Alexandra Norrskèn (N.S.) (lantichristo) wrote,
Alexandra Norrskèn (N.S.)

A week away, Still in the shithole.

14th of May 2010-05-14



Dear diary

6th floor of a dreadful hospital, in a shithole of a city.


What a crack whore ...

What a pit ...

What a pile of shit, camouflaged as more shit.

The smell of fresh vomit and feces allover the air. Inside the hospital and out …

I escape for a couple of hours.

10th floor … ex-smokers' room … In the window behind me, reflecting on my computer, I see the city through the dirty window. A warm breeze of pollution is stroking my back.

My throat hurts.


Everywhere noise.

Only noise.

I’m not sweating now. But ahead of me, a horrendous day awaits, like a hungry demon in the gates of hell, awaits for the newcomers.


Small people. Big people. Kind people. Unkind people. Healthy people. Sick people. Beautiful people. Ugly. Mostly ugly people. Fat people. Clean people. Dirty, smelly, motherfucking people all around me.

Why was I born with a heart?

A constant buzz. Traffic. Drilling machines. Digging machines. Unidentified machines. Making noise … and all together, a constant buzz.

My life in shambles …

This poisonous city is eating me up.

I never wanted to come here. I never wanted to ever return.

Oh why was I born with a heart?

If there was a heaven …

Where are all those carefree years?

Life on stand by.

Life with an expiration date.


What if I was never gifted with it?

What if … I never was.

What if …

And the dragon’s hot breath is burning in my brain.

Small tiny incisions of fate. Repeatedly, masochistically, cutting through, cutting beyond, cutting across …

And the friends are nowhere to be seen …

Only the true friends are here … but not the ones I expected … not the ones I thought I wanted … not the ones in disguise …

True friends are here … I am here …

I won’t be calling anymore.

My life in shambles …

And who would have thought I would be the one to lean on?

Who would have thought I would be the one that would run for the rescue!

I am not a savior.

I am not a hero.

I am not the one to count on.

Let me be the one who needs to be rescued. Let me be the one who is doing what she’s told.

Let me rest in an oblivion of flesh-wound smiles. In a superficial exchange of oxygen with wonderful strangers.

With my shadow.

With the love of my life.

My man.

My friend.

My brother.

I hate it here.

I LOATH this land!!!!

The Greek sun is burning my soul ... pollution is

liquefying my lungs ...

My father tried to end it all ... his car is now heading to the junkyard ...

Why … Oh why was I born with a heart?

I want to go back to my home. My north. My Scandinavia. My beloved Stockholm. My Haven. My Heaven. With the beautiful people who make me furious because they nag about the weather ... because it is the only thing they nag about ...

I want my father to make it ...

I want to survive, this yet again god awful trip in Hell ...

I miss my home ...

I miss ... living ...

Alexandra N.S.

Tags: dear diary, my father's illness

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