Auszug aus meiner Autobiografie

Hab es endlich mal wieder geschafft an meiner Autobiografie zu arbeiten und habe es gleich genutzt um mir mal was von der Seele zu schreiben, dass mich seit einiger Zeit beschäftigt. TW für häusliche Gewalt, Kindesmissbrauch, sexueller Missbrauch.

Wenn man mich früher fragte wie meine Kindheit gewesen ist, sagte ich immer, dass sie normal war. Doch jetzt nach Jahren wenn ich zurückblicke kann ich nur sagen, sie war ganz und gar nicht normal. Damals wusste ich es nicht besser. Ich hatte es als normal angesehen, ohne es wirklich zu hinterfragen.
Nicht nur das ich in der Schule gemobbt wurde weil ich „anders“ war, zu Hause war es auch nicht wirklich besser. An vieles erinnere ich mich nicht, was ich dem Trauma zuschreibe. Als junger erwachsener Mensch dachte ich es hängt mit den vielen Narkosen und Krankenhaus-Missbrauch zusammen, doch seit ich das in Therapie aufarbeite habe ich öfter Albträume. Ich habe leichte Flashbacks, Erinnerungsfetzen kommen hoch, die mir Angst machen. Dinge an die ich mich vorher schon erinnerte, waren mein alkoholisierter „Erzeuger“, der mich und meinen Bruder oft anschrie, uns mit Schlägen drohte oder damit uns in ein Kinderheim zu stecken. Psychischer Missbrauch vom Feinsten, den ich jahrzehntelang nicht realisiert hatte.
Doch nun erinnere ich mich auch an andere Dinge, die in mir Übelkeit erwecken. Eine Sache war, als meine Mutter Nachtschicht hatte. Wie ich schon erwähnte hatte ich als Kind oft Albträume. Ich hatte mir angewöhnt bei meinen Eltern, besser gesagt, bei meiner Mutter im Bett zu schlafen. Dieses Mal kroch ich auch wieder in Muttis Bett, obwohl sie nicht da war, weil ich mich dort geborgen fühlte. Mein Erzeuger schlief, als ich ins Bett kam. Ich versuchte einzuschlafen als ich plötzlich spürte wie er sich bewegte. Er fasste mir mit seiner Hand zwischen die Beine und rieb über meine Schlafanzughose. Ich war wie erstarrt, bewegte mich nicht, atmete nicht und hoffte er würde aufhören. Dies tat er nach ein paar Augenblicken auch und schien weiter zu schlafen. Schnell stieg ich aus dem Bette und ging zurück in mein Zimmer. Seit dieser Nacht, ging ich nie wieder zu meiner Mutter ins Bett.

Eine andere sehr erschreckende Situation war, dass mein Erzeuger immer dann auf die Toilette ging als ich badete. Er nahm sich immer eine Zeitung zum Lesen mit, trotzdem fühlte ich mich sehr unwohl dabei, was ich auch mal meiner Mutter sagte. Es war nichts ungewöhnliches in unserer Familie das Bad zu teilen und uns auch mal nackt zu sehen, doch diese Situationen bereiteten mir Unbehagen. Selbst als ich zu unterschiedlichen Zeiten baden ging, kam es vor und komischerweise nie wenn mein Bruder badete. Doch richtig schlecht wird mir wenn ich an eine Situation zurückdenke als ich 13 war. Er kam wie immer rein, setzte sich, guckte dann zu mir rüber, regelrecht musterte meinen Körper und sagte dann „Du brauchst ja auch bald einen BH.“ Mir wurde schlecht. Ich sagte nichts, versuchte mich unter dem Badeschaum zu verstecken und hoffte er würde bald gehen. Ich denke, ich brauche nicht zu erwähnen wie unangebracht und ekelerregend es ist als Vater so etwas zu seinem Kind zu sagen. Deshalb nenne ich ihn meinen Erzeuger. Er verdient das Wort Vater nicht.

Ob ich jemals sexuell von ihm missbraucht wurde weiß ich nicht. Ich kann mich nicht erinnern. Aber ich habe ein sehr ungutes Gefühl.

PS Ich bin morgen wieder bei meinem Therapeuten und werde das mal ansprechen wenn ich es schaffe. Es kostete mich schon ungemein Kraft es nur aufzuschreiben.

