Ive been to hell and back so many times

Sometimes you all scare me. Because there are so many of you now.

In my mind though, you're a small grou of ten or possibly twelve out there reading. I feel as though we could all fit around one or two tables in a bar. That we all know each other and speak in low voices about our secrets and troubles. This is how I feel until I hit that "stats" button. Then you all scare the shit out of me. And when I'm afraid, I run.

IT'S MY BIRTHDAY AND I'LL DIE IF I WANT TO

Rules of attraction

Been down and out for a while now. My fever still runs high, and my mind is almost starting to get used to this overheated state. I try to fight it by dressing up, pretending to have plans that require dresses and high heels. Last night I almost made it to the front door before I passed out.

Luckily, I was dressed in a very suitable way.

Jil Sander really does make the perfect dresses for corpses.

What I have been up to

Fever sweats and strong pain killers

I've spent the last couple of days in bed. Half awake, half asleep.

I dreamt about Patrick Bateman carefully removing my teeth with a hammer. One by one.

Someone once told me that dreams about loosing teeth means you're worried about being forgotten. Spot on, Id say.

It was in the deepest of sleep Ive been in ages.

GREED IS GOOD, SEX IS EASY, YOUTH IS FOREVER

Abandon all hope ye who enter here

Another sleepless night passed. Autumn, you used to be my hero.

My savior from the torture of summer heath. The passion in august makes me sick.

With half closed eyes I stood on my balcony, overlooking this burning city for hours. Cursing the stars and spitting t'wards the moon. The cold breeze I used to think of as my equivalent to holy water passed me without it's once vibrating solicitude.

(Original sin, unable to wash off

Insomnia, one of my nine circles of hell)

The red wine dripped down on my chest, painting my white nightgown blood red.

Tim Burton, can't you please direct my life? Im sick of the Polanski taste I never seem able to spit out.

Remembrances of guilty pleasures past

Remember Chloè?

I saw a crow this morning and it made my heart stop. Black eyes, dead feathers.

When he lifted off and flew away, I felt as though I was watching her leave all over again.

I might as well had swallowed a thousand nails.

Read more about her here, and here, and here

SONG FOR CLAY

Feasting on sleeping pills and camel blue's (Self pity wont save you, Eva said with a troubled look on her face)

Self pity can be the most beautiful thing, if executed properly

- Matching underwear

- Red wine or bourbon

And it's also less sad if done in the company of beautiful girls. In a bed.

Im yours to knock around

I stayed in last night. Eva kept me company for a while, but later left me alone with my books. Her phone called, and something more important demanded her attention. I've never asked to be her highest priority. She's never been mine. Needless to say, this is true regardless of the fact that I love her. I really do.

When I called her in the middle of the night, in a haze of plum wine and attarax I could her just by the way she said "Salut chèrie" that she was having sex.

She mumbled something about calling me later, but she only spoke in vowels.

It's been forever since I forgot all about consonants. Not even Tramadol can do that anymore.

IMPERIAL BEDROOMS

Woke up realizing that the Tramadol had worn off. The thing is, it only kills pain if taken before it really hits you. Otherwise it's nothing more than a light layer of cotton covering a wide open wound.

Sorry for being absent today. It's to cold here to move. I dress in cadavers but it only helps so much..

Eva is on her way. Ive never let her inside my home before. And she, much like a vampire can't enter without a proper invitation. I'm busy downing two bottles of wine.

I need the head start. She has her own path towards that sweet goal of nothing at all. A total blank. I can't deal with the powder.

It's to early for snow. It's to late for blessings.

Less than zero

When he shut the door behind him five hours ago (or was it ten? Ive lost count) and walked out of the same apartment as he have walked out of so many times before it didn't hurt as much as I though it would. Father figure Frank never promised to stay very long. He never makes promises he can't keep.

It didn't hurt when the door hit the doorframe, the sound didn't create a big hole in my guts as it has before.

Because this time I was prepared.

Last night, after dinner we sat down in the library to talk. I thought he would ask me to come with him, I had already mentally packed my bags. Instead he made it about Eva.

- She's trouble

-She's a blessing, F!

I mixed Tramadol with gin, covered up the bad taste with plum wine and went numb in an instant.

So when he shut the door behind him, it didn't hurt.

The night I first met Eva

Last winter, when everything was covered in white. It was that time of year when you can hear your own steps, a Twin peaks kind of sound followed every move.

I was almost passed out, sitting alone by the bar at St James hotel, when she walked in.

She asked me to join her outside for a smoke, and I knew at that moment that she was a blessing. A knight in shining armor. The Evelyne type the Ansgar in me had always longed for.

Some nights are nothing less than a black swan phenomenon, and those are the ones that change you.

Eva was the first name, and I came to life when she took me in her arms. She's the one who picked me up from the floor. The one who wasn't scared off when I showed my true colors. The one who truly understood everything about me and she did this by looking deep inside of her self.

Let's clear something out

This is a story, just as every life is.

Our lives will someday be reduced to a short summery that will be told to our grand children when we pass. Life doesn't end with death, not if you've made an impact.

And the thing is, that I have no doubt that I will die young and I certainly don't doubt that no one will remember me. Because I do not engage with other people.

