Christina Herrströms blog

Those of you who have read The Destroyer may remember that he painted my beautiful mahogany piano dark brown.

I came home to Stockholm one turn in the middle of the summer to go to Spain and would pick up passports and clothes in my home in Tornet. Sam forbade me to come in. He stood in the gate outside, blocking the road. Laughing. As if it was something fun he was doing. A surprise, sa han. I'm preparing a surprise for you. Three actually. I have said for several years that I have THREE surprises for you. Not until now, after a year and a half of promises of fun surprises, have I been able to enforce it. You must not destroy it. You should get it on your birthday.

His legs were brown-spotted. He sent pictures from my bedroom floor with rags that had brown spots. Chuffed.

That would be fun. I did not dare to ask. I did not dare to intrude. How could I? He was strong. I decided to believe him, it was something fun he was doing. But I could not understand the brown color. I was worried that he had taken down a wall between the different bedrooms and painted it brown. That was the worst thing I could think of. In that case, it would mean that he thought we should share a room. He who always insisted that we get married, though I always said no. We had not even kissed each other. I was not even interested in him as a man. No danger, sa han, you will be, for no one can love like me. No one understands LOVE like me. And I always surprise my loved ones with fun things! You will learn to love me. There is no one for you but me. We will be perfect together, you will be happier in every way than you have ever been. It's just that you do not dare to understand it yet. You have not yet freed yourself from everything old. But you will do it. I'll make sure you do.

I went my way, to Spain, where I was a week with my family and I touched as little as I could with the thought of the brown color, his surprises, at him, at my home, in the future.

When I came back a few weeks later, on my birthday, he was not in the apartment, but classical music stood on and the kitchen counter, my desk and my piano were draped in gift wrap. On them were vases with flowers and birthday cards. He had carefully sanded my beautiful kitchen counter which he had burned two years earlier. He had sanded it and oiled it, and restored it to its former condition. So normally polite when you have destroyed something. It was nice again.

He had sanded and varnished my three meter long workbench / desk. It was not needed but he had come up with it as a surprise.

But what was the brown color about?? I understood that when I lifted the gift wrap for my beautiful shimmering mahogany piano, which my grandfather purchased 1926 in the country's first piano factory. Sam knew that I was already fascinated by that mahogany when I was very little fascinated. It was the one he had used the brown color on. My piano was like killed on the surface.

Brilliant, he told me that he wanted to make my three important places in the home whole and beautiful. The kitchen counter where I cook and get strong, the workbench where I dream and write and work – and the piano – That I love, which is for my soul, for my dreams. Whole and beautiful.

Smart.

He forced me with the two ” good ” the actions to be grateful. He knew very well how bad it was with the piano which had become UGLY with an incomprehensible dumbness, death, dark brown surface instead of the shimmering enigmatic wood.

He knew I was, no matter where he went, would always live with the piano. He also knew that the workbench belonged to my ex-husband, and that one day I would be forced ( because of him) to move away from home with the kitchen counter. But the piano, I would always carry it with me and it was brown.

I have become accustomed to seeing the brown ugly surface. Men nu, nine years later, have I learned that the paint can be removed. The last week I have been working on it. It takes my time. He has taken so many years of my life. While he ” was going on” in my life and long after, to take care of everything he caused me. Så är det, when you experience another person's atrocities. It applies to everyone. People who are raped have to deal with it themselves, purely concrete, with itself, purely concrete, hela tiden. Värre.

But now when I scrape off the paint that largely lifts from the mahogany with the help of paint remover, I see how incredibly careful he has been. He has applied the brown color in many many thin layers and has been extremely careful in almost all edges. He has simply put a lot of work into destroying the piano. It's striking.

The meticulous accuracy, when it came to something that for some reason filled him with strong motivation and enjoyment, is interesting. He was careless and careless at times, and it fell on him in the barrel. But this pettiness, which must have been performed in calm, patient pace, metodiskt, fascinates me. So he did.

So did he in his processing of me.

There is a lot that did not fit in the book, among other things that I found paper after he had moved from the Tower, when my friend Tim moved in instead ( it still gives me shivers of happiness: how snopet S had to leave) in the closet among his tossed stuff. He had written questions on the papers. Simple, seemingly quite innocent questions. Then he had written alternative answers. Based on the alternative answers, he had written new questions. And so it went on for a couple of years.

I remember I froze when I saw this and held my breath. I understood, but could not bear to understand. When I later, after we reported him and my family knew how I had been exposed, I felt SAFE and dared to take in what I had understood.

That's the sad thing. When you are threatened, you can get things completely clear in front of you, but you can not afford to take it in, to act on it. You are threatened. You're scared. One's mind can not sound what one clearly sees, country.

But when I was confident, I realized that he simply prepared almost all the conversations with me. He sat in his room behind the closed door, preparing. He knew where he wanted to go. He stepped out, he knew I might be in a hurry, that I have to work – it did not matter. The better maybe, for he would make me answer faster. And he had already figured out all the alternative answers and how he would comment on them to lead the conversation to where he wanted to go.. No matter what I said. He seemed spontaneous, but everything was calculated.

Meticulous.

Just like in the brown painting of my beautiful piano.

But I dissolve the ugly color. And I scrape it off. Layer after layer. The mahogany reappears, with its vivid patterns and part of its depth. WOOD, instead of flat matte color. I probably have to sandpaper and maybe wax or varnish, jag vet inte, but the surface is already LIVING again and when I saw the mahogany looming in all the dead, matta, brown I thought”now the gods are with me again”. Så är det också. When you do violence to yourself through the works of others, no gods can be with you for real. But when you have made yourself free to follow yourself more, it is as if everything possible begins to work, small, small, everything begins to live.

It is a quiet pleasure, even though it's an ABSURD thing to do, to patiently bring out the mahogany again. But he did not think so, when he laid these layers of paint, he did not think I would be as careful, that I would remove every brushstroke, every movement. The thought of how he enjoyed covering the shimmering mahogany with his ugly and how he was sure how it would hurt me, and now; I'm removing it, I ACTUALLY remove it… that thought is…. funny.

I'm reading Gita Sereny's book about Mary Bell. The girl who killed two boys in England about fifty years ago. With that book you get insight into thinking, in the pleasure that it entails for people with psychopathic traits ( lack of affective empathy ) to inflict harm on others. And in how urgent they are to evade responsibility. How easily they can blame their best friend, without blinking. How smart they are, quick-witted, registering. How accurate and precise memory they have, how they use it to deliver the right thing at the right moment. How wordy and fearless they are. She stood in court, eleven years old, and without hesitation she confused and delayed the lawyers. She lacked fear of others. But be afraid of yourself, of course. Bara. It's interesting reading. None of this is foreign to me after becoming acquainted with the destroyer, but it is interesting that the features are so common.

You should stop calling it that ”psykopati” – it creates such a distance as if it were not about reality, but about exciting fiction. You should instead use a letter combination and you should stop being afraid to take on the problem. One should dare to approach the phenomenon early in the children's lives – before they are large enough to start doing real damage. There is so much taboo around this. It does not help anyone. No matter how scary and disgusting the thought is; psychopathic disorders must be detected already in children.

I'm been lucky.

And still readers write to me and thank you for the book. It makes me sincerely happy. It does good. That was the important thing about all this happening. A book would be written that could be useful. Even BIG benefit.

And the mahogany begins to shimmer again. Thanks to my own hands. Thank you life!

You get happy jumping. It's just so. And you have to jump, the older you get, to stay supple. You should jump like when you were little, jumping steps and joy jumps and angry jumps. All kinds of bouncing and jumping perk up and lubricate the cartilage.

