19/3eviciton – ABC Rhineland

Freispruch in der UPIII Berufungsverhandlung

ABC Rhineland — Wed, 15 May 2019 16:49:57 +0000

Näxt Stop im UPIII Verfahren: Freispruch fürs Trommeln. Krachmacher*innen der Welt vereinigt euch! Never trust the Authorities! #RhythmsOfResistance

1 Jahr, 1 Monat und 27 Tage. Festnahme im März 2018. Über 6 Monate Untersuchungshaft. Entlassung im Oktober, nur Tage nach Rodungsstop und Räumung. Vier Hauptsverhandlungstage in der Berufung. Freispruch. Revision? Resistance! Hambi Bleibt!

"Wenn hier Anarchie herrschen würde, wäre klar, wer die ersten Opfer wären. Die ersten Opfer wären die Anarchisten und die, die auf den Bäumen sitzen." - so der Richter bei der Urteilsbegründung. Selber Opfer! SystemOpfer!

Haftentlassung UPIII: Hintergrundinfos

ABC Rhineland — Tue, 06 Nov 2018 17:23:06 +0000

deutsch

Im Rahmen der mündlichen, nicht öffentlichen Haftprüfung am 4. Oktober 2018 vor dem Landgericht Köln wurde der Haftbefehl gegen UPIII aufgehoben.

Bericht über den langwierigen Weg zur Haftprüfung hier: LINK

Laut UPIII war die Haftprüfung vor allem ein Kreuzverhör durch den Richter*, das sich zentral um die Frage drehte, was sie vor habe, wenn sie jetzt frei käme. Es scheint, als ob der Richter* darauf hoffte, dass UPIII nach der Entlassung so schnell es geht in ihr Herkunftsland zurückgehe, am Besten noch die Berufung zurücknehme. Mit dem Wegfall der Berufung würde das erstinstanzliche Urteil rechtskräftig, für die restlichen zweieinhalb Monate der Haftstrafe würde ein europäischer Haftbefehl – gültig über 5 Jahre – erlassen werden.

Laut §117 StPO soll eine Haftprüfung eigentlich klären, ob die Fortführung der Haft weiterhin gerechtfertigt ist. Sie kann aber auch durch das Gericht genutzt werden, sich die arbeitsärmsten Maßnahmen herauszupicken.

Mit der Aufhebung des Haftbefehls steht UPIII nun frei, zu tun was sie möchte. Sie ist im Gegensatz zu einem nur ausgesetzten Haftbefehl an keinerlei Auflagen gebunden, sich an einem bestimmten Ort auf- oder fernzuhalten. So muss sie anders als viele andere Freigelassene sich weder einmal die Woche bei der örtlichen Polizei melden, noch hat sie ein Aufenthaltsverbot.

Ob sie die Hoffnungen des Gerichts erfüllen und zurück in ihr Herkunftsland gehen wird, bleibt offen. Die eingelegte Berufung jedenfalls bleibt von Verteidigerseite weiterhin aufrechterhalten.

Letter #45 from UPIII

ABC Rhineland — Sat, 27 Oct 2018 13:03:02 +0000

english

Still recieving Letters from the already released UPIII.

JVA Köln, Thursday, 27. September 2018

Dear Comrades and friends,

lately I've received a few letters telling me that my open letters sound bitter, desperate, frustrated and full of other sickening negative emotions.

I totally agree they do. Here is why.

Up until a week ago I spent every day of six months (minus half hour visits once a week) without a single human being able to understand me. That doesn't sound as serious as I wanted it to.

Imagine every single day waking up knowing that you only have a rushed half hour once a week where people aren't going to tell you that you're fucked up. I cannot put into words for you how absolutely puke shit that is. How alone I felt. How desperate and shit and fucked up I felt.

I wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear until my nine months passed. I very literally wanted to not exist. Not die, but just not exist. I even get letters telling me I'm fucked up- As if the people here don't tell me enough.

I'm still wondering how anyone can not only write but send me a letter with so much hate in it. Write that I deserve this, that I'm obviously a danger to society, I'm stupid, fucked up, the forest is a lost cause, etc.

Cheers.

You could have at least included a return address so I could send you a drawing of a sun and a shit ton of glitter to lighten the fuck up. If you're reading this any of those who wrote such things - do not do it again. I burnt your letters.

f I see your style of writing I will burn the letter the moment I see it. I do not care to be told your thoughts on/ of me. My thoughts of myself are (thank fuck) stronger than your negativity.

So, wow, I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to have someone who understand me on a daily basis. Who fucking gets it.

Who understands I prefer the pronoun "they" and not "she" and why. And uses it.

Who understands what veganism is (and is also vegan) so we can talk about vegan problems because no one else fucking gets it. Fuck it is so fucking nice.

If I cry about animal abuse they fucking get it. They care about all animals too, not just the ones society tells you to love.

Who understands why I am here, and doesn't call me fucked up for trying to do something to protect and stand up for the planet.

Prison is an "occupational hazard", not a punishment for doing something wrong. Activists are not wrong. The government and State just try to make them feel like they are.

Who understand that it's not always easy to be in prison and doesn't tell me to "suck it up" just because I'm not sentenced to be here for years. Someone who understands that pain is pain and gives me space and time to be sad.

Who allows me to be sad in front of them and doesn't make me feel guilty for it. For six months I have had to bottle all my sadness inside me because no one has allowed me to feel (outside of visits) that it is okay to be upset about being here.

Fuck it is so fucking good to be able to be honest about how shit it is to be stuck in prison.

Who understand that sometimes I just really want to be alone, but that doesn't make me weird or a freak.

There's so much more I can't even remember. Prison itself isn't the hard bit, it's the people here. Every single day. Half an hour a week is nowhere near enough to conquer the absolute isolation of ... I don't have a word.

The isolation of personality, dreams, shared ideas and all of that. It's why I started to isolate. I was so tired of hearing that I'm stupid, weird, strange and a whole bunch of other things. I felt less alone if I was by myself for most of the week than around people. How crazy is that?

So of course my letters sound desperate, bitter and soul sick for understanding! Because I was!

I'm okay now though, so much better.

Someone gets me, and I don't feel like it us just me, myself and I against the prison system.

But I still hope they go free. Prison is not a place for people. It'll break my fucking soul, if they stay. They deserve better, everyone here does. It'll be shitty for me again but so fucking what at least I can be happy I had two weeks of understanding or something. And I only have eighty one days to go until I'm free. Not long.

