Life of Wendy.

I wish this was a fairytale with a happy ending. I wish that the main character were someone with charisma and an ever-burning passion for all the possible events of being alive. Yes, I truly wish that this story was about someone heroic and interesting, but no. This story is about the eighteen year old girl named Wendy Parker.

Wendy Parker was born in a boring little village in England. She grew up with her mum, dad and four siblings in an old house in the woods. The parents ran their own little family company. Even though it was hard, and the income was poor, they kept their chins up and worked hard.

Her dad were often working, or when he didn't work he was watching television. Along with that, plenty of beers and whiskey. He got more and more depressed. You could see him change a little bit every day. Soon he were not the dad he used to be. Not the joking, funny, happy dad anymore. He often overslept, wouldn't wake up, and you would see him on the couch drinking alcohol even more often. When Wendy was about to turn twelve, her dad tried to commit suicide by overdosing plenty of pills, and also probably swallowed them with alcohol. Her mum and dad divorced shortly after that.

That happened six years ago. Wendy lives on her own in a big apartment, and has done so since she was sixteen. She had been cooking, cleaning and had been doing her laundry before she moved out, so it wasn't that hard. The hard part was to be all alone, without the siblings, without her mum. She didn't miss her dad that much. He barely knows me, she thinks. Wendy lives alone in a place where she barely knows anyone. She often spend her time all alone, sitting in her livingroom in the darkness. Not interacting with other human beings. Just having bitter thoughts and feeling lonely. Thinking of things that used to be, but now are forever gone.

"My first boyfriend. His name was Kevin. I got to know him because we had friends in common. We met at some party and began to talk. He seemed like a nice person, intelligent, gamer geek. The next day, I asked my friend about him, and I got his phone number. We texted a lot, and then he invited me to his apartment over dinner and a movie. I said yes. Of course I did, I had never experienced anything like this before. It was a date!

I shouldn't have gotten involved with that guy in the first place. He turned out to be a drug addict. A broken, insecure, scared little boy in a mans body, but I loved him to death. In the beginning of our relationship he was so kind. A bit jealous, but so far he hid it well.

It got bad pretty quickly. We started to fight a lot over small things, like how he hated how I dressed. He thought I showed too much skin, and he said that he thought I was too flirty with other guys. He won all our fights. I'm not even sure I could call it actual fights, I was too insecure and afraid of conflicts to stand up for myself against his jealousy.

One day, I came over to his apartment. I had been talking to my friends about breaking up with him. His behaviour scared me more and more. He was sitting on the couch in the livingroom, smoking pot as usual. He was already pretty high when I walked in.
- Hey, babe! Kevin said while puffing on his joint.
He reached out his arm to pass the joint to me, but I said no. He continued smoking.
- Kev, I've been thinking.. It feels like we are falling apart.. I said.
- What are you saying? He had this surprised look on his face.
- I'm saying that..
He disrupted.
- You are breaking up with me? His movements froze. He looked all stiff and cold. Building up anger.
- Yes.. Kinda.. I stuttered.
- You have another guy? You slept with another man, didn't you? You filthy little slut!

He got all furious. He got up from the sofa, pushed me down onto the floor and for the first time ever, he hit me. He hit me right in my face, again and again. He wouldn't stop. I cried and screamed for help, but no one heard me. He was stronger than me and a lot heavier. He held me down, and I couldn't move. I got panic and started to beg him not to kill me."

I couldn't break up with him. I was too scared of him, and what he would do to me if I tried again. So I sucked it all up, and I got the personality I never wanted to have in the first place. I became even more untrusting, nervous, stressed and I did everything I possibly could to please Kevin. Do I need to say it was never enough to him?

There was this time when we were at one of his friends' place. There were some other guys there, and they were discussing which five girls they would want to have sex with. I wasn't even on the list. All of the girls Kevin listed were my friends. He just said; "I'm already sleeping with her" when his friends asked why I wasn't on the list. I knew that I would have just said; "Well, not anymore you don't" and I should have gotten out of that apartment, and I should have just gone home, but I didn't. I faked a smile, and went out on the balcony to have a cigarette. Trying not to cry.

