The whole story in short

(The following is a long one and you really should take some time, if you want to understand it better, the videos are part of the story. Maybe watch them fullscreen, but as you wish. Remember, you don’t have to and I don’t need you to go through this. Just if you want. And it is pretty painful and weird as my posts or music often is, I guess. Stay safe! ❤)

It never was supposed to be like this, but I guess it could make a difference.

At least I can always hope it does make a difference and then it already did.

Whenever I fought back, hell got worse. This time it seemed different, was different and I guess it will make a bigger difference in the end.

But I don’t want that people worry about me because that makes it just worse. I want them to see what wonderful things I can create and that I could just do them. This year I did some of it through my music. There could be so much more, but there is no energy. And what I need, is just to know that what I am doing is okay the way it is.

All I see is, that I have to do more, that it is not enough and my father complains about me not doing enough. My mother is also down like me.

So I know, that it won’t be better just after some years, it won’t be better after some decades. At least not when it comes to my parents. My mother got broken by everyone around her, my father as well and I am almost like the last small light, trying to brighten up the whole place or burn it down to the ground.

Now I got my mother to writing down her feelings and thoughts as well. She went through hell three times longer than me. I really hope that it will soon get better for her. I also wish that for my father, even though he hurt me so much and still does. Because I know that he himself is also deeply hurt. But what could I do, if every trial to help him seem pointless. And in the end I get more complaints and less peace for myself. My energy gets sucked up by him, when he enters the room, heck even just his presense outside.

Attack is the best defense some say, but in my case it is pointless. I can only sit it out and wait… waiting… and hoping for things to change. Because I can’t change them, I tried more than I should have. And it did cost me a lot.

Sometimes you can’t change a thing.

If I could just forget him. I could probably, wouldn’t he come over almost every day, at least some times only a couple of times a week. But it is like torture because I know that I can’t really help him, while he always thinks he helps us, while he does things which hurt us, confuse us and sometimes just let’s us feel anxious. Anxious that he could enter the house again. Sometimes we don’t know whether we moved something in or outside the house or he did something again.

He walks around the house quite often and tries to control everything, while it actually is my property and he has his own house.

Tells people that I let everything down and that I do nothing. And that no one helps him and such things. While my mother almost worked herself to death for him and his parents. While me and my mother broke because of this and him and still looked after him when he needed to go to hospital or something.

He doesn’t work for around 20 years now and complains that he has too much to do. This man has too few things to do and even these things, most of them are not even necessary or crazy, like painting sand floor or his compost or fills cracks on the floor with paint.

While he could have cleaned his bath or maybe cared for his plants, instead of cutting them down until they are dead or ugly.

He cuts the grass very often for no reason, at least for me there isn’t a reason to cut it this often. But he does it because everyone around here does it. The neighbor children at least play on the grass and they often sit there on their camp fire. But I don’t really leave the house. Only at night sometimes or maybe sometimes to bring some garbage outside.

At least this year I was outside in my garden sometimes.

My father complains that I am not doing something on my property, but how should I get motivation and energy to do so, if whenever I start something he interfers or either shortly before or after does something or changes something on whatever I started. As if he always has to proof it or be part of it. And usually he makes the things worse and then I lose my motivation to do anything again.

I planted a hedge with my cousin and because I forgot to cut it the first time, while it actually was still pretty small, my father cut it. But not even right, just everywhere and cut of from the top a lot. And then I wondered the first year, why the hedge is still so small until I found out that he did cut it a couple of times. I hope since last year he didn’t touch it again. I did cut it myself a couple of times, but only the necessary things. And now the hedge finally is getting bigger and looks good, I would say. But I wouldn’t wonder, if maybe this year he would do something with it again. You never know…

He did cut of roses which were just blooming this year or put moved them even, so they first seemed to be gone, he put them behind some other plants and boards, so we couldn’t see them again (they were still on the same place, but changed).

When I had my grill outside, which I used as a campfire, there was still some wet coal inside, so I let it outside so the sun could dry the coal for the next time I wanted to make a fire. Then the next time I looked at it, the cover was on the grill. For whatever reason…

My father even went to an old man who ordered oil for the heating (yes I still have an oil heating… Would I have the money and the energy I would have long changed it all, but guess what…..)

