Iridescent Spirits

Shelter of a constantly changing Soul.


Am I invisible?


No, wait.

There has always been this problem around me. Depression and stuff grew so much onto me that I usually felt I’m invisible. They didn’t notice me on the streets, usually bumped into me, and always I was the one who didn’t have place on photos. People couldn’t even memorize my name, even though it is not that complicated, and also it is kind of old, easy, and I’m really happy that I didn’t get my name after the antagonist of a popular soap opera. People usually were/are so bad at remembering my name that they usually gave me new ones, the only thing that managed to stuck into their heads was the initial ‘A’, that has always been the only thing they remembered and I got my new names based on that. Even my psychologist (can you see the irony?) had a hard time remembering my name.

I sat right in front of him and he started, “Well, dear Andrea!” I couldn’t bear it anymore so I interrupted
“It’s Adrienn!”
“Excuse me, what is it?”
“I said, it’s Adrienn!”
“Oh, alright sorry Adrienn!” Then we kept talking for a maximum of five munites without any problem. Bang!
“So, dear Anette!”
“It’s Adrienn!!”
“Oh, sorry again…”

Now I mean can you really see the irony? After that had happened I almost expected to someone eventually call me Arshole. Really, I mean they always got the ‘A’ right, and nothing else. But I had to realise that this never will happen. And as for an extra gift today I got a letter from a site I signed up with the purpose of finding a job, I checked it I still have a valid account with my full name. I have to say I hardly read their messages as they are mostly spams but something caught my attention this time:

“Dear, First Name!”

C’mon! That doesn’t even start with an ‘A’! Oh, and by the way, thanks for the another brick to build my new self on! 😉



‘I love You!’ Or What Compassion Means to me

I struggled a lot with this post. One of my blogger friends said I have lots of things to say (and really!) and she told me to say them well. Well, I tried my best with this one and this is what happens when I’m writing while having a panic attack:

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This post is written for the 1000 Voices Speak for Compassion movement, I stumbled across a while ago. Lots of you may know that my initial goal with blogging would be reagining and developing my real self. This is a hard and long journey of mine, but I have to tell I feel very enthusiastic about it.

Compassion has always been one of my strongest traits. Or empathy, the two of them are equal to me. And not only these two, but also acceptance and support, loving a person for who they really are. These all fall into the category of compassion in my dictionary.

Ever since I was little I could feel sadness and sorrow for anyone, starting from a homeless person, through the sadness in the eyes of a little child and even towards a movie character. I had a strong desire to help anyone I could, while I forgot about the one person I should’ve taken better care for. It took me years to realise that while I am able to support lots of people in my life, I was completely incapable of being compassionate towards my very own self. I took all of the pain I had for granted just like breathing and seemingly, I accepted it as a solid part of my soul. Seemingly.

For so many years, I got told a lot that I’m weak, far too fragile and sensitive, and also that besides these, I don’t have any other problem so I shouldn’t say a word. Without noticing, I began to take over this attitude but only until I got the diagnosis of my panic disorder and I decided to start therapy in order to put an end to it. I remember, my very first ‘homework’ given by my psychologist, was to look in the mirror, examine myself deeply and say this right into my face;

‘My family and friends love me, God loves me, and even I love You, Adrienn.’

When I looked into the mirror I saw a face completely emotionless and fearfully strange to me. I thought to myself, I don’t know who this person is, and besides, who does this person thinks she is to say anything like this? I was supposed to repeat this single line a few times every day in front of the mirror. Yet at first I couldn’t even finish the sentence, I burst out into tears. For the time of the blink of an eye I managed to notice something really painful hiding in the depths of those dim and dark brown eyes, something that reached my heart. I saw the little girl living with her mom and sister after leaving an abusive and alcoholic father. I saw the little girl who was only 4 years old when said to her to let her father take more money to go back to the pub instead of having her mother hurt. I think that was the first time, I realised how sad, desperate and how broken I was. I cried because I pitied myself, as if I was looking at somebody else. I cried like a little child, like that little child who went through the hardships I tried so hard for years to forget. But it doesn’t work like that. I had to learn that these became the part of me and accept what others rejected, because I rejected it too. It was me who was unable to accept myself, so naturally, how could others do it for me? I also had to look at my naked body which was as horrible as looking at only my face.