Wow, I always thought I would be that girl that stood up to herself in a relationship. A girl who wouldn't take shit from anyone. Guess what, I was wrong. I even thought that I would be able to say no to things I didn't want to do. Kevin had an abnormal fetish for anal sex. I sure didn't share this with him. He forced me to have it with him. Multiple times. I told him that it wasn't my thing, and that it made me uncomfortable. He had me under such pressure that I gave in. It did hurt, both physically and emotionally.

Our relationship didn't last very long. He admitted to me that he had commitment issues, and couldn't see himself with only one person. He wanted to have the privilage to sleep with anyone he wanted. So he dumped me. I was devastated and had a panic attack. I took a razor and cut deep wounds in both of my thighs. I took some sleeping pills and antidepressants and went to sleep.

He did want to keep in touch and be friends, so we still met and had sex every now and then. Soon he ended that too,he broke all contact between us, with no explanation. I was so confused and angry. I just wanted him back. I didn't realise how much he hurt me. I opened up to him about everything. My whole life. He knew every little bit of me. He promised me that he would always be there for me, even if we weren't in a relationship. That we would always be friends. I thought I was going to share the rest of my life with this guy.

I was so sad, angry and depressed. I just wanted him back into my life. I thought I was safe with him. I was so self destructive, and I didn't think I would ever get over him.

One day, months later we came in touch again. I was skipping school, and were at my friends' apartment. He convinced me to smoke pot with him. I used to think it was so wrong, but I really didn't care about anything anymore. I just wanted to be with him, even if he brought drugs. We shared a joint, talked a little awkwardly about life happenings. When it was finished, and we both were high, we got up to the apartment. We were all alone. He started to hug me, and caressing my body. I turned over and we kissed. We started to move against my friend's bedroom. The clothes were pulled off and soon we had sex on a matress on the floor. I had missed him so, so much. I still loved him. Afterwards we went to the balcony, shared another joint and got back to the bedroom and continued having sex. I was so happy. All I wanted was for him to come back.

Later on we continued to "hang out". We did a lot of things, we smoked pot, I watched him and his friends burn things, and stealing bikes. I didn't really want to do this, I didn't want to be punished for things I didn't do, I just wanted to be with Kevin alone. But this was better than nothing at all. I wasn't pleased, I wanted more. I wanted a relationship with him. He started to slip away from me again, and one day he blocked me off of Facebook. I got destroyed once again.

My feelings were in conflict. I wanted to kill him, I wanted to hurt him really bad, but in some way, I still loved him. I missed him, and the good sides of him. The side where he was caring, loving, and I missed the times we had fun together. We did have a lot of fun together, even though it seems like it was mostly bad. I was so blinded that I almost couldn't see the negativity that other people easily could see. There were cracks as big as rivers in our relationship, and I didn't see them until afterwards.

We were at the same party once after that. I couldn't take the fact that we couldn't communicate. I couldn't talk to him, because I felt so awkward, betrayed and just plain embarassed. I drank some vodka, got out to take a walk on my own. I walked and walked around town on my own a Friday night. Probably it wasn't the best of ideas, but I was so angry, anxious and self destructive. It was like I almost actually wanted to get in trouble so that he would care. I found pieces of glass on the ground, wiped them off with my dress and cut myself with them. They weren't that sharp, so it took a while to get any wounds on my skin. I gave up and continued to walk, building up that anger and anxiety. When I got back to the party, I drank some more vodka, and took some antidepressants. I went to my friend's closet and just sat in there, cried and got panic. I screamed out my pain and my anxiety. I just wanted to end it all, there, in the closet in my friend's apartment, with everyone else around me having a great time.

I survived, as you may have noticed. I'm still sitting on this sofa, a year after Kevin broke up with me, and half a year since we last saw each other. Thinking about things I've been through. The scars of his "love" is still there, physically and emotionally, but I don't love him anymore. He is weak and scared. He has no future. I remember hearing something about him trying to protect me from getting into heavy drug abuse, and that was why he stopped talking to me. To get me out of his trouble. I don't know what to believe, and I don't think I want to know. He's out of the picture, for good.