Besides that you can also dance of course. Extra tough mornings I put on Strauss and spin around in Viennese waltz – it is impossible not to. I think of the hippos who dance so happily in Fantasia ( but that was enough for the Nutcracker?) but most of all I do not think at all, but just gliding forward in all my huge amounts of halls in my castle. My grandchildren hang out if they're nearby, tinder eyes but perhaps most fascinated by the grandmother's sudden spin. It's not that demanding, that morning dance, so you can take it if you are really tough. But I dance to any music, depending on the mood. One of the most fun is having a fast disco. It is also something you can introduce in your workplace! Snabbdisco. Much better than pouring in even more coffee and glaring at a mobile. Most recently, I discovered that I can headbang without getting completely dizzy. I definitely would not have been able to while the Destroyer was working because my head was already like a boiled egg. Then it was best to keep it very still on the neck and look carefully to the side and side if even that.

I started with a PT. I was so badly forced because I completely lack discipline. Before, I did not lack discipline at all, it was my showpiece, but after the destruction it is still dissolved. Mostly because I can now sleep and it is so lovely to sleep without anxiety and dream a lot of interesting dreams. It is an experience to wake up completely calm, something so new to me that I simply have to sleep on sometimes just to wake up once more the same morning, still without anxiety.

It was discount as luck would have it, at PT- the package. I took way too much of my small money to pay for a number of PT times but I did it STILL! I ignored the fact that I always had to keep in mind that money is not enough. I've had enough of them before, it can probably go with now. And it was FORCED.

If I'm going to move forward, To recapture the joy of life and power, I must spend this expense. It is not possible to eat forever. So now I made this decision to also GET something . Admittedly work to get it but GET SOMETHING FOR YOUR OWN PART, for my health. And since ancient times I know how good it is with strength training for the head and body and the whole soul. I started with it after my divorce and had never intended to stop exercising but then the psychopath came.

My PT tells me to jump. Det gör jag. Det är roligt. And it's fun to be strong, and fun to realize that there is still a lot of strength left, which is only there. But even if it is there, it must be maintained. We want as much muscle as possible now that we ( so I ) starting to get old! Because even if sixty is not as old as sixty was twenty years ago, it is still the case that the organism is older. And there is nothing to fiddle with. I almost dare not tell people that I have a PT, because it really is luxury. Men som sagt, I'm still in the process of building my life, create it again into something I recognize as mine, something that forms a good and healthy and happy foundation for me. Like I had it before.

Singing also makes one happy. Not if you beep shyly because then you squeeze your voice. If you stop everything because you are afraid of sounding stupid or seeming silly, all flow ends. It's not just about singing, it applies to EVERYTHING. But when it comes to singing; even if you hold back on your song and are careful, you will STILL be a little happier with it. Like magic.

Think of all the children. They both jump and dance and sing, liksom i förbifarten. It is a completely natural expression with us and we should not stop it, because we are adults. Tvärtom. Is there anything more wonderful than hearing a child sing to himself while doing something?? Then you know that the child is well. I notice that I also sing a lot more to myself now, so all indications are that I'm really happy again. It almost makes me lose my breath. Tänk! In man there is such a force that we can be happy again, even though we never, never thought so.

And yesterday I went on my old run again, for the first time in three years. Of course not Sam's driving! But in the fall 2012 when I started trying to really back away from him and his disgusting manipulations, threats and nagging ( I lost) so I started in another choir. That was when I FINALLY got him out of my home,( thanks to Tim, my friend moved in. Ha ha, it was absolutely wonderful! ) I did NOT want to go in Sam's choir of course, for those were the occasions we could be seen and he could hook on to me. But it's clear he did not allow me to stop. If you're thinking now ”What allowed? You were free?” can you read The Destroyer. It is reminiscent of what his defense attorney said in court ” You say he isolated you. You were free. Did he hold you captive or?” But Sam kept the value of almost my entire condominium in his fists, and at all levels he had placed various threats – if I did not do as he expected and wanted he would disappoint me, that is, never pay back, simply disappear. Because those who did not do as he pleased were his enemies. BUT I secretly went to Cecilia's choir for at least a year and also attended the concerts. And it was with her, because she also gives the whole choir knowledge in singing technique, as my expired voice came back. And the JOY of singing.

Then I surprised Sam by suddenly singing without hindrance and it sounded really beautiful. He immediately boasted that this huge progress was due to him and that I had finally listened to him. Then I had a hard time recovering from dreaming to him with the other secret choir. But because I wanted it for myself – it was my sanctuary – I said nothing about Cecilia. That fall, just before I fell completely, I had several constructive plans to make it. If I had followed them, my own cunning secret plans, had I been in a much better seat today. But I fell anyway, exhausted, ill with high fever, and in a sense that the last door slammed shut in front of me. But I have already written about that in the book. That was what so many have told me ” a terrible story, which one does not want to believe is true.” Still, only a few percent fit in the book. Och… this is what i want to come to: I can promise I've had many awful days when I thought I never, never, could never be happy again, days as I breathed through hour by hour, so to speak and now I mean the time AFTER I got loose, the difficult time that has since been, then all hope was gone. YOU CAN BE HAPPY AGAIN.

NOW Cecilia has started her choir again and it was so FUN to go there. Everyone is so HAPPY to sing and it's so FUN songs and she's so AMAZINGLY GOOD leader. The atmosphere was great.

I had forgotten how fun it is. That must be absolutely true, that it is super good for human well-being to sing together. We have always done that. We have danced together, sung together, told together. We need this! It is deep in our cells.

We need to play!

This with playing is a deeply serious story. You should not abandon the game!

Remember that. It is important to break and play. I remember when I read about how adults played at parties a long time ago. Blindbock and other. Now you no longer even roll off the carpet but people sit and nag and nag. Play more! Jump, dance and sing!

A man I was with once in a lifetime said ” You have to dance down in the grave. You are never too old to dance, sing, love, leka!”

He was a happy dot.

Now I'm going to tell you about a friend, whose life was suddenly shattered. You never know what the drop is, at what point a human being can no longer bear it, without losing steering speed, peace, direction and even the deep feeling of love. Because you never know what a human being has already gone through with difficulty, never know what someone's life situation actually looks like, or how employed, drained, and scarred, upset or desperate fighting someone's inner life looks like – one should not be mean. You should not be mean.

We are, many of us, good at being happy just when there are reasons to be. It would be a simplification to say that many of us are good at that ” play ” happy. So it may be, but if one has been in a threatening, difficult and desperate situation, like myself, so you know that in the moments when you seem to be happy, you are also often happy. One is happy for the present, right now this is protected from everything else, waiting, before and after. You are happy for the meeting that is going on with a loved one. You are relieved and happy to be staying in a temporary mental sanctuary. So we can all seem happy, hilarious, happy in meeting another human being, but basically be hard strained mentally, exposed, or about to lose the last one, the very last force nibbled on through life. Hope is the last thing that abandons us. So we are struggling with what is possible ways forward, to a better place, hoping to approach it, maybe very soon and maybe what is now, is my last bet, then the power runs out.

So we never know how much life force a person has within him.

I have a friend who has struggled to stay, make themselves stronger, work your way to a better place. In addition to his life struggle, my friend has done a much appreciated job for more than three decades. That work has been a great help to many people. My friend has never provoked, never challenged. Life has been difficult as it often is, not least for single mothers, but she has progressed entirely on her own. Over time, however, the forces have begun to wane, but she has continued to do her best and worked diligently.