And yet, despite I often felt no empathy towards myself, especially considering my mental illness, I never forgot how important being compassionate and supportive towards the struggling is. Or towards anybody. Probably it was because I longed for these feelings so much. Also, I couldn’t understand what those people were thinking or feeling when they told me those rude words. I still can’t. We all have problems and weaknesses but that’s fine, it is the part of learning and development as humans. Also, we all are unique and different. For example I went to university to another city so I had to go there and back by bus that took two hours of my live every single day. I hated it but didn’t have any other choice so I accepted it. It exhausted me like hell, as I usually had to get up at 5 am and got home at 8 or 9 pm. Once I told this a friend of mine, who shrudded and told me he did this for years. Yeah, for him it wasn’t a big thing, but to me it was too tiring and I couldn’t focus on my studies properly. When I told him that okay, then that’s him, and I am me he didn’t reply. Yeah… Maybe commuting was easy on him and hard for me but I wondered, would he be able to live with panic disorder for years? I never asked him but as far as I am concerned, it’s sure like hell that I would choose years of commuting instead of years of suffering on my own.

As for acceptance, sadly, it is a very rare thing to accept people for who they really are. We all tend to either look upon them, we make celebrities and stars out of them, thinking that ‘Oh, they are so unique and such rebels! How cool!’ Or the on the other side, we belittle those children who are a bit different from the ‘normal’ saying that ‘Oh! (s)he’s such a freak and so weird.’ Or am I wrong?

True, I rarely felt being supported or loved, yet I am willing to give others what I didn’t get. I do believe that there are people who think like me, and WordPress became a place not only precious to me but also the one that proved that wonders do happen. 🙂



We All Are Warriors

We all have our problems, fears, duties and sometimes, no, actually pretty frequently our disorders. There are times when we all are afraid of lots of things. I told you a several times before I am usually afraid of showing my real self. There is no exception when it comes to blogging, unfortunately. There are drafts and half-written stories I am temporarily afraid to post because of the innate fear of judgement. The need to please others, remember? At times like this I like to escape to my dream world but nowadays I come back soon because I made a decision.

I decided that I want to create a better and happier future for myself. I had to realise that this decision was made more than in my mind, in my whole body, nerves and even tissues. These are that call me back from my imaginary world sooner than before. To do something, to create something, and make a better me. This is why I blog after all. I am here because I want to be here, where I happened to meet lots of people with similar problems and goals as mine. They are who give me strenght, their sole presence proving that I’m not alone. Those who try their best to rebuild themselves sometimes from ruins. The strength in these people is amazingly inspiring.

Here’s a song that always fills me up with hope and that urges me to love this half-full person who I am with all my flaws and the uniquness that my panic disorder provided me with. It can be a great thing, really. There is a good and bad side of everything, remember? Do not forget it ever.

I love the lyrics, and the video as well. Though, I’m not a big gamer myself, the symbolism in this one is pretty strong. My favourite is the fight in the clouds. Those shadows remind me of the harmful thoughts and hardships we all go trough, in other words our demons. Whenever I listen to this song I feel I have enough strength to win, to be one of the warriors I talked about.


Dead End or Happy End

This post is dedicated to my newest friend Annie. Well, at least the first part of it. 😛

I’ve just finished watching Mirai Nikki (Future Diary) based on your advise and Oh…My…God!

