Christina Herrströms blog

Hey all,

now it will soon be too much to think about but I wish everyone – nej, just the kind-hearted – a merry and joyful Christmas.

Joyful is a wonderful word!

I myself am going on an adventure with the whole gang, including a four-legged little creature 8 months. We will see if we succeed with our intentions – and if we then also succeed in getting back home in a tidy manner.

In the meantime, I will not write anything, but will return with new healthy touches after New Year.

So I take the opportunity to wish you all a happy new year as well!

Best regards

Christina

Everyone has probably read about some of our influential people, in this way powerful women who mourn their lost beauty, and that men no longer regard them with the same blazing zeal as before.

I'm worried about this. It's a shame they've aired it openly. One thing is well to discuss the demand for female beauty and the bizarre in that women ” does not count ” och ” not visible ” (if they do not capture men's immediate sexual interest, nor do female get reactions to her appearance) as they get older – that women who already have difficulty asserting themselves because of their gender, after a certain age is considered to be even more difficult to be considered a person with pondus. It can be analyzed and reflected on and also questioned the substance in, but that yourself, as an influential woman publicly complaining that one has aged and is not doing as well in the picture, or can use their pleasures to secure space, är…. sad.

These are women that others admire. Women that women admire. Women as young women, as well as older women admire. Something falls flat to the ground. It's getting pretty crappy.

Dock. Vanity is not a negative trait. It is something man brings with him, one of her colors on the palette that is human creation – and joy in living and wanting to celebrate the beautiful and beautiful that life is. We should be grateful for the vanity. (It means that we take care of our hygiene, inte minst. ) You should not be ashamed of your vanity or your longing for beauty. It is found in all cultures and times, but to let oneself be chained by ” the male gaze” – or perhaps rather our culture's commercial view of our personal revelation in the world, is what everyone knows, painful, tragic, hopeless, a waste of energy and well-being. Many have been surprised by the lamentation of these influential women. Many have been disappointed, really disappointed with this bare, sad lack of self-confidence and self-esteem.

Men age too. They also have a harder time aging beautifully, if we are going to nag about it. But as we know, women are attracted to men because of their power, their influence, their potential talent, so it should not be a problem purely in terms of confirmation that they mostly become incredibly less beautiful as older than as young. Detta, to continue to be considered sexually acceptable and to continue to be able to make a smashing impression to manipulate, is thus only a problem for women.

But why openly keep up with this and ”admit ” his pain – as a woman – over not being able to use their appearance as before , for confirmation, for opportunities? Then I perceive this public pain as an acceptance of the shit order and that you yourself have de facto contributed, with satisfaction, to carry it up. I think that women in general and not least young and growing women would rather see these influential people, powerful women age – with dignity. With a stable sense of self-respect. There is always beauty in it. Alltid.

Its sad. In addition, they can fix themselves if it considers it so crucial. It makes people completely open, post on social media and praise for it. )Now that everyone knows that they want to be a little prettier, they can do it without people raising their eyebrows – on the contrary, they may receive tributes!)

I wrote the TV series GLAPPET a long time ago. It is partly about these issues and what this does to us. I had been thinking about it for a very long time. For my part, I felt trapped in the package everyone else saw, my exterior, since I was in my teens. The starting shot for GLAPPET occurred when I was 16 years and went to high school on Lidingö. I always had, since childhood, been a brooding girl, very reflective and no one goes in herd. One day I wrote an article to the school newspaper that the well-to-do schoolmates had not been able to get to school when it was a theme day about alcoholism. Only a handful of students were there. It provoked me, my schoolmates' lack of interest and indifference to the world outside the safe island. The principal and other adults thanked me. My schoolmates, who only saw the package of me and had an idea of ​​who I was because I was cute, blonde and attractive, came up to me and said things like ” is it really you who wrote it? Is not your brother?” och ” I NEVER thought you were really thinking!”

It shocked me. Deep. So I lived in a huge gap between who I was and who I was interpreted to be only based on my ” skönhet ” . Min ” skönhet ” also made it tricky with all the relationships with other girls, except my best friends. I was exposed to quite a lot of shit just because I was so called ” vacker ”, both from other girls, curious guys and horny teachers. I have encountered a lot of disloyalty among girls, what is classified as ”envy ” one in some years ( high school, teens mainly maybe) blind aggression that is not to be played with. And that in the company of girls is often forced to be aware that I was considered beautiful and therefore could not be myself, but must quickly signal some humility in order not to be viewed negatively, lasted until I was about 30 years and became a mother. After that, it was no longer as tricky with women's relationships, for which I was extremely grateful! But after I divorced and became a single woman, the problems arose again and I was perceived as a threat- though I have far from been a threat to any other woman. Ja, sure, beauty gives a lot of plus, också- a lot of pluses that I probably do not even reflect on, because I have not experienced anything else. Men…jag vet inte, not being a projection surface for others' prejudices may also be quite positive.