But then it happened, that her latest big task was mocked in front of all colleagues , managers and others more or less unknown to her, by some consultants who went through the business for a short time. She had never spoken to them in person, she had never seen them but was treated so contemptuously and maliciously in front of everyone that the entire staff was upset – but fell silent for fear of being the object of the next attack. The work she had done was considered so poorly done, so pointless, so stupid and ungifted that the consultants questioned the management as to how they could find a single motive to give her the space to work.

The thing is that her now before all mocked work did not have the power to influence anything in a negative direction. The consultants could have raised it with her and her bosses in a separate conversation. There was no reason to question her competence in front of everyone, talent and even criticize the managers for her work now existing. She experienced it as a personal onslaught and a deep violation. Who had not done that?

My friend was in shock. My friend started questioning everything. My friend's identity, as for so many, is deeply connected to the profession she has successfully pursued throughout her adult life. Since this happened, she has withdrawn completely from the world. She has been crying day in and day out for several months now. Nothing has been able to bring a smile, even in the depths of her. Two strangers suddenly became judges of her life, over her identity, over her motivation and future not because they criticized her work, but because they did it in such a vicious way. Getting criticism for something you have done is difficult, but my friend's got it before so it's not. That is the rudeness of how the criticism was presented. And the realization that rudeness is completely unnecessary. Maybe the rudeness is the hallmark of these consultants, maybe they have created an air of cool supremacy through it. We do not know.

My friend has since lost his job six months ago, because she could not handle it, because all that she has been and known, her identity and security in the workplace, snatched away from her.

At another stage of her life, she might have become angry instead of in shock. But now this was her last hope, her last sense of integrity and value; the work. It was taken from her in a few words and since then she has lost her appetite and has not been able to sleep. Once she sleeps, she dreams again and again nightmares about this, and when she is awake the thoughts go around, around this. She vomited all the food the first week. The mental health care she eventually sought has given her antidepressant and strong sleeping pills. She feels abandoned. Deeply abandoned. She questions her future. How should she be able to continue working? She does not want more. She no longer loves her life task. She does not love her job. She does not love life anymore. And that feeling has not changed in the six months that have now passed.

No one knows what the drop is for another human being. No one knows when the power will suddenly run out.

So do not be mean. Do not. Criticism is a part of everyone's life, but it shall not turn into wickedness. The wickedness itself all too often seems to be a kind of pleasure for those who engage in it, it is in any case never constructive.

It hit me, when I've talked to my friend about her cruel ongoing experience, how her situation is similar to that of artists.

There has been a discussion in recent months about nasty critics, and it has been shown that some critics simply find it rather amusing to formulate themselves maliciously – or carelessly judgmental. Above all, many authors have been publicly ridiculed and ridiculed for their work in recent times.

This applies to everyone who creates art. They say ”But if you take that room in public, you have to endure criticism”. Criticism is one thing. Rudeness and mockery do not make the criticism refined, indicative or thought-provoking. And if the artists are not allowed to vary in their quality without being mocked, not be able to convey what is important to them and which they and their publishers, organizers, gallery owners, producers consider valuable, without being knocked down – then the artists become even more careful. Artists working alone, which lacks a social safety net that all other citizens take for granted, who can not even get a fair sick pay, which basically everyone lives out of hand in mouth ( which has emerged during the pandemic ) is a vulnerable, exposed and an indispensable part of society. One of the artists' tasks, through all times, is to expose structures, prejudices and simplified concepts, others are to amuse, arouse thoughts, give comfort and courage. Till exempel. Or to simply be an imprint of his contemporaries, to talk to others, to meet others, not as a person, but through his personal work. And it is these people who mean so much as a group to a society that has to put up with something that no other professional group usually has to endure., public bad criticism, which in turn can make it difficult to get new assignments and consequently evil criticism has the power to deprive us of our future. Criticism is one thing, rudeness another. Whether criticism is needed or not, I do not know – on the other hand, reflective conversations about all kinds of art are needed – but rudeness is not needed.

Most people stop when they get scared. Most people get scared and feel terribly bad about being threatened, or maliciously treated. I'm thinking of my friend's experience, an experience that I consider an abuse, an unnecessary brutality, something so unexpected in the contexts she enters. When I hear her say ”I died inside. I died. I'm dead.” and draws the parallel to what all artists constantly risk and it stands to reason for me:

You should not be mean. You should not be mean. People can die from it. Do not be mean!

• One night while sleeping in my bed, I experienced a barely perceptible warmth against the sole of my foot. A humid heat. It was so small, that I was not sure it really was so. A small, little warm breath that puffed on my foot.
• It was my little puppy. And my puppy is a very small puppy because he is a papillon. A little strange animal. I'm still puzzled that he's part of my pack. My flock has shrunk tremendously, but it has many legs, ten to be exact. This little breathless breath, a small living being that breathes. The whole world is full of little living beings that breathe.
• I do not understand that he is a dog. To me, dogs have a different kind of appearance. They are long-legged, large, they are powerful, muscular. This little life looks like he really belongs in the forest, and lives in a hollow stump and if you are lucky you can see his little lively alert face sticking out, but quickly disappear again.
• That's what he looks like. Such a small and incredibly nimble body. And the soft fur. I have never had a dog with such fur, like a fluffy little stuffed animal. My dogs have had rough water-repellent fur or like the big dog who is the little dog's skeptical big brother ( he had no idea that was what life had in store for him, he of course wanted to be alone on the plot ) Fur: dense and curly. but this, long sweeping smooth lashes. And the tiny little paws. Like a little cat.
• And the barking?
• I really have not considered small dog creatures of this breed as dogs before, but as some kind of guinea pig with too long legs. And I've been thinking; but why do they not raise their puppies? Why are they barking?
• Now I know they are alarm dogs. They are going to ALARM. It is built into them to tell when something is not quite as they think it should be. But you can of course teach them that a lot of things are actually part of reality, like the spirit of dogs and people in wheelchairs.
• But to be part of it; the little warm breath against the foot of the hole in the middle of the night.

How did the little doggy come to me? Ja, it was on strange roads, but I think they were right that he should come. What my big dog thinks seems to vary and it is not easy to divide his graces into two. Sometimes I am met by four questioning eyes: They seem to say ;” Why are you so bored? When are we going to do something fun?”

Is it calming or stressful to have a dog, may wonder. Now it is as it is, and we go for long walks in nature and much more than that I do not really seem to be able to. It annoys me. I tend to be energetic and get things done. It is not happening now.

My great tiredness is finally being investigated by doctors. I finally turned away from my health center with the handsome name DIN VÅRDCENTRAL, because they have neglected some things. They have my diagnosis which is PTSD ( Posttraumatic stressyndrome ) after the ugly advance of the destroyer and I have been talking there for five years. She has been kind and supportive but so much has not happened. And I have sought care for my heart, for my stomach, for my fatigue. Ingen, me neither, has linked pain in the heart, stomach ache, insomnia with the diagnosis I have PTSD. They have given me sleeping pills and antidepressants, even though they can stare at my journal with TWO PTSD in!

In the end I went to the Mall and the health center there, GET. I mentioned to my doctor that I do NOT think my enormous fatigue is due to the psychopath's progress – because I think I'm DONE with it and I've rested a lot ! – but I simply think I'm sick. I've had cancer. She did something that surprised me unbelievably. She caught me, though I did not know myself that this was what I needed. She lingered on what I had just thrown out of me, as unimportant and over, that is, the psychopath's intrusion into my life. She asked if I had been diagnosed with PTSD. Ja, I already got it 2014 when I sought out the psyche for help with everything that had happened to me and how I would deal with it. Then I got it again at YOUR CARE CENTER.