The day they go I'll cry. I'll be a fucking mess but I'll be so fucking thrilled they aren't stuck here too. No one should be here. It is so shit to be stuck. To count days. To have to hope and hope and hope for the day the gates open and you're released.

I need to post this now but I'm sending love, hugs (if you want them) and strength.

STAY BRAVE.

UP III

Letter #42 from UPIII

ABC Rhineland — Wed, 17 Oct 2018 19:33:23 +0000

english

Recieved 27th September 2018

JVA Köln, 16th September 2018

“Testimony of a person who is under house arrest” - Highlights and Comment from UPIII

In Prison at Home for three Weeks

Published here: LINK

On 26th November 2015 at 2.30 pm, officers of the state police came to my house to place me under house arrest for the whole duration of the COP 21.

For the past ten years I have grown and learned within political movements that promote genuine values, that are concerned with the state of the world and work tirelessly for social justice. And when I say ’justice’ I am not referring to the justice dispensed by institutions, the same justice that today has placed me under house arrest. The only just thing about that is its name.

For all these years, I have been surrounded by people who hate lies, who have taken hold of their own lives, who worry about the future of the world and believe in equality for all. Everything is discussed collectively and open to debate. We think about others, we respect, support and listen to each other. We fight against all forms of injustice. Our lives are a constant struggle, and it is our sincerity that gives our resistance its radical dimension. There is nothing ugly or despicable in it. Beauty lies at the heart of all our ideas.

My life for the past ten years has nothing in common with the vacuous stories and caricatures that are doing the rounds in the press and on television. We are described as a mindless mob, a degenerate and nasty crowd, motivated by a love of violence, stupid, manipulated rouges. Each time we are mentioned even briefly, the intention is to paint us in a bad light. Our texts, our songs, our lifestyles are of no interest to anyone. The spirit of freedom they convey scares people.

Everything can be explained by something I’ve been telling myself for the past week: they are afraid of freedom.

The State and its representatives, caught up daily in petty political concerns, are afraid that what they represent – that is, nothing – could be challenged by the majority. How else can you explain the contempt that is shown to those who abstain from voting in elections?

And this fear, when mixed up with an anxiety about no longer being able to ensure social harmony, leads the State to take drastic measures. It’s a constant state of emergency. A few madmen fire into the crowd, and a democracy suddenly becomes a dictatorship. If it can happen so quickly, that means the distance between the two is negligible. Fear is an excuse for anything. Fear can even be transferred from those who exert the power to those who submit to it. And once the fear has spread, it doesn’t take much for yesterday’s democracies to vote in armament, war, militarisation of society and the abolition of civil liberties. In any case, that is all they have to offer: market-driven imperialism and colonial domination. All their ideas are rotten, and those that seem good on the outside are hypocritical.

Only six members of parliament voted against the state of emergency. They are puppets and cowards, all of them. Let’s send them to Syria to dirty their white collars, maybe they’ll understand then what it’s like on the ground when a bomb explodes. All of the elites welcome the introduction of autocratic measures, even if everyone well knows that they will never stop a suicide bomber from blowing himself up in a public space nor anyone from pulling a gun from his jacket to fire into the crowd. If any proof be needed, take the squadron of police that has been stationed 200m away from the Bataclan since the Charlie Hebdo attack. They did not prevent or even hinder the massacre on the 13th November. Yet the discovery of some hidden arms was enough to convince the sceptics of the utility of the police. What a pitiful mascarade.

And behind these highly publicised successes, thousands of people have been humiliated, their freedoms trampled on. It won’t be talked about; most of the people concerned are Arabs and blacks, and poor to boot. Human rights, yeah right. The more they talk about them, less they exist. In any case people like me don’t expect anything from the law. Rights and laws are the prerogative of authority. And authority is totalitarianism.

After threats from the internal security police (RG), dozens of summons after a demo, surveillance outside the house where I live with other people and a house search at some friends’, I find myself under house arrest. I hear that I am dangerous. Armed men come to my door to give me the letter that restricts my freedom of movement. The justification, or rather the pretext: according to what the police knows about me and my life, they assume that I am perhaps planning violent actions around the climate conference. They imagine this to be so. A firm foundation for such a drastic measure.

I have never been convicted nor suspected of any violent actions. In my political vision of the world, violence means physically attacking another person. I do not know anyone in the circles I move in who makes an apology for physical violence, except in the case of self-defense. At the outside, sabotage, like that used by the résistants during the Second World War, vaunted in school history books. Anything else is pure fantasy. The fantasies of policemen and politicians deluded by criminological discourses and reports commissioned by the interior ministry to make the police force seem more appealing and draw new recruits from the most apolitical margins of society.

In their letter, the security police describe me as one of the ’leaders’ of an occult ’radical opposition movement’ which is driven solely by violence. A leader of what? The police, in their ignorance, have still not understood that the political movements I belong to do without leaders and organise horizontally. Their own submission to authority prevents them from understanding.

I am also accredited with superhuman insurrectional powers and acts for which I have never been suspected nor charged. They write that in the past, in one night alone, I threw petrol bombs at policemen, tore up 25m of fencing, cut fibre optic cables, etc. If only I could have been so efficient in a single day, I would surely have asked for a bonus from ’those who are in charge of our movement’… The stories and legends of the security forces suffice to prevent a person leaving home for three weeks. This is not surprising in a democracy.

I have to sign three times a day at the police station.

I am not allowed to leave the town in live in.

I have to stay at home from 8 pm to 6 am.

From 26th November until 12th December.

Based on what? Suppositions, and only suppositions.

I HOPE THIS COP WILL BE A DISASTER FOR THEM AND A CELEBRATION FOR US! RAGE AND JOY!

My thoughts:
To be honest I wanted to highlight most of this letter. Thank you to the person who sent it.
I hate how real this letter is. I'm stuck in a cage because I wanted to be free. I wanted to say "I do not agree". What a drastic fucking measure the State is taking with me.
Nine months for WHAT? "I hear that I am dangerous... They imagine this to be so. A firm foundation for such a drastic measure." Maybe it's because I didn't give in. They're trying to crush the resistance out of me.
I'm rambling because it's super late but this letter always gives me hope. To read that all the stuff that's happening is ridiculous. Useless. Especially because I don't scare that easy.
On Wednesday (it's Monday now I think, or very close to it) I will have been in prison for six months.
And here is me, on Monday morning, in my cell, still thinking "fuck you" and how dare you do this. I'm tired, really fucking bone exhausted, but I can still lift my head to yell.
FUCK ALL THIS BULLSHIT.
IN THREE MONTHS I GO FREE.
BACK TO MY COMRADES, WHO ARE WAITING FOR ME:
STAY BRAVE AND WILD
<3 UPIII

Letter #44 from UPIII

ABC Rhineland — Tue, 16 Oct 2018 14:53:23 +0000

english

Recieved 8th October 2018

JVA Köln, 19th September 2018, rewritten 22.September 2018

Please write letters and send things to the new UPs. Please. I have so many letters, please prioritise those with none!

