Anger issues · English


I’m being held hostage. In my own home, in my own body by my own heart, my own emotions; my own damn sentimentality. I feel soft as a marshmallow. A soggy, sticky marshmallow melting in hot, sweet chocolate and devoured by unsentimental creatures from an unsentimental world I don’t understand, where the pain and ruin, downfall and tragedy of others, is entertainment and subject off mockery, cynical analyzes and obvious exploitation. Beings from an indefinable world inside my head somewhere I can’t quite set my finger upon. Like shadows in the farthest of my viewing edge which disappears when I turn my head to see who they are, what it is. They are whispering lies and truths and unfinished stories back and forth til my mind is in caos of intangibles. Can I survive if I let my heart die? Can I still remain my humanity if I sell my soul for peace? If I sell my soul for safety?

I close my eyes and soar away. I clothe myself in wings and carry off into the unknown, pitch black universe. Darkness surrounds me with millions of miles to the nearest star. I wonder how I can find my way back home, without stopping, without turning, without looking back over my shoulder. I end up on a strange planet, dimmed enlighted in the absence of colours and warmth; devoid of kindliness and care. I find myself lying on a dirt floor, naked, but not cold. Struck down by gravity, locked in behind walls of faded wood. Kept prisoner by enemies surrounding me without showing their identity. And I say to my self in a calm, lowered voice: “Remember: You are never alone!”. And I answer without a sound: “I’ll remember”.

I open my eyes, grab my phone and log in on facebook. Looking for someone else awake, for a chat, or to call. For every time I miss I feel more alone, betrayed by all, with no friends and no hope. A girlfriend at Vestre Gravlund, a comerade at Ullersmo, another on rehab. I have no one I can call four o’clock in the morning. That sucks! My life sucks! I don’t want to live it any more. There is too much sorrow, too much suffering, too much scuabbling and too many schemes. I start to erase my pals and block my gals on facebook. Throw people out of my life in cyberspace. Realize there’s no point in doing so and decide to deactivate my account instead. I’ve done it before. It silences the hellish noice between my ears. At least a little, at least for a while. I get up, walk into the livingroom and sit down on a hundred year old footstool, embroidered by an old aunty, and cry my eyes out. Let tears and snot run freely. I need someone to talk to. I open my phone again and google the word “crises” and several numbers appears. There are two of them which are operated around the clock. One is church, the other is not. It’s something about religion and insanity I personally think are joint together like popcorn and movies, and I don’t feel like talking to a priest, so I choose the other option. I need someone that can get me grounded, not someone who will shove me off to heaven.

A machine velcomes me, tells me that I have the right to two conversations a day and asks me to please hold the line.

Tuut, tuut! “You are number one in line. Please hold!”. Tuut, tuut, tuut, tuut. “Our counsellors are occupied. Please hold the line, or try again later. If life is at stake, please dial 911.”. Nope! It’s not that bad! My life’s definetly not at stake. I smear myself in patience like I would marinate a steak and let it soak for a day before I let it fry, and hold the line. Tuut, tuut, tuut. “You are number one in line. Please hold!”. What the…?! I’m crying here! Tuut, tuut, tuut. “Our counsellors are occupied. Please hold the line!”. My tears stop, and I get annoyed. Tuut, tuut. The machine tells me they can call me back if I choose not to wait. I will lose my anonymity because I have to give them the number to my cellphone, but not to worry; their counsellors are obligated to confidentiality. I will keep my place in line, and they will call me up between the hours of 8.00 a.m and 1.00 p.m.. I take a deep breath and let it out hard from my flabbering lips. It’s four hours till 8.00 a.m.. Tuut, tuut, tuut. “You are number one in line. Please hold!”. I have forgotten what I wanted to talk about, and hang up.

Fuck! It! All! I google the word “lobotomy” instead. I wonder if it can be done to someone who’s awake, or if I have to beat him unconscious. I know more than one who would be better off without their need of control. People without heart, personalities without souls. Those who believe they have the right to do harm if they don’t get what they want. Men who believe they have the right to force themselves upon women. A small hammer and an icepick, and suddenly the world would be a better place to everybody. Or at least to me.

I go back to bed. Fall asleep the moment my head hit the pillow, but before I close my eyes and sink into the warm forgetfulness under the duvet, I conclude after all that I still trust science more than church…


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