Often, I lie down and, through reasoning, I try to get an overview of everything that’s going on inside of me. Mentally and physically. 
In the ocean of sounds, the big crowds of people and the grandiose ways all kinds of public technology guide and simplify life, I’m not able to find the same inner focus anymore. Since “the situation”, I feel the constant need to make sure that my behavior is normal enough to not be judged for it, when I’m around other people. 

In public, my thoughts are constantly focused on not making mistakes. “Two minutes until the metro comes. It’s too busy here. I want to be able to sit. Walk until right past the rain shed. Not too close to the tracks. Walking straight would be easier if I weren’t nervous. Why do people always stare at me when I walk past? Does my hair look weird? It’s almost here. I think that if I do two steps to the right, when it stops, it will be right in front of me.”

“It’s slippery. Make a large step over the space between the platform and the metro. Hold on tight to everything. It can’t overcome me that drop anything onto the tracks, because I can’t afford to buy any of these things again. Nice. There’s a window seat free, with no one on the seat next to it. Of course, I’ll put my bag on my lap. I don’t want to be judged for not taking others into consideration. Again, I keep meeting people’s eyes, when I feel that they’re staring at me, so I look at them. Then our eyes meet for a split second and they look away. What does their look mean? It would be more comfortable if they would just say why they do it. Ah, I don’t want to think about this. If I increase the sound of the music I’m listening to enough, maybe I can find that same level of inner peace again. I miss what we had, on the spiritual side of my body. Please talk to me. Wait, what if these people notice that I’m talking to you, and they call the psychiatrists on me? They can notice, because when I hear you, and when I shift my focus to only our conversation, I can’t help but smile. I hate that people believe that our gift is a mental disease. No one can know about the connection I have with you. They’ll lock me inside an institution again. I never want that to happen again. But still, I miss your voice inside my head so much. What did you say? I’m afraid that I’ll misinterpret it, so I can’t say that I heard your words with certainty.”

Since the moment I saw you, I was suddenly sure that other people who are like me, truly exist. Your thoughts must be similar to mine. 

Every night, I prayed that my feelings of loneliness and heartache will disappear. Every night, I prayed for being able to communicate with our thoughts, inside my head. Then, I could take you with me, everywhere I go. Especially when things in the physical realm get uncomfortable, I can then safely zone out, and focus on the two of us. (It’s interesting that I considered us being together in real life so impossible – then, we were both in a relationship – that I didn’t even think of praying for it. And now it’s all I live for…)

Me: “Pardon. Mag ik er even langs?”

Me: “Dank u.”

I want to use polite words that make people respond to me with a similar kind of politeness, but it never seems to work out. Maybe my words aren’t polite enough. Maybe they don’t want that form of social warmth. Maybe they don’t even have the vocabulary to express social warmth. It gives me chest pains. 

“I want to do this as fast as possible. If I walk like this, I can pass everyone and be out of this crowd in the fastest way. I hope the small metro gate doors don’t slam shut in my face again. I see an old lady on the other side of the escalator, so I’ll take the stairs.”

Permanent side-effects leave a constant pressure on my brain. I need to relax my brain, to be able to hear you. With the pressure, I tend to move the device myself, because only with your voice in my head, I’m able to relax nowadays. It moves itself per syllable. If you focus on my hair and ears at the same time, you can really see it move.

The idea that you love me and that you can hear my frequency, makes me feel more safe.
I’ve chosen this method to describe the level, because I think this makes it easier for you to imagine my experience. Also, in this indirect way of describing, the person who would negatively judge me for my experience, won’t understand what I mean. It was a secret, but because I was forced to talk about it – for a very long time, I didn’t, because I already knew what their conclusion would be, but after more than 6 months, it was starting to tire me, and I hoped that their conclusion would be something else – I gave them a tiny bit of information about The Head Cuddle.

Italics = description of thoughts/feelings/perception

“Italics” = thoughts (unspoken) 

“Normal” = spoken words

“Bold” = The Head Cuddle

Monday, October 22, 2018


Me: Visje… Kom je eten?

From now on, I want to stop hiding the inner conversation that emerged on May 22, 2017.

It’s “Visje”, because he called himself “a small fish”, in a message he sent me in the beginning of last year . He’s way too Cuddle and Graet to call himself “a small fish” :D. The Cuddleniss is hard to express in words, because it’s so Cuddle, I say Visje and try to induce as much Cuddle as possible.

Visje, give me Cishes, want ik mis je. [It’s too staccato and imperative. I can’t breathe in that much, so I use the least amount of words possible.] That’s something I sing often, inside myself. [I’m “too (un)cool” to sing it out loud…]]

The sentiment makes me want to disappear, because the expression of it makes me feel like I want to exercise out the pressure that is put on my muscles. I want to kiss you… But I shouldn’t, at the same time.

My response – I’m talking e-mailing – included the comparison between him and the “fish character from the national lottery”. I made this comparison, by means of portraying him in the context of a small fish, to “serenade” how valuable he is, in terms of how much he can add to our society and how much he means to me – especially where I live, in the type of culture where, I think, because of the people/space rate, there is a more hostile survival of the fittest [Please don’t consider me a populist.], where money works stress-relieving and it makes people cheer, from the forms of essentials, wealth, comfort, power and/or greatness it brings. [It is unfortunate that some of us need to work so hard, to only provide ourselves with essentials. I can not cheer, because of this form of powerlessness. It’s unfair :(. I want to cause a small shift. I don’t intend to give people a lot of wealth and them let them do nothing for the rest of their lives. It’s important to develop the gift of reasoning, I believe. @ D.O.C.I.S.. Participation is optional. NOT AT ALL mandatory. I want to help people.]