All I want is to flee to Hogwarts.

Black velvet leggings and black blazer, Monki. White lace socks, Lindex. Black leather boots, Nilson. Black shirt/dress, Pudel. Belt, Asos.com. Purple/burgundy beret, Åhléns. Brown leather satchel, Vero Moda. My new aaaawesome glasses, "Lucia", Proopticals.com.

(Photos by me.)

The questions is; just how excited can wearing a pair of round eyeglasses make a person? The answer is, apparently, really freakin' excited. I've wanted a pair just like these forever, but when I got new glasses for Christmas last year, I chickened out a chose frames that I thought were a little more average. Then I found these adorable ones at proopticals.com for 20 dollars (!), and, well, now I just have to wait until I can afford putting real lenses in them. (So far, they're nothing but an accessory, since they don't make me any less blind.)

With the exception of the cute round glasses, I'm not especially excited at the moment. Quite the opposite, really. I keep finding myself at crossroads, forced to make decisions I don't feel fit to make, and all I know is that I have to keep moving. Standing still at the same spot is not an option. But how do you make yourself move forward, how do you decide which path to take, when all you want to do is lay in bed with your eyes closed and focus on the sound of your own breathing?

This is all but a new feeling for me. And if there's one thing my past experiences have taught me, it's that baby steps can be a perfectly fine pace. As long as I make the tiniest of decisions, one after the other, everything else eventually becomes a little more clear.

I took one of those baby steps today. I made an appointment with a new therapist, and I will start seeing her next week. I've come to the conclusion that though cognitive behavioral therapy has worked well for me in the past, it's not the right way to go at this point. It has helped me through a lot of emergency breakdowns, taught me ways to live a somewhat decent every day life - but this is not a crisis. I'm not falling to pieces the way I have before, it's less urgent than that. Less urgent, though not any less desperate. I've been depressed for as long as I can remember and I'm not getting better. I can feel a bit better for periods of time, now and then I can distract myself and let other people and situations distract me, but the facts are still facts: I'm sick, I'm unhappy, and I'm terrified that this is the way it's going to be for the rest of my life. That every time I see the light at the end of the tunnel, all that's waiting for me at the end is the entrance of another.

So, I found a psychologist who specializes on psychodynamic psychotherapy, and my goal is to go to the bottom of what's keeping me from experiencing happiness, joy, satisfaction, harmony and balance. Christ, I don't even need to be happy. I just want to wake up in the morning without either feeling like I'm going to die or, worse, wondering if there's any point staying alive. Not just tomorrow and next week but in a year, two, twenty. If that means I'm going back on anti-depressants, so be it. I'm just so tired of being in constant battle with myself. It's exhausting.

With all this talk of being tired - in combination with my new, terrific glasses - I think it's time for another column translation! I wrote this last summer, when I was feeling quite a bit like I am now. If you like my columns, feel free to read it, if not, I won't be offended. Just tell me my glasses are pretty! ;)


I'm so tired.

It's like... like all the air has left my lungs, the way it does a balloon that was forgotten in a dark corner after a five year old's birthday party. Not with a pop nor a bang, but with a slow, inevitable wheeze.

Like I've been awake for months.

That's almost the case. When I get this tired I can't even muster up enough energy to sleep. Last night I thought I'd succeeded - until I woke up at 3:37am from the kind of nightmare that makes going back to sleep impossible.

It's the kind of fatigue that overpowers it all. I lose track of time, feel it slipping through my fingers. This morning I took the communter train into Stockholm, finally on the subway I passed the station I was supposed to get off at - twice in a row. I got on the train, blinked, and several stops had already passed by.

That's how tired I am.

Nothing new about this. The same thing every time I pressure myself a little bit too hard, a little bit too long. Like when you flex a muscle with all your might until the lactic acid kicks in, the muscle starts shivering, shaking, cramping; and when you finally let it relax it feels like you will never, ever in your entire life be able to use it again.

This is what it feels like. Inside my whole body, my soul, all the way through.

I don't want to work, I don't want to eat, clean, get dressed or wash my hair. I do it, because I have to, but I don't want to.