”And no one has offered you trauma therapy, or ascertained if that is what you should have?”

”Nej”, I replied absolutely stunned. Would I even speak for such a thing?

She decided to take all the samples on me, especially considering my medical history, and it was done immediately. This is to rule out that there is something physically wrong that causes the endless boring fatigue. Then I was referred to various other surveys to do a proper review of certain things. I was perfect ” blown away” kan man säga, of being taken so seriously and of the fact that the care really wanted to get to the bottom of this. Only THAT gave me new energy. I do not have to go and think that I have an incurable disease. Soon I will find out and so far all the samples taken are amazingly super perfect. So why the fatigue?

Already at the first meeting she gave me an appointment with one of Krys reputable psychologists to find out if I need trauma therapy. Whatever it is. But in any case, it's more real than sitting in an armchair and talking without actually getting anywhere and not really getting any tools either., just kindness, which is not a shame in itself, and a room to cry in. But you want to move on and take on your strengths!

In SVD a few days ago, it was about the cash care of the human psyche in our country. And for example, the absurdity that you only get a certain number of calls – and that it can even worsen people's condition. Självklart, if you have to finish in the middle of an important and painful process that has begun. It is like telling the patient that he only gets a certain number of surgeries so he has to hurry to heal properly, preferably at the first operation.

I know many young people who have been waiting for years to get good treatment. Who have even had to wait this year to get to BUP and there they have not been treated in a constructive and adequate way, but has, with the help of strong parents, been able to apply further. Those who can afford it can also pay for private help and perhaps receive the care they need. Is it reasonable? What does this poor care cost our society? It must cost huge sums and enormous suffering. We already know that.

I myself am a pretty strong person, I have endured a lot and I continue , but I had needed more concrete help to be able to recapture my resources. I will certainly get things on the right keel, I've come a long way, but also think that trauma therapy could be good. We'll see. But it is heartbreaking and morally outrageous to have a rich society like ours, who boasts of being enlightened and conscious and humanistic, is so wasteful on this very part of what it is to be human / citizens. The soul!

The soul and the teeth, kan man säga. If you can afford it, you can get help with both of them. We can add the eyes!

Before I came to my doctor at KRY, I had CBT online with a psychologist – also via Kry. And it helped me, it gave me tools, it motivated me and it was so good to talk to her once a week and follow up on how I succeeded with my intentions, and what I thought and what I dreamed at night and what I wanted. But maybe that's not enough in my case, after all that has been. However, it was a MUCH better help, though it went via screen, than all the hours I sat in the dark room of the kind therapist at your health center. I wonder a little… it may be that they refrained from recommending to me what I needed at your health center? It is owned by its staff, and they need the patients they can get to make a profit and if someone goes there year in and year out once a week, that's exactly what they want. (I received an unlimited number of calls ) But if they had recommended me trauma therapy based on my diagnosis of PTSD, I would have left them, because they can not offer it. Could it be so? How nasty in that case, as well as nasty in passing, because they may not think so ACTIVELY. But they have no ACTIVE interest in getting rid of a secure client either, by recommending human trauma therapy, as long as it sticks together something like that.

There is a lot to think about. I'm telling you this, because it is adequate. It is important to know that people who have been exposed to evil things do not just get together when it's over and recapture everything.. It may look like that, but it takes its time. And that's part of the crime. That victims of various kinds of abuse often have to fight for many years , maybe his whole life, after they have been exposed. (It reminds me of the important thing in Maria Sveland's and Cissi Wallin's documentary that will be on SVT on 28 oktober. )

Men… where I started…the little beast that sleeps at my feet at night. To feel a warm little breath of breath against his foot, while flying between your dreams, is so peaceful and … marvelous… that just the thought of it makes a wounded soul smile.

Hey all,

I am moved and grateful for all the emails and comments my readers continue to send to me, everything you share with me, and the power it gives to know that my book is for the benefit and benefit of many, many. He can never afford that. He's not really touching me, helt enkelt, even though in the end my poverty may take its toll on me,. Then he has won over me after all – and that is often how it goes. People with psychopathic traits leave devastated people behind, even dead. Their victims die of various stress-related illnesses, of infarcts, of plugs and on their own. But it happens long after the psychopath has left their lives. It's so incredibly sad, desperately cruel, but many who are / been a victim in the same way as I was ( although there are always different frameworks and conditions because everyone lives their unique lives ) actually takes their lives, if not sooner then later, because it is never possible to get life in order again. Themselves ” the perpetrator / woman” is then gone, perhaps for several years. This violence is so serious and therefore it must be, so to speak, accepted as the brutality it is, in the public consciousness and in the judiciary.

But now it's autumn! Sunshine in September evokes a special feeling of anticipation within me. Much of what has been fun in my life has evolved over the fall months. I like when the air is cooler, when the scents rise from the ground with a special autumn sweetness – and autumn spice, which may smell a bit like good sweat. Ja, there is a good one, good sweat, or a quiet evaporation that is a little spicy. And then heaven – so high and clear. The waiting rains and the sitting inside. Cozy. Focusing, work. It feels good.

I produced a workbook quite early this spring, then I had an idea for a children's book, but it's probably a little too controversial. I wanted to talk about evil. It is not exactly the case that evil is foreign to children. In any case, the discussion has not continued and I have probably left the exciting idea behind me, for a while.

But I have another idea. It is not new, I've had it for several years, for at least five years, but the Destroyer has always lain away like a big insurmountable lump. Now that lump is behind me and I can continue as a writer. Because I knew I had to write it for the simple reason that I had the experience and AM a writer, there were no roads past it. I really felt it was my duty. And now I'm glad I took it. Sometimes there is no other way than the hardest. It is possible to escape, but one knows that in the long run it will gnaw within one that one escaped – and then it's too late to catch what needed to be caught. I'm so glad I didn 't let myself end up den miserable situation for that I would regret for the rest of my life. Nu är det gjort. I'm really relieved. for indeed, I had regretted it!

And I'm free to start my new idea. As for the most part, I am waiting for a response from the publisher. Much of the authors 'time is spent waiting for their publishers' reactions. Not so long ago, you could call your publisher – and they answered. With emails and text messages, it is as if we all lose our grip. We believe that we have done things even though nothing more has happened than that you have read an email. It is as if the brain is not really able to register it and initiate action. Shortly afterwards, new messages and emails arrive that instead catch your attention. This does not only apply to publishers, it applies EVERYWHERE, can be noted!

I'm so tired of texting and emailing! I have decided to become more human and start calling again!

I celebrated my birthday completely voluntarily for myself by the sea, and had a wonderful day. But it was bizarre to get hundreds of congratulations, but do not hear A SINGLE VOICE. Even the closest friends send text messages and congratulations on FB nowadays! I do it myself! But I'll stop with that. Before, people called and talked, shouted and cheered on the phone! Now you read a few letters on a screen and look at hearts and balloons and other nice things. Everything is equally hot meant, but the effect becomes STRANGE, at least if you celebrate in solitude, because it becomes so obvious that no one TALKS to one! Jo, my kids called of course – to some extent it may be.

But there is something …. shady with this silence, which is perhaps more obvious if you have a quiet job as well. Nej, I will make an effort to CALL more in the future! Even though it really suits a person like me to avoid calling and having to hide in written words instead.

I did not have much more than that to say today. I am thinking of creating a writing course, but we'll see.

