lørdag 20. april 2013


First came the years of denial, two of them I think.
They were erased by the bitter years of mistrust and self loathing, and shame.
A shame so great that it was palpable. 
Like an extra layer on my skin.
It reminded of the outer layer of an onion, dry, ugly and of no use.
The mistrust, and the self loathing was replaced by fear, but the shame walked in my shadow, it grew, every year, it grew.
The years of fear… 
A memory, never far away, always there, in close reach.
In nightmares, in the dreamless sleep
and in the waking hours,too.
Always there.
The years came and went, and along the years I've made a few friends,
Shame and fear were the greatest of them all.

The years went on,
My friends stayed true.
They were watching me, guiding me, whispering in my ears…
Until one day I felt myself break…
And a million tears poured out.
They fell so loudly that forgotten friends re-entered my life.
Denial, self loathing and bitterness.
Death was lurking in the corners,
I never knew him from the years that had passed,
But the year that followed, he tried to befriend me so hard
That it almost shattered me to fine, grey dust.
Death is a persuasive friend.
He is an only friend.

At the end of that year, I was tired of running, tired of hiding,
So, so tired of avoiding friends, and almost friends.
I stood up and spoke with a voice clear as a day in spring, 
Gently and with respect I spoke the words.
And as I turned to leave, I felt a warm tingling in the base of my neck,
Fully turned around, I stood face to face with my truest, and best of friends.


Når jeg prøver å sette ord på følelser kan det komme ut som dette.
Det føles helt greit.

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