And this old man also has a lot to do, had a hard life. This man often orders oil together with others so that it would be a little cheaper and the fuel tanker / truck could come once for all. At least that was what my father told me. So while it was clear that the oil would arrive around midst or at the end of July / this month, he probably couldn’t wait for it. So he went over to this old man just to ask whether he knows when the oil arrives. The man had no time at that point, so he went straight to the company who is resposible for the oil transport and asked them.

And while he was away doing that, the old man (I mean he is at least over a decade older than my father, but can’t remember the age) came over, now that he got some time and energy. When he read the note on my father’s house that he wasn’t home and that people should go to my house (for whatever reason), the old man rang on my door. He asked what my father wanted and whether he was here. But I had no clue about it all, I just figured that it must have been because of the oil. Because at that point I knew nothing what my father did the whole day. The old man didn’t know when it would come, but that they would call maybe one or two days before they would transport it. And that also was my knowledge. Then the old man went home again, probably very confused and maybe also a little disappointed or frustrated, I don’t know. Later that day my father then told me that the oil would arrive on the 31th July. Wow… as if I would have cared. I mean, it is F***ING summer man… and I am not living at the north pole or somethin….

Just one of many “happy” incidents in me and my mother’s personal hell.

And when people heard that my mother got some weeks off to care for herself because she finally went to a doctor, some people came over and asked what she had and gave tips and such… and my mother even protected them, while she knew better and they didn’t help her.

I mean, she just needs a lot of time for herself, meaning to relax, do something nice and also to go somewhere else. So I drove away sometimes with her and got her to writing and talking about her feelings. Because I really wanted to help. But because I also sometimes started to talk about my general thoughts we often got into negative talk again and then I felt horrible again and she probably as well. It all seems so pointless.

But when people then think they are smart by telling us to get help, they really don’t understand that there is no help. Because I can help or could help myself, if people (including my father) would finally let us be.

But I guess that is just how it is…

And a black sheep can only get help by a black sheep.

So it is either on its own or maybe gets found by another black sheep.

My mother is the black sheep in her family.

She was strong when she was young, she knew what she wanted.

She even told me a story about a some soviet commissioner who couldn’t understand how she could be so cool and quiet during all of his questions. Almost called higher authorities and threatened her to do so. Then she said what she wanted to say in the first place, some unimportant information. They let her go and things went well. (Back in the days when my mother’s family tried to get out of the USSR towards Germany.) Also when they were at one border, the family went through and then the guards didn’t let my mother through. Her mother wanted to wait and stay, but the sent her away.

So my mother was alone with the guards. But she was strong and didn’t get little in front of them. They made some joke I think and my mother looked good back then. But when they had their little joke, they let her go.

My mother also once helped another girl who got held by a man. The girl screamed for help at a bus stop with a a lot of people, also other strong man. But no one helped. And the girl tried to get in one of the busses, but the man held her back. So my mother went over there, and lifted one finger and then the next of the man’s hand. And when the man realized and said something to her, she replied: “And you don’t spar!” or “And you don’t squabbel!” (there are so many words for “zanken” (german word) in english…) And then after she got some fingers off the arm, the girl could finally break free and get inside the bus. The man than just stayed there with his cap and stared at my mother. Pretty angry probably.

Once when my mother heard a woman scream for help (or at least heard a conversation which seemed weird) at night, outside on the street. She stood up and looked outside the window. There she saw a woman walking in front or next to a car, while the car was slowly following her and she was talking with the man inside the car. When my mother saw what was going on, she shouted something (I can’t remember) and then the car turned around (I think it was a man in a car, but there was at least a man chasing a woman). The man (with or without his car) was facing towards my mother who looked outside the window. In this moment the woman could run away.

My mother than went away from the window (when I remember it correct). And then after some time the man moved on. Hopefully the woman could escape and find shelter somewhere or got home. My mother of course was scared after that, but when there was the woman she was strong. Because she wanted to help.

My mother also once saw that two boys where beating up an old man next to the street, when she went to work (I think). So she stopped and went over to them. Then she pulled them up on their collars and asked what this is all about. And when she saw their faces and knew at least one of them, while he probably didn’t realize who she was, she told him some personal stuff. And taught them a lesson. The boys were probably scared of her because she was so strong and without fear. They were a little younger, but still.

