i can and i will

Ein Video-Ding zum Thema Intimität, Internet, Informationen und wie-viel-gebe-ich-eigentlich-wirklich-von-mir-preis.

Ich habe mir die Frage gestellt, was ein paar Fotos und Worte alles über einen Menschen aussagen können und ob es reicht um jemanden so gut zu kennen,dass man ihn lieben oder hassen kann. 

Ob die Befürchtungen, die man hat, gerechtfertigt sind, wie verletzlich man sich dabei macht, was die Konsequenzen sein könnten, ob das eine Grau-Zone ist, oder ob es klare Regeln gibt,was man mit der "Öffentlichkeit" und Fremden teilen darf und ob wir überhaupt nicht eigentlich alle ehrlicher und offener sein sollten.

Im hiermit stattfindenden Selbstexperiment überschreite ich jede Regel,die ich gefunden habe und gebe die Dinge preis, die man im Internet besser nicht zeigen sollte. 

TRIGGER WARNING bezüglich psychischer Krankheiten, speziell Depressionen,Panikattacken und Essstörungen - es werden keine expliziten Bilder gezeigt

I have 

three friends who have been raped,
two friends who have been touched 
below the waist without their consent,
one friend who went to the police
and I am so afraid.

Have you ever laughed so hard, 

you started crying? 

Have you ever felt pain so intense, a loss hurt you so much, 

that after days of crying, 

you started laughing at a funeral?

 Laughing and crying, two physical reactions that are sometimes impossible to separate.

"the sad clown" by Jordan Robin,; 14/11/14; http://www.deviantart.com/

I know that cracking jokes about problems is so much easier than going through therapy and the dark corners of the mind.

I believe, that – no matter how cheesy this will sound - the clown wears his mask to hide his tears. I’m sure, that the clown doesn’t want to face reality, this is a way of dealing with struggle, and he needs the distance between him and his life through his jokes and the audience.

It’s important to remember, the one who cracks the joke isn’t the one who laughs.

Have you ever met someone who is really funny, not in an immature kind of way, but his responses are witty, his timing perfect, the whole act so well written and performed?
 - When was the last time you have seen this person laugh?

It’s not easy to make a comedian laugh - the depressed clown, this image itself is as funny as it is sad.

But depressed people are #notjustsad. 
Sometimes they never seem to be sad, but hyper and energetic and full of life. 
Sometimes they can't get out of bed but still laugh about stupid tv shows. 
Sometimes they are talented and intelligent and beautiful and loveable and they want to kill themselves despite all that. 
Sometimes they don't even want to end their life, just end the boredom and the constant loneliness, Sometimes they are out every night and dance until sunrise, 
sometimes they are not able to get up and eat or shower. 
Depression is much more than sadness. It's not a mood or a choice or a lazy lifestyle. 
Depression can be dark and pitch black, but it can also be bright red or a dusty grey colour. Depression comes in many shades.

It's not a secret that i am depressed. I stated it more than once here already. 
But just because i was diagnosed with it a few year ago, doesn't mean that i always know what i'm talking about. 
I don't know how you feel. 
I don't even know how i feel most of the time. 
I don't want to only live amongst depressed people, but the funyn thing is, i seem to attract them or they attract me, now more than ever. 
I'm talking about the sarcastic ones, those kind of people I always seem to like instantly and i can relate to the most.

The ones who wear their hatred for the world and their cynicism like a t-shirt, those who despise themselves almost more than they hate to appear vunerable or to open up, the men and women who are so self-aware and confident that they are able joke about their own failures and who are not afraid of presenting themselves as flawed human beings or to make a fool out of themselves.

I seem to fall for the people with an easy-going mentality, but at the same time such a dark and dry sense of humor that everything they say is a little bit morbid and twisted, but they are still clever and caring enough to not cross certain boundaries and are able to deliver it lightly and always to the right time.

That’s what's fascinating about high quality comedy: That it’s not fart-jokes or babbling about sex - it’s the sad truth hidden in one-liners and pain behind puns, it’s the fine line between laughing and crying that really hits home and triggers emotions.

I want to add something important, that kind of inspired me to write this: the hashtag #notjustsad on twitter (which is a good example of stereotypes about depression, like the ‘fact’ that depressed people can’t feel things, be funny or laugh). Go and check it out, let's raise more awareness about depression, let's erase stigma and let's not be shitheads.

On a scale from Joey Tribbiani to Chandler Bing,

 how happy are you?

And on the same scale, 

how great is your ability to create jokes?

We all know comedians who killed themselves.

It’s not unknown, that many famous, funny people suffer with mental  problems.

It’s almost general knowledge, how many talented (wo)men, that make a whole crowd laugh every night, need alcohol, drugs and medication to make it through the day.

Listen, about what do those people joke? 

About their shitty childhood? A missing parent? 

About being unpopular and ‘special’? 

About being unlucky in love? 