I'll probably get too eager when I start the next project and will not have time for it, but it would be calm. It's fun with the creative and it's fun to get others to write!

Skriv, säger jag bara, skriv! And call each other! Exactly what it is, no one answers at the other end.

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.

Så bra!

Now the Destroyer is also in the pocket! It is cheaper and lighter but hopefully all sides are included!

I know there are many sides, but I'm pretty sure if I had cut it a hundred pages you readers would not have been drawn into the story in the same way. This is not something you can tell briefly, it requires its sides, even if it feels heavy at times.

It's great that it says on the front ” One of 2020 years most talked about books”, because it really was. It still is, after eleven months, mentioned and it is fun that now when people move they meet people who say that they have ended up in various discussions with friends and acquaintances about The Destroyer. Undoubtedly, it has aroused an incredible amount of thoughts and feelings that touch on existential questions and reflections on human values., moral, ethic, goodness, evil, vem är jag – and what would I do if a poor father stood outside my door and asked to borrow my home for a short period so that the little six-year-old could have summer vacation with his father?

Ja, then the questions roll on! And the anger and irritation!

It's funny that many people think I wrote the book out of affection. Then I have succeeded!

Because I did not write it in affection at all, but after going through lots of text and different lines and analyzing and breaking it all down – to then dress it again, in the drama that it was – in how I experienced it. He had an icy plan and acted icy cold, he had probably prepared every little conversation at the cup of tea or dinner, or late evening – to lead me where he wanted, or just confuse me, or fish for how much patience and empathy and morality I had. To be able to write the story, I have to analyze what he did, what he might have thought etcetera. And how I reacted. Naturligtvis. Peel off – be just as icy cold, to then build up. That preparatory work taught me a lot about his coldness and about my brave attempts to understand what was going on. I never did that. On the other hand, the reader must understand, otherwise it would have been hopeless reading and it is not a puzzle detective.

When everything was deeply confused while the destruction was going on, I just had my morals to hold on to. The moral was simple: if I have promised to help, I must not quit. In this case, it was a promise that could save – or overthrow two other people – one of which was important ; A little child. If it had only been about the old man, I would never have opened the door. My compassion does not extend that far. But it was a CHILD, with big eyes, gaps between the teeth and narrow legs and arms.

I kept the morale. All the way. My morals and perseverance combined with a psychopath destroyed me. But I understand myself, that I in all storming, all nednötning, had a single handrail that I grabbed and followed in the fog. My morals.

Then others appeared who said they wanted to help me. But their morals were not the same. Ack nej.

It is a personal approach and a highly rational decision. That was the only rational thing I could think of. Do not deviate from my own morals in any case.

I have seen very little of what is my own morality in others. Maybe I really was unique, as Sam so happily said. I have since – post Sam – seen how people are ready to let me go under rather than offer me some financial relief even though they themselves have good – and yet they claim to be close to me and want me well. Det är intressant. Money is really something extremely charged for many, especially for those who have them. Never in my soul that they release even a ten – rather, they watch someone's slow downfall. Yes you men, some of them I know at least!

I've seen people close to me, lives a few blocks away and says he cares about me, have never said the same” do you want to come for tea?” eller ”we offer dinner!” Then you meet in different contexts and the hugs are the same and the assurances that I belong with them, and that it is not possible to change and for the sake of simplicity I play affectionately back. It's a new spicy feature in my life, quite depressing but it's very good for me to pull away too.

And I have, as well, also seen the opposite! And you do not forget that either, never, never!

Not least among people who are not very close to me, purely SO, but which offers food, asks if I need anything, give me a small penny or an encouraging gift, or half a lamb or a service! Just like that. Because they know my situation. They are ALL in my amazed heart.

It is interesting to observe, when one is a contemplative writer. It can not be helped that it arouses a little insidious satisfaction in me to see who is hypocritical. I'm hypocritical nowadays, as said, for the sake of simplicity, by smiling and contributing to the moment of affection.

Then there are the REALLY GENUINE friends and relatives. Those who are REAL and who I therefore love even more. In general, I love very much since this happened. Not least LIFE!

It is really TRUE that you should cleanse those who take energy from you. What are you going to do with those people??

When there are so many VERY WONDERFUL people to be with instead, people who make one LE and sing and laugh because they actually have nice hearts. Which makes one continue to BELIEVE IN MAN!

Regarding the book, I sometimes hear that I have ” left me out”. Vad är det?

What do you mean? If you leave. out every time you talk about the different dimensions of life and the complicated phenomena of human existence ? Det visste inte jag. That's the world's most ridiculous thing to say. If people are so facade-fixed, it is no wonder that they feel boredom and boredom and loneliness and deafen their minds with daydreams about luxury consumption and the like.. alcohol!

I have always thought that we all go here about equally unaware of how and why and what, on earth, in this one life and experiencing strange things that are part of the human being. I have always thought that you want to hear from the others how they are doing, and then you can get new angles and perspectives that may make you take certain steps differently. In fact, I have always asked others what they think about it and the strange phenomenon that one has not learned anything about or did not think would happen to oneself., and I have always received answers from others. You can ask someone on a train, or at a bus stop. Anywhere. Just like you can reason with your friends or acquaintances at a dinner. Nobody really knows!

I thought everyone was curious and wondering. But not the facade people.

sometimes I feel like Indra's Daughter in Strindberg's A DREAM GAME. Immersed in the earth, wondered at what was happening, wandering through the one and the other. It's pretty nice. It does not become so pretentious. More relaxed. In addition, closer to the truth, or SENSE OF LIFE, tror jag, than the facade shield pairing.

As far as the psychology of THE DESTROYER is concerned, I know that it is the same process , and the same pattern that repeats itself, between the psychopathic perpetrator and his victim – om och om igen. The lists, the content, the purpose, situation and conditions are as different as there are people, moments and meetings- but still it's like putting a template on everyone ” fall”. As if all psychopathic perpetrators have gone to the same school. And the reactions and confusion of healthy people are always the same because we are built in a special way.

So I do not feel it is revealing at all.

But again, surrender?

Vad betyder det? As if you had left unprotected to chop, peel and beat, though not concrete but more as if ” haha, we know who you are! We know your weaknesses! We can laugh at you. You give us permission to look down on you!”

Is that what you mean? Some kind of SHAME over who ”left out” because it is human!

Ridiculous and counterproductive if one considers that man can develop and that there is an immediate value in just this: develop, become increasingly multifaceted in their understanding of man – knowledgeable about human life. How to become it if not people ” leaves out”? Through navel gazing and theory?

However ! There are things I have NOT written about. Because it's private. The most central thing in the book, which I now afterwards realize that I should have pressed more on is my father's death and my grief. I felt it was way too private. I did not feel I had the right to write about something so intimate and personal, and I did not want it either. Nor did I write about my mother's death, which also happened suddenly, only a few days before the trial.

I should have written more about this my grief, which I was in, just during that time Sam made me lend him the first sums that entangled me. I was in mourning and constantly pressured by him, moreover, he often kept me sleepless and refused to move. It was too much for me. But I should have written about my nights when I cried over Dad, it was not a grief that passed in a month, it continued exactly according to the rulebook, one year acute. After a year, it started to feel better. But then the Destroyer was ready with the next disaster that immediately knocked me down again.

So no, I do not think I have given up on my description of how a psychopathic person destroys another's brain, existence and future – because that's exactly HOW it usually goes.

But on the other hand, if I had written more about my grief for Dad, or after Malik, or how my mother's death and how all the emotions around it threatened to overthrow me just the days before the trial, then I would have felt that I was private in a way I would never want to be.

