It is late. And cold. I can’t remember a time when my fingers weren’t equal ice when it comes to temperature. I wish it was Christmas. That is the only good thing about winter whatsoever. Or more what the Christmas stand for than for what it is. Not the Christian religion, but the feeling. The day itself. Everything with the cozy light and the blankets and open fires and all the happiness, all the expectation, the unity feeling and the days you spend with your family... they are great. During those days you live through everything that I love about the winter. It is not that much, but it is precious to me.
Have I told you that I am going in a confirmation group? It’s on Wednesday, and there are me, three friends of mine and ten-fifteen ish more people in the group. And a lot of young and adult leaders of course. We play games and get to know each other, and we talk about some important subjects so it really feels like they want to learn us everything about life and ourselves and our minds and souls. And all that there is in the Christian religion, obviously. There is a lot of questions. A lot of answers they give us, you can easily understand is right, because no one these days that actually have a brain (looking at you here, Donald Trump, cause you don’t) would say anything except the things about you being yourself and that everyone have got an equal worth and everything about humans’ rights. I’m not saying they are wrong, that is very much right, but I just wish that they wouldn’t say it out loud. Because I know they can’t stop saying it, there are still people out there (Trump) who don’t understand this and need to know it. Maybe there are someone in our group that are like that. I doubt that, they all seem very nice, but you never know. It’s just that I wish so bad there wasn’t, that they would learn the basics, I wish there wouldn’t have to be people explaining it to them. And every time they say that everyone should be treated equally it’s a reminder that not everyone agrees, and it feels like a freaking punch in the heart. In that moment I know that the war isn’t over, we thought we won on multiple occasions but it will never be over. There will always be stupid people out there that won’t let us feel victory. I hate to think about that. It makes me want to kick a trash can or something. And it isn’t much heavier stuff than that I actually can kick without my foot starting to hurt, so my anger here is SERIOUS.
I said that we also talk about deep subjects, those who are extremely private and yet something everyone thinks of. Like the other week, when we talked about death. We talked about funerals and the technical work at first for some reason, but then the leaders started asking us for opinions. And I froze. The other ones discussed theories and feelings about it like it was something ordinary. A couple of people in the other group, not to say maybe the whole group, cried hysterically. And after our not-at-all forced conversation, two of my friends (the third one was sick) wanted to talk in private with one of the adult leaders. They cried both of them.
I couldn’t understand a thing. I just wanted to get out of there.
Listen, I can talk about a lot of things. Everything that are able to be laughed at. Or complained about. But when it comes to emotions, when it comes to death, when it comes to people’s pain, when it comes to your deepest fears and the meaning with life, when it comes to writing a pray (we have did that), I get locked. I have a lot of emotions. And a lot of pain. I know multiple things that I want to pray about. I know my deepest fears and my thoughts on death and life. And I write about, gosh, I write down everything. And it is so secure there, in my brain or on a paper no one can see. It is so secure when no other brains are processing the information and building opinions on it. Just me. Because all that, writing things that I classify as art (stories, poems, prayers, random texts about thoughts) everything that aren’t facts from school basically but have a more complicated meaning, and all the feelings and thoughts about roughly everything that I have spent thousands of minutes with collecting, they are all that marks what I am. Who I am. They are me. My personality. Everything that have been in my mind and is important, all the little things that I wrote, they all tell something. Or a lot of somethings. You know me if you read them. You know my inner soul. It’s like they are my horcruxes, parts of me, and if you read them they would get destroyed. Because they are out. The deepest I have come in myself are available to people that don’t even know my surface. I realise that it’s probably because I think too much. Overthink until it’s a metaphor or have an entirely different meaning, overthink until I find out everything about me. I don’t leave anything. That you can say for sure about me, and on other things than this. I don’t let go.
So I think these things are MORE private to me than to them, and a lot of a bigger deal. Everything you can’t laugh about you can probably cry about. Yep. That feels like me.
And yes, if you think about it, this would mean that this small blog is my horcrux. But nah. I mean, you don’t know my surface or even my name, but you DO know all that is me deep down. I have started from the inside and are working out. So technically it’s a horcrux... but still not. I think of it as my diary. I don’t feel like anyone is reading it anyways, so it’s just as private.
Goodbye for today.