All I want is to flee to Hogwarts.

Only there am I safe.

I have no idea how many times I've read Joanne Kathleen Rowling's books about the young wizard with the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. A lot. Enough times to make every sentence feel like home.

When my Ronnie is done making fun of me for reading "children's books", he always asks: but don't you already know exactly what's going to happen?

He can't seem to understand that this is the whole point.

Each time I open the books, I'm sucked straight into the adventures. I'm pulled into the story, drawn by force, losing myself in everything from complicated homework to the battle against evil. I laugh, cry, get nauseous from all the butterflies going nuts in my stomach as I get closer to the life-or-death fights. But whatever turns the story might take, I never have to fear. I know it will all be okay in the end. And right there, in the safety of that insight, I can finally rest.

But the most spectacular thing about the Harry Potter books has to be the amount of pages. No matter how impossible it seems to take on life in this desperatly non-magical world - when I have plowed through all seven books, suddenly enough time has passed that the worst is over. I find myself waking up in the morning, eating breakfast, washing my hair and sitting down at my desk to work. Not because I have to, but because I want to.

It never fails. I have my suspicions there might be magic involved.

Now I have to get back to my book. Harry is just about to battle a fire-breathing Hungarian Horntail.

I know exactly how it's going to end.

The boys all run riot.

White tank top and navy pants, Monki. Grey cardigan and grey blazer, Forever 21. Brown leather satchel, Vero Moda. Black round knitted scarf, Gina Tricot. Black patent boots, Vagabond. Glasses, Chanel. Lipstick, "Are you red-dy" (oh the hilariousness...) by Maybelline. 

(Photos by me.)

Unlike yesterday's post, this is what I actually wore my first day of school. Not much to say about my first day - I thought we would only say "here!" when our names were called and then get an introduction to the course, but I was wrong. There was no introduction, we only said "here!". A woman called our names, then we were out of there. I must admit I was hoping to get started, but our first class isn't for another week!

But, I'm not going to complain - I got back in my car, drove the one hour and fifteen minutes home, where my boyfriend Ronnie was waiting! He got back from New York while I was at school, and sure, I said goodbye to him in NYC not even three weeks ago, but he has been gone for two months. It's amazing beyond words to have him back home again! And the cats are freaking out. I was afraid that they might give him the cold shoulder after being gone for so long, but I don't think I've ever seen them so thrilled. I'm almost a bit jealous! Like, what, you've only been so loving towards me because Ronnie wasn't here? And now that he's back, you're, like, done with me?! (Justkiddingbutnotreally)

Right, the outfit. Ah, I don't remember when I last felt this comfortable! I am so, so, soooo glad fall is finally here. I've never really liked summer clothes (or summer itself, for that matter - the heat, the laziness, the expectations).

Getting dressed this morning, I think I was probably going for the style of an English countryside college boy, sorry, I mean lad. But with lipstick, obviously. I must say I like it even more than my "pretend" school outfit yesterday! Mostly because it's so much more wearable. And I bit more androgynous = yes please.

Talk to you soon!

The back-to-school outfit I'm definitely NOT wearing my first day of school.

Burgundy skirt, Forever 21. Navy blazer, Monki. Grey knitted over knee socks, Asos. Striped polo shirt, H&M. Brown leather satchel, Vero Moda. Brown leather litas, Jeffrey Campbell/Solestruck. Glasses, Chanel. Lipstick by Rival de Loop Berlin. 

(Photos by me.)

I don't start school until tomorrow, but apparently that didn't stop me from trying to look like I was on my way to class!

Though I'm not going to lie - when I actually go to school tomorrow, I will most likely wear something way more subtle. Definitely no high heels. The reason is very simple: people in general tend not to like me, especially in educational situations, and in my experience they like me even less if I dress up. No, I'm not telling you this so that you'll feel sorry for me and tell me that you would like me if you were in my class. Trust me, you wouldn't. At least not at first. Maybe when you got to know me and realized I'm not all about being loud and opinionated and unable to shut up, but that I'm actually quite the nice person underneath (or maybe my friends just have bad taste when it comes to people!).