Please don't write that I'm brace/ inspiring/ you admire what I did or whatever. I did nothing. If you're going to admire or think these things of anyone, please let it be every person in the forest right now who is fighting or supporting the fight. Every single one. They're amazing and need to be recognised for the incredible shit they're doing.

Please don't tell me about solidarity actions "for" me. Do the action because it is right or just to do it, not "for" me. I didn't do anything. If you're doing it to raise awareness through (banners or whatever) absolutely do it. Fuck the system. Show people "justice" doesn't exist in the law. Otherwise do it for all of the UPs - there are a few of us now. Please.

My legal name is now in the prison system (officially). So letters for UP III may no longer come through. We'll see in the next few weeks. If they bounce, post them to "Samantha Henttonen". I hate my legal name but I love getting letters more. Especially on Thursday (20. 09. 2018) - they literally were the only thing that stopped me crying (for an hour or so). They mean so much more than I can express to you.

SUPPORT THE NEW UPs! They want to know that you care and don't forget them! (I know I already said this but it is super important!)

If you can go to the forest. The people there, I'm sure, would very much appreciate your time and support.

I'm probably not going to write much for a while. I am very worn out, but I'm going to try and keep up the contact. It'll just not be a lot. Besides, now there's new UPs you'll always know what's up in here anyway!

Again, support the forest. Support the reason we're sacrificing part of our lives in prison. We believe that strongly in trying to save that little patch of wild we're willingly giving up our freedom to protect it. I can't speak for anyone else, but I'd rather people went to the forest and/or support it than wrote to me or visited. I don't need letters or visits (as much as I love them). The forest needs you way more than I do!

I've just said this, but I want to make a very serious point of it. The best thing you can do right now is support the forest.

Some people have no other place they can imagine calling home. If the forest is cut, it not only destroys the legacy of those trees and ecosystem but it destroys a community and family home for not only people but animals too. For those who are so in love with that wild and magic place:

DO EVERYTHING YOU CAN TO SAVE IT. PLEASE.

Even if the forest is cut (and I am hoping beyond hope it isn't) we still win. But, obviously, it would be better if it stayed standing.

FOR EVERY UP WHO THOUGHT THAT WHEN THE POLICE TOOK THEM THEY WERE SAYING GOODBYE, FIGHT FOR THEM TO GO HOME AND SAY HELLO AGAIN.

FOR ALL OF US WHO ARE IN HERE, FIGHT.

FOR EVERYONE WHO CALLS HAMBI HOME, FIGHT.

FOR EVERY ASSHOLE WHO SAYS HAPPILY THE FOREST WILL GO, FIGHT TO PROVE THEM WRONG.

FOR EVERY FUTURE GENERATION WHO DESERVES NOT ONLY TO READ ABOUT HAMBI BUT SEE IT TOO, FIGHT.

FOR ALL OF US WHO WILLINGLY PUT OUR BODIES, OUR FREEDOM AND OUR LIFE ON THE LINE FOR THIS CAUSE, FIGHT.

FOR EVERY MOMENT OF HAPPINESS, OR LOVE, OR POSITIVITY YOU HAVE EXPERIENCED IN HAMBI, FIGHT FOR THE RIGHT TO HAVE MORE.

I feel so stupid and ridiculous writing all of this, I'm not even a Hambi and the forest isn't even my home, I'm just some strange human who turned up out of nowhere but THAT PLACE MEANT ENOUGH TO ME IN SIX FUCKING DAYS THAT I'M GIVING UP NINE MONTHS OF MY LIFE FOR IT.

THAT IS HOW I CARE ABOUT HAMBI, FOR EVERYONE WHO CALLS THE FOREST THEIR HOME.

If I can ask for anything now, it is that you care about Hambi for five fucking minutes.

GO THERE. ASK WHAT THE PEOPLE THERE NEED.

DO ENOUGH SO THAT IF THE FOREST FALLS YOU DON'T THINK YOU COULD HAVE BEEN, GIVEN OR DONE MORE.

WHATEVER IT TAKES, GIVE THE PEOPLE THERE THE TIME AND RESOURCES TO DO WHAT THEY DO BEST. OCCUPYING. RESISTING. FIGHTING. PROTECTING.

None of this is meant to sound desperate. It's meant to sound deadly serious.

We hear the sound of trees being cut, and we cry.

We see the evictions, and we cry.

We see people we know and love being abuse, dragged around, held in cages like animals, and we cry.

We hear about someone we know coming to or in prison, and we cry because we can't reach out to comfort them.

We hear that everything is going to shit, and we cry.

BECAUSE WE ARE STUCK HERE AND CAN'T CO ANYTHING ABOUT IT.

BUT YOU CAN. YOU HAVE THE POWER TO HELP.

THE CHOICES YOU MAKE NOW MIGHT MEAN THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A FOREST OR AN OPEN PIT.

WHATEVER YOU CAN GIVE, PLEASE GIVE IT.

IF THE PEOPLE IN THE FOREST NEED SOMETHING AND YOU CAN GIVE IT, PLEASE GIVE IT. PLEASE.

IF I COULD I WOULD BE THERE RIGHT NOW.

THERE ARE THINGS WORTH FIGHTING FOR.

AND THIS IS ONE.

There are worse things in life than prison, especially if you know your actions are changing something.

BECAUSE THEY ABSOLUTELY CAN CHANGE SOMETHING.

YOU CAN HELP MAKE THE OUTCOME OF THIS FIGHT POSITIVE.

If everyone thought that and empowered themselves we could really do something and show something.

EVERY PERSON COUNTS. EVERY HELPING HAND COUNTS.

I'm not asking you to go to prison for the forest, I'm asking if you could please stop just talking about caring.

You know what changes the world?

THE ACTIONS OF PEOPLE. OF YOU. YOUR CHOICES.

It's late and I'm exhausted and stressed and upset because all I want to do is be there. Be in the place that needs help. But I can't be. And it's killing me.

NINE MONTHS FOR NOTHING.

I WISH IT WAS AT LEAST FOR SOMETHING.

