love

The sound of the door bell waking me up

Posted on Updated on


 

This is already a wonderful day, even if I was torn out of sleep by kids ex exercising their finger muscles on my door bell. I tried to hide in the shadow as I opened because of my frankenstein’s face mask, but by their swift disappearance, I’m not sure I managed. They brought a present; My snow-White mate for life, little Amadeus. He’s been naughty as usual, but wasnt away for long this time, and that wasnt to bad either, since I had a visitor yesterday.

Today I’m going to Bergen together with Helene. The anticipation is brimming: I will see my psycholgy Friends, my sister, my best friend and a lot of other Friends, and will in addition to that play boardgames, maybe Even Resistance, which is the best social game ever made that I know of! I have also done a lot lately, for example met a lot of warm and inspiring psychologist, organized things for my group (am now planning a hike to a cabin) and read about mentalization. I’ve had the best chatts, and talked a lot with an amazing guy. Can’t believe my luck, it was worth fighting away the hurt, rejection and dissapointment that lingered from the bad choices I made. I feel free, and will devour every bit of life with vigor. I have so many good things now: Wonderful and caring friends in many cities, a great family, the best job where I help the nicest people find their inner beauty, all the things I need, and my Italian course, that produce goose-bumps when I discover yet another beautiful word that gives my ear another reason to listen to magic.

Remember this: even if everything is as bad as it can be, you will get the price in the end. Or like my mother said; Nothing is so bad that it can’t be fixed. I believe that, and if you don’t, listen to my and others stories, and don’t forget you’ve felt good before.

20121116-101532.jpg

<a

20121116-102523.jpg

20121116-103053.jpg

My norwegian blog

Posted on


This week`s been really busy, so I did not get the chance to update my blog here. Will try to start on my third part of the narrative, soon. I can just tell you, very briefly, that my ex-boyfriend survived the storm. He was safer than I thought, but while nature showed its scary face, I did not know that. I woke after a nightmare at 4.30 in the morning, checked my email with a pounding hearth, and felt relief ripping through me, when I saw everything was okay.

For people who want to see pictures, or who can read norwegian, I have updated my Norwegian blog: La vita e bella. The name stems from my love to the Italian language and culture, its a celebration of the good in life, and I am much more optimistic in that one, than in this, which is much more honest and true than my Norwegian counterpart.

So: Here it is! If you have any questions, feel free to ask ūüôā

http://lifeisbeautfiul.blogspot.no/2012/11/the-sound-of-hurry-settling-down.html#.UJbAw7vfsQ4

This week I got the chance to sing for the choir Surround. I was nervous, and did a lot of mistakes, but she liked me and I am most probably in ūüėÄ This is the one of the songs I choose

 

Integration

Posted on Updated on


The overhead projector¬†is making its electric sound from above my head, spitting out black letters on a white board. The theme is affect integration in psychotherapy, the Ph.D. Project of my colleague, Nils. He’s moving to Oslo very soon, leaving us others behind in the small place where I now have worked for two years. It’s Tuesday morning, and we always have some presentation then. Last Tuesday I was in the spotlight, talking about trauma and the treatment of it.

Psychology, like other sciences, have a lot of jargon that sometimes need explaining. On of these expression is what I will write about now, which also is what Nils I talking about. Integration. It’s really not an especially pretty word, it gives associations to the sounds produced when you drag some item over a blackboard. It’s not like the pretty Italian words, rolling around in the mouth and room like it belongs there, caressing the target. But it’s not always the¬†pretty things that matter the most, sometimes the glitter and glamour is just that, with no depth or meaning. Integration is so much more than that, when you scratch the surface its real beauty comes alive.

Two threads are not necessarily pretty themselves. One white, and one black on are just that, naked in their aloneness, longing for a partner. It’s first when they get twined together, the whiteness surrounding the dark places, that it comes alive. Think about the yin and yang. What would it be if not the other color stood by it? What would the magic scene of schindlers¬†list, where the redness¬†screams for attention in an otherwise colorless movie, be without the grayness? This is, as I see it, an example of integration, where the whole is more and better than its parts. It’s like making good food, the ingredient in themselves doesn’t make the mouth water, it’s the combination that gives extra flavor and meaning.