For those who are not familiar with it, it is a survival game where twelve people have their diaries foretelling the future. They have to fight each other to death and the last one standing would inherit the throne of Deus Ex Machina, the god of time and place. And I am a huge anime fan. 😛

It is really amazing as you said so, I couldn’t guess what would happen in the next moment. The plot itself is awesome, complicated but not too much, exactly as it should be. I think, I could never come up with such a great story :/ but who knows, right? 😉

The character of Yuno was interesting to me till the very end (but my favourite was Minene) yet Yuno made me a bit scared sometimes. Not because of  the butchery she carried out but because of her her sole mental state. That unstable, sometimes extremely cute and sometimes completely mad teenager girl. Yet, it is understandable after all she went through. All in all, I loved the show, thank you for your advice. 🙂

Why I was scared sometimes is that I tend to be afraid of getting mad. Yet, this fear is one of the most frequent symptomps of panic disorder and my doctor said my desire for getting better is way stronger than the illness. Last time, she actually told me that basically I don’t have any problem on my own, but all those things I went through made me ill. True, I had a hard childhood, just like so many other people. I am pretty sensitive and empathetic, so that sometimes I feel sad instead of someone else. So basically, we could say that my doctor was right. True, if I spend most of my time with certain people I tend to take over some of their traits while preserving my own, just like so many other people. And it’s also true that my circumstances shaped me to be who I am today, again, just like so many other people. But saying that I am the victim of the circumstances would be harsh and not necessarily true. I would never say such a thing. Because there’s reason behind it. I can say lots of things that I’m thankful for, I gained while going through my hardships.

So, based on the start of this post, if you asked me if I’d like to know my future I’d say yes. But if you asked me if I REALLY wanna know my future I’d say no. Why? Because if I knew it will be something great and happy then there’s a chance that I get convenient and satisfied and this way not working hard to make my life better. While on the other hand, if it’s something desperate and hopeless, that would make me stressed and bind me to an extent that I would unintentionally drive myself to that wrong direction. So all in all, I can’t see a good thing in knowing my future.

Actually, this is why I don’t have a strict schedule about which day I am going to post and about what. I just don’t like it. There are my everyday duties I have to fulfill in time but this blog is about me and I would like it to be something that can set me free. I’d like to take my time to find out what I really want and also I’d like to enjoy myself. I look for happiness, without any concrete goal right now. Because life itself is a survival game, and I want a happy end. 🙂


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Disorder and Dystopia

It was a rainy and dark evening. This girl was waiting for me in front of a huge, massive building. I haven’t seen her since primary school. She didn’t change at all.

The two of us headed to the hall, full of doors hiding elevators. We took one of them. I haven’t seen such an elevator before. It was quite narrow yet we had enough space even for an unfamiliar third person. They both hit buttons with different numbers. I didn’t know which level I was about to go. They told me nothing. But the girl from primary school told me I had to go to a higher level, and said it was good. When the elevator started I looked out on a little hole placed on the door. It didn’t look like as we were going upwards, instead as if we were twirling on the same level endlessly. I felt pleasantly dizzy.

The ride seemed to be lasting for hours when we finally reached our destination. On that higher level, I saw many familiar faces, friends and many other primary school classmates. They stood in a strict order with a very determined expression on their faces. All of them were calm and ready. Before I could say hi to one of my best friends, a black and heavy curtain was lowered on them. He didn’t even look at me. Then the girl and I went forward.

I still didn’t have any exact information about what I will have to do, yet the girl told me everything will be fine, and it means something good that I am here. I was quite nervous. The only thing I knew was that I will have to work in night shift and I was worried as I haven’t slept today.

Then I was led to a room, similar to the elevator where my work outfit was waiting for me. It had a dark bluish colour with shiny patterns on it, copying the midnight sky. It also looked like pajamas. Similar to that of those who I saw in the corridor and who was going to take the sleep-shift. I didn’t know what that meant, yet I hoped I will have to do something similar.

I put on the pajamas-like outfit and went to the girl.

“Will I get the job for sure?” I still couldn’t believe it. She didn’t answer my question only smiled.

All of a sudden, I found myself in a huge room full of computers and people working in deathly silence. The room was dark, only a few neon lights in various colours provided some light. The atmosphere was strict and unpleasant. That guy was in charge here. Though, he had the traits of the perfect leader the way he wieved the world was far too revolutionary and forceful. I felt very inconvenient, yet I continued working.