For how wonderful it is not to be able to move anywhere as a free and invisible human being without attracting men's attention and women's resistance? Not being able to have a cup of tea in a café, do not sit on a train alone, not being able to go to the movies alone, not being able to walk through a room without being forced to become aware of all men's gazes, or on sidewalks and into shops? To constantly think about what you are wearing so as not to further signal something that you are not looking for, while others may have tank tops and shorts and sleek dresses, without anyone , neither woman nor man, comment on it? And having to deal with jealous partners who think you are who you are because you constantly REQUIRE confirmation from the opposite sex, though the only thing one is is to be normally nice, if even that? Eller… as said, just walked through a room in a red dress. It's not fun to worry about your partner, as other men's eyes glide over one.

Why it's all about us and what we do and are? Men then – and their ideas about us?

I do not suffer from losing my beauty, not very much. I think it's great to be able to walk around the world without feeling like I'm there to decorate it or evoke the dreams of passers-by. I think it's great to avoid being pulled in by all sorts of men who want to entice me to admire them so that they can get me to bed. Now I could even go out and dance myself probably without having to tell the doorman to stop anyone trying to get out at the same time as me, so that no one will be able to follow me; as it has been only a few years ago. Is it something fun? Inte. Ack, inte!

And why is it not enough that the man / partners you have by your side think you are beautiful? I do not understand, but I, on the other hand, have been spoiled at this point.

Of course, it's sad to see how the face collapses and strange lines appear. But it's fascinating at the same time! That's life! All ages are on the face!

But with that said, I do not want to hide under a chair because I am, of course, vain. I do not think anyone wants an ugly and unfavorable image of one to be printed in the newspaper. Everyone wants to be nice in the picture. I can also undo small howls when I see how I change. And I can see my aged mother in me. It is a sign that everything is right , on the other hand. The families come and go!

The rhythm of life is beautiful. We can like that about everything and everyone else. The rhythm of the trees. And always the adorable baby animals and the adorable buds and the sheer hopeful light of spring!

Om och om igen, they come. The adorable kids, the beautiful beautiful young animals. Så är det bara. We are part of this. And strong, influential women get lines, hakor, rubbery bodies and veined hands. But why not be just as proud of it? We carry everything within us.

It's a sick one, to always look at ourselves from the outside. That way, no one will ever be satisfied. That disease is taking more and more hold , it seems. It's something very sad, very sad – and plot -about it. It makes no one happy.

Hey all,

today the fourth candle is lit in the candlestick and it is wonderful to see that in only two weeks the darkness will turn and the light will come back. For me who is not a Christian, this candlestick is a very welcome alternative with its six candles for each week from Mårten Goose to the Winter Solstice. For me who is not waiting for the Son of God, it gives happiness to see Time and Rhythm and how light approaches, because we are part of the space dance of the universe.

I bought the candlestick in the form of a Viking ship from a woman named Yvonne Ledin, you can find her on FB or as YLLISAR on Instagram. From there I got a couple of wonderful felted wrist warmers as well, as compensation for a small mishap.

Many ask when the next book will come, but I may disappoint you. There is nothing wrong with the ideas, but the energy. I do not have the power and the glow back. My brain tells me to just soften and cuddle and socialize and do fun things, such as I have not been able to for eternity because I have been in the curse! So to speak. Now I have finally got to see a real psychologist who has explained how it all fits together. I SHOULD NOT be tired, anser jag. No longer!

I'm so tired of the oldest part of my brain – we are animals and the oldest part of the brain that, among other things, controls the autonomic nervous system ( as I understood it ) think I'm still under threat, that I'm in danger. So the brain holds me, the one who wants me to get away from the threat, awake and puts my body in a state of immense restlessness. The stress hormone cortisol continues to be mass-produced. This of course tires out the organism that is me, because the condition has been going on for so many years, from the fact that the danger and threat were immediate and real.

