Friday, January 16, 2015


As soon as things ended with the Mexican i was dating again.
It was what i did before i met him, so it seemed natural to jump right back in.
I needed the distraction, and i needed the attention.
I needed to not feel like a discarded piece of trash, once again.

Dating was never something i did before getting married, ever, but since the separation, i haven't had any problems getting asked out.
Much to my surprise, guys seemed to like me, something i simply wasn't aware of before, having worn the blinders of marriage for so many years.
I assumed that my tattoos, my goofy personality, my age, or the fact that i was still married would be a problem, but apparently none of that seemed to bother anyone.
So back in the spring of 2014 i started going on dates.

For someone like me, who's always suffered from social phobias and low self esteem, who comes from a country that barely has a dating culture, and who had at the time been married for over twelve years, the prospect of going out for drinks or coffee with a stranger was terrifying, to put it mildly.
It was something old me would have been much too scared to even consider, but new me didn't let fear get in the way.
I only lasted for a few weeks, the drinks, the coffee, the flirting, and then i met him, and quickly forgot about the rest.

Back to present time, where i was following the previous pattern, the pattern that worked for me last time, when i suddenly realized that, well, it's not working anymore.
I guess i've been treating this as a minor breakup, something to quickly get past and get over, but the truth is that it wasn't that minor for me.
I was in love. In fact i was crazy in love, and that makes it major.
And maybe i have to start treating it as that. Which probably means taking some time off.
Time to stop forcing it, time to heal.

I don't think i've ever preferred my own company over that of others before in my entire life, so when i first started isolating myself, staying home and painting, saying no to dates, i thought maybe i was depressed.
And i very well might be, but that's not all there is to it.
The thing is, none of them excited me. None of them mattered.
And the fact that i wasn't able to feel a connection with anyone just made me feel more sad.
Was he it? Will i ever feel like that about someone ever again?
And if empty encounters are all there is out there for me right now, wouldn't i just rather be alone or with my girlfriends, than with some random asshole who expects me to jump into bed with him after a few hours of small talk? No, seriously, they do. And no, i don't. So...

So i stay here.
It's Friday night and i'm blogging, and i'm wearing sweatpants, and i'll probably start a painting, and tomorrow i'll go dancing with my friends.
And i'll feel weird about not needing the attention, the distraction.
But i'll give myself permission to feel sad, to feel disconnected, to change my mind, to be confused, to feel it all, to not feel anything.

From the still ongoing non-travel iPhone journal...

You feel the pull of loneliness
You roll over and there's someone there 
Warm body
And if there isn't, you roll over and your phone is there 
Someone who misses you too is on there
I roll over and... nothing 
The phone is as empty as the bed 
Except for the odd message from someone wanting to see me naked 
But none of that is real and it only adds to the emptiness 
In ways they couldn't possibly understand 
And in those moments, I suddenly remember you too well 
The body remembers what the mind tries to forget

Ugh, so emo. 
Anyway, the pictures in this post are from the day after i came back from Mexico.
I was trying to finish a film quickly so i could take it to the lab.
Not included: several photos of my bedroom floor!
Not my finest work, but i still kinda like the one of my beautiful Wendies.
And the top one. I like that too.


  1. din ærlighed er så sindssygt sej og forfriskende - mega respekt. jeg savner den ved mig selv, og du giver mig lyst til at skrive igen.

    1. Tak!
      Det er lidt skræmmende at lægge det hele ud på den måde, men på den anden side kom skrivelysten tilbage.