There was a bald guy sitting in front of me at his computer and I suddenly heard a dim voice coming from his headset. It was the voice of The Leader, and ordered the bald one to have one of the workers here killed. When I heard the names of the killer and the target The Leader chose, I got petrified. The one to kill was also one of my primary school classmates and the target was my best friend at that time.

I had a microphone on my desk and I whispered to my old friend to beware. She heard me so as the bald guy and the killer-girl struck. Behind me, there were the two of them, my friend lying on the floor unmoving and the other girl was sitting on her with something sharp in her hand. I knew terrible things will happen here, and that I was about to get punished.

And then, I woke up.

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Colour Three: Carmine, The Crystal Queen

Royal City, the centre of our little country has always been the place where the honourable and highly respected royal family lived in their magnificent mansion. The Crystal Castle, as most people called it, was placed on an enormous cliff, in a commanding position above the sea.

Each year, for only one day, the castle was opened to the nobility, being invited to a ball, to celebrate the long lasting reign of the family and the prosperity of our country as well.

Once, a young lady, who came from distant lands, was also invited to the party. Her name was Carmine. When she arrived, two identical doormen opened the huge wrought iron gates, and soon led her to the ball room.

At the time she stepped into the room, a view, she had never seen before, petrified her.  The walls were covered with silk in different colours, and only a few candles lit the room poorly. But what she was most amazed by, was the people she saw in front of her. At first sight, they all wore classical ball gowns, and masks covered their faces and strange clothes that seemed to be heavy to wear. They were made of a strange fabric that glittered whenever they turned round and back to the rhythm of the music the band played. At first, all looked like if they had not been coloured but during their movements their outfits glittered in different colours, as if they were crystals, depending on from which side she looked at them.

The dance they performed was also something unusual to Carmine. Their movements were classical but halting at the same time.  Carmine was just standing there alone, a little ashamed of her regular gown, watching the myriad of different colours moving. Suddenly, a young man appeared before her, and stretched his hand out to invite the lady for a dance. Carmine did not say anything, only nodded. A few minutes later they were already moving along with the crowd. The man was so good at this kind of dance that they really melted into the scene. After the song ended the couple went out to the balcony where the man gave a flower, deep red like blood, to the lady. Without words, she took the flower and put it under her dress. She did not realise that a thorn cut her finger and a little drop of blood left a stain on the marble floor.

Not long after the ball, Carmine got married to the young man, the son of the royal family. They raised their four children in extreme wealth and kept holding their marvellous balls each year. Carmine’s maids always dressed her tight clothes to hide every little flaw of her body. In the beginning she did not like these clothes but everyone in the court stuck to the rule of ultimate perfection.

As years passed, Carmine got used to and even liked those inconvenient clothes. She got used to them so much that she did not put them off even when she went to bed, despite she could not sleep well anymore. Her hair was decorated with her diamond crown, the crystals of which slowly crept down to her face and connected to her mask that she also wore every single time.

Day by day she marvelled looking at herself in the mirror. Her beauty was known worldwide, „The Crystal Queen” people started to refer to her by this name because of her shining beauty. But sometimes, her reflection in the mirror seemed to be someone completely different, as if she was looking at a stranger. Though the reflection copied Carmine’s every little movement like a slave, the woman who lived in the mirror, had her long, ink-black hair flatter, and her ocean blue eyes were not covered by make-up, nor mask. Her dress was a simple, white nightgown, and she had no shoes. She very was familiar to Carmine, though she could not remember where she could have seen this girl before.

But one day, the reflection, independently of Carmine, placed her palm on the glass of the mirror and started to speak. Carmine could not hear any of the reflection’s words. The girl seemed to be terrified and desperate and the queen tried to read her lips, in vain. Later, the reflection moved on her own more frequently. By that time, Carmine hardly slept and ate, and still did not know who that scared girl in her mirror was.