This is not a huge problem for me, I'm used to it, but that doesn't mean I'm not trying to change it. Of course I want people to like me! As long as I can keep being myself. (Rather hated for who you are than loved for who you're not, and so on.) So I'll really, really try not to be obnoxious and annoying - I don't want to embarrass my friend and now classmate Anna - and I'm not going to be that weird girl who showed up the first day looking like she was going to a party (or like she thought she was in an episode of Gossip Girl). Nope. Tomorrow is going to be a jeans-sweater-boots day. And I think what will happen is that we say "here" when our names are called, listen to an introduction and then go home. Hopefully I won't be able to mess that up.

Ah, almost forgot! You know how much I love my cats, right? Well, as adorable as they are, I felt like something was missing from this family. So I got myself a new pet. His name is Jarvis and he's the most cuddly grasshopper ever.

Unfortunately, I happened to catch him in a bowl and let him out the window. So stupid! Don't know what I was thinking. We could have become really tight, I can just feel it.

The Best Revenge is a Good Life.

Since most of you who read this blog have no possibilty of picking up the latest issue of VeckoRevyn, where I tell the not very pleasant story of my situation in school during my early teens, I thought I'd try translating it for you. Not the finished article - that feels weird, like writing about myself in the third person - but my answers to the interview questions.

This post will be terribly lengthy, and I'm absolutely not asking anyone to read through the whole thing. But even if there's only one person out there who is going through similar issues, and who might find it a relief to read about someone else's experiences with bullying, I don't mind one bit if all the rest of you scroll past it.

What was school like for you?


Right from the moment I started first grade, I had the feeling there must be something wrong with me. Making friends seemed so easy for everyone else, so effortless, but for me... The few times I was included in the schoolyard fun and games, it was like they were all doing me a favor. I would usually stand ten feet away, observing, or hide out reading in the library.

The older I got, the more I felt like an outsider. Though I wouldn't say that I was bullied until I was 13 and started the 7th grade - before that, I was simply not a person who people liked, but at least I wasn't afraid of going to school.


My junior high school years - age 13 to 15 - were nothing but a nightmare. We were a couple of girls who used to hang out, drawn together by the fact that we were at the very bottom of the social hierarchy. At the time, I was certain I was the one out of our little group who was most exposed to the constant harassments, but today I realize that it's possible - likely, even - that we all felt that way.


I honestly don't understand how I made it through those years. Today, I wouldn't be able to stand a week in that environment. Partly because now I would refuse being treated that way - I would say "screw you guys, I'm going home!", walk out the door and never come back. But back then, I didn't think I had an option. What if everything would get even worse if I transferred to a different school? I might have been living in hell, but better the devil you know. (At least that's what I told myself.) I knew what corridors to avoid, I knew when to hide, I knew when to run. I knew who would spit on me and who would just look away.

Plus: as long as I stayed in the same school, I could secretly hold on to the trace of hope that maybe they were the problem, not me. If I did transfer and the new school turned out to be just as bad - or worse - that would be the final evidence that I really did deserve to be treated the way I was, since I simply couldn't stop being so damn ugly, weird, nerdy, disgusting; such an f-ing loser. That all the things I was told every day actually were true. Then, all hope would be lost. And they might say that hope is the last thing to die, but when it does, that's when you're in serious trouble. So I stayed and endured. I woke up every morning, I took the bus to school and I prayed that I would make it back home.

How did you feel during those years?

To be honest, I barely ever dare to think about it. I was constantly scared for my life - literally. I lost track early on of how many times I was told I would soon end up dead, but I do know it was enough times for me to believe it. And I really, really didn't want to die, not even when things were at its worst. I had some sort of idea of a far-off future when everything would be better, when all I'd been through would be nothing but a distant memory, and I desperately wanted to keep on living, to find out if my fantasy would one day come true.

Do you have any idea as to the reasons why you were bullied?

