It seems like life-altering revelations only happen in movies. Like, somebody says something or does something that makes the other completely change his facial expression to express that he has seen the light and all of a sudden he's a brand new person, with a new purpose in life and a nice big smile on his face. That's bullshit. Nobody changes that drastically… unless it's the other way around. That is, being a happy, fun-loving person and experiencing something horrible that makes that person turn into a neurotic, depressed, angry basket case in a matter of minutes. It happened to him and almost simultaneously happened to me, as it has many other times in my life.

Regaining my senses during the other times always took about a year or two, and all the self-healing that I've achieved during that time would always be obliterated in an instant when I would experience yet another atrocious event. Over and fucking over again, two years to heal, two minutes to get completely fucked up again, another two years to heal again, and yet again fall into the abysmal hell with an even more powerful velocity than before, helplessly trying to find a way out of this solitary confinement shithole for another several years…

Is this God's idea of a joke? Is my life supposed to be an endless attempt to heal myself? Sure, we are all in a long process of self-burial, so healing entirely would be impossible because that would mean immortality, and frankly, I prefer any abysmal hell over that. But somehow, we managed to convince ourselves that if we are not dead, then we must be alive… and somehow, I just don't feel that.

Alive? Seriously, I feel far, far away from that.

There are things that make me feel alive but that are temporary and would make me feel even worse when they're over – drugs and sex, which are not always readily available and involve an enormous amount of risk. With drugs, when the high is over, the crash is horribly painful and terrifying. And with sex, an intense orgasm can suddenly make way for excruciating guilt and shame, and in my case also fear of abandonment.

Love cannot make me feel alive, not anymore. Love is uncertain in essence, and it is this uncertainty that terrifies me knowing that at any moment it could end. And fear, for me, is a feeling worse than anything.

Then there's music – my perfect addiction. The only risks that music involves is potential deafness if cranked up to ear-perforating levels, a sore neck if headbanging is inevitable, and a sore throat if growling along is also inevitable, but the spiritual effect is instantaneous and lasts longer than an orgasm or any given high. I trust music to never abandon me, unless my battery runs out, but that's irrelevant because I can always recharge it. Pain, fear, guilt, shame, all other negative energies dissipate and I rise into an aura of positive entities, that bring light into whatever abyss I fell into at that given time and show me the way out, even if for a little while.

So music does make me feel alive because I know that without it, I would have been dead, buried and forgotten long ago.

Still, I want to be able to use that positive feeling without fearing the inevitable cycle of pain-healing-pain. I want to feel alive while being able to feel pain, empathy and compassion without being entirely overtaken by it. I want to love passionately while avoiding the fear and the naiveté that may come along with that. I want to trust people even if I hate them.  

Enough already, I've fucking had it with this shit. I'm sick of my senses and lack thereof, sick of my core of pain, sick of this corpse I've been stuffed into against my will, sick of my psychological self-rape… I want to erase everything, and just be happy, be truly happy, once and for all.

It's not every day that I can start a blog out this way but here it is.

So I was having this MySpace message conversation with Angela Gossow about feminism and all, which by the way, totally rules. And I went around for about a week thinking about it more in depth and started branching out in all directions.

A while back I read The DaVinci Code, and all fabrications aside, what Dan Brown says in general makes absolute sense. The fact that a woman can bring a child into this world can make her almost divine. But what about a woman who cannot conceive children? Is she any less of a woman? Is she any less worthy of extolment?

Having recently found out that I have a genetic disease that can manifest itself in more a extreme nature for any offspring I may have, I'm terrified to bring any child into this world, with this condition which can render him or her clinically handicapped. There are pre-natal tests which can determine if a fetus inherited the condition, but in case the tests come out positive, the pregnancy should be terminated. So if one day I have to face either options - of bringing a handicapped child into this world or aborting it - I will go insane. And I mean, insane in the sense that I will have to go to an asylum. Basically what I'm considering is instead of risking going mental or risking endangering a child, I can resort to adoption, but I digress.

The fact that I can't bring myself to conceive a child, does that also make me any less of a woman?

Right now, the whole idea of the divinity of a woman seems a bit ridiculous, far-fetched and even discriminatory. I believe a woman should be respected, not worshipped. A woman is not a goddess, but she is a human being and should be treated as such.

This is what feminism should try to accomplish - to make those who treat women as sub-human, as property or as objects see women for who they are: human beings, and that they have the same rights every individual is entitled to.

Feminists who seek to make women into divine entities to be worshipped are missing the point of the equality between men and women.

Yes, saying "I'm a goddess, I kick ass, bow down, miserable males, for you are not worthy" may be empowering, but at the end of the day, we should recognize that we are only human, and we should thank God or Mother Earth for that.

Peace, love and I made an apple pie from the Tree of Knowledge! Yum!

Wow, ok I haven't written here in so long. Mostly because instead of writing about my life, I actually decided to go and live it. Smartest choice I ever made was moving to Israel because here, feelings are all out in the open with all their beauty and ugliness. Even if I don't work full time, I'm still functioning full time, and for once in my life I can find myself in times of extreme happiness - happiness overload, as I call it.

Not that I haven't had my bouts of depression here and there. Actually, because of those happiness overloads, the downside is that when I get depressed, I get REALLY depressed. Towards the end of last year, I dated this guy (I'll call him D) for two months and had some of the most beautiful time in my life. Despite the short-lived relationship, it was the deepest and most intense one, and I experienced feelings that I didn't even know existed - feelings that cannot be put into words, feelings that are by their very nature extreme as well as conflicting and confusing.

This is because D would do things and say things that would make me melt with satisfaction, love, trust, joy, but with overwhelming fear as well. So basically, when I was in his arms, I've never felt safer, but I've also never felt more afraid in my life - simply the fear of losing this cover of safety. D had some issues of his own, so I found myself going out of my way to make him happy, because it seemed that whatever I did had negative reprecussions and somehow made him feel insecure and offended at times.

After he broke up with me, I watched my world fall apart for the second time. The first time was in 2004 when my other boyfriend broke up with me. After having managed to rebuild myself with the help of feminism, riot grrrl music, writing and moving to Israel, D comes into my life and destroys me all over again. So I became such a mess that I went into therapy fearing that the next time I put a knife to my wrist, I might actually pull it.

Today, I am still in therapy and am doing much better, and am now resuming my happiness overloads, minus the fear of abandonment and loss. I am also healing with the help of feminism and riot grrrl as usual but this time I am attempting to avoid building a wall around myself as I have done in the past.

This wall provided me with much-needed protection, but it also kept me from expressing any emotions and rejected anyone who so much as looked my way. Now that this wall is broken, I just might be able to heal without closing myself off, and actually manage to express whatever feelings I have, without fearing the pain that may come along with it.

Aside from that, I've discovered many things about myself and my life that I haven't thought of before. Basically, these are things that I knew in the back of my mind but never thought of them in the way that I do now. My therapist makes me look at these experiences and see them for what they really are. Moving to Israel, for example, was something I saw as good, but I never saw it as a strength, as something I managed to do all on my own, while severing the dependent relationship I had with my parents. I also recently acknowleged the fact that I was raped, but I prefer not going into that. It was a very tough realization and I'm still trying to come to grips with it.

My psychological state scares me to the core. Although there are wonderful things I'm discovering about myself, it all comes with an enormous amount of pain. All these feelings are emerging like decomposed corpses on polluted shores, and need to be cleaned off and revived.

But I think I'm getting there... wherever "there" is.

Peace, love and "We Will Rise" from the dead.