Unfortunately, there is still a danger, namely the threat that I will not be able to cope financially. That's why I have to work ( except that I want to write ) but the feeling of threat simultaneously drains the organism, so I am constantly dead tired except in the moments when I do what my brain appeals to; Having a great time. Dock, I'm really not in URGENT DANGER! It's even a long time ago now. But writing THE DESTRUCTOR delayed the process. Probably the analysis of everything helped, which I had to do to write it, me to get over my PTSD. But my organism, after all, my ancient brain had to remain in the horror that has been, although not as much, because the writing helplessly aroused the old anxiety. Then there was some anxiety associated with the release as well. You forget that you are a very old brain too!

To break this, so I do not lose all strength, I must take the words of the psychologist very seriously. It's only a week since I got this very logical explained to me. It has been too many years with too much pressure. Like so many other women and especially mothers, I think I have infinite powers and just want to quickly get on the right keel and roar on.

At least now I can play. And constantly telling my body that it can be calm, I will give it food and rest and fun, so that it can stop being cut and vigilant. My intellect is not cut, my intellect has moved on a long time ago, but it is about purely physiological phenomena. Very interesting! Such an excellent concrete and tangible explanation of the tiring fatigue! And possible to fix, also in a nice way.

As a writer, it is almost impossible to get sick pay and right now everyone has a hard time getting it, so I can continue to gnaw on the door moldings, but of course I have a treasure chest at home with books to sell.

Take the opportunity to buy The Destroyer, bound or in pocket, now with personal dedication! I know there are many who have listened to the one who wants the physical book because it is so important! And exciting and awful.

I also have some copies of the latest edition of Glappet and Ebba & Didrik in my hiding place. Write to me and place an order and I will send them ASAP. Postage as usual 79 kronor will be added!

Now I'm going to cast candles! Then I'll make Caramelized Apples which I still remember how ”mrs Scott” who was the wife of the other family I lived in as an exchange student in Seattle, did. She worked as a maid of the house, quiet and shy in front of her husband, the builder. I found her down in the basement where she was standing and making these beautiful apples that looked so tempting. But I did not get to taste, because I was not a believer. Nej, I was not allowed to stay in the living room either. And then I had two tasks: go out with the garbage and clean the fat dog's ears.

It was very loving with the highly respected Scott family in the Church. She always brought the best cakes to church coffee. Scott's father scared the whole family, but they did not know about it. Or you looked through your fingers at it. As usual.

Nej, now it will be dark soon this tuesday in december and i will melt the wax and roll the beeswax candle and light the fourth candle in the waiting candlestick, but feel free to think about whether you do not want any of my books with dedication on your bookshelf!

My wonderful friend Lena always finds nice, beautiful, wise phenomena, experiences and things and now she has found the candlestick.

I fell for it immediately, because I like the old customs and what they have meant to us in the dark Nordic countries, as Midsummer Eve and Walpurgis Night, but just this time… the dark November, December when the darkness deepens even more and we count the days until the light turns.. what should we do with it? Adventsljusstaken, which is about waiting for Jesus, has been allowed to function as ”companion” through the darkness. That it is a matter of waiting for the birth of Jesus must be thought out a little. I have nothing against Jesus, tvärtom, but I am not a Christian at all. Therefore, it feels a bit.. so there… when you pick out your Advent candlesticks every year and light your candles. Actually, it feels like a bit of the strength of the plot is lacking, as if it is not really bottoming out, as if it were a bit of an outside influence. Although a very important one, because these wonderful lights make us feel better.

That is for sure for many.

My father was a fan of the Icelandic fairy tales and the old asatron and it amazes me and many others that we do not learn more about these. No matter how you feel about it, it should be part of our inner culture's cultural treasure, the treasure we should carry with us from school from which we should then be able to scoop and bounce against when we trot through all of life's hardships and moments of joy. We know basically nothing about the old tales and myths that were woven under the stars in our exciting part of the earth, where it is either very light or very dark. Why do we know so little about these old Nordic tales and myths and figures and symbols? There is so much nourishment for creativity and imagination! I do not know much I either, because I did not listen to my father, but the interest was aroused and since adolescence I have been thinking: ”one day”, like so much else, have I thought I should improve in asatron and the old fairy tales. Men ”one day ” applies to most things, so I'll not get there.

On the way to the end, when nothing has been done, In any case, the TURNING LIGHT appeared. It has six candles, the first of which is lit six weeks before the winter solstice. At the time of writing, I do not know WHY it is exactly six weeks, but do not mind me. Then it appears that it is a candlestick and not an Advent candlestick. You light a candle for each week you approach the RETURN OF THE LIGHT, and it does happen 21 december. It's the day it turns and we can see how the day brightens again. JA! Wow! I want that! Äntligen!

