A real life curse.

I’ve been working on a few things lately. Mostly trying to survive by cursed birthday week, but I’ve had other works laying around. I can’t disclose anything right now, but I’m looking forward to sharing it all with you.

First, let me tell you about a real life curse. I’m not particular superstitious—it’s not my thing. However, I have a curse, and it goes back to my twelfth birthday.

As mentioned in my last blog post, that day my grandfather—my mom’s dad—was buried. Most of my mom’s family was Jehovah’s Witnesses, so there wasn’t any particular reason to reschedule. We don’t celebrate birthdays, and never actually has. With that said, though. It wasn’t amusing to be bawling on my birthday.

I tried to be optimistic, though. At least I got cake... And my family was there. Some my aunts and uncles—who weren’t Jehovah’s Witnesses—even slipped me a coin or two as a birthday present. As sad as it may sound, my grandfather’s funeral was also the only birthday I’ve seen any of my relatives outside my closest family.

But it didn’t end there. Denmark has many crazy cultural differences from the rest of the world. One of the differences that aren’t so crazy was the tradition of sharing candy with your whole class on your birthday. I couldn’t do that—not because my family forbade me to, though. But because my birthday always landed in the Danish Autumn/Fall break.

When I was thirteen, I met a guy who happened to be my first actual boyfriend. His birthday was four days after mine, and I was psyched when he asked me to be his girlfriend, and then he proceeded to go on a vacation for the duration of the week.

I was excited and then put on hold for a week. My birthday were spent texting him from my computer because I didn’t have any credit on my phone. Later I found out that the texting actually cost over  100 dollars.

Then on my fourteenth birthday, I got into a huge fight with my roommate at the boarding school. We ended up insisting on moving apart. It was the first birthday spent at the school (because it was a Sunday, and I went back there) and I was busy fighting.

Fifteen, I was fighting with an ex-boyfriend, and had to break up with my at-that-time boyfriend. I also twisted my ankle.

Sixteen, I found out my parents had to be separated.

Seventeen, my best friend forgot it, and only barely saved it by buying me a jawbreaker candy. (I really like candy) I then proceeded to go to a LGBT club, which wouldn’t have been a problem, if it weren’t for the fact I was stranded in a foreign city with no way of getting home.

Eighteen, my dad found out I’d been smoking weed, and he wasn’t even angry—he was disappointed. This, to me, was even worse, because if he’d been angry and yelled at me, I could have pulled the “You just don’t get me” card. I spent my birthday party trying to suck up while my boyfriend at that time was high on coke and apparently was punching my dad’s tree. I also had a massive hangover the day after.

Nineteen, I’d earlier found my best friend—a girl—in bed with my boyfriend, and while I had lied and told everyone that it was “cool”—It wasn’t. So when I had to spend my birthday at her place because she shared my birthday and held a party, which all our friends were going to—it sucked.

Twenty was a hoot. Except for the fact that we’d spent this humongous amount of money on a party for 60 people were only 21 showed. My roommate at the time almost bailed because she didn’t have a ride, so my mom went to pick her up. It didn’t make it better that my older brother had been out drinking the day before—apparently it’s a big thing when the Christmas beer is released—so he couldn’t show.

Twenty-one, I was admitted into a hospital in Germany, with humongous pains.

Twenty-two, my two male rats died on the 16^th. My birthday was the 17^th.

Of course, this doesn’t always happen at the 17^th of October, but the week around it. And it’s a stressful time for me. So when I this year, decided to do absolutely nothing of importance—I was prepared for the worst. And it seemed to be eventless. I spent my whole birthday playing League of Legends with my brother who was here all week.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise when my curse continued on the 19^th this year. For the first time in my life, I was stuck in an elevator. Everything had gone somewhat smoothly, no disasters that were of the normal “life hates me” variety. At least, not until there. I was terrified, even though I was only stuck between the basement and the first floor, I was sure that I was going to die in there. It didn’t help when my mom decided to sing either.

So yes. The curse continues. But I’m still living. I have some incredible friends now, and even though I continuously try to avoid facing reality, I’m gonna live.

I know that I’m still waiting for the next disaster to happen, but—knock on wood—maybe the curse is losing its power. And who knows? Maybe the rest of this year has something surprising in store for me. It could happen.

Anyway, the above ramble is why I’ve been deliberately off the grid for the last week. I’m slowly getting back into my normal self. I’ve finally managed to make myself a writing place, I’ve wanted to do that for a long time—and here I am writing at this awesome desk, sitting in this awesome chair, and listening to some sweet tunes on the TV I finally managed to plug to my computer.

With that said, though. I can’t promise updates on everything. Nanowrimo is approaching, and I will be writing a completely new work for that. Well, at least, I’m writing the last book of my “The Lores of Lyra”, and I’m psyched!

I hope everybody else is well, and that your past week has been disaster free. Thank you for all the birthday wishes—it made me happy.

See you on Wattpad!

A Bag Full of Sunshine

I tend to shy away from conflicts. 