The purpose of the book was to expose, to formulate, to try to make readers understand the process that is so incomprehensible – which was completely incomprehensible to me with before I had been with it of course – to broaden concepts, lift shame, help other victims and to impart some knowledge. But knowledge regarding such things must be FEELED. A fact book does not give the same impression.

What I have written in The Destroyer is true, but it is analyzed, worked and a line is selected ( the one who could lead to him being punished, that is, the money) – then dressed in his drama again. Otherwise no one would be able to read it. It had been meaningless.

But it is a good grade that many people think I have written it STRAIGHT , captured by my own emotions, in affect with the breath in the throat.

Trots allt, I am a writer you see.

And now feel free to run and buy the pocket. Check if the last page is included!

When ” Den hungriga prinsessan” came out and had his two weeks in Pocketshop's shop window ( very valuable) I discovered by chance ( not responsible publisher so to speak ) the disaster: last page MISSED! All items had to be quickly withdrawn and vips were the two important weeks in Pocketshop's all shop windows GONE.

When the correct version with ALL pages came out, it was unfortunately too late.

Feel free to report if the last page is available ! I myself am in the wilderness somewhere in tottahejti and parasitizing on hacked internet to get all these words off to my dormant blog.

Some people

Lucky for me anyway that the apartment whose lease I could get over after losing my condominium in Söder Torn, Medborgarplatsen, Södermalm, Stockholm because of Sam, ödeläggaren, lies where it lies. I ended up in a friendly suburb, next to a large hissing wilderness.

None of that I had known, if I had continued to tread the concrete around Medis. Nothing about the indescribable forest walks in all kinds of weather – with experiences of nature that make me teary-eyed, breathless, gives a feeling of both blessing and melancholy. By blessing I do not mean anything to do with God in the religious sense.

Livet!

I've never been close, not since the divorce and always been able to appreciate and enjoy the little things, and challenged by having little cash. Now that challenge has taken off, but I'm actually good at it, and that makes me proud. I find nice things cheap. I put together my home with used but good nice things. Cheap. The block is perfect. But there are also some to be found in the garbage room. There I have found dining chairs – and nice shoe rack painted in nice color, a folding table ( which I sold at Blocket – it was very popular) – different variants of functional dish racks, a sideboard, med mera. I got a sofa from an acquaintance after asking on FB and it was later replaced with a sofa I had to take over after my son who had taken it over after his father's former donna. A very good sofa! Since I do not have a sewing machine and can not afford to sew up cases, I bought fabric from Carlsons, real sofa fabric but not in the exact color I wanted unfortunately, and so I have attached it with safety pins. They go up all the time but still! It works!

Lately I have also fixed my balcony which I never dared to sit on before for fear that the destroyer would find me and which I therefore dressed up as some kind of deterrent pounding tent. But now I've been to Rusta, a friend has driven me and I have laid a nice floor and have flowers in pots, light garlands and windbreaks. Really cozy. Absolutely wonderful, although it is small and slightly misplaced. I feel so proud when I look at it. And it only cost a thousand kroner to make it so nice.

In addition, my handy neighbor helped me lay a floor before Christmas, the floor is bright and durable and was on sale and lifted the atmosphere throughout the home. Floors are important. The floors that were here when I arrived and that I had to live with for almost six years were made of disgusting old linoleum, full of little weird holes that collected shit, and never went to get clean. As soon as I saw them, I was reminded of my sad situation and just that: that it was ugly and could not even be cleaned made everything feel hopeless at once. I had my home before , you know, a home I had fought for, a beautiful home with beautiful floors and windows and city views, a safe and secure home. Which I lost because of the tenfold crime.

But this new floor makes me happier. I almost float forward on it. It made me start singing to myself. It gave me the energy to dance, which I used to do out of pure zest for life every morning – before Sam, the fake, the psychopath and the destroyer broke into my home with their fake sorrows and appealed to a humanity I unfortunately happened to own. But I'm moving forward, stubbornly, slowly and partly trembling I create something again – for myself.

And one morning, just a couple of weeks ago, I realized I could not stand the unhygienic ugly bathroom here anymore. There has been a bathtub before I came here and I want it again. Because the landlord does nothing for us, you have to do it yourself. I found the brand new bathtub on Blocket and after I fought a whole day to tear and screw and pry off various things that made every day a bitter struggle, the bathtub was delivered the next morning. And with some new purchases and some ingenuity, I now also have a nice bathroom. I hardly think it's true. A couple of mirror cabinets that I bought at Blocket are going up with the help of the neighbor, bara, then it's completely clear! It's so I can cry.

I am creating a new home for myself. Bit for bit. With very little money and thanks to the inspiration at the right moment in terms of the whimsical offer at Blocket! And to top it all off; now I have bought a dishwasher. It cost a thousand kroner.

Since then, I have not been able to sleep all night, tormented by anxiety that has acquired a purely bodily expression, so terrible stomach ache of nervousness! All the anxiety that Sam placed in me triggered. Hur ska det gå? How do I manage?? How the hell have I been able to spend money on a dishwasher and more? I have no margins! I did not receive a scholarship from the Authors' Fund, nor any crisis support, the book The Destroyer sells very well, but it is about twelve kronor net per book sold and a couple of kronor per sold e-book or audiobook. What do I do?? What do I think? How can I be so careless and generous? I will surely perish at least now! The precipice opens beneath me as soon as I have done something good for myself.

I do not know what is right. Probably to continue as I have done especially the last six years with actually barely even buying food, in the fear that everything will disappear, that no new money should come in. But I can not bear to live like that. I can not create based on that, be happy, want something. Jag tänker ” What if I stay? 94 years as my mother – how the hell am I supposed to be able to live and eat until then? How fun can it be? Not at all!”

I simply have to decide that I have done the right thing in creating a more enjoyable life for myself, try to make this place I ended up in a home I feel good in, not to a place that in its worn-out shape in the wrong place cemented me in the misfortune that the destroyer left behind – fully aware of his deed – an accident whose consequences society does not help the victim in.

And it's a nice place, I have been lucky because I walk in the wild forest and get to experience something as enchanting as hiking in high blueberry rice, full of light purple-pink budding blueberries, surrounded by hundreds of thousands of budding lilies of the valley, far below the tall old trees. Squirrels perform their acrobatic arts over me, the beautiful deer graze next to me, the raven shouts and I get lots of vitamins from the light green sour spruce shoots, while I think about life, and take a break before I go home and get scared again over the counter dishwasher for a thousand kroner.

The recent murder of women has, as everyone knows, created a debate that should have been going on for ages – and as one may fear will wake up from time to time without anything of lasting value being done, just as it has been said for at least thirty years that the financial situation of single mothers in our society should now at least be reviewed.

Thirty years ago, I know that there was a lot of talk about single mothers and their financial vulnerability, which needs to be improved., because then I had a friend who had just divorced two small children. The former man did not even contribute money to a pair of new socks for the children and she herself worked in the cultural sector – one of those who beautifies society with his art you know – and thus had absolutely no financial margins.

Fifteen years later, I myself was single with teenage children and even then it had been realized that single mothers had a very difficult situation in our society where everyone should have the same opportunities and value. – without any improvement.

A few years ago, me too pulled over the world and the reality women live in was exposed to anyone and everyone, all that every woman got used to and thought ;”It's just like this, there's nothing to do” after enduring uninvited sexual approaches and opinions since we got breasts. Heureka, the world rose up against this and could suddenly identify it as abuse and women could look at each other and shout ”YOU TOO?”