A SHITTY BIT OF NOISE AND I GET TO WATCH FROM THE SIDE LINES.

SHIPS ARE SAFE IN HARBOURS, BUT THAT'S NOT WHAT SHIPS ARE BUILT FOR.

I cannot get you to care. I cannot inspire you to do something. I cannot make you see the seriousness of the situation.

I wish I could.

I wish I could reach into every heart right now and get you to feel the love I have for Hambi.

BECAUSE IT IS ENOUGH THAT MAYBE, JUST MAYBE, IF I COULD, YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND WHY WE ARE HERE FOR IT. WHY WE SACRIFICE OUR LIFE IN PRISON FOR IT.

AND I NEVER EVEN GOT THE CHANCE TO CALL THE FORESTHOME.

I NEVER SLEPT IN A TREEHOUSE I HAD TO CLIMB A ROPE TO.

I WAS NOT EVEN THERE LONG ENOUGH TO FEEL A PART OF IT.

BUT HAMBI IS A PART OF ME.

AND NOW THERE IS A VERY REAL POSSIBILITY NONE OF US IN PRISON WILL EVER SEE IT AGAIN.

WE WILL GET RELEASED AND GO TO WHERE WE LAST SAW TOWERING BEAUTIFUL TREES AND SEE AN OPEN PIT INSTEAD.

GIVE US HOPE THAT THERE MAY BE A CHANCE WE SEE HAMBI AGAIN AS IT IS: WILD, RAW AND FREE.

TO EVERYONE IN THE FOREST NOW - I LOVE YOU. THANK YOU.

TO EVERYONE WHO SUPPORTS HAMBI - I LOVE. THANK YOU.

TO EVERYONE SUPPORTING OR GOING TO SUPPORT PRISONERS - I LOVE YOU. THANK YOU.

TO EVERYONE FACING THE POSSIBILITY OF PRISON FOR TRYING TO PROTECT THE FOREST - I FUCKING LOVE YOU. THANK YOU.

EVERY ACTION COUNTS NOW, BIG AND SMALL, EVERY. SINGLE. ONE.

Maybe it's all negativity here, all"in October there will be no more forest to go back to" etc. but I'm writing this letter because I want you to feel something. To give us in here hope, who can literally do nothing that we want to do to help, that maybe we see it again.

The general attitude is we won't.

I don't even know what to write anymore. It feels pointless why am I writing these dumb letters to deaf ears? Does anyone actually go and do something because of these?

It feels like I'm telling vegans how great it is to be vegan right now. You already fucking know.

EITHER YOU ALREADY CARE OR YOU DON'T.

I AM NOT GOING TO CHANGE THAT.

AND I FEEL HELPLESS AND SHITTY AND LIKE I'M JUST WASTING THE INK IN THIS PEN BECAUSE IF YOU READ THESE YOU ALREADY CARE ABOUT HAMBI.

YOU ALREADY KNOW THE STAKES, EVEN BETTER THAN I DO.

YOU ALREADY KNOW ABOUT ALL THE SHIT I'M SAYING.

WHY AM I EVEN BOTHERING WITH THESE "PLEASE CARE" LETTERS? I don't even know.

This all feels senseless. Every single day I hear "the forest is dead". Even the UPs say it. They say their home is gone. They say they have said goodbye.

So how the hell am I, this one little meaningless human, who spent not even a week in Hambi - the UPs have spent months or even years there - meant to change a single damn thing?

I FUCKING CAN'T.

All I can do is watch the trees being cut and see the evictions. People here are waiting to hear the moment the last tree falls. The sentence "there is no more Hambi".

I wish I was blind and deaf so I couldn't watch or hear about it. But there's this tiny shred of maybe left that completely depends on you.

Maybe you can help the Hambi stay.

Maybe you can stop the forest becoming an open pit.

Maybe you can give the UPs hope they will have the forest, their home, to go back to.

Maybe you can change something.

Maybe you might give yourself enough credit to believe you can.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

All I'm hoping for is that people not only share information about Hambi but they share their time there too.

Give us a reason to believe in the power of individuals working together something bigger that themselves.

Give us a reason to believe Hambi bleibt.

Give us hope that the fate of the forest is not as a sandy dusty pit in October. Or November. Or December. Or ever.

Give us a reason not to worry every day that we're going to hear "there is no more forest". Even if the forest is lost, let us hear that every person knows about it and hope it changes something.

Let us know, see, hear that people stand together not only to fight against climate change and a selfish private company, but stand for and fought for the future of a home and community for both people and animals.

I'm trying very hard not to use the past tense. As if the fate is decided. It hasn't been. Not yet. Not if there is a maybe.

I want Hambi to stay. But me hoping is not enough. Everything feels so useless and pointless from here. Pointless to hope or think of seeing anything but a pit after being released. As if I'm just holding my breath waiting to hear "there is no more forest".

I really hope you prove that Hambi bleibt.

Stay brave.

UP III

UPIII ist FREI! – Haftbefehl aufgehoben!

ABC Rhineland — Thu, 04 Oct 2018 13:55:20 +0000

deutsch – english

deutsch

UPIII heute bei Haftprüfung entlassen. Haftbefehl aufgehoben. UPIII frei!

YEAHHHH!!!!

english

UPIII IS FREE!!!!!!

Letter #41 from UPIII

ABC Rhineland — Tue, 02 Oct 2018 16:10:48 +0000

english

Recieved 27th September 2018

JVA Köln, 16th September 2018

Dear comrades and friends,

In this letter I would like to share a story about my old flatmate, who I will from now on call "Ace" - not his real name, but he knows who he is - and myself - I hope he doesn't mind.

TRIGGER WARNING!!

It's still early as I write this and I haven't slept much so it will probably be a complete rambling mess but I think it's an important story that highlights the meaning of "option three" so I'm going to try and write it anyway.

Before I begin the story I'm going to quickly mention (I'm sure I wrote it somewhere but I can't remember if I sent that letter) that I often have awful nightmares and don't sleep much because of them.

Not sleeping makes me stressed. Being stressed makes the nightmares worse. It becomes a downhill spiral very quickly because I'm too tired to be awake but too worried to sleep. It's horrible.

Let's picture this problem as a giant angry bull with two sharp horns, ready to charge from the middle of an arena. Then there's me, standing not far away, thinking about what my options are.

How do I get out of this situation without catching myself on on of the horns? (sic) Can I get out of this without getting "injured"? What do I do? What are my choices?

