About sharktoothsweater

When it comes about writing about myself I guess there follows a long silence. What should I write about me? For me it feels like there’s not so much to say actually because I’m kind of empty. And I do not know if I really know who I am. I suppose I could tell you my shoesize, the color of my hair or my eyes, about my height but none of those things really matter do they? Nor does my age, my sex, my nationality, the place where I live. At least, they do not matter in my world. I hope they don’t matter in yours either. Because all of this, what comes out here, is the real me I guess. If you have questions, or just something to say, you can reach me at sharktoothsweater at gmail dot com

High hopes.

I know it’s crazy to believe in silly things
It’s not that easy

It’s time to let it all go, go out and start again
But it’s not that easy

And the world keeps spinning, Yeah this world keeps spinning
How this world keeps spinning around.

 

 

 

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The vertigo-shut down

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So. Here I am, again. Not that anyone really missed me. I’m talking into a big, wide world where the words I use, dissapear into nothingness. They flow to the end of the street, into the darkness. They dissapear around the corner, and I stay behind staring at the lights, and empty street and the corner where the words just went.

-Okay, that’s not completely true – but that is how things feel.-

Since the beginning of August I’ve been dealing with some health issues -starting with vertigo. I was so lucky to get struck by things thing called vestibular neuronitis, also goes by neuritis or labyrinthis. I’ve been really ‘out’ of things thanks to this thing that made functioning a bit ‘normal’ impossible.

I had a panic attack which made me feel ashamed of myself. My body charges to ’tilt’ sometimes when I feel things im my body that are ‘not good’, thanks to my pulmonary embolism-experience in the past. I know it, and still it is so hard to fight.

On top of that I also had some kind of allergy crisis that is still going on. I have some nosespray for it and it goes better slowly, but my health is something that worries me a bit lately. The doctor things stress plays a big part. Which could be true, though I’m trying to keep that down.

I had to shorten my holidays because of it, and even though I didn’t really have money for holidays I went to France to meet again with love. I was lucky to be a few days in the mountains again. I feel different in the mountains. I am more happy there.

Now, I’m back in the city. In my job that could be slowly killing me. I’ve been saying so long that I need to find another job. And yet I keep failing. I started working on my resume, but so far there is nothing else to mention. I am just slow, I guess.

I have very less shifts at work, because of cuts I get very less hours. Which just pays all the bills, but nothing more. It worries me a bit, and I try not to worry.

I’m in doubts wheter to start Jiu Jitsu again, because I haven’t gone there for almost 6 months now and I don’t know where my motivation is, but it seems gone. It’s just empty, neutral, ‘i dont know and i dont care’.

So yeah, here I’m sitting. I don’t know and I don’t care.

But I try you know, I really try.

I just fail sometimes. Or mostly sometimes.But I try.

The antidote

IMG_9240Once and maybe not even long ago
Not visible by day
At night only by who knows

They used to keep their heads up high
They used to fight the war that challenged them
They used to sell the truth for a lie.

Telling themselves that it was something to manage
Telling themselves that this was temporary
Not ignoring, but trying to calm the damage.

Roots filled with water
Outside of the shadow in the sun
but poison stays poison
where battle turned in to just begun

sometimes it does not really matter
if an end is a start
or a start an end

it’s where the unknown and the known
where meaning and the emptiness
are meant to blend

 

 

 

 

 

The fishbowl

Lately, I’m really terrible at writing. I just can’t. I’ve been out of internet for a little while at home. That doesn’t help much either. But when I sit and try to touch my keyboard, nothing comes. In my head I feel the soup of words spinning, but they stay there like they are in a fishbowl, you can stare at them and see them, but they can’t get out. That’s how it is.

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Fishbowl. I can’t even draw one, I know.

Life has been a bit empty somehow. I’m struggling with this emptiness, with this nothingness inside of me. Other people seem to experience this less – they don’t feel I’m empty, but for myself, I’m one big hollow fishbowl. You see right through it, because there is nothing. So there is nothing to understand.

I lost motivation at work (again, or maybe  I didn’t lose it-maybe it never went away). I just go to work and do what is necessary. I pay my bills. But it’s as hollow as it sounds.

My grandmother passed away. I can’t even say I feel sad about that. The past and history with all of that, created this superweird situation. No one really misses her, and that is superweird. Yet its superweird how things developed (or didn’t) through the years and all the things that happened created scars that never heal. It’s weird to talk bad about the dead, but at the same time, dead people can still influence. Good and bad. It’s so complicated that I don’t know how to feel about it, and trying to explain tires me so much it blocks every single word that wants to come out. Death is weird to me anyway. Sometimes you see it coming, but when it happens, it’s so , weird. Enough about that.

Lately I’m less comfortable in my studio. I live in a building with few other studios. Some neighbours are really noisy and a bit messy and that irritates me. And I miss an outside space. A seperate room. I can not even really welcome people, my house is small and it’s just (except the bathroom) one long space. I can’t hang things on the wall because the wall is so bad it falls off immediatly and when you bump it it immediatly has a scratch or a little hole. I don’t need a big house, but one seperate room would be so great. When you step into my house, you see everything- kitchen, my couch& bed in one (just two mattrasses that I fold every day).