I think she knew his sister or something and saw him sometimes because of that. But maybe I mixed something. At least she knew them.

And once when someone had an accident on her way to work, she even tried to stop the traffic and then move it around the accident. Some other people where coming to the scene or maybe stood already there and so she commanded some men to get the man – who fell off his motorbike thingy – away from the street. Some time later, she felt bad, that she commanded the men to drag the poor guy away, because it wasn’t a good idea. She knew that herself afterwards. But at least she did something, instead of just standing around or moving passed the scene. Think meant that the man probably had a little problem later (maybe with walking). But I mean, she just tried her best to deescalate the situation back then and that as a woman, while men were standing around, not knowing what to do it seemed.

There are probably some more stories, my mother told me, but these should be enough for now. And she told me these sometimes. Some of them many years ago. And now I tried to tell her or let her remember those, so that she could find to this inner strength again.

I think her family doesn’t really remember that or maybe even know about these things. They always see her as the victim, the weak and helpless. The problem or the one who no one really can handle. Yes, my mother is a wreck most of the time now and so am I. But people made us this way and countless situations in which we were meant to fail, meant to break.

All of these stories are either from when she was a teenager or young adult, so around 40 years ago or more. She had some boy friends herself, but with one she had to break up because another girl was crying until the girls dad came over to my mother’s dad and told him that she should break up. Another young man was interested in my mother and she also seemed to like him, but then after some back and forth because he couldn’t decide, he broke up with her. There even was a weird man, at least seemed weird to my mother because he lied to her. Told her that he hadn’t someone before, while she later found out that he already was married before. I think after the first “date” – sitting around with him, she went away. To her luck, when she found out that he was lying.

And also some other man, but they also either were in the end interested in someone else or for whatever reason nothing developed.

Then my mother went to a religous commune you could say – a so called missionary society house thingy, together with a couple of her sisters. When she first met and saw the leader of this house, she sensed something bad. But because she always got taught not to trust her feelings or because others already partially broke them, she thought that she must be imagining it or doing wrong on this man. When she stayed there for some years, she more and more got depressed and even partially crazy. This guy was using the people there to work for him and convinced them to give him and his family money and such things. And I mean this guy was blind… He even let microphones install in some rooms and let others spy on people. No one was allowed to marry unless he or his trusted ones were agreeing and such weird things…

When my mother tried to speak about her feelings and not feeling well, that she started to see things, like a demonic figure telling her that she had to go down in a hole and such things, the leader said to her, that she shouldn’t kill herself around the house, so that it wouldn’t be related to it and the people.

What a “lovely” man… very “warm” and a man of God and love… NOT, TOTALLY NOT!!! Damn…

Somehow my mother survived this hell hole, after staying there some years. She felt trapped inside and that she must be the one to blaim, that she was not good enough and a problem. She stopped eating or only ate very little and lost a lot of weight, while she didn’t even had that much weight before.

The other women always seemed to eat not so much and were talking about getting thinner or not to eat too much sweets and such. But after some time my mother found out that they were always eating sweets and chocolate and stuff back in some room. And she seemed to be the only one who didn’t know about it. And such things….

So after she got out of it, she worked for an older couple in their house. Cleaning it, cared for the cat, the plants, received phone calls or sometimes even wrote letters in russian for the man to important people. The old man had some properties, houses and stuff and new some important people.

During this time she got friend with the cat and the cat even followed her around the house, when the owners weren’t home. Then my father came in the scene because he saw my mother in the church I think. He was in the same city / town, because he was in a mental hospital. And because my mother was still pretty broken from the years before, she didn’t really pay attention to her feelings anymore. So when they met sometimes they married after just three months I think. And I mean my father wanted to send her to honeymoon alone… I mean WHAT? While my mother felt obviously weird about the whole situation, her family supported the man who is now my father.

And so she stayed with my father. Then two years later I was on the way and my mother felt was getting happier again. While the mother of my father said things like: “I didn’t even thought my son could achieve that.” As if I wasn’t meant to be, instead of being happy that I was on the way.

And while my father before asked my mother whether she would want kids, after I was on the way, he didn’t want another baby. Probably because his mother was always having her hands in the game.

From one nut house into the next.

When I was a couple of years old, my mother again tried to escape because she knew that we wouldn’t be happy there. So she moved to her parents with me.