From what I can see at first, there are two options available. I pick a direction - left or right - to jump when the bull charges. I choose willingly or I run and the bull chooses for me. This is the same police mentality of "two options, the easy way (choose one) or the hard way (run and we choose for you)."

The left horn is I go back on medication. It didn't work any of the previous times I tried (and there were many) and on one occasion - because they made me feel nothing and took away that little voice that says "perhaps this is a bad idea" - I found myself on a dirt bike revving the engine and headed straight for a tree.

If someone wasn't sitting behind me to take control and steer the bike away, I would have hit the tree (with them) at a speed that very likely would have killed us. And, because I felt nothing, I got off the bike and laughed.

So not the left horn then.

The right horn, the other logical conclusion, is I go to therapy. Been there, done that, coloured in those shitty "where do you feel your emotions" work sheets. I guess it works for some people, but none of it worked for me. It just made me feel worse and worse and like a massive failure of a human being.

So not the right horn then, either.

I need to find an option three.

Which appeared as three choices.

The first was refusing to enter the arena with the bull. Which basically means I ignore the problem and hope it goes away. It might work for a while but it's not a real solution.

Next choice.

The second is I could try to sing the bull to sleep. I could tell myself "it's okay" and try to distract myself to put off dealing with the issue. So, again, not an actual solution.

Next choice.

The third is I could throw sand in the bull's face (this isn't a real bull and even the idea of it hurts me but I couldn't think of a better metaphor than a bull. So let's just move on), which for me would be to tell someone what is on my mind and what is going on in my head.

I once did this and ended up in front of a psychiatrist who told me I was schizophrenic, depressed, had borderline personality disorder and anxiety. Wow! Then I got thrown in a locked psychiatric ward for over a week after I was given "two choices: either you willingly check in or we will take you". Where's the choice? There isn't one, I just let the bull choose for me.

When I got out I did the research. None of these labels felt like they fit properly, like a pair of shoes three sizes too big. I could wear them, sure but they didn't feel right.

I fully understand there's a lot of shit going on inside my head and that there is something very wrong in there, that doesn't fit into "normal" which is why the psych probably put me away. I know I'm fucked up, I don't need someone to put a label on it for me to know it. But I'm at peace with it. I've learnt to live with it.

As someone once said to me "more often than not you're going to be stuck with your mental issues for life. Nothing is going to fix them but you can get better at dealing with them. It never gets easier. You just get better at it. That's what therapy is supposed to do. Not fix the problem necessarily, but teach you how to handle or deal with it."

At first this super upset me. You mean I can never escape this? I'm fucking stuck with it forever? I'm stuck with the left horn or the right horn or three non-choices?

So here's me, out of options and choices and hope. Well shit.

Now I can tell the story.

After some long consideration, out of all the "choices" the said one - telling someone - started to look like the best one. Or I guess the least bad anyway. So I did tell someone, but this time I told someone who wasn't going to (immediately) call me crazy or send me off somewhere to make themselves feel better and who was actually going to listen to what I had to say and be sympathetic.

Ace.

And he did listen. He took me very seriously. He checked behind doors for me even though we both knew there was nothing there. He let me leave the hall light on if it was a bad night. He didn't complain (much) about me sleeping on the couch during the day while he worked on his computer because it made me feel safe. He never called my worries or fears childish and didn't treat me differently because of them. He accepted them and did the best he could to make me feel comfortable. He accepted all of this as part of me.

He even went a step further and came up with a third option I hadn't thought of.

Why don't you jump between the horns so you are on top of the problem and not avoiding it or injured by it?

And between the horns was him giving me a little used iron bullet cosing which he (proudly) said he shot himself so it was a "part of him" or something and I could therefore tell anything in my head that was trying to fuck with me that it was also fucking with him too. And nobody fucks with him.

The craziest and best thing about this is it worked. Better than I could have dreamed of. I could sleep. No more nightmares!

Jump between the horns. Find your option three.

This also reminds me of a story I once read about a very successful business person who had this incredible fear that they had left their hairdryer on at their house and that if they didn't go and check they had switched it off, their house would burn down. So several times a day they would drive back to their house to check they had switched it off. It started ruining their life. They couldn't focus. They were losing clients at work. They were going to be fired.

One therapist suggested they do a dance after they turned it off. So they would remember they turned it off. The therapist said they were more likely going to remember the dance than the act of turning the switch off. It's a good theory.

A friend of mine does a dance of sorts to remember if they have locked their doors at night. It doesn't have to be a big thing, just a little hand wave or two step or something. Enough to remember "ah yes! I did lock the doors/ turn the switch off/ whatever!" It works for my friend, but didn't for this business person. They couldn't remember if they did the dance or not so it didn't change anything. It wasn't their option three.

There were a bunch of other suggestions given to them too; set up a camera so you can check with your phone if you've turns it off, unplug the hair dryer, ask someone to check for you, just remember, don't have a hair dryer, set an electricity timer ... dozens of choices to try and be their option three. None worked.

Then their Ace presented their jump between the horns. Take the hairdryer with you to work.

It worked! If they had a panic on the drive to work, they could look over to the passenger's seat - and there it was, not burning the house down! It's been left on, it's with them! At work they kept it in their bag. They could just look over and see the cord, whenever they were worried! It's so simple. So easy. How had no one thought of it?

Because we’re all different. Your between horns probably won't be the same as someone else's. And that's okay whatever works for you, even if it seems silly, dumb or stupid. You do you. If it helps, it helps.

I wish I had the bullet casing with me right now, but I have to make do so my between the horns at the moment is the yellow/ grey cat/ lion. It's a lovely little distraction imagining them chasing the things from my nightmares away or sitting on the bed next to me or just being "something" I can offload what's on my mind to, as I've done for a while.

The part of me that (tries) to look after me. Please self care today or remember to eat or when did you last have a glass of water? I'm better at looking after other people/ animals than myself so it works. If it helps, it helps.

Obviously this has not been so easy to keep up lately because I'm so exhausted my brain doesn't have the energy. I'm too tired to keep the idea of the warmth and love and protection alive. Some days it's not so bad - I can imagine a giant lion chasing all the dark away - but sometimes, like at the last visit, I feel like I'm carrying around a lump of grey asking someone to give me a little hope or energy or warmth. Give the lump a bit of life.

As I write this it's not too bad. i can imagine a little grey kitten. It's been an okay day, not good, not bad. I drank water. i ate. I didn't sleep. I'm stressed about what's going on in Hambi.