That is the main reason I started blogging. And now you're all wondering how much of "me" there is in these pieces of writing.

All of me, is the answer. ALL OF ME.

Because otherwise, what would this be about.

I'll tell you everything, every little dirty detail, but only if you want to listen.

SKETCH

If he can do it, so can I

Eva was a mess last night. Her share must have been cut to many times. To much laxatives. She was up against the walls, down on the floor, on top of the roof. I watched from the corner table, hiding in the shadows. Sipping on bloody marys. Pretending the evening was in fact brunch time.

When E left, with some perfect looking young model type, I couldn't bare myself to go home. Didn't want to see his bag standing there in the hallway, alone. Abandon all hope ye who enter here.

So when he sent a drink my way, I downed it in three gulps. Later, he downed all my sorrows for three hours.

I got a nasty habit

Woke up five minutes a go.My head spins, and I can't seem to focus on anything. I notice the apartments' empty. He left again, but his bag is still here. He'll come back.

Thank god.

Eva called again, and this time I didn't have the strength to say no. Im heading out to drown in an ocean of men and plum wine. I dont even care that she wants to go to Sketch.

Tonight, I'll do what ever she wants. Great thing about her company is ; I probably won't even need to talk, she handles all of that.

We're a perfect match, in some strange and bizarre way.

Sin is the only note of vivid color that persists in the modern world.

F-F-F

Father figure Frank didn't come home until this morning. A dinner party doesn't go on all night.

I sat up, wearing his shirt and drinking his gin while waiting. Tried to read but couldn't focus. I longed for him, like I have been my entire life. Woke up with my head between my legs, (with gin spilled all over the table) around five and expected to find him sleeping in a wine haze in my bed, but no.

When he finally appeared he refused to look me inthe eyes.

I didn't ask who he was with, I just finished the bottle of gin from last night and went to my room. -No, I don't want dinner F

I want you, I whispered

.

Memories

Frank just left to attend a dinner party over at West End, and since I don't do West end anymore I decided to stay in. The lace dress is a nightgown for kids, used to wear it when I was seven or eight, and the sweater is an old Brooks Brothers that I stole from a boy I once woke up next to.

Fashion makes the world go round, right?

Prologue

Some of you have heard this story before, some of you think you know all about my father figure Frank and some of you are new and have no idea. So I thought I'd break it down to you.

Hold your breath while reading this, please.

My mother Iris, who left two years a go to seek an endless summer across the ocean, never stopped loving him. He left her when I was very young, later returned and put our worlds up side down. Then he left again. Without a word, without a trace. But she didn't stop loving him. And he still loves her. Why aren't they still togheter? Well, Iris isn't a pleasent woman to spend your life with. She loves gin more than me, and maybe... just maybe more than him as well. And Frank isn't really mr stable. They were a great love story while they lasted, they were a horrid sci-fi flick when reality catched up with them.

Father figure Frank lives in LA, a place I refer to as the rabbit-hole of my teenage years. I visited him a couple of times, and it always ended in tears and acid drenched nights. He takes beatiful pictures for a living, but he refuses to photograph me. I don't know why.

There is a lot that I don't know about him. But I know this

1)He makes me feel safe

2)He cares, even though he doesn't know how to

3) He always smells like bourbon and cigarettes. He wears nothing but black.

4) No matter how much I reject him, he never stops trying.

5)He is the only one who truly knows me. And still loves me.

Read more here, and here, and here

and now ; Exhale

Woe to you, my Princess, when I come... you shall see who is the stronger, a gentle girl who doesn't eat enough or a big wild man who has cocaine in his body.

Freud ,Letter to his fiancée, Martha Bernays (2 June 1884)

I've got it all

Frank wakes me up, I had fallen a sleep on the bathroom floor in the middle of the day. During these few days without painkillers I seem to have forgotten the proper dose. His eyes filled with fear, his voice angry and sad at the same time. Like a husband who just figured out that his wife is cheating on him.

He lifts me up, slaps my cheek gently in an attempt to clear the fog in my mind.

We spend the rest of the day shopping at Liberty. Father figure Frank gets all excited about long dresses and feather-covered skirts but I am unable to share that joy. I hate new cloths.

Leaving the big black building Im carrying heavy bags of materia and when I ask Frank if it wouldn't just be easier to love me he starts crying.

-Thats what Im doing B.

Eva called and asked me to join her at Sketch

- You need to get out, darling. Let's drink some mai tais

I looked over at Frank, sitting across the hall smoking and pouring whiskey in two glasses

- I think I'd rather stay in tonight. I've got everything I need right here

Father figures and gin

September, and I make a difficult decision. My countdown starts now where it all ended once before.

Breakfast with Frank, in the dining room we sit across from each other and stare.

I: In my robe, hair messy and an awful winebreath. Black coffee, untouched. Visible bones, a tattoo on my wrist. Wet eyes, not from crying but from confusion. One thousand questions, not a single word suitable for the situation. Quiet.

He: Fully dressed, all in black. Coffee cup, almost empty. Pancakes and gin. Smoking. Humming. Trying to meet my eyes. Sitting on all the answers. Not giving me a single one.

We: Slept like new born babies. Hand in hand. Shared a dream, shared a bed.