Then my father always called there because he of course had the phone number. He wrote a letter with things from the bible to make my mothers father feel bad for defending his daughter (and my mother’s father was a known and kind preacher, open for more modern music and more positive about the youth, not like some of the other preachers.) My grandpa even told my father to not call anymore. But then my father went to other preachers he knew and told them something. So that they said: “Not like this!” – towards my grandpas action. (Probably because he told them a version which was more suitable for him, as if my mother ran away because he didn’t care for him and that my grandpa now protects her, while he was a preacher and a woman belongs to the man. But I just assume that. I don’t know what my father told them, what stories, but he obviously was only out for his own benefit at that point.

So after he threatened my mother’s father and also her siblings started to tell her that she should go back to her man and not play the sensitive or whatever and even I (me being 2-3 years old) asked for my father, she broke again. And when my father got into hospital, the thing was over because her will was broken again, so we just moved back again, back into hell. Because everyone was literally against her at that point. No one understood that she had to built up a lot of energy to move away because she knew we would die there or go crazy, only to get pushed back again in the end.

Soon after that my father stopped working and sent her to go to work, while still controlling the bank account. He didn’t allow her to buy things for me or herself, only if he thought it was necessary. So after some time she got her own bank account. And my grandpa from my father’s side also seemed to be more nice to me and my mother. So he at least tried to support us. We then stayed with my dad until I turned 10. My mother had to care for my father’s mother during this time and we often found my grandfather somewhere on the ground or even on the street, completely drunk. Sometimes he fell down the stairs and hit his head. At some point when my mother was talking with him about that my father was not letting us do things at home, he offered her to write his house on to me. So should he die, we would have our own home.

His house was the new one and looked better. Both houses were on the same piece of land, just the garden and two sheds between them. My grandparents from father’s side even had some farming fields and a forest. But somehow either my father or someone else convinced my grandpa to sell it to the other family. And so he did. Only one stupid piece of land stayed, the one which was completely useless. A small hillside forest which soon after got cut down because the town was building a viewing platform nearby. So they needed the space to view.

I could have needed the forst now. It wasn’t big, but enough to just chill a little. And I would have had some piece of land useful for the future.

When I was 8 I think we already tried to move away again, but somehow my father noticed the plan and talked with some people again, so the plan didn’t work anymore.

Finally when I was 10, we found a place above the town’s police station. A flat which before belonged to a police officer, but now was empty and open for rent.

Because it was just in the next town (4 kilometers away) my father obviously still visited us often and brought in his dark energy. But at least he could harm us the physically, otherwise police would have been right there. It still is interesting that I lived in a police building around 9 years.

I once even helped one of them to get in their private car again, when there wasn’t enough space and only the driver door was shut, so only a child could get in and open up the drivers door. (or something like that)

School was also hell because I was bored by it, was harmed by the pressure and gave up because of it even more. Only my computers kept me company. Since one of my older cousins gave me one, he used himself before, I never lived without one. At first I just played games, then I even wrote a first short story and made some crapy paintings. And when I finally got a newer computer and later in 8th grade internet, I could finally learn how to program these things and a lot more. What I actually was interested in, instead of what school was trying to teach me.

I always was ahead, but because I HAD to do what was set to be done in the year and not go farther I was bored and lost interest. In the first years in school I still tried to do my best and I was pretty good. But the older I got, the longer it took and the longer the time seemed until I finally would be able to do what I was actually interested in, I lost the hope on it.

Also because of the other things and traumas I went through, with friends and family and school situations and stuff….

For me school was like going to work or even worse, like going to prison. But worked seemed for me like a prison, like slavery, so it was all the same.

I just thought, well… at least I could do what I want in my free time. Playing games, programming and learning some things about quantum physics, bio-hacking and things like assembler and how bascially everything actually works to the core.

But when I was 16, my parents said I had to get a normal job, I had to do school exam and then also my grandpa from father’s side died (I really loved him because he was very kind to me and tried to help me), shit was done.

I already suffered from somewhat depression, CPTSD and probably a bunch of other things, but I somehow survived and suppressed it all, but then it just was enough. I almost killed myself with my grandpa’s gun the same year, but the wood door wouldn’t open, while not being locked.