It really SPEAKS to me, and I think that applies to many, who does not know about this (nya) custom inspired by the times before we became Christians. No god stands above it all like a judgmental or forgiving tyrant. THE WAITING CANDLEHOLDER is just about waiting for the light to return. As we sing about in the Lucia songs…. the light we love, even more so because we also feel the darkness that surrounds us during the winter, this magical darkness … which you TIRED of! And that makes it human, embracing, gives everyone the opportunity to celebrate. Every week a new candle is lit but it 21 December the last is lit., so if it is one If you want you can decorate it with six different runes like Lena. I'll probably do that. I love watching runes and learned the runes when I was little because I wanted to be able to read on old rune stones.

According to Lena Månstråle's interpretation, the six runes mean the following:

Feh : the rune of prosperity. Prosperity through gratitude for what one has.

clock: original power and new start

Thurs: Åskrunan. Tors runa. All radical change takes place through chaos. Thor breaks through the darkness and thunders and flashes!

Ass: The rune of the air and the wind. ( like letting go and FLYing instead of muttering around in the dunes)

Reid: The trolley run. The journey of life. The strongest protection rune.

Kenwas: The fire. The inner fire. Spark of life, viability.

Maybe they did not mean this from the beginning! But it's good for me.

Now I long until I get home the WAITING CANDLEHOLDER! And it almost makes me long for next fall already, then I can be with from the first of the six candles.

Continued yesterday's post

Hey all,

something was weird yesterday with my website. I would have written a lot more, but it was not included in the post.

What I wanted to say is that everyone who has been involved in abuse of any kind may be, In addition to receiving support from a psychologist, they should also be able to do a major investigation regarding their physical health. The mental fatigue that follows an abuse ( which can also be done by phone; think the old ones who are robbed over the phone; the new way to get over other people's money ) can be so deep that you think you are dying. I thought so myself, to this fall. Why should I start something new, when I'm dying anyway?

My former health center that knew everything about my history with the destroyer and more, did not want to cost me an investigation of the fatigue. It was considered too expensive. So I have continued to be sure that I am employed by a nasty disease that will still take my life in the end, pretty soon even, now that the destroyer could not really crush me.

By pure chance, a doctor caught this complex, when I applied for my fatigue – not at my old unhelpful health center but at one of KRYS physical health centers. Personally, I had missed the idea that my fatigue could be due to PTSD to oblivion – I was admittedly diagnosed with PTSD both from the hospital I first contacted 2014 when we had reported, and also precisely by the unhelpful health center called YOUR CARE CENTER, but no one had cared much about it, so I assumed I was just allowed to have it that way, då.

The young doctor at KRY caught up with what I said in passing about having been exposed to a psychopath and she decided that we should do an investigation of my physical condition to rule out illness.. Only THAT made me lift with relief. I was taken seriously.

The care! I am thinking of THE VALUE AND TASK OF CARE! Is not exactly this to CARE? To say ”we investigate you for your fatigue, but I think you're suffering from PTSD. But just so you know – and for all of us to know – then we will check you first so you can be free from your worries, which makes everything even heavier.”

Jo, IT is to CARE and to take their patients seriously. and THAT can not be said is the usual experience when we, who are tired and weary of the trials of life, asking for help. As we all know, women are also treated with less respect and seriousness than men who seek care, not least if we are also a little older.

I flew on light wings out of the KRY health center that day and felt the hope of a better life, than what is to survive. IT takes a lot of power, can I promise, to survive. There will not be much more content than trying to balance.

Now I know that all values ​​are almost remarkable! I'm healthy as a nut. And have every reason to be grateful for it, which I sincerely am. And now I know that the gigantic fatigue is something I can deal with. It feels justified, because I'm not dying!

But the experience of being dying is a consequence of the traumatic thing that happened. I'm not unique, and thus it is crowded with people who unnecessarily carry on another despair, in addition to the one they suffered from someone's violence against them. The despair of believing that one is probably actually dying as a consequence of an abuse is probably as invisible as anything that can be more immediately associated with the suffering victim of violence, physical, mentally, economic violence, whatever it may be, have to deal with.

As always, I think most of all those who have been sexually abused. And who can never get redress in court. To bear all the deep violations of privacy, which damages both the most intimate physical and mental spheres…. no wonder many of the victims of sexual violence are losing their former power, its direction, their previous opportunities for success, peace and happiness.