I stopped going to Jiu Jitsu. I felt broken for a while, not able to go. Yet my motivation is nowhere to be found. I know it’s good for me, but I don’t progress, I am not so happy and funny as the others and I just don’t blend in. That is how I feel, and I still didn’t go. I haven’t practised for months now. And I don’t know what to do with it, but still being a member and paying doesn’t make sense, does it?

Love flew back to her home country. That means I’m home alone now. I’m happy she went to see her friends and family and that she is off.

Now I’m sitting here in this house, not sure what to do. It’s weekend, but I just sit, stare, wonder. I don’t act. There is no motivation in me to do anything. I don’t want to cook, eat, move, go anywhere, read, just nothing.

All I can be is the empty fishbowl.

 

The trap.

There is not really much to say about my life, nothing much happens. Maybe that’s the problem. Or maybe not.

This life just doesn’t make sense. I keep going to a job that makes me unhappy, and that provides just the necessary to live, but no future perspective.

What’s the point of going to work every day, coming home, being wrecked that the only things you manage is to cook, clean a bit and hang on the couch?

I look in the mirror. I see someone who is fat. I am not really fat fat, but fat enough to not be thin. Sometimes I see myself, and all I can think is, how could I be this way? Why can’t I manage to keep myself in a better condition? Why am I so fat? Look at yourself, look, there you see someone who does not have a good stamina. I look better when I’m more thin, my clothes fit nicer, etc. Yet why I keep failing to change my life?

I look around my house. It’s small, but has everything you need for a basic life.

I can’t be really positive about the future. I don’t really look forward to anything. I’m scared a bit, yeah, but I don’t let that be the reason not to do anything. Things just don’t make sense. I don’t feel a drive, a motivation, it’s just ‘doesn’t really matter, does it?”

My love is also a bit trapped. We can talk about it. That’s good. But it doesn’t change things.

Sometimes I dream of this life, in the mountains, away from this world, where speed and efficiency and money seem to rule. Where you need to be connected, all the time.

I just can’t – it drives me insane. It’s not me. What are we doing?

I really tried. Tried to be a part of this world – but I seem to fail. I’m useless, I can’t keep up with the pace and the things, I can’t do 100 times at the same time and work and buy a house and exercise and going out and doing all the things like groceries and fun things and enjoy and stuff. It’s too much, I just can’t. At my work, I don’t mean anything either. I’m just a number, and some part you can exchange without missing anything.

It just gets me from time to time.

And it’s just making me sad, like really sad sometimes, like now.

 

The trainaccident.

Like usual after work, I take the train home. Yesterday I was happy to be off a bit earlier since I didn’t feel so great, and I took the train home. Yet this trainride, which usually takes 20 minutes, took 2,5 hours almost.

I was in a train that hit a person. The person did not survive. I don’t know if it was suicide or an accident, but I know the railwaycrossing is a ‘closed’ one; with those bars. And they were down.

Suddenly the train started to brake – but against these things I guess you can’t stop in time. There was a hit, and a lot of other sounds. It was obvious we hit something; and
I saw things flying from under the train. Things like a black small wheel, a brown big thing which looked like some kind of pillow, lots of stones (from the railwaytrack), other iron bars and some more little parts (which were maybe parts of a human body- I’m not sure it went all so fast).

The train stopped. Moments of silence. The traindriver giving the message, with a trembled voice: we just hit a person. We’re going to see if we can give first aid.

But first aid with a hit like that, I guess the chance of survival isn’t much. All I could think of is that whoever was under the train, had no chance of survival. And that I later learned, was the truth.

After standing on the railway in the middle of nowhere for a long time, with a lot of firemen, police and other people who ‘clean it up’, we were escorted out of the train to a bus that came to pick us up. We had to walk along the track into the direction of the actual hit. I didn’t want to look- I didn’t want to see anything more than I already saw. I guess I was afraid to see things, I mean, it was still a real person, and his or her life just ended in one or two seconds, and I was a witness of that. I heard, I felt, and I know. That’s such a strange thing to know. Boom, a life away in a flash. Just gone, poof, just like that.

I feel sorry. Sorry for that person. Sorry for the relatives, friends, beloved ones. Sorry for the traindriver, who saw way more then I did. Sorry for the people who saw it.

It’s maybe cruel to say, but I did wonder before how it’s like when things like this happen. I never really wanted to found out, these are not the things you would like to witness.But now I know anyway. The way it goes, the sounds, the feelings. The sensations. I had cold chills on my back while walking to the bus.

I stayed home from work today, I called in sick. I just said I couldn’t work, that I was sick.

It’s true that I was sick yesterday evening and during the night, now I’m not really sick sick and I slept, the whole thing didn’t keep me from sleeping. I don’t seem to feel particularly bad or something. But I was just not capable of going to work this morning.

Now I feel guilty I stayed at home. I’m able to work – but, also knowing that I would have a difficult day and I might have come back sick today if I would have gone.
Now I took care of myself right before getting real sick; but it makes me feel guilty. And I know how that doesn’t make sense. I feel weak, like I’m a person with a weak immune system, with lower energy levels, who calls in sick too quickly. In this world, it doesn’t seem to be about wellbeing. Yet I don’t really get why I know I should not feel guilty, I still do.

I seem to always have to be able to operate. And a moment like the train accident just makes me think: is it really worth it? Is it so bad to have to stop for a moment?

Sometimes the world stops for someone, and yet it just continues like nothing happens around. I don’t get where my head goes, and maybe the story doesn’t make sense.