Find peace

During the summer I have rested. It has been a sensational feeling. Be able to fall asleep, be able to wake up – without having the awful inner stress that has been the result of the Destroyer. It has. been a decade of awful inner stress and last summer when I finished writing the book I pushed myself so far on already scarce energy that I do not really understand how I kept all the way.

Concerns over the book's publication, the tension before and during interviews and the shock when several reviewers could not read the book without themselves becoming so provoked that I was called an idiot and a traitor, etcetera, kept me on in full swing and on sleepless nights. I did not understand that professional readers could not see the professional in my work. How I managed to convey this nightmare by analyzing it and bone it up and then build it up, shape it as drama it was while it was going on. The reviews were affected and lacked analysis, it felt like the critics ( inte alla! ) reacted by spitting on what might have really scared them. Human, but dangerous – and the most common reaction to the abuse itself. ”How can you be so stupid?” – and a refusal to see it more nuanced, deeper, smart sea. I felt when I read the reviews that I had failed miserably with the purpose of the book and instead ended up in focus myself – in addition as

”deceived by a clown” och ” idiot”.

The reactions I got from readers – now has more than a thousand people, for me unknown -written to me about their experiences, their lesson, its restoration, their understanding after reading the book – these reactions have been healing in every way. Partly because I understand that I thought right; the book was needed and thus it has achieved its purpose – but also privately, för mig, it has been healing to face these reactions. These ”usual ” readers 'descriptions of the book put the reviewers' texts in a strange light, and I have realized that yes, I have succeeded in what I wanted; I have managed to convey this process when one person is broken down by another with an insidious plan ( usually by a person who lacks affective empathy, thus a person with psychopathic traits – which is not to be played with!)

But all the response, while it has been something that has been so rewarding, has also required a lot of energy, for I have continued to dwell in the difficult, the most painful. many times I have thought… why did I write this book? Why did I consider it my duty when I now had such a human and at the same time so silenced experience? Why did I not just keep quiet and continue with other things, took me forward? I've regretted it a thousand times, but every time someone has heard of it and gotten something out of the book, I have grasped: I did the right thing! The book has HELPED many, many and I sincerely hope that this will continue. But why would I have to do that and almost break up, har jag tänkt.

Äsch, but I KNOW I had to. I KNOW I could not have skipped that step. It was so strong inside me, that it must be described to be a warning, upprättelse, gagn.

My plan, however, was to continue to swing the flag high and write new this summer, plow me into the future, advance to the next project, as if nothing had drained me, as if nothing needed to be stopped, as if everything just must / should / should continue. But you know, everyone in me has said; village. I think it was more necessary than I understand! I realize that when I just have to keep resting, the next day again, though I thought I would be able to get up and work. It sounds like there was a pain in it. inte alls. Tvärtom. I have received the ability to rest with gratitude and joy.

I love being able to be at rest, this newfound OLD lisa for the soul. To wake up, feel the wind from the open window and do not be afraid, not at full range, not worried, not angry, not sad.

I do not know what I have done to be able to feel this inner peace, but it seems that the writing of that book has had some kind of effect on me, though I thought so ” bara ” was a job. Of course, I have not considered that I need anything special, nothing but ” continue ” and that I would do it just as I always have. As all ambitious people imagine. Only OTHERS may need to rest for almost a year after fighting fifteen years of fighting ; for damn divorce, cancer, psychopath and ruin. Nä, why would I need to rest? Rise and shine, act, framåt!

But obviously I needed something else and I have let myself need it. Not even the constant worry about how to manage to support myself has been able to ruin it for me. I wonder if that is not the case, in the depths of my inner being, has brought me right. Because my inner self knows more than my reason. My inner self knew more than my reason also in the meeting with Sam. My inner self felt bad for him, did not want to deal with him – but my mind told me I had to help, and reason aroused feelings of care and responsibility. But my inner self, my intuition or whatever it may be spoken another language. Cold hands, constant palpitations. a creeping ongoing will to flee – continuously – near Sam said : stick as far away as you can!

Intuition has nothing to do with emotions. I realize. It is a talent that is about more basic things. I think many people confuse intuition with emotions, with desires and dreams, perhaps unspoken.

Nu, after the book has reason, who always speaks loudly, of course said that I will soon start writing again, arbeta, take me forward, try to be something again But I just keep resting as if I am not a bit grounded in reality. But what if, in fact, I am grounded in reality?? Something constructive in me blocks reason so that I have even been inaccessible to the only lingering panic, the one that is about money ( the ability to survive, bo , äta, leva) That's the only remaining panic. It is intense and completely logical.