Long time passed when the Queen realised that, although the girl could be noticed easily, from the room that should also have been reflected, could not be seen anything. No furniture, no lights, only the girl and darkness. And one more thing; stalks. After a deeper look, Carmine noticed that heavy and thick stalks writhed around the reflections neck and arms, as if they were trying to trap her. Then, for the first time, Carmine got frightened by the mirror. Maybe there was a reason why the girls was imprisoned there, she thought to herself. But, no matter how hard she tried she could not remember whether the girl had been there when she moved to the castle. Nor the mirror. She was unable to remember any of them.

During nights, the Queen’s sweet dreams were not only disturbed by her clothes but also the knocking of the girl in the mirror. The harder she tried to ignore her, the harder the reflection thumped.

Soon, the Queen gave birth to her fifth child, a little girl. On that night, she stepped to the mirror, and as she had seen it from the girl, she placed her hand on the cool glass of the mirror. The girl, after a few seconds copied Carmine. Their palms seemingly met, however Carmine felt the girl is far away from her. She saw her unreachable.

Their glance met, and for the first time the same emotion reflected in both pairs of the ocean blue eyes; despair. All of a sudden, the glass of the mirror, under their palms, cracked. Carmine stepped back led by fear, she did not know what happened. At that time, the reflection grabbed something unnoticeable from behind her back and threw it towards the mirror. Sharp and searing pain flew throughout the Queen’s whole body. This time, it was her turn; her expression was the perfect copy of the reflection’s look. All over the crown and mask of the Queen cracks appeared and soon on her dress and body as well.  Then, the stalks that had been restraining the reflection, slowly slackened and disappeared in the darkness. The mirror shattered into pieces. The reflection stepped out of the mirror but it was as dark as her prison was. She was scared and could only think of that all of her efforts were in vain. She looked around but could not see any escape. As she took a few steps forward in the darkness, something stung her feet. She stepped on the remains of Carmine. All of a sudden, beginning from the pile, the floor and the walls started to crack and everything shattered just like a piece of ordinary and cheap glass. The moonlit night sneaked in the room bringing the pleasant summer breeze and the scent of the ocean with itself. Now, for first in a long time, the reflection could breathe. Finally, she also could feel her limbs and body that was vibrating.

She already could hear her servants and possibly his husband, the king, approaching the place of the disaster. She gently put her new-born baby in her arm, went out to the half-demolished balcony and threw herself in the depths. It was a silent night, only the rumble of the sea could be heard.

The next day  Royal City was buzzing loudly with the case of the death of mother and child. Some of them told about an in-labour death, others said it was the king, who killed them both and according to the rest the whole story was a well-constructed lie. But the truth remained within the walls of the castle. After the incident, the king became more engaged in his work letting their children be raised by the staff of the mansion.

The vessel was rolling on the torrents, and a little girl was running on the deck chasing some birds that were flying around there. The woman, who was taking care of her, with something unrecognizable in her hand stood by the rail, marvelling at the reddish scenery of the rising sun, when that thing stung her finger. It was still as sharp as on that night even after those many years, she smiled. ‘The Crystal Queen is dead.’ And she dropped that thing, along with her brilliantly shining, but scattered mask, into the sea.


Sarah was touched by Grandma’s story. She did not only understood the moral of it, but something started to bother her that has never popped into her mind before. Without thinking she said,

“You are Carmine, aren’t you?” Asked confidently as if she already knew the answer.

“Who knows?! It was such a long time ago” the answer was faint.

“And you also met the Viridians” this was not a question anymore.

“Why do you think it so?” Grandma was really surprised, but Sarah did not know what exactly surprised her.

“My leg” she started. “On my first day here you healed my ankle within minutes. It’s impossible, it was broken I could feel it!” And then she said what she had suspected for a long time. “You did it with magic, only the Viridians knew, didn’t you?” The old lady remained silent, instead of words her shining eyes and kindly smiling lips answered.

“What would you like to do, Dear?” Her voice was full of pure love.

“I want you to teach me magic!”