Music is good, domestic violence sucks

How long has it been since he died? a little over 4 years, it still feels so unreal. 2017 was an interesting year, musically and for me personally. You would discover the next upcoming rapper/ singer and be blown away by how relatable the lyrics are, how beautiful the sound was, and how many emotions come up in you. 

And then there was XXXTENTACION! (And Shiloh Dynasty, whoo!) 

When I first heard his music, a collaboration with Shiloh Dynasty, "Jocelyn Flores" I thought "wow I'm so deep and my emotions are so profound". Then I realized something, yes, sadness can be beautiful, it can inspire you, and it can create art just like happiness does. But it can be detrimental.

Back then I was just a kid, 15, and still naive and childish. I didn't know what "domestic violence" "child abuse" or "mental health" was. I just knew my parents were different from the ones of other kids. They can go outside and play, have fun with friends, have sleepovers, have birthdays, and have parties. Not me. I have siblings, what do I need friends for? I own a bunch of toys, no need to play outside and parties? I can eat cake, blow up balloons, and dance (in moderation) at home in my room. "Home" slowly became a prison, the more I noticed things were.. off about my family. 

At first, I thought nothing of it, what was I supposed to think? I was 15 and watched barbie movies and snuff films and played with Barbie dolls, not Ken dolls. I discovered girls kissing is nice to look at, and I discovered it was wrong, too. I was scared and secretive but indulgent, I drew badly scribbled sketches of two girls kissing and hugging and ripped them apart and hid them. 

I learned that I am sad, and very deeply affected by the things I considered "Normal", I am emotional and I lash out and I hide things and steal things. The breaking point was meeting X, he put my feelings into words, sounds, and music. I never really thought about him though, I just listened to the music and read the lyrics, I suddenly loved singing. 

His death however didn't hit me(no offense), when I found out his age, I felt how fragile life really was. But back then, I was living in an illusion, a bubble that does not allow anything from the outside to influence the inside. "What happens at home, stays at home." And vice versa. It felt like my fate to stay locked inside, away from people, I'm not like them. So I made it my personality, I became cold and distant, I sat in the back of the class, stared out the windows, napped, or drew awful things. People thought I was morbid for that, but sometimes I would break that shell and smile and laugh and make jokes. And I would regret it every time, I am sure my friends got whiplash from my erratic behavior. 

And when I tell you, "No one cares" I am being serious. I am 100 % sure I was suffering from depression back then, and no one noticed, not my friends, seatmates not even the "pedagogically trained" professionals, the teachers. 

I was done dirty, I gave up and I was dropped when I stopped being happy-go-lucky. But let's be for real for a moment, even when I feigned happiness I was not appreciated. 

I was a people pleaser and I knew. I was altruistic and selfless and it got me nowhere. I am still here in this hellhole, I hate all of my siblings and can't stand to be near my dad for more than 5 minutes. And my mom? She hates me, I am just a freak to her. I lost 3 kilograms and yet I feel like cutting myself. 

I want to run away until my feet grow blisters and my legs hurt, I would do it if it meant I can be free. I would rather be homeless and without food and shelter than here. I want to be far away from Berlin, I want this city to burn down I want a bomb to hit my family, and I want to have an excuse to flee. 

Because my safety and well-being aren't enough.

Thoughts on TCC

So, like any other bored teenage girl surfing the web, I stumbled across a video describing a horror story about hundreds of women going missing and reappearing, dead and in horrible condition. It shocked me at first, obviously, I knew murderers exist but I never cared to look into it further. Bless the victims' and their families hearts and curse the perpetrator. Of course, it wasn't my first contact with the "crime" media, horror and I go way back. I remember snippets of my childhood, spent hiding behind my parents who sat on the living room couch at midnight and watched the horror movie they put on, with them thinking I'm sound asleep in bed. 

I was fascinated, shocked, scared, and confused at first. But most importantly curious; How can people be so cruel? Why did nobody notice? Why didn't they get punished accordingly? 

Back then, I was simple-minded, thought the world was constantly bettering itself because grannies are nice and candy tastes good and the sunshine is so warm on my skin. But that is because I was blissfully unaware of what was happening around me, all around the world. Somewhere someone is getting violated, killed, threatened, is running for their life of killing or planning to kill someone. I could be watching Spongebob Squarepants, the episode in which Garry goes rogue and think "This is the saddest thing ever" mourning Spongebob's loss, meanwhile someone else passed away somewhere. 

The point is, as soon as I got connected to the internet and its endless information my hope diminished. I became mistrustful, and skeptical and even had a phase in which all I felt was misanthropy for the world. I felt some sort of pleasure from hearing of other people's downfall, thinking "so what? There are people who are worse off".