I want to be there so baldy my heart hurts. I hate being stuck here doing fucking nothing knowing you're all out their being evicted and abused by the cops. Nothing would change if I was there but I'd feel like at least I'd be doing something.

I hate this! I keep hoping beyond hope you're all okay and safe but then I hear "activists taken, trees cut, treehouses cleared". No no no! Fuck! let me out! Let me help! Gahhh!!

The fight is not lost though. Not until the last tree cannot be saved, until it falls. It doesn't matter what anyone says. As long as there is resistance. As long as you are fighting. As long as you have hope. As long as you hold onto your faith and belief that your actions mean something. Keep your head up (or I guess down if you're hiding) and keep going.

That's all I have the energy to write for now. Hold on everyone! Keep going! You're doing great! I'm sending lots of love, energy and hugs (if you want them).

STAY BRAVE.

<3 UP III

Letter #40 from UPIII

ABC Rhineland — Tue, 02 Oct 2018 15:41:54 +0000

english

Recieved 27th September 2018

JVA Köln, 12th September 2018

"The world is a fine place and worth fighting for." - Ernest Hemingway.

"Don't let people tell you the fight's not worth it because you won't get everything you want ... better is always worth fighting for." - Obama's Midterm Message in Urbana, Illionois (7. September 2018)

"... stand right on the edge, where the decisions had to be made. You made them so that others didn't have to, so that others could even pretend to themselves that there were no decisions to be made, no little secrets, that things just happened. You never said that you knew. And you didn't ask for anything in return." - Carpe Jugulum by Terry Pratchett (page 51)

"We're part of a big world. We have to play that part." - Carpe Jugulum (pg 60)

"Supposing there was justice for all, after all? For every unheeded beggar, every harsh word, every neglected duty, every slight ... every choice ... Because that was the point, wasn't it? You had to choose. You might be right, you might be wrong, but you had to choose, knowing that the rightness or wrongness might never be clear or even that you were deciding between two sorts of wrong, that there was no right anywhere. And always, always, you did it by yourself. You were the one there, on the edge, watching and listening. Never any tears, never any apology, never any regrets ... You saved all that up in a way that could be used when needed." - Carpe Jugulum (pg 73 - 74)

"To her, some things obviously had to be done, and that was that. Any thoughts that hung around she kept locked up tight, even from herself ... She'd done things and been places (sic), and found ways to turn anger outwards that had surprised even her. She'd faced down others far more powerful than she was, if only she'd hallowed them to believe it, but ... what had she ever earned? The reward for toil had been more toil. If you dug the best ditches they gave you a bigger shovel." - Carpe Jugulum (p 74)

" ... a bit like icebergs", said Nanny ...
"Nine tenths of it is under water?", said Agnes ...
"There's more to it than meets the eye, I mean." - Carpe Jugulum (pg 191)

"... People aren't ging to tell me what I ought to not do no more. I know what's ought and what's not ..." - Carpe Jugulum (pg 199)

"... you don't always have to do what the rest of the world want you to do." - Carpe Jugulum (pg 283)

"This was a test. Everything was a test ... Life put them in front of you every day. You watched yourself all the time. You had to make choices. You never got told which were right." - Carpe Jugulum (pg 273)

"That's what true faith would mean, y'see? Sacrificin' your own life, one day at a time, to the flame, declarin' the truth of it, workin' for it, breathin' the soul of it." - Carpe Jgulum (pg 394)

"Judging is human ... Bein' human means judgin' all the time ... This and that, good and bad, making choices every day ... that's human."
"And are you so sure you make the right decisions?"
"No, but I do the best I can." - Carpe Jugulum (pg 312)

"I ain't asking you to let me do anything." - Carpe Jugulum (pg 298)

"You wouldn't let ... a lady go off to confront monsters on a wild night like this, would you?"
They watched him owlishly for a while just in case something interesingly nasty was going to happen to him.
Then someone near the back said, "So why should we care what happens to monsters?" - Carpe Jugulum (pg 298)

"Cultural conditioning would be the death of us, if we're not careful." - Carpe Jugulum (pg 49)

"Give me the strength to look the devil in the face and make it home safe." - "Home" by Machine Gun Kelly, X Ambassadors and Bebe Rexha. (Not really my kind of music but I like this line.)

"There's no greys, only white that's got grabby ... And sin, young man, is when you treat people as things. Including yourself. That's what sin is."
"It's a lot more complicated than that -"
"No. It ain't. When people say things are a lot more complicated than that, they means they're getting worried that they won't like the truth. People as things, that's where it starts."
"Oh I'm sure there are worse crimes -"
"But they starts with thinking about people as things..." - Carpe Jugulum (pg 314)

"You strong in your faith then?" ...
Oats sighed. "I try to be."
"But you read a lot of books, I'm thinking. Hard to have faith, ain't it, when you read too many books?" ...
"Yes", he said.
"Still got it, though?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"If I didn't, I wouldn't have anything." - Carpe Jugulum (pg 314)

Hold on to your faith in a better world. It is possible.

We are fighting for it.

Us.

All of us.

Until the very last person gives up, until the very last tree falls, there is hope.

All of us need to hold onto that. To not give in.

To keep going when it is scary and hard and easier to quit. Have faith that your actions mean something.

That they are changing something. Have faith and hold on. Believe in yourself.

You are important and you're doing great.

Keep going.

"Tell me, what is a useful life?"
"Not to be a piece of meat on the chopping board for others to cut.
No, let me put it this way: I want to take my fate in my own hands, and when I die, I want to end with the feeling of content and fulfillment. In other words, I don't want to feel that my life should have been use otherwise."
"You're silly if not a megalomaniac. Even Hamlet, a prince, cannot control his own fate. Whoever can?"
"You don't understand. I mean to make my own choices in life."
"You always have your choices."
"All right, let me just say I want to be a knife instead of a piece of meat."
"You're crazy, you want to hurt others?"
"No, I want to live an active life. You will understand what I mean someday." - The Crazed by Ha Hin (pg 277)

"You've got a heart full of pride, and they can never take away this pride from you. That feeling makes you full of strength, it makes you want to live and fight for what you are. You've got a flame in your heart that never dies. Stay brave." - On the back of Van Gogh postcard someone sent to me.

"... How often we hear people say that suffering can purify one's soul, ennoble one's heart, and strengthen one's moral fibrev... But ... too much suffering can only make us meaner, crazier, pettier and more wretched ... it was a little hope, happiness, and human warmth that made the seed of goodness sprout." - The crazes (pg 319)

Through everything, try to stay kind, to remain compassionate and considerate towards others.