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Why I’m scared before a gig (PTSD)

Another PTSD thing. So actually I have two different traumas. This one happened to me around 2008.

I wanted to go to see my favourite band HIM. It was my first gig ever and I didn’t want to go alone. So I asked in forum if anyone near to me was going too and if I might join them. Also I mentioned that I was disabled and would need some support.
So I met this girl, I can’t remember her name anymore, at the train station and we went together to the venue. Had to wait an hour or so before the gates opened. So it got more crowdy behind us until we were in the middle of a crowd. Again I mentioned my disability and asked if we could go to the side or let the fans run in first. She refused because she wanted to be in the first row. She told me “to run” when the gates open and I told her again that I was disabled and couldn’t run. Her response: “then just hobble!” I stared at her with open mouth. I couldn’t believe her ignorance! I tried to find a way out of the crowd, but on the ground were empty bottles that fans just had thrown away. Then the gates opened and the horror began. Fans started to run inside, I was pushed, stumbled a few meters before I fell over a fucking bottle and hit the ground. Fans kept running inside, were jumping over me, their feet hit the ground only centimeters away from my face. The only thought that was running through my mind was: “You’re going to die now.” Suddenly I was grabbed and carried to the side, someone helped me up and asked me something. I needed seconds to realize it was the security. I tried to sort my mind and replied to his question if I was okay with “I don’t know.” Maybe he hasn’t heard me or my voice broke, he asked me again. “I think so”. I said this time trying to sound like I mean it. With a last brief look at me, he said: “Then walk slowly.” And I stumbled inside, I found a seat, sat down and began shaking. My whole body was a shake. The security guy hasn’t really checked on me if I was injured. He didn’t even noticed how I had a shock. It seemed like he didn’t care about my safety at all.
I don’t remember anything from the gig anymore. I still have nightmares from this event and before every gig I attend to, I go through the same panic again. I feel sick to my stomach and shake.

Last gigs I wrote emails to the hall managers, asking for safety support, told them this story. From one I didn’t even got a reply. The other one was nice and promised to give me safe place, but when I was there, I felt like the security didn’t take me or my disability serious. I was stared at during the whole gig, saw how one of them talked to the guy at the backstage door that he should watch me and kick me from my place in case another wheelchair user would arrive. The other gig was in Helsinki, and it got so crowdy that I got a panic attack again. I couldn’t breathe, it was hot and felt like I would collaps. I couldn’t really sit because fans were standing on the bench, and standing myself caused me huge pain.

As much as I love going to gigs, I wish organizers and security people would be better educated about disabled people. They only think: disabled=wheelchair user. And that’s very problematic for those of us who don’t use a wheelchair, where you might not be able to tell their disability, and way too often they assume that “it can’t be that bad” or that I’m “not really severe disabled” because I’m a young punk guy with a cane.
Dear concert organizers and security guys, trust me when I say I need a safe place, away from crowd and a seat because I can’t stand for longer time. I’m in no way asking/trying to get “special VIP-treatment” or some shit. I just want to be able to actually enjoy a concert at a safe place!

To be honest, this situations made me question if I will go to a gig ever again. Because I don’t feel safe and I can’t deal with this ableistic shit no more.

Sisu (poetry)

Sisu is a Finnish concept and cultural construct that is described through a combination of various English terms including stoic determination, grit, bravery, resilience,and hardiness…

Sisu is a grim, gritty, white-knuckle form of courage that is typically presented in situations where success is against the odds.

I died more than once
in this life.
But I got Sisu.
I’ll keep fighting,

For my rights
to live
a life worth living.

The road might be long and hard,
but I know I can make it.

Because:

My soul is strong.
Even though my body looks weak.

I got Sisu.

28.09.17 © LJ Meindl All rights reserved.

Halloween in Hel (backview 2014)

CN Suicide mention

I haven’t talked about this event yet although it was one of the most formative ones that helped me to become the person I am today. Thanks to my almost photographically memory I still remmeber it with much details.
A week before my trip, I was talking with one of my finnish friends in messenger, mentioned that I thought I was transgender. When I was the first time in Helsinki in 2013 I lived for 10 days with her and her mum. So we spent much time together and she told me that I could talk about everything with her. After I told her I got no reply. Just a day before my flight she messaged me back telling me she had “internet problems” and how she was looking forward to meet me soon. We wanted to meet up in this bar where my musician friend would be DJing. I don’t talk about him much because some fans have accused me of lying. Well, I couldn’t care less. I know what happened.
So I was at the bar a bit early so I took a table, waiting for my friends to appear. The night got later and my female friend didn’t show up. I texted her but got no reply. She had let me down. I was pissed. If she had a problem with me being trans, she could have just told me. But she pretended to looking forward seeing me and leaving me there hurt. (This night when I was back at my hotel I came out to all my friends on Facebook. She was the only one who unfriended me and even blocked me!)
My other friend I have noticed in a corner with some of his friends and girlfriend. Since we just barely knew us I decided to stay at my table because I didn’t want to bother him. But he noticed me quickly. When he went to the bar or kitchen, he always stopped at my place to casually chat with me. Every time he passed me, he stopped by to check on me. He noticed that something was wrong. So when it was time for him to start as DJ he stopped by again with his girlfriend on his side, asking me if I want to come with them outside smoking. I thought about my asthma and told him that I needed to go to the bathroom. He told me that I could join their table when I was back so I didn’t had to spent the night alone. Introvert as I am, I still was a bit afraid I would bother him but I choose a table next to theirs.
When the night got later and the bar emptier, he came to me again, asking me if I was ok. I said “yes” but he didn’t believe me so he kept asking if “really everything was ok”. I couldn’t speak. My eyes went to his girlfriend watching us and I decided that it wasn’t the right time to tell him. How could I anyway? At this time, I wasn’t understanding myself if I really was trans and how should I have explained?
I was standing in front of him with tears in my eyes. He saw my inner struggle and did the only right thing to do. He grabbed me and pulled me fast but gently on to his chest, held me in his arms for a long time, caressing my back. I fought the tears and a silent sigh came out of my mouth. I don’t know if he heard it but I don’t care. It was an very emotional moment. Over his shoulder I looked to his girlfriend who was standing on their table, watching us with a light smile and I heard a caring “Aaawww” from her. She was touched too. When he let me out of his arms, he looked me in the eye and told me that I should “take good care” of myself “until we see us next time”. I promised him but he still gave me this big-brother-look so I mentioned that I had promised this already to a dear mutual friend of us both and then he accepted my promise.
During the night there were also a good friend of him who was also a musician. He introduced me to him and mentioned the fanpage I’m running. He thanked me much for doing such a good job. I thanked him back for always caring so much about me. Every time we see he asks what’s going on in my life and how I’m doing. Even if I’m not in good shape, he tries everything to cheer me up. His answer was “Yes of course I care! We’re friends!” I was a bit shocked by his words since we didn’t had deep long conversations yet but I also felt honored that he sees me as friend.
When I was about to leave, I had to take stairs down and stood for a second at the edge. My dear friend, caring as he is, called over to me if I needed his help to get down. I told him it was ok that I just needed time but he kept watching me until I was safe down. So nice!
It was the best decision to spent this night with him. To be honest this time I was very suicidal. I was already thinking about when to kill myself. That’s why I decided to go to Helsinki. I needed distraction from these thoughts. This night I have might lost a friend but I also gained a new better friend. Seriously, if you are reading this some day, your brotherly hug has rescued my life! Without you being so persistent of asking if I really was ok and almost not wanting to let me go, I’m not sure if I still would be alive. Thank you very much. I love you.

I’ll never forget this night.

(I have the feeling I wrote about this once before but can’t find it at the moment)

Edit: If you notice a friend might be suicidal, asking is fine! Like me, they might not be able to talk about their problems, that has nothing to do with that they don’t trust you or something, but it shows them that you care. Although I couldn’t open up to my friend, as much as I wished, but that he hugged me, asked several times and told me to take care, meant so much to me! I felt very lonely and even though friends told me that they cared about me, I thought they are just nice but didn’t really mean it. I haven’t espected him to care so much about me, he completely surprised me with his hug and the kind words. But then I knew, it was true. My friends do cared about me! So if you have a suicidal friend, don’t give up! Tell them, show them as much and as often that you care, how much you care! One day they will believe you.

If I can get a service dog soon?

So, in my last blog post I told you that I was thinking about to fet a service dog. Today someone came for a consultation appointment. He told me many many stuff that I still have to process. But it was very nice and positive. He said that nothing speaks against for a service dog. He also liked that I live at a forest so I don’t need to walk far to let the dog go run.
On the weekend he will send me a cost estimate for the dog and the training. He said it will be between 6000€-14000€. That’s a lot of money! Especially for me as someone who gets invalid pension. So I’m thinking about to make a crowdfunding on leetchi or something. Also I can try to contact sponsores.

If you want to support me already (I need money for medications) you can send me some via PayPal. Every Euro helps!

You can also buy my book “Black & White” : Amazon or from Epubli.

I really hope I can get the money together so I can soon get my service dog 🙂

Luka

Depression is a nasty bitch

Hearing of the suicide of Chester Bennington and the amount of comments I read, triggered me a bit and have made a memory become more present to me. As someone who struggles with suicidal thoughts since I was a teenager, I want to share some thoughts.
Comments like “Why he didn’t seek for help?” and telling suicidal people to reach out for help, it’s not that easy. Depression is a nasty bitch. No matter how often friends show me their support and tell me they will be there for me and listen, depression tells me otherwise.
“They just want to be nice.”
“You bother them with your silly problems.”
“Your problems aren’t that bad. People won’t take you serious.”
“You are a burden to them if you keep crying over your problems.”
And many more stuff, depression always tells me when I feel bad and think about reaching out to someone. This, mixed with the fear, that people anyway don’t want to be my friends, holds me away to reach out.

There were a situation with a friend in 2014. At this time I was very depressed and suicidal to that level that I was already thinking about on how and when to kill myself. My friend were DJ-ing at a bar in Helsinki and I just went over there because I thought it was a good distraction from my thoughts. Actually I wanted to meet another friend there who then let me down and didn’t show up. So I was sitting alone on my table because I couldn’t find my other friend yet. When he came welcoming his other friends, he noticed me and during the night he often stopped by to chat with me. In the end of the night when the bar got more empty, he took me beside to ask me if I was ok. I said yes, because I didn’t want to bother him. He was out with friends and girlfriend and I didn’t want to be annoying. He kept asking me for a whole while if I really was ok but I couldn’t tell him. His girlfriend were watching us and how could I have started talking about such a dark and sensitive topic?
When he noticed that I couldn’t tell him what was up, he embraced me long and tight, and then told me that “everything will gonna be alright again.” He didn’t know what was up, I couldn’t tell him but anyway he wanted to make me feel better. He showed me his support this night, reached me a hand.
Looking back at this situation, I do feel guilty now. For that I haven’t taken his offer and seed for his advice. I’m sorry, I couldn’t open up to him although I kinda wanted to. Not like I didn’t want to, I couldn’t. Not like I didn’t trust you, I just didn’t know how to. And now it feels like I missed my chance and he wouldn’t give me the same offer again.

So, the “reach help” advice might be meant nice but isn’t really helpful for suicidal people whose brain tell them lies. I don’t even know what my friend could have done different to make me be able to open up. Asking one more time, after the thousand times he did already? Asking me directly if we wanted to go somewhere else to talk so we would be alone so other people wouldn’t listen? Maybe that. For now it just feels like I did a huge mistake and that he won’t give me a second chance.

Yeah, depression is a nasty bitch.

Maybe I’m not made for friends…

This post is kinda an addition to the one I wrote yesterday. The trigger for it was that a friend unfollowed me on instagram. Which is not his blame but it does triggers many things for me.
Ever since when a friend has left me again, I felt like it was my blame. I wasn’t interesting enough, haven’t showed enough what friend meant to me, haven’t shown enough interest in their lives or whatever.
Yesterday I fell in a dark hole again because of this. I feel worthless, boring, just not enough and that no one wants to be my friend anyway. The tactic I taught myself to cope with this: build a wall and be like “Okay, then I don’t want you either. I don’t need you.”
It’s hard for me to trust. Where shall I know that friend is serious with me? I always assume the worst. I was hurt too often.
I always feel like I have to give something special to make someone wanting to be my friend. And I don’t have anything. I can understand it; I am boring. I’m weird autistic and due to my chronic illness, my life is not special or interesting. Why should anyone wants to be friends with me?
I feel like, I want to give up on friendships. To only use social media now to promote my poetry and books. And not any further connections. Because why should I keep trying and getting hurt, when I can’t hold friends anyway?

I know, I actually should work this, but at the moment I don’t see a reason why. What sense does it make? Well, tomorrow I’m at my therapist again. I will talk with him about it.

(It seems I don’t even have spoons to talk about it properly.)