Sticky slimy anxiety

Hi, I’m sitting at a café. This café is a common place to hang out among my friends. A lot of punx, anarchists and social activists are gathering here to eat from the cafes all vegan menu, and talk about everything.

Apart from writing this post I’m reading a book, over and over again, ‘Gorillas in the mist’ by Dian Fossey, drinking dangerous amounts of coffee and watching my friends from distance.

I’m glad I’m out, doing something. Even if I’m just sitting here doing almost nothing, better than hiding or being stuck inside four walls.

I haven’t gone to any meeting for a couple of weeks, I know it’s bad but I simply can’t do it. I need space, a pause from hospitals and shrinks.

Crust punk flows out of the speakers. It’s nice with a place where radio hits are banned, dogs are allowed and animals don’t have to die for a menu. Here I can be who I am without being eyeballed...need more coffee - Addict.

For some days now, me and S have been building a wall, isolated it and have made a totally okay room to live in, in an otherwise Siberia-cold building. It was fun! FUN!

We will move there a.s.a.p. We just don’t want to leave E behind. We like living with her and we will again in the future.

Ahrw! Despair and misery please stop!! I just want to break free from this sticky glue of bullshit and anxiety I’m in.