Keep your heart soft.

We're all suffering from something, because of something or through something. From something in our heads, because of something in our past or through something right now.

We're comrades in our pain. It connects us. Hard times create stronger bonds than good times (usually, but not always).

Please, try not to assume you know that's going on in someone's head or assume to know how it is effecting them/ how they are dealing with it.

Pain is pain.

And it is different for everyone.

Not everyone finds the same things hard/ easy. I often find maths quite difficult. (I'm "creative minded" not "analytical minded") but does that mean I should be teased or put down for it? No. I love English language studies and I think I do well at it, but does that mean I have the right to tease or put down someone who struggles with it? No. I'd say I have a duty to help them. Because I can.

So if you see someone suffering please help them and be considerate even if you don't understand why they find the thing/ event/ whatever hard. That is how we do better.

Life is not a competition to be the best like we've been raised to believe, it's about supporting other people as best you can and trying not to leave anyone behind. We're in this together. Life should not be you versus someone else. It should be us creating and working towards a better future, one worth living in for all of us.

That is what I believe in and what I stand for. Not me. Us, all of us. Equality. A future for everyone. A community. Let's make it happen.

Stay Brave. <3UP III

Letter #39 from UPIII

ABC Rhineland — Tue, 02 Oct 2018 15:29:34 +0000

english

Recieved 27th September 2018

JVA Köln, 12th September 2018

Fear of Flight

Letter #38 from UPIII

ABC Rhineland — Tue, 02 Oct 2018 15:26:43 +0000

english

Recieved 27th September 2018

JVA Köln, 12th September 2018

TRIGGER WARNING: implied self harm/ suicide.

I've written about this before but I want to talk about it again and describe it a little more. I wanted to draw a comic strip, but I can't find the "right" way to do it now. I'll try again another time, but for today here's the story of the soft, warm yellow cat (who is more often than not these days a lion).

They have no name. Or, not a name that can be said in letters. When I think of them it's a sensation, comfort/ safety/ protection, not a name.

They have no gender. They are as much a part of me as a demon is to a person in the book "The Golden Compass/ Northern Lights", the first part of the His Dark Materials Triology. When I have no one else, I have them.

You could call them the part of me that fights for survival, to hold it together when I'm in so many pieces I don't know where to - or if I should - start putting myself back together.

They are the part of me that takes all the pain and makes me feel that it is going to be okay. They are the part of me that sees pain in other people and makes it my pain. I don't mind this. I even encourage it. I will absolutely and without hesitation sacrifice my own happiness for other people.

The existence of this "soft, warm yellow light" means it doesn't impact me long term. I can give and give and give without being exhausted by it.

Prison has already tested this because I have no way to escape and have "me time" but, as best I can, I still try.

Translate shopping lists for people who can't read/ write. Write Antrags, letters to lawyers. What I can do I really try to do.

Lately though, as you've read, I'm self isolating. It is the closest to "me time" I can get, and the pain here is so intense it's like standing on the sun hoping putting on sunscreen will stop you getting sunburnt.

My body is tired. My heart is tired. My mind is tired. My soul is tired.

And so the cat is not as bright. They're becoming like a lighter running out of fluid. I keep thumbing the trigger but all I'm getting are sparks. I guess you could call them the "physical" form of my heart. It's getting cold. The demons are coming back. There's no fire to keep away the darkness. I'm fighting to tip the last of the lighter fluid into the chamber.

Come on, come on, please. I need you. Please don't leave me.

Maybe they're more like calcifer from Howl's Moving Castle. My literal heart. The fire, the attitude, the fight, and the prison has put them under a dripping tap. Drip, hiss. Drip, hiss. I need more lighter fluid, matches, something. Come on...

The insomnia has started. The nightmares are back. I have no appetite. The demons are closing in ... just let them take you ... it's just a matter of time ... it's the easy way or the hard way ... you wanted it too ... useless .... pathetic ... stupid ... you deserve this ... who would ever give a shit about you?

No! I've spent too fucking long feeling like shit about things that weren't my fault! Fucking tried to make good choices! I did the best I could! ... did you really? ...Yes! I fucking did! I'm not perfect an I've never tried to pretend otherwise! I'm fucking trying and that should mean something!

WHOOSH. There we go. There's the lighter fluid. I'm back.

The worst for me here are nights. I barely sleep. My nightmares are awful.

If I was outside, I'd feel shitty and needy but I'd see if someone wanted to hang out (who also couldn't sleep). If no one wanted to/ could I'd drive myself somewhere: the beach, the city, a remote spot on a hill to look at the city lights. Over the years I learnt to be alone with myself and my thoughts. I rarely get lonely. I'm okay with being alone. I literally felt that I had no other option than to be okay with it. So it became okay, it became normal for me. I have friends and families but at a party with all of the I'd be sitting on a bench alone in the kitchen with half a bottle of Tequila.

I never learnt how to rely on people. I don't know how to, I've always just felt like all I really have when things turn to shit is me. Who was there for me through every single damaging thing? Me. Who listens to me, really listens, when I need to talk and doesn't tell me my fears are stupid? Me. Who doesn't shut me down and tell me other people have it worse or say 'but you have a good life' or make excuses for the people who abused me? Me. So I will avoid talking about my problems unless I am absolutely beyond desperate for someone to listen and say "it's going to be okay". Nine times out of ten I regret it. Beat myself up for opening my mouth and talking about myself. I don't want a solution to my problems. I just want someone to hear them. That's it.

Not along I recieved the first letter from my father, which I will write about properly in another letter, but one thing he wrote was "country you are in is also having an extra burden to feed you and to keep you warm."

The letter is four pages - typed - long. It never gets easier to read. I was running out of lighter fluid already. The light dimmed again. It was five days until my next visit. The only time in the week I can talk to people (or choose to). That was a long five days.

I was very desperate to be told "it's okay".

What was left of the cat - limp, lethargic, barely alive - I put on the visit table. Please just give me a little spark ...

I truly wish I'd never mentioned it. That's not my visitors' fault - how could they know I just wanted to be heard? - and I don't mind. They've got a lot on their minds. They have their own issues. Maybe they wanted to hear 'it's okay' too but I didn't say it. Maybe I should have listened. Half an hour is not a lot of time and I wasted it talking about my shit. I'm so mad at myself. These wonderful, kind, generous people come to visit me and I have the audacity to complain about petty little shit when they're being subjected to constant police pressure and other bullshit? I need to get a grip.

