2 years

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Time is relative. In many cases two years isn’t a very long time. For me, these past years feels like just two weeks and an eternity at the same time. That is because i have been so lucky to have shared my life with the amazing Allan. It is almost surreal how happy he makes me and in these dark times he is my shining light. Thank you my dearest, for everything. I am positive that it will only get better from here. In 10 years time it is so good we just sit in a corner vomiting rainbows

I love you.

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“Curvy Girls”

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I’m not a skinny girl. I wouldn’t say that I am obese in any way and although I feel my body is quite normal, I don’t fit societies “regular” size. If someone where to put my body type in a box, it would probably say “curvy girl”.

Now, the term “curvy girl” is very disputed. Urban Dictionary’s definition is “Fancy word for being fat but are pretty girls all the same. Nice tits that attract every guy at some point”. I am not going to mention the bad grammar or the heteronormativ, sjovenistic bullshit of that sentence. When I google search it the top results are everything from this:

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to this

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Clearly no one really agrees on what curvy girl means. There is one thing we can be agree on though. Curvy girl is every body that does not fit size “regular”. The bodies you see above are apparently not regular bodies (please ignore the fact that they are photoshoped. Hard to find pictures that aren’t these days).

Why I was thinking about this today was that I have done some online shopping. Every time I encounter the term “one size, regular” I just close the window, no matter how damn cute the outfit was. Have you ever thought about how the size “medium” fits very few? (No hate to you beautiful people out there that use M, you lucky bastards). I used medium when i was 13. After puberty I could kiss that size goodbye. Medium is supposed to represent the median of the people. Don’t tell me that size 36/38 is the majority. Every time I shop I am told that I am large. In some shops I am even told that I am extra large. At my 159 cm I don’t feel very amazon like. That means that every time I shop I get a little tickle of a stab in my confidence (not that it is overflowing as it is). Because large is bad. Every woman knows it somewhere in her subconsciousness.

I am fighting very hard to not hate everything I see in the mirror. I have over the past years steadily gained weight as a result of PTSD and other fun mental issues. I am fighting with beak and claws to see my body type as beautiful. I know it is, but I have to slap myself right in the subconscious to see it and even then I am not totally convinced. I wish that someone would sincerely say that flabs can beautiful too. I want to see models that look like me on the big fashion billboards (you know just a lot taller and model like). I have seen enough Upworthy and Buzzfeed articles about how big is beautiful too, but it is apparently not beautiful enough for the public eye.

We are struggling with the massive pressure on weight and beauty here. Can someone at least throw us a rope or something?

Bonus pictures of me feeling DAMNED HOT.

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Favorite dress!!!

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I am one handsome motherfucker

Loneliness

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The public observer might say that my life is ok. Maybe not perfect, or even good, but ok. They would at least not think I am lonely.

In many ways I am not. I have a loving family and although they may live in another country, I see them fairly often. I am also blessed with an amazing partner, whom I live with. If not for him, I think I would experience happiness as often as a woman being catcalled actually appreciates it.

We’re a great team Allan and I. We have a lot of happiness and love despite the circumstances. I wish that I could give back as much as he gives me.

I hate that I am so dependent of him. I’m not only dependent because I love him or that I’m in love with him, but when he is not around I remember how sad I actually am. I go around with a big lump of sadness and despair in my belly, but when Allan is near it’s like he reaches around it and makes a soft layer of happiness and love to cover it up. Sometimes it completely forget that it’s there.

Then when he is gone he takes it with him. All I can feel is emptiness, sadness and loneliness. Even if I am not alone. There is a feeling of safety he gives me when he knows how messed up and awful I am, but loves me nonetheless

You know, I feel really guilty. He had a life before he met me and whenever he goes out to live that life, I’m home depressed and lonely. It’s like he has to put his life on hold for me and I hate it. I don’t want to hurt him or steal his life away, but I just don’t know what to do. I think I have tried almost everything to make myself happy, from gaming to baking, even embroidery! At least tv-shows and movies pacify me, but I don’t want to live a passive and apathetic life.

I feel stupid and sappy. I miss the real me. The confident and independent girl I once was. But someone took that away from me and now I need my angel to guard over me so I don’t burn out.

Part of the System

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I don’t have a job.

I had a job, but not anymore and thats old new.

I am not studying.

I was studying, but not anymore and that is also old new.

I live in the welfare state of Denmark and since i am under 25 with no work or studies I am entiteled to a whole lo of care. What I get is called “kontantstøtte”. It is a weekly sum given to people who in some way cannot work or study. To get this payment you have to attend a program. It is an exellent program called CBK, center for bridge-building and competance and is supposed to build a bridge between you and you fruture education. But it is also very generalized and it seems like thay want everyone to fit in to boxes. I think it works most of the time.

For me this arrangments are awful. I should never hav been in this particular system to begin with. I should have some kind of disability pension or “uføretryg”.

Because I am sick.

I have not yet found a psycologist who have manage to give me the therapy that I have needed so I do not have a concrete diagnose. I am working on that. I have a nice soup of anxiety, posttraumatic stress and depression. Thats atleast the best i can describe it whithout taking three hours of your life.

The system doesen’t like people like me. We are not concrete and hard to understand. Sometimes I wish I hade some curable disease or a lot of broken bones instead. Then i at least would have got the care and support that I need from this beautiful welfare system of ours…

I should have tha care of someone who just hasn’t figured out life or flunked in school. i should get the same support as someone with a broken back or a disease. I’m not lazy or uncertan, I am sick.

This is an awful system for me. It always assumes the worst and they are very harsh. Every time i get a mail from them saying I did something wrong, which I have gotten a lot of, I get panic attacks, even though I did nothing wrong and someone just made a mistake. You see, they do that a lot, forget to wirte down I attended or fail to inform that I was excused from a class. It’s making me mad and it’s making me worse.

The reason i don’t have disability support is beacuse that is a program that is imposible to get in to. Which is ironic because the people who needs this supports are, you know, sick and therefore hasn’t got tha same energy and capacity to convince strickt caseworkers that you need this help. “But what if you’re just piggybacking and trying to trick us?” Goddamnit.

I really thought that the system was made to take care of me, but it is making me sicker than i have been in a long time. I don’t dare to go to the classes anymore and I’m more and more isolated. I’m so sick and tired of the “welfare”system and they can’t even manage to give me therapy, that i have been waiting for for over four years…

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Driving in to the sunset

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..is every hopelessly romantic’s dream right? But how do you plan to drive anywhere without a driver’s license. That’s why I am doing the only responsible thing to do: taking my driver’s license.

Of course it also is a big pro that it is nearly half the price than what I would pay in Norway.

2014-11-12 12.00.35Tuesday evening I got a call from the drives school I am attending. They asked if I was available for the first practical lesson the following morning. I was a little anxious because I hadn’t even finished my first theory lesson but since there would be a safe space for me to drive in I though what the heck.

There were two of us and one teacher. We got a practice car each and where put behind the wheel. A short introduction and we were ready for the first lesson. I thought to myself that this would end horribly since I didn’t even know how to get the car moving.

To my surprise it was quite easy. The clutch made since but was tiresome to push and I flexed my foot so I nearly got a cramp. I felt like a pro behind the wheel, but got quite annoyed when I didn’t push the clutch gently enough and the car stopped.

We did some parking, forward and backwards maneuvering and of course driving an 8 and slalom. It was quite fun especially compared to the theory lessons. Now I feel like I have a mountain of theory before I can drive on the road. But that is probably for the best.

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It makes me happy

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Recently life hasn’t been to good to me and I’ve been feeling down. But sometimes happiness suddenly ceases me for just smallest things. So I have made it my mission to write down things that makes me happy. These posts will appear here and there and probably mostly in pictures. This is manly to remind myself but also remind you guys of the little (or bigger) things that make you happy.

 

This time on “It makes me happy”: Flowers!

In Norway flowers are too expensive to buy outside of special occasions, but it’s something else in Denmark, I tell ya’. No matter what devilish mood I have, it always cheers me up looking at the table and find a pretty flower ornament or discover that my plats have grown an inch or two. So here is a little slideshow for you, of flowers that have made my day better.




Old Cat Lady

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Since I work evenings and don’t work fulltime yet I use a lot of time alone in our apartment. At the beginning it was nice having so much time to do what ever I want. After a while though one get kind of tired of tv-series and the same game over and over again. I believe I would have become a gameoholic if I hadn’t sucked so much at gaming. I have three games i circulate, but one is for children, the other only played by children and the third made when I was I child. I see a patern..

I tried reading books. It is no surprise that I love it, but I have a really hard time picking books. At the moment I am in love with Patrick Rothfuss and the Kingkiller Chronicles and have started reading the first book for the second time. I like generic fantasy, i shouldn’t be that hard, but I find it enormously difficult to start a new unknown book.

I’ve vacuumed the house, but I don’t dare to go down to the washing room in the cellar because I am convinced there is angels and silence down there (and yes i have began watching Doctor Who).

So I result in staring at the wall and listening to the neighbours. Not that I have a choice because we can hear everything, and I mean everything. And it is probably scientifically proven that staring at the wall for to long makes people go mad.

I have solved sudoku, stared out the window like an old lady, played solitare and done the dishes Allan where supposed to do, but the sad part is that I have a lot of important things to do. I could have taken my drivers licence, opened a Danish bank account, exercised and volunteered, but no.

I am going to get a cat. No, not just one, at least seven! They can be my furry best friends and I can listen to the neighbours and peek out the window without feeling wierd. Hah, I found my new purpouse in life!