometimes God does give us just the thing we desperately ask for - but it can be very, very dangerous." Now that I write it down, it does not look as profound as it felt then - as if God was some kind of a genie that tricks us with wishes... That is not the point, however. The point is, whether we think we know the risks of what we desire, and think we are willing to accept them, no matter how much we try to anticipate, we can't really know...

I'd prefer to believe there is a Purpose and a Source that knows, even if He/She/It/They don't consider me worth much most of the time.

I still can't decide whether this small reminder of desire granted was a gift or a curse. I was so happy...

(Later) This has not been a productive day. But when are they ever, in these days and this existence?

As I have nothing more intellectual to report, I'd like to take up something puzzling that happened last week (I think it was last week). I got a note from this silly web service that deals in "Secret Crushes". Apparently I have one. As I suffer from as much curiosity as the next person (or more, as the next person at the moment happens to be Lin, who is happily playing Baldur's Gate and generally not exhibiting any behaviour that is considered mortal to felines), I logged on to the service. Of course it turned out to be a waste of time, as I was not told anything until I'd given them my soul, my firstborn, and the firstborns of everyone I could think of, and even then the hints were stupid and useless.

Now, that in itself is neither here or there - the world is full of inane teenage ideas - but honestly... in the hypothetical and highly baffling case that someone might actually have a crush on me in the first place, secret or not, why go about it like that? If you, whoever you are, only gave my email address as an extra line in the list needed to get more hints of someone's note on you, I understand totally, but then you could have politely notified me, couldn't you? And if you actually, out of your own free will, entertain some surprisingly sweet thoughts about me, then why on earth not come out and say so?? I mean, it's not like the secret crush service somehow furthers your interest, is it? Wouldn't honesty serve better?

Let it be known once and for all that I personally would value such honesty much more than these childish games, and I promise to be politely flattered, whoever you are. But the main argument is that it's not so much for me the honesty would do the most good, but for you yourself. Truth gives courage. Truth builds, even if it builds something else than we thought. Truth is one of the most valuable things we can give to other people, and as always, giving is most enriching to the one who gives.

(Of course, after this high speech, it'll turn out that it was someone using my address as an extra, and I'll be mortified... But even then, what I said about truth holds.)

08.12.02

The grace seems not to have been in the program this time.

It's seven am. I've been awake since five, after sleeping about three hours (and after the four hours of the night before). My stupid body is in overdrive; the adrenalin does not let me sleep despite the at-least-moderate exhaustion. It also makes me feel queasy.

Is this a panic attack? I don't know, I generally don't do them. It certainly feels like something specific and unusual.

However, I took half a sleeping pill and am now waiting for it to kick in. I could stay up, of course - this is not such an ungodly hour, after all - but I know that this time, I really need the sleep. Especially if I intend to be of any use to anybody later today.

07.12.02

Survived. Was good and proper and helpful (though, again, despite all good intentions, a little late - though not ruinously so, thank God). Was pleasantly surprised at how much fun the game was and how admirably other players took to the mood and culture.

Thought the head GM should be proud of herself. It was a good game (though I personally am only happy with two of the five characters I wrote - but that's no longer her headache, only mine).

Will go and help with the cleaning of the site (a private home) tomorrow.

Tired. Bed. Sleep.

Perhaps, if a little grace is allowed, some dreams.

06.12.02

Yes, I know. It looks like this project is fading away like everything in my life, always.

But really, it's not that, not yet. It's just... well. Two or three things. I was utterly exhausted after finishing the Magic Carpet characters - not because it is totally impossible for me to write five characters for a larp, no - but because of the strange high I was in when I wrote them. That was one. Then I've been even more moody than in general: I cried hugely on both Monday and Tuesday on Kalle's shoulder about the hopelessness of even trying anymore - how every bearable day just serves to show me the futility of it all because of my own worthlessness - and about looking and feeling like Quasimodo - not trusting anyone any more, because no matter what I do or plan to do, people will just keep on staring at the metaphorical hump on my back.

I still feel like that a lot of the time.

And then I panicked after writing what I wrote last time. I just... realized I had not only talked about my stupid hopeless idiotic crush, but I had talked about it with the assumption that the object might read my pages. So it was almost like a conversation on the subject. And I have made it a rule to myself not to take that up in conversation, because it would only embarrass us both and serve as a reminder of the resemblances to the story of Quasimodo, except the other way round.

Don't scoff. Compared to him and his world, I am Quasimodo. And it hurts. Again.

Then again, what doesn't?

I'm tired of everything hurting.

On Tuesday, I was supposed to go to work. I overslept and then decided to skip everything, even notifying anyone. I just... didn't. Couldn't. Couldn't face the world. My cell phone had run out, and I left it so for almost two days. I didn't want to hear a word of anyone or anything.

There's lots of larp politics I should concern myself with, but I can't be bothered. I'm too tired.

And my medication is running out, and I still haven't contacted the psychiatrist again. But Kalle - bless his sweet and true heart - called someone he knows and arranged for me to be able to call them next Wednesday, to talk about the possibilities of therapy.

However, that's next week, and tomorrow I must face the world in a larp. And I am so worried about some stuff I'd still like to do to help the cultural and religious context, and I have a mound of clothes of which I have no idea which I will choose, and I am fat and ugly because I've been eating like someone with no medication and no tomorrow all week and hardly moved anywhere... and I had to switch characters at the last minute because of people cancelling and my suffering from an unfortunate sense of duty. And... well, everything.

Am I really in this bad a panic just because tomorrow I have to face a Certain Someone and some others with the remote possibility in the background that they might have read what I said in my last entry? Yes. I am. I am that afraid.

I know I've helped a bit with this game, and I've tried to do it properly. But I have as much as admitted that I am doing it for all the wrong reasons (even if helping out as such has been more satisfying than I expected), and even those reasons have no hope.

I don't know how I am going to survive tomorrow. The weekend two weeks ago was hard enough, and there I at least had something to hide behind (a fantastic character and a detailed costume). Now I'm just so stupidly small and scared.

In other news, Anni finally gave in to my pleas and cut my hair. Now it's much more even, but of course it feels terribly short to me. It doesn't even cover the back of my neck completely. However, at least it is much neater now, and almost nice.

I also spent a nice evening at Suvi's place with her and an old acquaintance, eating seafood wok and drinking wine, and afterwards, failing to sleep much at all while three cats kept jumping up and down on me.

Those were pretty much the highlights of this week.

Tomorrow looms like something nasty underwater, and as some may remember, I have an inexplicable but very real phobia of anything looming underwater (especially if it's man-made). (Shipwrecks, too. And even the undersides of boats and bridges. Don't ask me why.)

Going to bed for a few hours now.

Dance, my Esmeralda. Dance, my dream-self who will never be real again.