And because my father got my grandpa to change the testament again, I didn’t get the property already with 16, what would have happened before, but no that he would be the care taker until I turn 18. Only to then tell me each time possible that he now has to pay for the house and we weren’t living in it. …. WWWWAAHHAHAHAHAAHA

We still stayed in our “police” flat for three more years, until I finished the technical highschool I went to after secondary school. But because during this time people around here and also family started to tell us that we should move in the house and my father always complained about that he has to care about it and pay more because it was empty, we then gave up again and moved there three years ago. I then got an apprentaceship as an IT specialist, but I just did it because I HAD TO GET MONEY. And it seemed at least as if it could be interesting for me. But it wasn’t most of the time. I often felt pain and got even more depressed because of that. People at work didn’t notice it, except for one maybe, but it isn’t his fault. He also has his own package to carry. I hope he is alright.

So last year I even broke my own promise to only harm myself mentally and started to harm myself physically again. Even in a way I didn’t before.

I started to do more and more weird things, when I more and more lost control over myself, while on the other hand I actually started to finally fight for my life. When I started to write to one of my cousins who I now trust. The first person, I ever trusted with all of what is going on in my head.

It still almost ended up with me killing myself in December. But I didn’t because of him. I think for myself I wouldn’t have cared at that point because I didn’t really care for my life since I was little. Each time I built up hope, it got shattered and destroyed by others, so what was the point.

But after that day, I got filled with love because through out my weird process of finding myself by almost killing myself, I more and more realized the messages between the lines of songs, movies and games again. I lost that sense some years before, like the ability to cry when I felt sad. Only in rare moments I could cry, when something was surprising me in a way.

This year I then started to care for other people again and also for myself. So I started to think about what I want to do and made music and started with some programming projects again or looked into some I abandoned some time ago. I even supported someone who also was fighting with suicidal thoughts, we kinda supported each other at first. And now I think he found a friend who understands him and probably loves him. He thanked me for my support and that I never let him down all the months.

I sometimes cried because of him and what he went through, I cried for myself and I felt all this love again.

And still each time it seemed to get better, someone showed up again or something happened and then shit got weirder again. I sometimes questioned reality again and thought it all might just be a dream. Just recently again. Because it all seems so surreal, so fake and like an algorith out to kill me. As if whatever move towards freedom I take or whatever my mother does, will only make out lives harder. So sometimes we even fight each other… while we don’t want that.

So yes… what is the point, if your whole life is a nightmare, a neverending nightmare and each attempt to stop it, makes it harder, it seems. Or makes you weaker, at least.

So when people say, that I should go to a clinic or see a pschiatrist (what I actually already went through when I was 16-17 and it didn’t help), what should I respond? Tell me…

Because whenever I say, that no one can help me, but myself. People don’t understand and think that it can’t be that hard. But they don’t understand that I had to fight for my life, my whole life. That I was in a psychological prison almost my whole life and that each time I said, that I can be free if I want to, people said: “NO! You can’t!” ( i mean maybe not literally, but with other words)

As if everyone has to do what others say… And so my self-esteem is usually negative. So it is not – not existing, but actually pretty high, but against myself. Because since my childhood I tried to help myself and the people around me by finding ways to die faster, so I woudln’t have to go through this kind of hell any longer and hopefully stop existing at all and also they wouldn’t have to care for me. While they didn’t understand what was actually going on and also going on inside of me.

The happy boy… the boy who knows things… the boy who is selfish… the boy who could be a professor…

And now the boy is just a jobless wreck, sitting at home, trying to survive. So through what this young man experienced at least some other people get help. That is what I am living for… and maybe, just maybe to one day finally be able to say: “I am home. I feel safe. I am finally free.” But at least I can help others now. I was pretty realistic about my life when I was a kid. I feared my future and knew that it would be something like that. But I still hoped that it would maybe be different, that someone would notice that me and my mother are trapped. That I am pretty smart and creative and could be full of energy, would people let me be. But no one came… nothing really happened. And when 6 or 8 weeks in a clinic was something like the best time of my life because of all the beautiful, diverse and interesting people who were also patients there… man my life …

And still I told myself, that other people live in war zones, other people get abused and things like that, and that there are many people who must go through worse. I even started to think that probably most people are suffering inside, except for some who maybe control banks and stuff.