About their appearance? About being too fat, too small, too stupid, too naïve?

Where do you think those jokes come from?

Have you ever thought that this could be a coping mechanism?

When you feel like you have nothing else you can offer this world, not enough beauty, just average intelligence, no special talents, humor can be your thing. 

As soon as you are able to see beyond the wall of hopelessness and self-hatred, you may decide to turn your torture into a show. Sometimes it’s not even a conscious decision, but more a psychological process of how your brain deals with hard times.

Don’t get me wrong, being funny is not easy. It would be so much easier to lay in bed and cry all day, on the other hand, in that case you have to open up, admit defeat and acknowledge your problems and let them get to you and so many people are –for so many different reasons - not able to do that.

Jokes make such a good armour, you can hide everything behind them and create a cartoon character of yourself so no one ever has to see how damaged  and insecure you really are. 

If you spent the first few years of your life being laughed at, it feels so good to say something people can laugh about.

You have the choice wether you want to make your flaws your biggest weakness or wether you make them the punch line of your jokes. You can try to hide them or you wear them in front of you, so no one can hold them against you. 

Make the dirtiest joke about the size of your boobs, so no one else can say it first and hurt you. 

Tell the most macabre anecdote about your alcoholic father who used to hit you and left your mum – no one will be able to say something meaner than you just did.

To have this power, this control to make everyone in the room see and maybe even like you, just a few perfectly chosen words in the right moment can make you feel so much better.

____________________________________________________________________________________

there will be some more blog posts about sexuality, gender (and everything you want to read or write about) in terms of this topics in the following weeks -

I'll try my best to write something about it, but i'm the jon snow of sexual orientation and gender issues, so please, if you are interested in writing about it or know things the world should know, contact me via facebook or twitter or in the comments and you can give your words a place to be heared and (almost) every opinion will get published \o/

I’ve met this boy who asked me, if i want to go on a date with him and i said no. 

He asked me why and I lied. 

I couldn’t tell him that I’m suffering with panic attacks and that I’ve reached such a low point,that I just can’t meet almost strangers in a cinema or restaurant, because i would lose my shit and make a scene and I would scare him of.

I could see it in his face, that he tried not to look hurt or angry, because I just said no without any good explanaition. 

I know, I don’t owe him anything,but I liked him aswell and I really wanted to go out with him... 

just without the going out part. 

At the same time I didn’t want to invite him to my house, we just met and no, I’m not scared, but yes, I feel like it’s common sense not to invite strangers to your bedroom, when you're not into that kinda thing.

Long story short, we exchanged numbers and I searched for a believable excuse, something like that I 'm afraid of meeting a stranger and that I wanted to first get to know him a bit more, just to get some time and he replied, that he wasn’t such a fan of this idea, because he would rather get to know me face to face and see if the chemistry works, than via text. 

I get that, I totally understand that. 

But I was too scared to tell him the truth, that I wanted this, too, but that I just couldn’t do it right now or any time soon. 

I didn’t want him to judge me based on my mental illness, I didn’t want to be that crazy girl, I just wanted to meet someone without the panic disorder between us.
Depression is so much easier to hide, it's not less scary or exhausting to live with, but it is a quiet agony. It numbs and makes me stop caring. Panic makes me care way too much and makes everything louder.

He wasn’t angry and he didn’t just left, he was kind and nodded and asked me if I was also scared of other things and in general an anxious person.

And this hit home.  

I wanted to answer with "no", with a very clear, loud "no", because I wasn’t - 
I have never been a fearful person, I would have always describes myself as brave and adventurous.

But then I looked at myself and the last 4 years from a different perspective: barely making it to school, all the therapies and meds, leaving uni, coming back home, missing appointments and cancelling dates with friends - because I was so scared...or better said: ill.

Maybe I am wrong. 

Maybe I’m a coward, maybe I’m the biggest coward that there is.

But does it count, that I’m just afraid of things, because I have an anxiety disorder?

How do I know what’s me and what’s the illness?

Or is the illness,  after all this years, finally such a big part of me, that it doesn't even matter, if Lilian is calm and lion-hearted, when Panic!Lilian – who is out 23 hours a day  - isn’t?

How do you even messure braveness or fear?

Is it braver to stand up for yourself, to admit defeat, to know your limits, to push yourself to go to the supermarket or is it brave to climb a mountain and to travel the world even if you're not scared of heights or the unknown?

Am I even braver, because I deal with my fear every waking hour and don’t let it kill me?

Or am I a bigger coward, because I’m not scared of anything in particular, but of fear itself?

Is panic all that I’m made of? 

Is there nothing left of ‘me’ anymore? 

Or is this me and everything I pictured in my mind was just wishful thinking?

Which part of my is who i really am,which is the diseased part that i need to cut off, which part is who i aspire to be, will i ever be 'okay', and is there any part of me, that isn't sick yet?

Am i more than an illness?

Could i be someone without it?

Will i ever be more than that?