But not even it has reached me this summer, more than sometimes when I plunge into the abyss and realize how betrayed I am, how NOT society supports a victim of this kind of crime – however common and cruel this crime is. Because I was not physically exposed, without psychological violence.

Not even THAT has come to me. What else is in – literally – each cell.

My soul, or my inner self, or my intuition has kept me hovering in a now, which I have loved. Hur är det möjligt? Something that has been so remote, which everyone who has been subjected to this kind of psychological abuse VERY WELL UNDERSTANDS what I mean by.

To love the present. To want to stay in the present. Not to be on full swing ( panic ) i nuet. Not to look. now as another step towards doom, or that the present is only a temporary respite from the catastrophe pressing against the thin membrane of the present. Nej, not even that anxiety has my inner self allowed me to shave.

I've been hovering in the present all summer. And been able to rejoice and enjoy it like everyone else now:n has come along. Without missing anything. Without pain. Without wishing, hope, dream. Without wanting to vomit. Or control the desire to want to escape.

But now autumn is pulling over the sea. I am lucky to be staying by a sea. I am lucky to be staying under a big sky. Happiness to feel scents, tastes, the happiness of being able to see, make an impression ( igen ), the happiness of being curious, the happiness of loving and being loved, happiness to belong to. Belong to my friends who belong to me, belong to my family, belonging to me. Happiness to be able to walk, to move me, tala, to dance, to feel. Happiness to enjoy the rain, of the wind, of the heat, of the air.

I know that there is a great need among many who faithfully return to my blog despite my long silences that I write more about what has happened to me. Ödeläggaren. And I will certainly do it. But I do not want to shake my mind at that.

Even though I did not write The Destroyer, this difficult awful heavy book, for my sake, but for others – and to provide more knowledge about a silenced and disgraced phenomenon that will continue to be repeated in various forms, where people will always be deeply wounded and lonely, a phenomenon that is extremely brutal, although it is not visible to the outside world, which is part of the brutality.. which I knew must be described, at least some simpler layers of brutality because I felt it was my duty and task, so the book has also done something important with myself. Based on what I now experience, I must say that it is a wise idea to write down their trauma.

Som sagt, I did not even think it was something I needed. And myself and my mind were not the purpose of the book but the phenomenon, described by me, a general but unexplained phenomenon that can be applied to most others, because it always follows a certain template.

Men, so it also turned out to be a constructive idea, rent privat, to write it all down. But I do not think it is enough to just write down a trauma. The first draft is always so full of emotion. It may feel like a relief but it is not enough. I think that if it is to have a healing effect – which it has apparently had on me to some extent – so unfortunately you have to write about it, gång på gång. You have to analyze it, undress it, bone it up. In a way, experience it all again. And then dress it up again in emotions, inifrån, describe how it felt to be lost. To no longer know what something meant. It's the biggest nightmare. That one's orientation, the basic, taken from one. To no longer trust or understand words, no longer trust or understand what you see, hear and what you yourself draw for simple conclusions. But who is ready to do that work? That work felt like it took my last life resources. Resources I should save and build on instead of being able to move on.

Sedan, when it is written, it must also be read. Not by the public, like when a writer writes and has to endure to be reviewed, mocked, criticized – but of the nearest. And those closest to them should then preferably be able to absorb it, so that you feel that what you have been through lands somewhere, with those you love or are affectionate with. So that they can put their soft arms around everything and kiss away even tears, something that may not happen in practice, but which feels like something similar. But most of all; you see for yourself what battle you have been through. You can look at yourself with respect and tenderness. What a terrible nightmare I ended up in, so unexpected, so completely new in every way, so incomprehensible, with such a man as one could never have imagined… what battle one has fought…. lost, but still won. Because if you come out of such an abuse alive, you have won. You can tell everyone like Mowgli to Balou ”I'm tougher than some people think!” – probably tougher than you think. You can see your resources. Maybe you can target them correctly, then, its energy, their resources, its greatness.

But you do not have to be strong all the time.

It is not the cohesive strength that makes life worth living. The most important thing is that you have regained the ability to rest. To be allowed to rest. To rest in one now. To enjoy one now, enjoy that all you do in the present is to be able to rest.

This blog is written with the wind whistling around the windows and a large dog's nose lying partly over the keyboard, snoring, and another dog tightly pressed against my arm. Peace.