The suffering of crime victims must cost society, who counts everything in money, gigantic sums. The knowledge about the victims of violence and abuse is so small. Even today, we have to manage most on our own. And society is not even able to stop those who use violence against others. Ödeläggaren, despite a sentence of three years in prison and the comment ” he is very dangerous to other people” by Frivården's investigators was placed in prison with the lowest security and when it was time for him to report, he was already abroad for several months.

But back to healthcare. Part of the victims' suffering, which lasts more or less for a large part of the rest of their lives, could be captured and relieved, but it does not happen. I have sought help myself. And even when seeking help, you do not get it. A tired woman, who had some difficult experiences, haha, such a yes. We give her sleeping pills and antidepressants!

I do not want sleeping pills and antidepressants! I want action. This is my life! Not even me, who gets a lot of support through all the wonderful readers who get in touch with me after reading THE DESTRUCTOR, has enough power to change the standstill. Jo, finally! But mostly thanks to an attentive and insightful young doctor at an ambitious health center , in this case KRY.

I wish there was a program that was always ready to pick in all the new victims of abuse and violence. First, an investigation of their physical health, then qualified psychological help ( not one who sits and looks to fall asleep while crying) and then CBT to help one get concrete order in his days again, and to help you see where there is light and strength in what you do and think and feel and how you can add more of it. CBT works great with digital meetings! In addition, physical exercise-to regain the feeling of being in his body, the feeling that there is room to move in, and to bring out some of his encapsulated anger. All of this together could help all huge numbers of victims of various kinds of violence to heal better, to become a functioning citizen again, and give hope to others in despair. You have to move forward but you have to have a lot of help to be able to do it.

All this I have applied for and paid for myself even though I have no money because the criminal almost put me on a bare hill and I do not exactly get a monthly salary as a writer.

Such an ambitious program for people who have fallen victim to the heartlessness of other citizens, evil, Of course, crime does not exist and will never exist. But just a thorough review of physical health would help many. However, it is almost impossible to get if you do not pay privately and it costs many thousands.

A thorough health examination may sound unnecessary, but I'm pretty sure of that. Everything settles within us, in our brain, in our body.

This is not news. But it seems that everything that is CARE is downgraded, eller …. it has probably never been a priority! How about society'S CARE about the women who give birth to children? How well a society functions in terms of care for its citizens can be deduced from school and care. Of course, we have heaven here in comparison with many other countries, but maybe not so good anyway. Not if you want to consider our democracy as modern, good country for all of us.

A great revolution should take place and if that day happens, so much more will be better for everyone: change the male role.

Or to be correct CONTINUE to change the male role! One of the most important.

Kära vänner, very strange but someone completely unknown has in English managed to post a blog on my website. I removed it. Do not know what it was. Mysko.

I was going to write about how you can feel after being traumatized – for example, by a psychopath, like myself. My book The Destroyer describes some of what happened to me, for example.

It is now four years ago, in a few days, as we finally got to the point of trial. Then it was almost four years since we had reported. FOUR YEARS! Since he had committed a crime that risked giving him more than two years in prison, he would have been detained after the trial – but that did not happen. He could without any problems, despite the fact that he received the sentence THREE YEARS PRISON as easily as a platter leave the country. Because he had appealed the verdict, the verdict had not gained legal force and he was as free as anyone.

How can it be legally certain?

Nåja, now it has been a number of years since the verdict became final, it happened 1 mars 2019. ( it would not be up in the Court of Appeal until THIRTEEN MONTHS after the verdict was handed down so he had all that time to prepare his sort ) and everything in the victim's life ( it happens to be me ) is much better, so much better that it is not even possible to compare. It's like another world. But it's not good for that.

During these years, after we reported ( 2014 ) I have been so enormously tired that I have thought I was dying. I have not believed it all the time but I have especially believed it after the book was finished and published. Then I should have become PIGG! Of course I'm alert too, very alert and also happy, men ändå… in me I am TIRED. This has meant that I have not felt particularly motivated to give the iron as I usually do. I have not WORKED IN my brain and body out of desire to work or other direction and curiosity and zeal. Jo, everything has been there , but not the power….not the real fervor needed to be a writer.

I have thought, not fully conscious, but I have thought that I am still dying and will die within six months. What's the point then?? More than being in the moment and enjoying it.

Now I have, as I have mentioned before, finally taken seriously by CARE, in this case KRY.

And investigated lengthwise and crosswise. And I'm HEALTHY. Super fresh. I do not even suffer from a single small deficiency.

Fatigue is therefore ONLY mental.

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!