So I told myself, boy, that is life. It isn’t meant to be fun, isn’t meant to be easy, isn’t meant for you. Everyone has to go through something like this in a way, so you have to keep moving for the others. You can die at any point, so why rush? You can always hope to get hit by a car (but then I would have felt sorry for the driver) or fall down a bridge (would have felt sorry for the people finding me) or maybe just die by a heartattack (at least something good). So I kept moving because I knew that maybe I could at least tell my story and the story of my mother (and my father). So that something like that doesn’t happen again, at least in the future. But for myself, no one has to tell me, that things could get better. I know that they can. I know probably way more than most people.

For me it would be better, if I could be sure. Because so far, all the hoping was pointlesss because each trial to make my dreams come true got destroyed. Maybe this time they won’t. I can only hope. I am an optimist, you should know. I am a happy person, full of love. I am a dreamer, a visionary and I can find something good in almost anything. But whenever I tried to tell, to show, I got misunderstood or stopped or ignored. So my brain learned to ignore hope, learned to ignore myself because if life was supposed to be realistic, then I should ignore optimism, ignore myself and just become a slave like most people. Or go crazy.

I hope that most of what I wrote until now actually represents what I meant. Also in my previous posts. The amount of words often makes an image as if I always say what I mean and all is exactly as I describe it. Now probably more than ever my whole life, but still sometimes people don’t understand or seem to be confused… I don’t blame them, it always has been this way and I am used to it. Now at least some people here at least are interested in it. I don’t need people to tell me, that things will be alright. I say that to myself almost each day in some form. I don’t need words like: “I feel sorry for you.” It doesn’t help me.

I just want, that something like this will never happen again to someone.

Like the story of my mom (at least short parts) and how she also didn’t get really got help all this time. Instead people went against her and she still tried to help others whenever she could or saw someone in need. (She was born 1957 – just for the record)

She at least was still strong in her youth, but I was already weak half way in secondary school. Because each time I tried to explain or defend myself things got only worse. Some teachers even thought I was a bully or a bad person… almost became one, but because being good made almost no sense anymore. People were just looking on the appearance or saw what they wanted to see. People thought I would take drugs, but never did. People thought I was gay, but I wasn’t. I was just trying to not harm anyone. And I mean girls in my class sometimes even said something when other boys were picking on me.

— (unimportant part below) —

For me girls were something holy at first, while another part of me was already sex driven since elementary school. At least looking back it was that, while I didn’t know what this weird feeling and behavior was.

I wanted to go away from girls and women because I didn’t want to hurt them. And others thought I wasn’t interested and therefor gay. I was just kind and just broken inside. And would I have been gay, okay, but I wasn’t.

I wouldn’t say that I can’t fall in love with a man, but for me that is actually more about character and feeling connected with someone. The same goes for people in general. Whatever they are or feeling like. I can love them all, if they are honest with themselves and me.

I am all over the place… I should stop that now.

I didn’t want to go into this topic at all, I just wanted to talk about my life story and about my mother’s story.

And probably people will now only remember the last part and forget about the whole important story… Well done me. Always doing a good job on making things wrong. – trained misery.

— (end of unimportant part) —

I wish I could have normal problems, like what to get for dinner and how should I finish the article about a topic I like. Instead I have to deal with this. But hey… at least it is more open now and hopefully helps future generations. I really hope it does because if not… then well…

People think I am helpless, that I don’t know enough. That I should try to see how beautiful the earth and life can be. But I know. I know all of that. I simply didn’t experience much of the good so far. That is all. And people think they know what is good for me. Think because I now look helpless or sometimes talk or act as such, that I don’t know what to do. I know what I can or could. Maybe more than they themselves.

For me it is more about the, should I?

Not when I see someone needs help, who seems alone. But for the other things like saying to people around me what is on my mind. I started to, but it was only a small bit. While they maybe thought that was a big story.

It was a tiny bit of what it inside of my mind.

So please, don’t tell me that I don’t know. Or that things are like this or that. And that I should maybe try this or that. I did it all in my head, trust me.

What I mean with “Should I?” is not about “Should I go to a doctor?” or “Should I try to see the positive?” I am long beyond such simple thoughts.

