Jag hör ett ljud, jag hör ord, jag hör henne prata, jag lyssnar, men ändå inte. Jag tittar runt, varför är det så tomt? Inga tavlor? Varför så litet rum? Två stolar ett bord, Varför så dystert? Opersonligt.. det kanske är så det ska se ut?

"Så allt du säger till mig Sara är under sekretess"

Jag tittar på henne, hon är osäker, nybörjare antar jag. Jag ger henne en tom, kall blick och nickar
Hon fortsätter prata

Klockan tickar, minut efter minut går förbi, jag fäster blicken mot fönstret, det är tomt, jag har inga tankar, det är bara tomt. Jag Har ingen ork kvar till att tänka på något längre


Hon iakttar mig med medlidande ögon som om hon vet hur eller vad jag känner
Lol hon tycker synd om mig
Sluta tyck synd om mig. Jag är inte här för att du ska tycka synd om mig lina. Sluta stirra på mig.

"Du sa att du hade problem med att sova, förklara varför"

Om jag visste varför skulle jag väll inte vara här?

"Jag kan bara inte sova"

"Finns det en anledning till varför du inte kan sova? Känner du dig nedstämd, stressad eller något annat?

Känner jag mig nedstämd? Roligt. Jag vill dö? Jag vill inte leva längre? Är det inte uppenbart för dig än vännen? Vad är det du behöver lina? Dagbok? Se på mina armar? Kanske ett par tårar? Känslor?

"Jag vet inte, tror jag bara är trött för att jag inte kan sova ... "
"Jag vill bara sova"

Hon fortsätter med sina frågor och jag som vanligt fortsätter med mina lögner som svar.



”Hur mår du Sara?”

Jag känner mig tom. Inte ensam utan bara sådär tom. Även fast tomhet är en ensam känsla så handlar det inte om ensamhet överhuvudtaget. Det är en känsla som gör att man inte vet vem man är, man känner inte igen sig själv… Man har förlorat sig själv i en värld som endast är dunkel. Man vet inte vad man vill längre, man är bedövad fast endast från smärtan och inte känslorna. Man blir som en marionett som enbart ger svara på det som förväntas av den, ett svar med egentligen ingen mening i det alls. Man känner sig tom tills man inte kan dölja det längre. Det är en dov, intet känsla som aldrig går att lindra.

Att vara ensam innebär att något eller någon i ditt liv saknas eller i många fall är frånvarande. Däremot är känslan av tomhet inte detsamma. Det är mer som att leva i ett tomrum. Inte ett dyft betyder något för dig, du vet inte vad du ska känna längre… Och det tragiska med det hela är att det inte kan fyllas upp med något för inget i stort sett saknas. Det är bara sådär… tomt…och kommer alltid förbli tomt.

Att jag känner mig tom handlar mer om mig än om andra som befinner sig i mitt liv just nu… Jag känner en brist på identitet, brist på självacceptans men främst av allt en skam som sviker mig mer än andra. Allt detta bidrar till denna känsla. Jag känner mig inte ansluten till världen, jag är där, fysiskt, men mentalt, drunknar jag djupt i mina tankar och i det förflutna. Jag kan inte andas, jag är fast. Fängslad. Jag vill bara ut. Jag skriker så högt jag bara kan men ingen hör mig. Jag sparkar, slår, men dem håller mig hårt, jag kan inte komma undan, de låter mig inte dra undan, släpp mig, släpp mig, snälla släpp mig.

Det är ett krig i min hjärna, men jag står bara där, i hörnet av mitt liv, den passerar förbi mig och jag tittar bara på utan ränta.

”Jag mår jätte bra! Hur är det med dig själv?"




Forgive me. 

Life is not fair. But you know what? It is supposed to be like this. Life is supposed to be like this. I grew up in this dreadful world and it was never fair to me? Do you think I liked it? Do you think I enjoyed my blasted tremendous life? No? But did I have a choice? Fuck no? Did I give up? Did I try to end it like you? No? Why? Because I am not a savage.

Life is not fair; your life is not fair. I'm not a savage, but what I am, is a miserable desolating son' of a bitch and life made me like this. Life tossed and pushed me around.

As long as I am in your life I will make you suffer. I will make your life a living hell because I am a stupid piece of shit and a jealous motherfucker that cannot see other people happy. Therefore you are not allowed to be happy. I am a shallow and a corrupt dung that loves to persecute innocents because it makes me strong; it makes me feel better about myself. I am a hateful person that feeds on your sorrow. To see an innocent happy makes me heinously annoyed because that should have been me. That was supposed to be me. So seeing you weak and fragile makes me happy.