Now everyone wakes up a couple of years later and to sudden serious debates about men's violence against women…. as if it were something new and something isolated from, for example, how to value mothers, single mothers, how to value women's work, how to value women's health, how to value women's power over their own bodies? And it would hardly have taken murderous women for the conclusion to be drawn from the clear-spoken Metoo, but say it was required. It is nevertheless astonishing that one thought seldom seems to lead to another!

But all thinking people welcome the debate on violence against women, but there is still no talk of controlling violence, about psychological violence, about what some call emotional violence. Why is the knowledge about this non-existent? Anyone who has been subjected to psychological violence ( which is often the first phase of physical violence ) must feel a scream in his chest when it is constantly excluded in these serious debates! A scream!

Mental violence is more difficult than physical violence. Psychological violence breaks people down in a deeper way. And usually those who have been subjected to physical violence have been prepared with psychological violence. To annihilate, it's about. To take power.

But the psychological violence is INVISIBLE.

Psychological violence is not punishable, not even if it is used as a weapon to gain access to other people's assets. In such crimes – (as the crime I myself have been subjected to which was only possible to carry out through the studied psychological violence committed by a man who gained power over me when I was in acute grief after my father's sudden death ) – it is not even considered that there was a WEAPON, there is no violence – because psychological violence does not count, it is not punishable. In other words, it is fully allowed.

How is that possible in a modern age? We live in a time that is flooded with different methods of successful thinking, or soothing thinking, of a great acceptance of psychotherapy and help, a general deep recognition of the value of t. eg crisis therapy and sports psychology and dog psychology and various other things… BUT including the human psyche when it comes to psychological violence is still completely foreign. Hur är det möjligt?

In my previous blog, I explained that I can not get any compensation from the state for that robbery ( 3, 4 million ) I was exposed to – because the perpetrator's weapon was not physical violence. The economic crime is called ” property crime ” thus very distanced from psychological methodological abuse and violence against a human being in order to take away from her everything she owns. Very far from daily tearing down another's psyche, tire, confuse with the goal of annihilation, crush the victim's ability to think and act on his own. So it is not ” violence ” .

How is it possible that the knowledge is so poor? And how many victims of this kind of crime are again sacrificed by society – even if society has prosecuted and convicted the perpetrator? How many victims, against all odds, have survived that violence, perishes when society says ” you have not been subjected to violence. You will not receive any compensation. No help at all actually.”

”Violence against women” is a concept that must also include the mental, emotional, economic violence, otherwise the discussions are and ” the solutions” remain tame and will prove ineffective on the whole.

You have to think even further:

What is a culture that celebrates violence against women, which is what our culture does, and make massive money on just that; violence against women? For those of you who have not reflected on it, I can recommend taking a closer look at best-selling crime novels ( written by both women and men who make themselves rich on their deliberate elaborate violence against women) and the endless amounts of TV- serier, feature films that entice women in horror, if they even live when the drama begins. Then we have prostitution, the spur of violence. Anyone who still claims that women do it because they want to, has not been able to scratch the surface – or lack empathy, which is about 3 % of the population do, probably more. ( according to research )

How can one ONLY discuss men's violence against women? The role of men must be discussed, one must discuss what boys learn already from preschool ( as they usually learn good things ), what they then learn in the school environment, of their fathers, mödrar, of the culture that lives in our society. Women have worked for generations to change the role of women to become WHOLE PEOPLE ( there is a bit left that seems ) but when should MEN begin to exercise the right to be WHOLE PEOPLE? They were whole people like little boys! As children, they had all the prerequisites to become good men. Then most were tender, omhändertagande, generous, kärleksfulla – and loved their mothers ( kvinnor )

When should the focus be on the commercial culture where women's painful death or devastating injuries are the hub around which pleasure revolves? In other industries, the requirement is that it must take responsibility for the damage their products cause to the environment.

Why not make the same demands on the entertainment industry? A few percent of the revenue from movies / books where women ( om och om igen ) victims as part of the entertainment should go to activities where women are protected from this violence, and to activities that work with the MAN'S ROLE.

Varför inte? Industry as industry.

And finally; For my part, I can not understand how one as a writer can want to immerse oneself in describing disgusting murders and abuses of women ( and other living beings ) TO MAKE YOUR MONEY? Something inside me rises powerfully against the thought. To me, there is nothing admirable about it (ibland) good life this maintenance violence gives its authors. But since culture pays homage to money and violence, they are of course both respected and admired – ja, objects for the longing of others and dreams of success.

When the perpetrator, in this case ” Sam Paris” which everyone can read about in the book ”Ödeläggaren” , do not pay what they are sentenced to, you can turn to the Crime Victims Authority to apply for compensation. Det gjorde jag.

Sam used psychologically advanced violence and also physical violence, manipulations and threats, to get over the money he knew were anchored in the walls of my condominium in the middle of Stockholm. The psychological violence and his siege of my life were his weapons. He got good help from the fact that my father died suddenly in the same crank that I would otherwise have gotten the intruder Sam out of my home. We had no love story. I had acted out of compassion, honesty and a sense of responsibility. He had used his little son to awaken my compassion and my strong sense of responsibility. He also used simple tricks like keeping me awake at night and latent threats that I did not understand and I was quite exhausted when my dad suddenly died and Sam Paris immediately put his claws in me.

Everyone who has read my book knows this and it's a little annoying, but that's part of the condition for him to carry out his cold-blooded crime against me – that is, ruin me, to then try to silence me – most victims of psychopaths remain silent. I reported with the help of my family, when it was all finally discovered in much the same vein as I considered taking my life as the only way out of the chaos he had created in my life and not least in my ruined brain. Exhausting the brains of their victims is, of course, part of the method, such are psychopathic people masters at.

While the crimes, the tenfold as I call it, because it was about ten transfers of money to his account - lasted for three and a half years in addition to the intricate and threatening psychological violence ( which you can read about in The Destroyer and which I will not repeat here, just nu) a physical violence. As is often the case when an individual is exposed to physical violence in a situation where they are stuck, t. eg as when a young person is sexually abused by a relative or the like, the brain seems to choose to repress it almost immediately. It was the same with me. Jag var rädd, I was exposed – but could not bear to understand it – and when he spiced it all up with a little physical force, it exceeded my ability. I could not take it, process it. I was fully occupied with keeping myself together so that I could manage something like that in the future.

The memory of the physical violence came after I had reported his crime, but still within the time when facts could be added to the preliminary investigation. I sent a picture of my buttocks, which were bloodthirsty of his kind, to the police who investigated the case. He was a very kind and empathetic person. I also told him that Sam used to knock me over when I walked through my own apartment, over the living room floor. I never knew if that would happen, and I did not want to be afraid. In addition, I have to go back and forth in my apartment! Sometimes he knocked me over and over again, sometimes not in a month. Suddenly I was lying under him on the floor. He stood over me and laughed. Once he stood over me with his fist clenched and aimed at my face, from its entire length. That time I crawled away.

Many times he hauled me in as I passed into my open-plan living room ( so also kitchen ) and pressed me down over his knee and slapped me over the butt with an open hand. Länge. He held me with his other elbow in my back, leaned heavily against me and struck with all his might with his free hand. While he laughed. Once I took a card, because I myself wanted to see because it hurt so much. My buttocks had almost burst into blood, they looked as if they had been whipped.

Many times he came from behind when I sat down and started ” massage” my shoulders. Sometimes it was in all ” friendliness ” even though I had never asked for it and never liked it. I could not exactly protest. Most times continued ” massages” hard up my throat, he squeezed so that I had to open my mouth and then he pressed his fingers into my mouth, sometimes so far down that I cried. I sat still. I showed no emotion. I thought it was best that way. He would not win. Those times he did not laugh. He went his way without a word, just a dark look over his shoulder.