True crime videos became fun to watch, I was more amazed at the ways people could kill or were killed, felt irritated when the criminal was convicted and interacted with that part of TCC on Tumblr. I thought some of them were cute and so edgy, watching "We need to talk about Kevin" didn't help. I seemed to be a hopeless cause. 

I feel ashamed even recounting my memories because I genuinely can not tell you why I felt that way. 

Until I found a study case about the women who sent love letters to scum such as Ted Bundy. These women seemed normal on the outside, well groomed and dressed, trusting faces and all. But the loving way they spoke about a vile pedophilic misogynistic serial rapist and killer frightened me, the second I saw those videos of interviews my heart dropped. I realized I could've been one of them if I were any older and more desperate. I suddenly felt disgusted, at first I thought "I would never" but after accepting it, something changed in me. My love for horror and the obscure became tainted, I had nightmares too realistic for comfort, and I finally snapped out of it. 

This period in my life was very brief, maybe 1 month at most, I frequent the internet outside my personal interest bubble a lot so maybe that is why I saw reason early on. It was like I was saved from becoming worse, I am still grateful for YouTubers, who do a much better job at educating the general public than TV Shows. 

I am however forever grateful this extremely guilty pleasure was just that and I grew out of it. 

The End and The start

I have been absent again, I lost another member of my family. So mean, right? But it still feels unreal, it feels like she's just on a long, long vacation and that I will see her again. Is it normal to feel like that? I cried lots and I missed her dearly, but I can't wrap my head around the concept of death, in theory, it's simple. But in reality? It feels unreal. I'm being pranked. I'm watching a horror movie and after the credits, she will come up behind the silver screen and bow a couple of times to the applause for her excellent performance. 

It feels like if I stare long enough and don't make a sound I will catch her moving, breathing, her eyes moving behind her sunken eyelids. If I make a funny joke she will laugh and break the spell, or if I catch her off guard she will stir. 

But I haven't even seen her, her empty body. I imagine it sometimes and freak myself out, it feels forbidden. Maybe I can't face it yet? But when will I be able to, if not now? I hope I don't sound cliché. I guess the movies are good at portraying death, in some instances grief too. But it doesn't feel like it's enough, not enough tears, screaming, sorrow. There is no expression sad enough, the eyes not dull enough and I am reminded they are mirroring me. People like me, who have lost someone. 

Maybe that is why I stare in the mirror when I catch myself crying, to see how convincing my sad face comes across, if my tears are plenty, and whether or not my eyes tell my story. But I see nothing. 

In cartoons or anime, for instance, you can immediately tell what their emotions are. I'm not saying I'm measuring my authenticity on that standard, but I sometimes wonder if anyone has ever caught someone's eyes visibly going empty, their skin becoming dull and their overall mood turning numbing. 

Like a gust of wind that signals their feelings. In books, they describe it as suffocating, brooding, foreboding, the shivers going down their spine, the weight on their shoulders bringing them down. 

I thought if I feigned nonchalance in a nihilistic way my feelings would match my behavior. Such a lie. What is worse than feeling like you can't allow yourself to be sad? Is someone else forbidding it? 

I could feel pressure, if I cry now, it won't bode well. No one likes delivering bad news, because then you have to play the game of "should I be honest about my feelings or spare them?" Spare who exactly? He didn't spare me, so why shouldn't I return the favor? Will my perseverance be rewarded? And if so, can I choose the prize?

If I find the answer to that, maybe I can move on. 

Autumn keeps me hopeful

Is that true? Is that what grief is supposed to feel like? When I first heard she died, I felt my chest squeezing and twisting in a jerking manner, I didn't move though, in fact, I went still. My throat hurt, and I wanted to gasp out for air. But all I did was nod and lower my gaze. When he left and I had a chance to let it out, I don't remember anything after that, I don't recall my reaction. 

His words soothe me

On a positive note, the guy I called "Rain" in my last post really seems to like me. And I like him too.. I can't begin to describe it, I just know I like our dynamic and the way he makes me feel. He is like a star in the vast plane of the universe, somehow he is twinkling more than the rest of them, but he's my secret. I am in no way ashamed of him, no. Quite the opposite, I'm too proud and possessive to share him with anyone. His brilliance is for me alone. I prefer to keep my romantic relationships private and even calling them "romantic" is too much information for my comfort. This is more than just romance. It's better. 
The only flaw I see in him? He isn't fully mine yet, he lives elsewhere, far from me. But that can be changed, and that flaw in itself is not the fault of his own, I could never resent him, even if he were imperfect. 
Xx