So I hugged them, thanked them, said something like please look after yourselves and then scooped up the grey lump of coal that was the yellow cat.

Last visit - before that one - I was forgotten by the guards and sat in the waiting room for three hours after the visit. I didn't mind. Shit happens. It's not a big deal!

This time though I was thankful it was only half an hour. I wanted to be back in the cell. I desperately wanted to be alone. If nothing else than just try and get some spark into the cat. I really need warmth right now, more than ever, please ...

I pulled the curtain across and closed the window to block out as much light as possible. Cuddled myself under the thin, scratchy dark blue blankets. For the first time in a long time I let got. Let in all the shit feelings. All the you deserve this, you're pathetic, ever memory of every time that I'd ever felt like I fucked up or time I went through something damaging. My body went numb. My mind went numb.

Have you ever had so much pain in your head or hated yourself so much you'd do anything to feel something else? That you'd make that pain physical because it's easier? That you just didn't care any more?

It crossed my mind. I debated it. It used to be a habit. Sometimes bad habits come back.

I don't know why but I didn't do it. I just kept lying there under the blankets. In the dark. No cat. Nothing. Me, my thoughts and no escape.

I thought about the remains - a grey cold lump - of the yellow cat. I imagined cuddling it. Blowing warm breath into my hands like it was a cold day. Maybe I don't need a lighter or a match. Maybe this could be enough.
I didn't even realize I was physically cold until I felt my hands warm up and stop shaking. Please, please, please.

Whoosh. There we go. Still grey and small and weak but alive. That's okay. It's enough. They are enough.

I am enough.

My heart and should belong to a grey cat - a real one - who I had to say goodbye to last year. His body gave up on him. It was the worst day of my life. That day has no competition, not even close. I held his fragile broken body to my chest and told him I loved (him) more than anything or anyone else in the world. And then his eyes grew wide. His purring stopped. His body went limp.

It felt like both our hearts stopped.

There's nothing wrong with grey. Maybe it's better. Maybe it means my heart is coming back.

I don't think badly of people who miss animals more than people. The grey cat, Sebastian, named after the crab from the Little Mermaid, always found me when I was anything less than okay. Lay on my chest or let me cuddle him. Never stopped purring. If I whistled he always came running to me for a hug. He'd follow me around. he was always there when I got back from work, and I'd pick him up and he'd nuzzle my cheek or my neck. He's the only living thing I'd go to if I needed comfort.

Some animals can understand better than people can.

Sometimes people can't understand at all.

Because they're very good at talking but not listening.

When I realised this - after a very shit day - I decided to start listening. Really listening. No phone. No other distraction. My absolute attention to not just hear what someone was saying but how they were saying it.

Do they worry I won't care if they say they're not okay? I will.

Do they worry they can't tell me something because they think I'll judge them? I won't. It's not my place or any of my business to tell you how to live your life. But is is my place to be there for you if you want/ need me to be. Always.

And right now the person I need to be here for is myself. Nothing could have prepared me for how physically alone prison is. I'm not even talking about sex. I just want to sit next to someone. If I'm lucky maybe put my head on their shoulder. That's it. Nothing more. Just that.

When I get released in December I will not have been physically close with anyone for nine months. Not cuddled, or even slept in the same room as anyone else. I wonder if the sound of people - breathing, snoring, moving - will shock me so much I won't be able to sleep. If I sleep next to someone (by some absolute miracle), will being touched frighten me? Or will I find it comforting?

I wonder if I'll find out. Maybe I wont.

There is another reason for the existence of the cat. It helps make me feel less poisonous. I'm not going to talk about what I've been through - there's people who read these that I'd rather not know because I worry it will change the idea of who I am in their minds - but I'll just say that for me, who thinks prison is not the worst place in the world or worst thing they've been through, it was hard. I didn't think I'd survive the pain of some of the things. I almost didn't. I was in and out of hospital more than once. But I survived.

Maybe to write these. To try and help create a better world. Ask people - you - to understand. To listen to your friends when they're hurting. I don't know.

I just hope these letters are doing something cause they sure as hell aren't easy to write.

Anyway, I don't think poison is the right word. It's like this dark infection. I'm worried to touch people or get close to them. What if it spreads?

Maybe that's the pain I carry talking. I don't want to talk about it. I don't think anyone could handle it - would want to handle it. Maybe they'll be disgusted by it.

Maybe they will look at me like I'm a nasty piece of scum on the bottom of their shoe. I would. I would never - could never - look or feel or think of someone that way. But I absolutely do look and think and feel about myself that way.

When I had an eating disorder - maybe better to say when I suffered the worst from it - it didn't matter how much weight I lost, I always felt the biggest person in the room. Even if I (objectively) wasn't. I never thought of anyone else as "fat" or "big" or anything. Only me. Everyone else looked perfect to me, I thought their weight suited them. They look so good! I thought. Why can't or don't I look like that? Why am I so unhappy with how I look? And every "you've lost weight!" or "you look so good now!" fuelled me. Oh yes, maybe I won't feel like scum forever. Maybe I'll finally feel like my weight suits me.

Didn't happen. Still felt like an infection of dark scum. Still do.

But the idea of the cat helped. It was/ is pure. Pure warmth, love and light. No amount of darkness can live in those conditions or with that amount of light.

So shitty feelings can go fuck themselves, instead of fucking with me. I've had enough.

The issue now is, there's not enough warmth in me to really fuel the cat. No cat, no light. No light and the dark will creep in. A lot. I don't have the mental energy right now to chase it away. I don't even know if I want to. I like the familiarity of negative feelings/ emotions. Like old friends. They're not necessarily good for me but the little bit of familiarness is nice. So I let them stay.

Which was a bad decision. Now it will be so much harder for me to get rid of them and I already notice how they're changing me.

I go to visits and don't want to touch anyone or be touched because I feel like an infection. But then if I don't have any physical contact - a shoulder rub, brush of a hand, whatever - it feels like my brain says see? Told you so. Even they know you're scum.

But then I think, a well built house doesn't fall down if you remove a door or window or just one brick. It's when you keep removing bricks you get into trouble. I did not work on my mental health for years to see it fall down for a single fucking brick. No way. Get fucked brain.

Woosh. There we go. Getting stronger all the time.

I think that's it for this letter. It's almost midnight. I'll feel better tomorrow (today?) if I at least try and sleep.

Sending lots of love, energy, care and whatever else you want or need (and lots of hugs, if you want them). Please look after yourself and tell your demons to get fucked, if not from you then from me.

STAY BRAVE

<3 UP III