I don't know what the purpose of this little anecdote is, maybe to help people acknowledge their own situation, maybe to ventilate, perhaps it's all just fictions in my head.

Jag har PMDS. Jag fick en ångestattack och skar mig själv igår kväll. Jag kan inte berätta det för min pojkvän, för han kommer bli arg. Sen ringer mamma mig och tjatar på mig när jag redan är arg och ledsen som det är. Jag mår skit, och hon säger åt mig allt jag ska göra, som om jag inte redan visste. Jag har bott själv i snart tre år, jag kan klara mig själv. Det är som att hon subtilt talar om för mig hur värdelös jag är. När jag påpekar att det vore trevligt om hon kunde ringa över ett annat ärende istället för att bara gnälla på mig så blir hon sur och lägger på. Tack för den förståelsen. Du kan absolut sätta dig in och försöka hjälpa min syster med Aspergers, men när det kommer till mig så verkar du faktiskt inte bry dig ett piss. Du försöker inte ens. Du kan inte ens förstå hur det känns för mig, och du kan vara så brutalt okänslig. Jag orkar det inte. 

Livet har faktiskt inte känts så jävla dåligt på sistone. Jag har inga känslor längre för mitt ex, och är inne i ett nytt förhållande som får mig att känna mig trygg och bra. Jag känner mig faktiskt som en vacker och bra människa med henom.

Sommaren har varit den bästa jag någonsin varit med om. Jag har mått så jävla bra, och jag har egentligen inte ansträngt mig. Det bara blev så. Jag har många fina och glada minnen att se tillbaka till när mörkret, ångesten och depressionen kommer. 

Du är en ljugande liten fitta precis som alla andra. Du målar upp dig som stor, men är liten inuti. Du säger dig vara ärlig, men flyr undan sanningen i största möjliga mån. Du utger dig som stark, men du är så jävla svag. Du är inte så speciell som jag så gärna vill tro. Varför kan jag inte bara släppa taget om dig? Varför måste min hjärna vara så mosad? Varför älskar jag någon som du när jag förtjänar mer?

Jag är fortfarande helt jävla galen i mitt ex. Jag tror inte att jag någonsin kommer över henom. Jag har aldrig älskat någon så mycket som jag gjorde. Jag skulle dö för hens skull. Jag orkar inte att hen ignorerar mig, jag vill att hen ska älska mig, och bry sig, så som jag bryr mig. Vad fan hände egentligen? 

Jag vill bara inte vara nykter. Jag vill bara fly i alkoholens och drogernas värld där ingenting är viktigt. Där allting bara är, och man accepterar det. Vill bara skära mig själv mer och mer med vassa rakbladet. Blöda mer och mer. Jag vill knulla som ett jävla djur. Men jag vill inte ha känslor. Inte för någon. Inga känslor, och jag vill inte bli sårad. Bara ett simpelt köttsligt begär.

Jag vill inte bli tjatad på. Jag vill inte ha några krav. Jag vill bara göra precis som jag vill. Jag vill inte äta dina moralkakor. Tar hellre en haschbrownie. 

Jag vill inte oroa mig för folk. Jag vill att alla ska må bra. Jag vill själv må bra. Det verkar omöjligt i denna värld, och i detta så kallade välfärdssamhälle. Passar man inte in i formen så finns man inte alls. Jag finns inte, för jag passar inte. Inte på något plan passar jag. Jag är oacceptabel. 

Jag tog fram en kökskniv och slipade den noga. Sen satte jag mig i soffan och rispade med kniven på låret och armen. Inget djupt alls alltså, men så att det blödde och så att det kändes, eftersom det inte var en ångesthandling. Jag vet inte vilken sorts handling det var, men det var inte i ångest. Jag vet inte varför jag fick det här behovet. Egentligen känner jag mig inte tillfredsställd, men jag ska träffa en vän i morgon, och jag vill inte att det ska märkas för mycket.

Just nu vill jag bara skära mig sönder och samman. Varför? Vet inte. Känner för det. Jag vill bli berusad, hög, blodig. Känner fortfarande inga känslor av ångest eller att vara ledsen alls. Det skulle vara mycket enklare att definiera ångest än min tomhet.