When I started to feel safe, then I understood that they mine caught me and existed for me – and I had reported, memories of these abuses began to recur. I remember one time I suddenly told them to Patric that I was with then. He was completely shocked. And I exclaimed in shocked laughter ”You could almost say that I have been abused!” he looked at me dumbfounded. ” Ja! You HAVE definitely been abused! Not just one!”

I myself had not had time to grasp it. It took quite a long time. The brain can only take one small piece at a time.

I reported this to my detective. He said it was not interesting for this case. How can it not be, it was one of his weapons to dismantle me, scare me and make me do what he wanted?

Nej, it is a civil case, in my police. In that case, it is another notification, separated from this.

The police wanted copies of mine 23 diaries where I had written a bit about what was going on. Jag skrev, but I wrote to try to remember everything he had said so that I would avoid suffering so much worry and anxiety incessantly, and to orient me. I thought it was me who perceived everything wrong and who was full of shortcomings. That's how they work. In my fragility after many sleepless nights ( finally several years ) and my dad's death I was no longer as cocky as I had been the first time we got to know each other. He felt how he began to defeat me. He would finally win. But now I was with the police and the preliminary investigation had begun the day after the report, a prosecutor was involved.

Polisen sa ” but we only want the parts where you write about what he says the money should go to. That's just what's interesting about the goal. ”

”But the psychological violence then? Everything he did, hotade, and scared and confused me with? That was his weapon to access everything?”

”Nej, it's not interesting”, the police replied. ” skip it.”

But why? Jo, for psychological violence is not punishable in Sweden.

In my case, there was only one thing that was punishable and that was that he had said that the money he made me lend would go to other things than what they had demonstrably done.. I thought they would go on to build a life for him and his vulnerable little boy. And I thought he was driven by the desire to improve the world, a man who himself came from deeply poor and racist conditions. Så var det inte. They went to finance a short period of flair and luxury in his meager life, instead. Nothing to the boy, To us.

His weapon was thus not something that was mentioned in the case.

When we came to the District Court, I had my story crystal clear. He himself had forgotten most things because he always lied. It can be difficult to keep track of lies for several years. I had written down so much that I knew. That was my strength.

However, the prosecutor had understood something beyond the purely legal and said in his closing argument that what happened to me was a ” normalisering” . I let out a sob when I heard her say that. She understood much more than the law. Of course, this is often the case. But it was nice to hear there on the spot in the District Court. Two of the judges wanted to give him another six months in prison precisely because of this, but not the councilor and the third judge.

He was sentenced to three years in prison and sentenced to pay back everything with interest. I also received meager damages for the only month I had been on sick leave in connection with the report, of nine thousand kronor.

Of course I have not received a penny. The bailiff could not seize anything. Naturligtvis, he had run out of all the money and sold everything he had and also escaped the country because he was not arrested, despite being sentenced to three years in prison. Instead, he appealed the verdict and was given more than a year before it would come up in the Court of Appeal, during which time he fled to Sri Lanka..

And I then?

I got my redress with the district court, the two hours and a quarter I spoke there incessantly. And I got my absolute redress when the verdict fell.

But how do I cope?? Jag är författare, I have no monthly salary, no work to return to.

Many believe that I have received some kind of compensation for what was taken from me. Det var 3, 4 million kroner which with the interest he has to pay today is 6 million.

Nej, I have not received that. I have not received any information about anything either. But in the end I took, when I managed to grab it, find out for yourself.

When the criminal does not pay what he owes ( how often does it happen?) and it is sentenced to pay damages and compensate everything, so you can turn to the Crime Victim Compensation Authority and apply for compensation from the state.

I did that in October 2020.

A couple of months ago I got an answer. I had my application rejected. But I got the nine thousand that Sam would have paid me in damages. Why did I not receive more damages, you can also ask yourself?

Response: Psychological violence does not count. Burning and pain and lost income because of it count. Burning and pain can be caused by physical violence. But not mentally, not even if it lasts for several years. Jo, one can get all kinds of physical ailments but they can not be linked to the mental violence.

So only the month I was on sick leave remained and it was a gamble, said my lawyer. But it went through. Nine thousand kronor.

I did not expect the state to reimburse me the full amount Sam Paris robbed me of ( nej, it does not count as robbery when there is no physical violence, förresten) but if only I had received 10 % would have been a great help to me.

But I got nothing because of what I have been exposed to, with the result that I became homeless and have lost a large number of years of work and gone into therapy for seven years and at times have to eat both sleeping pills and antidepressants, called ” property crime”. According to the verdict, there is no violence involved.

This is what the Crime Victim Compensation Authority's decision regarding my case says:

”Criminal damages for pure property damage are only provided in exceptional cases. Compensation is paid if the perpetrator was admitted at the time of the crime, on the run or on leave from the penitentiary, from certain state treatment homes or was detained. In addition, there must be special reasons, t. ex that the crime has been committed against the employer, foster parents,supervisors or others who are in a similar relationship to the perpetrator. in certain painful situations, compensation can be paid even though the perpetrator does not belong to any of the mentioned categories ( paragraph 6 – 8 the Criminal Injuries Act) N. N ( I who have protected data) can therefore not receive any compensation.

Violation.

In order for compensation for violation to be provided, it is required that the criminal act has entailed a serious violation of the injured party's personal integrity.. HD has established that even if the crime of fraud is characterized by a certain suggestion, it is required that the act includes an attack on the plaintiff's person, frihet, peace or is for compensation to be paid ( WELL 2019. s 607)

The crime that N. N has been subjected to, according to practice, in itself does not constitute such a serious violation of personal integrity that compensation can be provided. Nor has it emerged that the current act involved such an attack on N. N:s person, frihet, peace or honor that compensation for violation shall be paid. N. N can therefore not receive any compensation for violation.”

And why then?

Jo, because the physical violence was not considered interesting in the case and the dominant psychological violence is simply NOT COUNTED AS VIOLENCE IN THE LAW OF THE SWEDISH KINGDOM. The crime victim authority's decision is made based on the verdict. No violence is mentioned in the verdict.

Så… society has cost an investigation that lasted for several years, prosecutor, lawyers and a lawyer for Sam, plus negotiations in district court and in court of appeal ( where he was absent with the help of a fax from Sri Lanka stating that he had tourist diarrhea and could not fly)

He received three years in prison but was able to leave the country free as long as the sentence did not become final – which it did not do because he had appealed to the Court of Appeal.

I do not receive any compensation. Jag tänker ; how many crime victims I am there, who have been looted by criminals, homeless and had our lives ruined – by a psychopath whose main method is psychological violence? how are we supposed to cope? What does it cost that innocent well-functioning citizens do not receive financial assistance after crimes of this kind, but in fact – faktiskt! – runs a high risk of ending up on the street? Regardless, they burden healthcare year after year. Vi.

We believe that all people are taken care of here. It is believed that victims of crime are taken care of by society.

This certainly does not apply to victims of psychological violence.

in GB, they have come a long way and recently instituted a law against psychological violence and when the psychological violence is a step in accessing someone else's property or money, the punishment is even sharper.

Here we are so far after that , as an established and successful writer, is called an idiot in the newspapers' criticism of the book for having been subjected to psychological violence.

Men nej, dear friends who take it for granted that society has supported and helped me – I understand that there are very many who believe that there are funds to get from the crime victim authority – Nej, it's not like that.