It’s not fair, I kept saying, Just like you. It's not fair.But did anyone pay any attention to me? No? Why? Because no one cared, everyone was too selfish, everyone was too self-centered that they couldn't even turn around for one second or even look over their shoulders, no one cared?

In psychology, it is said that a human is surrounded by two different groups, a primary and a secondary. The differences  between those two groups is that the primary group is more of a smaller social group that surrounds one by close people who interact through privet social believes and conversation, for instance you and me. The primary group could be anyone you are close with such as your closest friends or family. However in my life, I only had a secondary group which is a social group that communicates in a less privet and personal manner compering to a primary group. That was until I meet you. You were everything I ever wanted. You had everything I ever wanted. All that made me hate you.

So whatever your weak ass is crying about, stop it right now. You don't get to feel sorry about yourself; you don't get to end your life because I made it gloomy. You don't get to do that. You don't get to take the easy way out. Everyone, and I am saying everyone have a difficult path to walk through. So you are not that special, stop feeling sorry for yourself. Stop thinking you are the only one. Get up. Wipe your tiers and get your fucking shit together.

Because regardless of how much hate I have towards you, I still love you.

"Im not a savage Sara, im just human "

- Sara 



The warm tears ran slowly down her face, her bloody arms stung from her deep scars, she didn’t want to do it. But she did. Again. Although this time she promised herself that this would be her last time, ever. Because after this, she’ll get herself together, she will pick up the peaces of her soul. Because she’s a strong and independent women, therefore everything will turn out just fine. Or at least that’s what her psychiatrist said. However, all that, was just a big ​lie.

But she already knew that, she was hiding from her reality. She was afraid of what will happen if she'll admit it, how people will see her after she say the words. She was too afraid to break out of her self- deception. She was afraid and no one knew about it nor would they ever understand why

She wiped her tears of her red, puffy cheeks and closed her eyes and whispered “I’m sorry”. Then, she calmly took the sharp and rusty razor with her other hand and cut through her wrist slowly but firmly, only this time she decided to cut deeper

The promise was a lie, a lie she believed in. But she already knew ​that. 

She watched the blood, her blood, run down from her wrist on her jeans where the rest of her scars were hidden under. Her swollen eyelid felt heavier and heavier. Her body weakened quickly, she looked down at her wrist who she now saw through splinters of glass. Then everything went dark, she couldn’t see, neither feel anything, nothing at all. 

- Sara​



The smell, it was so familiar that she could easily recognize it without even opening her eyes. The smell of daily routine, it was the smell of sickness and mortality. She could smell the strong, antiseptic smell that reeked of the unpleasant false possibilities of this place. The place she hated.

She slowly opened her eyes to meet the white empty ceiling, she looked around her, nothing ever chang​es she thought to herself. She was now trapped in a room with four white walls and a bed, again. And people asks her why she is claustrophobic.

She turned her head around to meet a person that had like the walls, white scrubs. His face lightened up when he cached her looking at him. He gave her a bright, however, fake wide smile. You see, he has done this before, he has dealt with people like herself before, this is not news to him, as a matter of fact, she wasn’t a new patient to him either.

He moved his lips, but she could not hear him, he looked at her as if he’d asked a question, she answered him with a “Yes”, even though she didn’t hear what he’d just said, she already knew what he had asked her. “Yes” she repeated, “ I feel much better now, thank you”  she said, with the same smile she always wore everyday.

- sara 



"We live in a world so hateful that some would rather die than be who they are"



The day I’ve been looking forward to. Now I’m a grown up. Or at least that’s what my parents tells me, however it’s not exactly how I see myself.

I’ve got years ahead of me with different adventures still unknown. Although this, to my surprise, got me feeling anxious about everything, everyone, but most of all myself. It’s a feeling I can’t explain nor show. It’s different, it’s not just one specific feeling it’s more than one, all and everything at the same time.

Honestly? I don’t know what I’m doing with my life. I don’t even know how I will survive and what I want. I don’t see a future. Only darkness. Some will say “Sara chill you’ve got a lifetime ahead of you”. Do I?Because even though I have “a lifetime” ahead of me I still don’t know what  with it. Or if I want it.

But Then again I shall not be ungrateful for the life I’ve been given. As it may be, I still didn’t ask for this life or even a life for starters. I’m aware of the people around the world who are struggling more than me, who comparing to me actually wishes for a life. While I’m over here complaining about weather I shall live or die.

And I’ve got no solid arguments against this, even if there was arguments about this, I would still let my guard down and swallow my pride. Because it’s true.

Without regards, if there was a slightest chance I could give away my life to someone who deserves it more than I do, I would,without hesitation. Unfortunately, life is not that easy.

Pathetic. Naive. Barbaric. 
I know.



"The mutilation of the savage has it's tragic survivor in the self- denial that Mars our lives"