 
Sure, there were tons of superficial incentives that made me an easy target: every piece of clothing I wore was either cheap mailorder items or hand-me-downs from older relatives, I cut my own hair in horrific styles and had no clue whatsoever how to blend in with the other girls. On top of that, I was positively obsessed with receiving the highest grades in every subject and could start crying if missed one single point on a test - oh wow, even I hear how bad this sounds! I turned into quite the vicious cycle - I felt like the only thing that gave me some feeling of self-worth was to be at the top of every class, and making the slightest mistake made the ground beneath my feet crumble. Let me tell you: to flee crying from the classroom for misspelling "connaître" on the French vocabulary quiz does not make a person more popular.

But then again, these are all superficial reasons, and a lot of them probably wouldn't even have been the case if I hadn't been so alone and tormented in the first place. Looking back, I suspect that my situation had a lot to do with the fact that I was way too much. As a girl in my school, the most desirable thing of all was to be adequate, average, just enough: just pretty enough, just quiet enough, just clever enough. Instead, I was the complete opposite. I had the wrong clothes and no idea what that whole makeup thing was all about, talked constantly in class, was annoyingly proud of my excellent grades.

One time, one of the successfully average girls in my class came up to me, lowered her voice and told me, as in confidence: "So, just a piece of advice. When someone asks you what you got on the test, tell them you got a vg minus (b minus), for your own sake. Or better yet, get a vg minus. And also... you should at least tuck your jeans into your socks, that's how we do it now, in case you haven't noticed."

And trust me, I really wanted to be like that. Being popular was so far out of my reach that it never crossed my mind, but I would so have loved to be one of those people who simply blended in. But I couldn't, I honest-to-God could not do it. I had been raised to speak up, to stand up for what I believe in and voice my opinion, to always work hard to be the best at what I was doing. I genuinely had no idea how to conform, to adapt, not to be that person whom everyone despised.

How did you make it through?

All through junior high, I walked around as in a bubble. I was literally counting seconds, focusing on nothing but breathing in, breathing our and then in again. I even had a word for it: "The Dentist Method". I hated going to the dentist, and managed my fear by thinking that "sure, this is painful and horrible now, but soon I will get to spit in that tiny sink and leave the room and it will all be over". Unfortunately, three years are a lot more drawn-out than a visit to the dentist, but I figured the principles were the same. I used to picture the immense relief I would feel walking out through the heavy school doors for the very last time, I held on to that image for dear life.
How I would prevent history from repeating itself in high school, I honestly never gave much thought. One thing at a time. High school would be Future Annika's problem! As long as I was free from the people who made my life a living hell, I'd get a new chance - maybe even succeed at becoming someone completely different. Someone normal.
But the thing that finally saved me was - growing up. Realizing what I want to spend my life doing and finding friends who share my interests and values, who don't think it's pathetic at all to work hard and do your best. Meeting people who love me for me, slowly but surely rebuilding my self-confidence.

Have you had any help dealing with what happened to you?

I've been in and out of therapy for ten years, but it's always been about solving problems here and now, rather than digging up the past. So, I guess the answer is no. I still find it enormously difficult to talk about that time in my life, maybe because I've never into words the things I went through and what it did to me. I don't have that much problem writing about it right now, because all I write is that is was awful and that I'm glad it's over - I don't have to go into any types of details, which means I don't have to force myself to remember. The wounds inside have not healed, but I've learned how to live with them.

How did the years of bullying affect you?

It has shaped me, through and through. For better and for worse. The seven or eight years that followed my junior high school graduation, I was an utter and complete mess. I know the reasons for a person's problems are usually very complex and I'm sure mine were, too, but there is no doubt in my mind that the harassments I had to live with had a lot to do with all of the things that went wrong after that. The moronic decisions I made, my eating disorders, my performance anxiety, my difficulties with getting and keeping friends, my sometimes quite despicable behavior in relationships.

But, on the other hand - I'm eternally grateful for the life I have today, and I know I would never have been exactly here at this very moment if it weren't for everything I've been through. I'm well aware it's a cliché, but that doesn't make it any less true! I'm so glad I didn't manage to adapt and conform, that I kept on being too much, standing up for my beliefs and voicing my opinion. No person I've ever loved or admired has been even close to "average"!

Do you ever wish to get revenge on the people who used to bully you?