For me it is more about, should I tell everyone what I think about them, should I tell what good everyone could do. Should I tell everyone how stupid the world words seems. Should I tell them what we could have instead? Should I to it as well? Many tried before me and they all died at some point. Sometimes it made the world better, but often they stayed unnoticed or maybe as a side note. But they lived a life. Some of them maybe a life like me, who knows…

Tesla knew as a kid that he would become a great engineer and he became one, but on what cost… and then people burned his works down and people forgot about most of it. During the last few decades, people started to dig into it again. And found out what a sad life he had and what we could have had over 100 years ago. We could have had free energy and things like that. But instead we are still here, using fossil fuels or old radioactive energy in many parts of the world. Because the electric energy in the modern cars also is still generated elsewhere. Many so called green solutions are also waste of energy or way too complicated. And Tesla could have solved it all 100 years ago and probably did.

As I once wrote in a poem, that at first it seems irrelevant, but when it gets relevant the bones are already rotting. It was about Tesla, about myself and all the others who came before and lived a painful life.

Let’s hope it won’t have to stay like this. That the economy will not always stay over the humans. They always say, we have to help the economy, but all they say is, we have to burn more people, to get more money which is worth nothing in the end. We should help people, and then “economy” whatever it would look like then, would help it their own because they would know that they are loved, cared for and important.

Economy is dead…

People are alive.

And maybe I should start sharing videos about programming and how fun it can be. And how you can be creative with it. Not in a company, well at least not in most companies, but maybe in your own or one who is focused on people and not on other companies or economy and money.

Programming is fun, trust me. And if you are familiar with math… YIKES! okay eh, if you are familiar with basic grammarea …. AH HELL NO! eh….

If you know that 1 + 2 = 3, then you can program. Yay.

Or if you can read a little. Like: Console.WriteLine(“Hello!”); or print(“Hello”)

Guess what it does? Hm… sure, the more you go into it, the more you will learn and things can get a little messy and complex. But you will find a way and also ways to “unmess” the code later, if you are like me first making a big mess and later cleaning it all up.

Either way, I hope I can do that in the near future. And maybe this week.

But it still is hard for me to speak inside a microphone. I mean, I already did that when I was in secondary school, playing some video games. Even got some views and likes (2012-13). But then you know what happened…. And you know what I went through. At least if you took the time to read all of this and watch the videos. (If you did, wooaah I can’t believe that, but if it would be true, it makes my heart warm. 💜)

We will see. So far I am still alive, surviving. Sometimes crying, sometimes laughing, sometimes feeling numb again or cold. But I am still here and I don’t want to die. It just keeps coming back. I know that when I focus on the things I love, it would leave pretty soon, but whenever someone brings it back, its back. I don’t ask for it, it comes on its own, until I ask for it.

Endless life would only be hell, if it would have be like it is now.

If it would be a bliss and you could see all, why would you not want to live forever or at least many centuries and more?

Only now it seems like pointless, but why should it always be like this?

If finally everyone would be love by each other and supported, why wouldn’t it or shouldn’t it be possible to live a long or endless life? There could always be change, it would never get boring and with people you love and you can have lost of fun with, why should it ever end? Problems will always come, but if you are happy and feel good and aren’t alone, why should they stop you?

Only the world as it still works, should stop working this way. Only that, but not our lives. Not mine, not yours. They are priceless and everyone can make the world brighter, everyone.

Wouldn’t there always be people who take advantage of others, we would have only problems like meteroits and climate change, if even. And then we could solve them with ease, if people would finally all wake up and feel free. The more you give up the more your brain stops working, the less you can imagine, the less hope you have, the less you are able to think and solve problems. You only get more and think about them, but can’t solve them.

Someone who is happy, solves puzzles and problems with ease. They have nothing to lose, only to find something new and maybe help through that to make life better. All people could be like that, some might be better in this area, some might be better in that, but everyone can change something and has the ability to help. Not only as slave, not as slaves, but as masters of their own self and as friends, as humans. Because those who are already too deep in the dark treadmill of death and giving up, if they would be saved and wake up and then they could save more and wake them up. We wouldn’t need pressure to get people to learn, they would love to learn. Because just sitting around and observing can be learning. You would wonder what one learns just by observing. It is no wasted time, it actually is one of the most productive times because you use all or at least most of your senses.

Don’t give up folks, together we stand. 💜

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