Ignoring negativity—or any variations thereof—has always been my preferred method of coping. I’ve spent the majority part of my life from when I was six years old and up until last year trying to be invisible in any situation where a conflict may arise. It’s not always easy—it takes a lot of practice. In fact, if not done correct, it can spur off even more conflicts which tend to be uglier than the original argument. Which is why to successfully ignoring a conflict, you need to be involved at first.

I’m also stubborn as hell. It’s courtesy of my two loving parents. My mom is the most achingly stubborn person I’ve ever encountered in my entire life. She’s the complete opposite of my dad who’ll run for the hills the moment there’s even the slightest hint of trouble. Over the years, their personalities have rubbed off on each other, but after over 20 years of cooperating while trying to raise six kids; it’s still easy to see who gets the last words—my mom.

Now, you may wonder why I’m telling you this, and honestly? I don’t know. Sometimes things just need to get out. This is one of those times, sadly.

In Denmark there’s a saying, which goes along the way of “I’ll agree with you, and you’ll leave me alone.” It’s a horrible translation, I know that, but it’s my dad’s attitude to plenty of things that my mom feels strongly about. She'll get it her way, and he gets peace. It’s beautiful how that works sometimes.

Unfortunately, with the mixture of my wonderful and loving parents’ genes, I’m around hundred different definitions of messed up. And while I’m being honest, I have to admit: It’s not always easy.

On one hand, I want to stand up and be vocal about the things I believe in, on the other hand, I really like my face and the permanent fake smile plastered upon it—I don’t want to jeopardize that smile. It’s what gives me the courage to be around people without cowering away in a corner, hugging myself while trying to get that smile back.

Back when I was a teenager, I met a woman who saw right through that smile. She called my bluff, and then she did the thing that shattered my very existence—she told me she knew. This woman was supposed to be a help, and for all I know, she intended to be. But she wasn’t around long enough to close that rapidly opening wound that suddenly spew doubt like it was a hot spring geyser.

So I had to start all over again. I had to learn how to be invisible again. Only problem was that I couldn’t. The foundation that I’d build my entire persona on was cracked, and it was just a matter of when it would fall to the ground and crumble. I made do by an occasional fake smile; this one not permanently plastered on my face, but instead short-term, and to compensate I had to accept the fact that sometimes I just didn’t feel like smiling.

For some reason, I managed to uphold it for an additional four years. It wasn’t until September 2011 that everything exploded around me. It was the most horrible time of my life. Only surpassed by October 12, 2001 where my grandfather died in front of me, and then buried five days later on my birthday.

However, I faced it head-on and sought help. In the span of six months, I lost everything that meant something to me while I gave up on a lot of stuff that could have meant the world to me. I didn’t want to live, but I was stubborn and refused to give in before trying for help. This meant that I had to wait, for the duration of these six months, to start what would prove to be a year of flat out personal hardships. In the time, I broke down many times. I found a way to get it out without hurting myself—the result is called “Rising Star” and can be read on wattpad.

I had a gazillion conversations, tests, surveys, and meetings with people who tried their best to figure out what was wrong with me. There were many ideas of what it could be, but it wasn’t until January 2013 that I got the result of the many tests. I was suffering from schizotypal personality disorder. In the times since then, I’ve been trying to work on this “ignoring negativity” attitude. Instead of ignoring it all together, I’ve been trying to embrace it, let it be for a moment, then try to move on to better things.

And it’s hard—it’s real fucking hard. (Pardon my French)

The internet is a big help, though. I can be in myself behind my little screen. I can turn it off if I need a breather, and then I can actually use an ignore function. It’s amazing like that. I could be safe, but open at the same time. And it led to me being more open than ever. I took a giant step and flew overseas to meet a boy that I like.

However, one thing I forgot is that the internet is the worst place for any kind of confrontation. Not only is there limited emotional connection because you can’t read body language, and misunderstanding happens every second because of a misplaced emoticon. Also, people can use the ignore function on you so you’ll never get a chance to talk it out.

I have many faults, and I’d be glad to list all of them at some point. I don’t fool myself to think I don’t have issues. I do. I have many of them. But even though I’m inadequate in plenty of ways, it’s not an excuse not to try. I will always try to be the best human I can. It’s how I was raised.

So this is me, trying to do just that. I’m trying to improve to become the version of Maja that I’d like to be. And I have a long way still. There’s going to be moments when I rant to a friend over something so unbelievable stupid that it’ll hurt to think of afterwards. There’ll be moments when I’m a broken record, clinging to my version of the truth and insist it’s the only one. There’ll be moments when I say something that’ll make me want to bury myself in a hole and never come out. And I’m not sorry for that. Because if these past years of endless emotional torture have taught me anything it’s that, at some point, it’ll be spring again, and I can come out of the deep pit I’ve hid in.

It’s not spring yet, though. And it sucks. So now I’m gonna do my thing and shy away from the confrontation because, to be honest, I don’t have it in me to be courageous right now, and without my fake smile plastered onto my face—I don’t see that happening anytime soon either. I'm not a bag full of sunshine right now. In the end, I can just hope that the people who surround me will try to understand me as I will try to understand them.