My mom always told me, "the best revenge is a good life". And I'm absolutely certain she's right. I've never felt like I should become "successful" to, I don't know, "show them all how wrong they were about me". It didn't take long for me to realize that being in the spotlight would only make the people who used to hate me even more despiteful, and that I couldn't even take that fact into consideration.

The only thing I can do is try to be as happy and content with my life as possible, and not let what's happened to me in the past hold me down. I can honestly say that I don't care one bit about what a bunch of assholes I went to school with half a lifetime ago think of me today.

Really, I don't - but at the same time, the pain is still carved into my heart like the initials of two lovers on the trunk of a tree. Whenever I catch a glimpse of one of my past's worst tormenters - on the bus, in the canned food aisle of a supermarket, on Facebook - I get physically nauseous, dizzy, trouble breathing. Not because I expect them to say anything, but, it's like my body is unable to forget. I become fourteen again and believe I'm going to die. It wouldn't surprise me if that feeling won't ever fully disappear.


But to wrap it up, I do feel like I've gotten my revenge. I work with what I love - writing - and I have the opportunity to use my experiences to help people who are in the same situation that I once was, by writing columns, blogging, participating in this article. In some way, that makes me feel like there might actually have been a point with the whole thing. Like it wasn't for nothing.

What's your advice to other young people struggling with similar issues?

1) Transfer to a different school. Trust me - this is not your fault, you are not the problem. You do not have to put up with being treated this way, or rather, you shouldn't! Sure, you can never be certain that things well be better someplace else, but you can be sure that you can't go on the way things are. To give yourself a fresh start is an opportunity for a life that isn't only bearable, but one that could be absolutely amazing.

2) Do not be ashamed. Easier said than done, I know. For years and years I was so afraid that my new friends would find out what a fraud I was; that I wasn't at all that sweet girl with pretty shoes but a disgusting, pathetic loser. It took a whole lot of time before I understood, really believed, that I had nothing at all to be ashamed of. That what I had been through didn't define me, and that all it did was making me a stronger and more empathic person. Why would I have to be ashamed of that?

Once again - you have not done anything wrong. It's a question of bad luck. You drew a blank in the social lottery in that particular circumstance, but it has nothing to do with you, not one bit. They don't like the way you act, the way you walk, talk or dress? That's their problem. If chance had put you at a different school, the way you act-walk-talk-dress might have been what was considered totally awesome and popular. And you know what? You will find a place where people think you're fantastic. When you do, please make sure that you don't let someone else feel as left out as you once did. Because there's not one right way to be a person who deserves respect and kindness. There are only different contexts and circumstances, and people who are more or less afraid of doing what's right.


The only ones who should be ashamed are the people who make you feel like you're not good enough. But you will get through this and come out the other side as someone better, someone who knows you can survive anything, while they will have to live with the fact that they're scared, cruel, evil cowards who torture others because they don't know any other way to feel like they're a part of something. I know I would rather be a little bit damaged than to know I am - or, if I'm lucky, used to be - a gutless shit.

3. Talk to someone. It sounds obvious, sure, so how come you haven't already? How come I didn't? Well probably because 1) I didn't think they'd take me seriously, 2) I figured there was nothing anyone could do to change my situation so why bother trying, 3) I didn't even want to admit to myself that I was a victim of bullying, much less to someone else, and 4) - I believed I had brought all of this on myself, by being such a hopeless excuse of a person. But I was wrong. Don't make the same mistake I did. Call a hotline, ask to see the school counselor, talk to other people in the same situation in a web forum, anything. You are not alone, even if that's what it feels like, and you should not have to go through this on your own. There is help available and you deserve to get it.


4. Keep breathing. Those godforsaken teenage years are a struggle for nearly everyone, more or less, but the best thing about them is that they won't last forever. After all the hardship an enitre life awaits you, and the only thing you have to focus on is getting there. Do everything in your power to get through the pain, because I promise you: it will get better. Lighter, brighter, easier. And you will know that everything life has put you through so far has turned you into the person you are, and that the person you are is one fabulous human being.

More posts on this subject:
Everything will be okay in the end
You can take your pain and throw it away