With a lot of real life problems, this also applies. It’s the people comfortable in their own skin, accepting their natural tendencies and integrating it with society, that feel complete. If a puzzle is not put together in the way it’s meant, the result won’t be right. Fitting the wrong piece into the puzzle, doesn’t work. For a human this could be inhibiting natural tendencies like joy and sadness, because the integration of preferences and logic, doesn’t combine. It’s like trying to shape someone into what you want them to be, but no matter what, the picture will not be anything else than what it was supposed to be. If forced long enough, the person will try to keep the picture together, using superglue on those pieces that doesn’t slide together naturally. It’s some integration, but not the one meant to be.

In my work I see this every day: People want to feel joy, but shame stops it from surfacing, boys want to laugh and talk, but the thoughts of somebody disliking them, abort¬†the tendency of fun in its first trimester. It’s even more noticeable after trauma, when a lot of different roles develop that make¬†them follow a script,¬†often without vigor or satisfaction. It’s memories kept away, true selves locked¬†in closed boxes and lives never lived. It always pains me to watch this in reality: The wonderful woman, who carries Everyone else’s weight in addition to her own, the man in a destructive relationship who thinks he doesn’t have the right to be happy, or the child quenching¬†her own happiness because¬†she doesn’t dare to laugh in a house full of gloom. The feelings, needs and tendencies, doesn’t fit into the picture someone’s trying to make, and therefore they are hidden, forgotten or forced into the wrong part, since it has to go somewhere. This is the point when the integrated system break down, where fast solutions have to be executed to compensate for the losses and keeping the organism functioning in some way. It’s when the flower shreds some petals to keep from being blown over by harsh weather, and like the bee delivering the deadly sting to protect its queen. Who of us hasn’t experienced being defensive, destruction the very same things we really longed for?

Hopefully it’s never too late. Even when a completed picture has scratches and left-overs from glue¬†for the sake of getting everything right for the second time, the picture can still be pretty and important. Isn’t it a fact that it’s the worn and torn pics on a scrapbook page we fall for. The old photos that tell a history of a life lived? I believe in integration. In putting pieces where they belong, even when they weren’t right the first time. I think that each time we let somebody just be, whoever they are, we are helping them patch up the wrongs, and even adding the little extra that self-confident people spread without knowing it. We are all small saviors, plucking harmony and tolerance and watering others with it.

20121023-211917.jpg

Protected: Narrative part 3: The bridge of love

Posted on Updated on


This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

The Big and bad day.

Posted on Updated on


Some days feel like being a vacuum-cleaner trying to get rid of all the snow, not knowing its not what it seems to be. That feeling when darkness is safer than this world, when the things that gave joy the day before are tinted and horrible.

I had a boyfriend. He made me laugh with my heart opened and tender, loving everything fiercely. When I thought about coming home, resting in his arms, everything could be endured. The beauty was in his every word, it sent chills down my spines and made air unnecessary. I went all miles worth going, without training or help, because the finish line delivered the smile of my life. I longed for it, devoured it and lost it.

He shall know that what I am, right now broken but still strong, came from him. I could be myself, I did not care what the world thought about me because I was fine, everything was fine. I put jealousy, my faithful warder, in his own prison and kept it at bay. I drowned poison seeping though the cracks with infectious care and forgiveness. I learned that to lose control is gaining it, even if I now stand here alone.

I lost this person, who gave me his water necessary for growing. I will love him for that, and true love sometimes involves letting go.

I see you running in the fields. Flowers around you, laughter and joy. I thought it would be me, there by your side, but I tripped and lost my chance.

20121006-201029.jpg

Protected: Narrative of my life

Posted on Updated on


This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below: