RIP, multi-talented Max...

Dear Max, yesterday evening, bad news reached me via Facebook. I still can't believe it. Why, Max, why did you decide that it has been enough? Enough fighting against the voices in your head. Enough struggling with your everlasting moodswings. Enough coping with your eating disorder... I do try to understand it, but Max, you're such an incredibly intelligent, multi-talented person. You are able to make people smile and to surprise each and everyone time and time again with your guitar play and you're wonderful, warm voice when you sing.  

I do try to cope with your final decision. The dark times before X-mas often seem to be a reason for the deepest feelings of depression and loneliness to flourish for many people. Last year was no exception:  three of our mutual friends committed suicide during this dark period. It was a tough time, I think you still remember. Still, it hurt like hell. And look now, one year later, you took the same step. You took your one-way ticket to heaven. And you chose the short way. You probably couldn't deal with it anymore. I know you suffered. I know you struggled. But I always hoped that you wouldn't give up like Marie-Claire, Daphne and Jan did. One year later, I can still imagine how they looked like when they smiled, when they were up to no good, whey they were behaving against the rules at the clinic  Those were probably the most beautiful moments, by the way ;) And now, I'll have to add other moments to those, YOUR moments, OUR moments... 

Max, I do hope you find the route to happiness. You've fought so hard, and I won't say that you lost this battle... I don't know if this is about winning or losing. Did you give up? I wouldn't say that either. It's hard to put words in a sentence that would honour you. I can only tell you that I'm extremely sad. Your loss leaves a big gap in the lives of your fellow CIB-buddies, including me. Remember you wrote such beautiful and kind words on the placemat for my goodbye gift? I will cherish that placemat above all the other things you provided me with that day. For one thing is sure: two people who wrote a message on that placemat are no longer among us... I know we've lived in a very fragile group with people who have complicated illnesses, and maybe I shouldn't be that surprised that some of the people of that group choose to die. Still, I'll never get used to it, never. 

Dear Max, sweetheart, find peace. Be happy. Look down on us and be our guardian angel. You are and you will be missed severely. You have no idea of the grief I'm experiencing right now. You'll be in my heart... 

Black dog

It's been a while, but the Black Dog inside of me is awake again, after all this time. How is that even possible? Everybody has a Black Dog, even you, my dearest reader, don't you try to deny it! But most of us don't experience their Black Dog, because he might be asleep. And to be honest, the Black Dog inside of me has been asleep for a long, long time. What about this Black Dog? It has a name, oh yes, it has. His name is "depression". And unfortunately it's back again.

I've been feeling alone and worthless again for a couple of weeks now. Some things aren't going too well. And of course, then we have this whole autumn/winter thing. I don't really like it when the days are getting shorter and colder, and when the leaves are falling from the trees, how beautiful the colours of the leaves may seem. It gives me an utterly sad feeling. Everything seems to be dying. And here I am, in my beautiful apartment, but all alone and grieving a little bit. See, one of our family's friends is very ill. And then I'm talking about terminal cancer. The prospects aren't good. It hurts to have to see how life's slipping away out of someone. It's hard to deal with the fact that death always wins, no matter what we try, no matter how many prayers we say. In the end, death wins the game. 

My black dog is getting bigger and stronger every day. I have difficulties to motivate myself to do something. As I wrote, I'm feeling alone and worthless again. Depression is taking over and I'm feeling so sad, nothing seems to please me anymore. I try to divert myself, by listening to music, by watching episodes of Game of Thrones or by dragging myself to my karate lessons, but nothing seems to help to get a better feeling. I do realise it's just the Black Dog, but still, it's tough. Last Friday, I cleaned the house, which I should consider a small miracle. However, I didn't get out of the house until the day after that. I notice that I'm not into leaving the house a lot, and if I do, it doesn't help to defeat the Black Dog. 

What else does the Black Dog do? Well, first of all, it takes away my self-esteem, my self-confidence. I feel so unsure about myself. This doesn't help when I go to my karate lessons. On the contrary, I'm so insecure and I don't want to make mistakes that I even doubt whether to go to the training or not. Cause if I don't go, I can't make any mistakes. If I could, I would lie in bed all day, cause sleeping helps. It means I don't have to think about life and death, I don't have to think about anything anymore. Because of the presence of the Black Dog, I feel empty and lonely. I don't want to get in touch with my friends, because I don't want them to see the person I am when the Black Dog gets loose. It may sound a little awkward, which it actually is. Maybe it's even contradictory. I observe that this is my coping strategy: when I feel sad and depressed, I try to solve it on my own. But then, I always fail, and end up feeling worse. However, I don't want to bother my friends, I want to be in touch with them when I'm all right, that's so much more fun!

There's one thing that has to be clear, though: in this battle between me and my Black Dog, he won't win the game! I will never, ever give up! I'm not that person anymore. In the end, I'll win, no matter how much time it'll take. I'm a fighter, I never give up. The Black Dog will some day be small again. And eventually, he'll go back to sleep. See, the clue is to not let him grow too big, to keep control of him. And yes, maybe he's in control now, but not forever. I keep on going to my karate lessons, with a little help from a friend, that is. I get out of bed every morning, albeit a little late. I see my therapist every week and we discuss the topics that keep me busy. Today he reassured me by telling that the topics we tackle are not even that weird but actually quite normal, that they don't show me my "psychiatric" side but rather that they show that I'm entirely human, and that I'm dealing with very normal, human things in life. Yes, it seems that I'm struggling with topics every teenager/adolescent gets confronted with. I might be experiencing puberty now, something I skipped when I was 16. Could it be? 

To be continued... 

It's been...

... a year! Or: 52 weeks, 366 (!) days (yes, 2016 was a leap year), 8784 hours, 527.040 minutes, or 31.622.400 seconds, as you wish. It's been a year since I left the Centre for Specialised Treatment - CIB (Centrum Intensieve Behandeling) - in The Hague. And I haven't regretted it for a second! Actually, I thought I'd have to celebrate this milestone!

Yes, it was a rough year, but I've survived. This is the first time ever, since my psychological problems started, that it's been a year:

- without psychosis

- without suicidal thoughts

- without having to be admitted to a clinic, not even for one night

- without a crisis that got out of hand

- without a suicide attempt (in particular by taking an overdose)

I could consider myself blessed. A year ago I would never have acknowledged that I would be where I am right now: stable in the most basic sense of the word, in my own apartment, having published two books and now even looking for a job to fill in the gaps that can't be filled with the few private lessons I'm teaching at the moment. Furthermore, being an active member of the Leiden observatory as well as of Daidokan Karate club gives me the feeling I belong to society in some way. I mean, I no longer feel a burden for society, which I did when I was admitted. I had a strong feeling of inferiority and it was just as if I was an expensive member of society. I didn't participate, I was nobody, nothing... Right now, I'm getting rid of that inferiority complex. 

October 5th, 2015, marked the end of a period in which I'd had to fight for my life, quite literally in fact. It was a difficult period in my life, if not the most difficult. Confrontation with my most extreme emotions, my deepest fears, also with the complex person that I am. It wasn't easy, but I eventually obtained the greatest good: freedom! They discharged me and trusted that I'd find my way back in society. And guess what,  I managed to live up to their expectations! Soon after I was back home, I started looking for a place to live in because, let's face it, I couldn't keep on living in a student's flat in a 3-by-4 room. And look at that, almost 14 years after coming to Leiden and moving into the Pelikaanhof, I finally found my own space! I'm still in treatment, but next to that I'm doing things that I really like. I'm teaching Spanish and Dutch as a second language to Portuguese native speakers. Also, I'm a volunteer at the Leiden observatory and I participate in a council from and for clients from the psychiatric clinic here in Leiden. Furthermore, I'm practicing karate, something I'd been dreaming of since I was eight. So it seems as if I'm doing great.

People aren't economical with their compliments, which I do appreciate. They see what they see, and that's kind of the truth: things are going well. I've finally found my way in life! I'm happy and it seems as if - finally - the odds are in my favour. Especially when I received the keys of my apartment did I realise that maybe times are finally changing. All those years of bad luck... or maybe it isn't a matter of good or bad luck, I don't know. And I know that, when things are going well with Debz, then things are going okay with my mom too. So all these things mean that my mom is doing great as well, which gives me joy. 

And yes, you felt it coming, right. There is a BUT. Of course there were difficult moments during the past year. I only managed to put on a mask in front of people then, in order to hide it from the outside. You see, this life remains a struggle. People are too naive when they truly believe "everything" is all right. My mind is sometimes clouded with inferiority thoughts, sometimes I feel worth less than nothing. The only difference is that, now, I somehow know how to deal with these thoughts. No week passes by that, during my session with my psychologist, I have to cry because I feel miserable. Sometimes I feel hopeless. More than once a week I feel so lonely that I get sad and I sometimes do ask myself why I keep on going. But then, eventually, I get up and start the day, although it's maybe late already and although I'm not really in the mood. Eventually I feel better, and go to my appointments. I teach. I go to karate. I study in order to keep my brain working. And no, it's not always easy. But hey, look where I come from! Finally I can truly say that I am proud. I've got so far already, but that doesn't mean it's going to get easy from now on. Quite the contrary, I'd say. Every day I set a new record. Wauw! In fact, I should celebrate every day, but maybe that would become boring after a while. Let's just celebrate this day, today. Quite a milestone it is! 

This has been written by a truly proud and happy Debz :) 

Battle scars

A couple of weeks ago, we had a family reunion. My grandparents celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary. That was a good reason for me to go to Belgium and see my family. Usually I don't go too often to my home country. Not because I don't like to go there, but because it's a 4-hour journey and traveling from here to there is getting more and more expensive. Furthermore, I don't have any friends living there, almost all my friends live here close by in Holland. However, sometimes we have these birthday parties or other special celebrations, enough reasons for me to go back home.

Grandparents with grandchildren

So, I was there at this wedding anniversary party, and the entire family from my mother's side was there. I was especially happy to see my two nieces. They've grown a lot and almost lost all their childish characteristics! I can hardly believe they're almost 9 and 12 years old! But then the youngest one comes to me, settles down in my lap and asks me the following question: "Auntie, what are those wrinkles on your arms?" I was completely baffled because I hadn't expected that question to be honest. I mean, it's not the first time she asks me this question, and it was a really hot summerday,  so I could have seen it coming. But I hadn't.

So I tell her somehow modestly that I'll explain that to her when she's a little bit older. However, she's stubborn and insists on me telling her that story now. I feel unbelievably uncomfortable and try to change the topic. It doesn't work. I feel hopeless. I want to tell her she has to ask her mom, but I'm afraid my sister will get mad at me if I send her away with this kind of advice. So I don't. And try to change the topic, once again. And I fail, once again. 

What do I want to tell her? Do I just want to tell her I did this to myself, because once I felt so bad and sorry for myself that I had to cut myself in order to save myself? In order to feel better? To survive? No, that's not what I want! What I actually want to tell her, is that those are battle scars, scars of a war I've fought, a war that is actually still not over. But what will she ask then, because, honestly, this child is extremely curious, and won't take that for granted!

Somehow, that's what they are: battle scars. And actually I should be proud. What a war has it been! I'd been cutting myself for roughly eight years before, one day in March 2008, I decided it should stop. It had been enough. I'd been tormenting myself for eight long years, without respecting myself for the person I was, without taking into consideration the long ride it had been. It had all started in the year 2000, and things got completely out of hand. At a certain point in time I used to cut myself three times a day. But look where I am right now: almost a year back home after being admitted at the CIB for a year,  without meaningful crises, in my own apartment now, doing great, trying to find a job and participating in society. Yes, I should be proud, but it isn't easy... especially because people don't value me for the person I am. 

Keep your eyes open for my next post! Then I'll try to give an overview of what I have achieved in the last year since October 5th! 

So sorry

Who ever thought a year ago that I would be where I am right now? Well, I bet you didn't! Neither did I, to be honest. Things can change drastically within a relatively small amount of time. As can thoughts and views about life.

I've done stupid things in life. So did you probably. But I mean really stupid things, things that I now truly regret. Things that I can't turn back, in no possible way. And the thing is, while doing that, I hurt a lot of people. People were shocked, astonished and maybe even scared. Yes, I'm talking about the cutting thing. I shouldn't have done it. Ever. But I guarantee you, I didn't do it to get people's attention. No way! I did it because I had no other way to cope with these crappy emotions. I couldn't deal with life. It was just too hard, too difficult, too much. And I was too weak, too small, alone and lost in this world. I didn't do it to hurt anyone but myself. I wanted to survive. I wanted to be there for everyone but myself. It was just my way to deal with a life that wasn't fit for me. You see, some people get a ready-made life. Others get a - well, less ready-made life, a life they still have to figure out themselves, like a gigantic puzzle consisting of 1,000 pieces that all seem to resemble themselves. And then it gets way too complicated. 

I could have acted differently, but there's no guarantee that that would have been less damaging. Some people find their solution in alchohol or drugs. Others in crime. I don't think these are healthier ways. Only a couple of others find a healthier way, but then I talk about people who are emotionally stable. I'm sorry I wasn't, I really am. But what do you expect? I grew up in an atmosphere of fear, without a sibling who showed real interest in me. I'm emotionally as stable as my mom, which means not at all. It's not her fault, it's no-one's fault really. It just happens. And then me being bullied at school, that didn't really help. Also, I already was a very insecure person. I had a bad self-image. As my therapist explained once to me: I'd learned to see myself as a bad person in a good world rather than see myself as a good person in a bad world. Makes sense, you know. All these factors led to me cutting myself. And you know, once I carved the word GUILTY in my left arm. You can still see the letter G very clearly. Fact is that I still feel guilty when people in my family start a fight, something that is actually happening at this very moment... I just can't help it, it happens :(

I'm so sorry, people, for having cut myself and having left you in disgust. But I can't say that I wouldn't do it again if everything would start all over. However, I do feel guilty. Also, I'm sorry for my suicidal expressions. I take authority over them and I am so sorry that I didn't take your feelings into consideration. When I was standing on the roof of that parking garage, 13 high, I never thought about you. I was only thinking about myself, about how much I'd suffered already and how much I'd wanted it to be over. I'm so sorry I didn't think about what your life would look like without me in it. About the emptiness I'd leave into your lives. I didn't think about me being selfish. I only thought about my own life, about how desperately I'd wanted it to end. Now, however, things have changed. It's been 9 months since I said goodbye to the clinic, and things have finally turned out in my favour. I have my own apartment, with new furniture, mom and dad who helped me to get it all ready to live in and believe me, it's my own little palace. I love living here! And my thoughts about life have radically changed. I now don't fear life anymore, I do fear death though. I want to try to get most out of life now, while that's still possible. All those years in which I was playing hide and seek with death... What a waste! I now see and realise that I have to start getting everything out of life that I can. And I guarantee you, I will. No more cutting words in my own flesh, no more playing games with death, no. It's time to enjoy life and thank God for my blessings! 

United as one

As I'm writing these first words of this post, I'm in the most comfortable position ever. For the first time I'm writing a blog post from my own couch, in my own appartement. Yes, God has finally blessed me with a house. At the age of 33, and after having lived nearly 14 years in a 3 by 4 student's room, I have a place of my own, quite near the centre of Leiden. I do realise that it's a blessing, especially in these tough times where affordable housing is a huge economical problem. Mind that I'm especially blessed because I've been given a whole new appartement, which makes that it's extremely nice to work and live in. Everything, mind you, everything, is new. Not only the apartment an sich, but also the furniture, the refrigerator and everything... I even bought a new television! 

The television is serving a bigger purpose at this moment: last Friday, Euro 2016 started. Yes, I like football. Yes, I try to see as many matches as possible. It's a pity though that the Netherlands haven't qualified this time. I've been living in this beautiful country since 2002 and as long as I've lived here, they've always been present at European and World championships. That's why it's so tough that they haven't been able to qualify. It's even more than that: in my opinion, these championships make you feel part of a bigger whole. I know what I'm talking about, because as a Belgian, we haven't been able to qualify for many years. I can remember that it took us more than 10 years to qualify for one of these big events. Two years ago, we made our comeback in Brazil, and we played well. This year we're back in France, and expectations are high. The team has grown ever since Brazil, they have learnt from their mistakes. The question remains though: will they be able to live up to the expectations? 

Europe seems to be united as one during Euro 2016. We as football fanatics seem to be enjoying this big football feast. Every country seems to be united and celebrating - except Holland, so it seems. And on the other side of the world, in the Americas, the Copa América gives the football fans in that part of the world enough reason to celebrate their football feast. However, it seems we're not all united as one. We might be celebrating, but there are other communities that are mourning at this very moment. Of course I'm referring to the LGBT community. What happened a couple of days ago in Orlando,Florida, cannot be approved of. It's disgusting. Another muslim takes action in the name of his faith and kills 50 innocent people! Why in the world is this happening? I'm asking myself, why do you kill in the name of your faith? Isn't faith a testimony of LOVE? I mean, I believe in God, because God is LOVE. Because God loves me, and everyone who wants to be loved. I can't, don't and won't understand that you kill in the name of your God, whichever name you give Him. 

God is LOVE. That's the first rule I've ever learned when I accepted God in my life. So either you kill in your own name, and not in the name of God, or you don't know what faith is. Last week I received a flyer in my mailbox. It said that Islam doesn't support any act of terrorism, that it even condemns every act of terrorism. I understand why people start to put these flyers in the mail. It just seems that all these muslims don't understand what faith is. I do notice these thoughts of hatred against muslims in my own head when I see a muslim on the road. I know it's probably not fair to condemn just any muslim on the street, but maybe it's just my own weakness. I won't even say I'm sorry, because I don't feel sorry. I just wish they would stop killing our people. It makes me mad and sad that they kill non-muslims. They kill our people because we aren't muslims. Bullshit! My God would never ever command me to kill in the name of Christianity! Okay, a long, very long time ago, in the Middle Ages, we had the Crusades, but that's a very long time ago. Been there, done that. We don't do that anymore! We live in the 21st century. So the muslims don't have any excuse to keep on killing in the name of their faith! Anyone who attacks my thoughts has to remind him/herself that then, they probably approve of the killings in the name of Allah. 50 innocent people have been killed in Orlando because they are LGBT. Because they aren't muslim. Because they are a little bit different. How much longer are we going to approve of these killings by radical muslims? How much longer are we going to accept radical muslims in our modern societies?   

From Pelican to Prince: Day two

Becoming a big girl means that you take certain decisions in your life and that you give your life a little swing. Also, you take big steps when it comes to becoming independent. Yesterday was a suitable example of my newly required independence: I finally received the keys of my very first own appartement. 

After having lived nearly 14 years in a three by four student's room, it was about time that I got my own place and left the Pelikaanhof, a student's flat in the centre of Leiden. I've always loved living there, fair enough, but now I'm already 33 and sometimes I feel like I'm the babysitter of my housemates. Well, not exactly, I might be exaggerating somehow, but my youngest housemate is only 19 years old! Also, they expect me to fix things when there's something not working properly or something has to be done. What's more, they are all still studying, while I'm teaching language classes. Consequently they have other priorities than me. Sometimes they irritate me and sometimes I might be a source of irritation for them. At least, I think that's how it works. 

I think it will be hard for me not to share my bathroom or kitchen with anyone anymore! NOT! It will be hard to say goodbye to my twelve square metres. NOT! It will be uncomfortable to have SPACE to live in, instead of having to crawl between furniture, backpacks, plastic bags with books and notebooks. NOT! 

Not my room, by the way ;)

So yesterday I got the keys! A moment full of magic! I was so proud! As I had other obligations, I couldn't really enjoy the first hours of new inhabitant of the Prinsenhoek in my appartement, I only arrived there in the evening. I moved some of the cardboard boxes full of books and some personal stuff, and then late at night, I went there to spend the night. It may sound a little strange, I mean, it was still empty, completely empty, but I had to be there early in the morning, because I expected a lot of special deliveries, and as they weren't specific as to when they would deliver the products, I had to be available at my appartement the entire day. While I was waiting for the deliveries to arrive, I started to prepare the walls for painting. All day long, it was hectic at the Prinsenhoek, but in a positive sense. As the entire building is new, I'm not the only inhabitant moving in. I'm very curious to get to know my neighbours, but until now, nobody was home. 

So now, after having taken a shower and having rinsed all the dust from my face and arms, I'm back at my student's room in the Pelikaanhof. Tired but happy and content from the work that I've done today. I'm actually waiting for my parents to arrive. They were so kind to offer me their help during the coming weekend. We're going to paint the walls and put laminate on the floor. We'll see how far we'll get. In any case, I hope to move over as fast as possible. Now that I've been in my appartement the entire day, I've experienced the taste of independence! 

Big girl

I can hardly believe that last Thursday, May 5th, it was exactly 7 months ago that I left the psychiatric clinic in The Hague. 7 months ago, I came back home after an intensive treatment at the CIB that took me almost a year and that resulted in a whole new Debz. I can proudly say that I'm a big girl now.

Yes, it's been - and it still is! - tough and no, it hasn't always been easy or obvious for me. I've been and I'm actually still in a constant fight with myself and especially with the ill part of me, the part that wants to destroy the person that I am and everything and everyone that happens to pass by in my life. The transition an sich was also kind of hard: first I was in an institution with 24/7 care, to end up back home with three quarters of an hour per week with my psychologist, half an hour of running therapy and half an hour of creative therapy every two weeks, this in combination with two house visits a week from the nurses of a so-called FACT-team (Flexible Assertive Community Treatment, whatever that exactly entails...). From that moment on, I had to find a purpose in life and I had to start looking for meaningful activities. I can assure you that that wasn't an easy target. As I'd always felt good while teaching languages, I decided to take up giving private lessons. That turned out te be a good shot! At this moment, I'm teaching Dutch to native Portuguese speakers and Spanish to a native Dutch speaker. I'm having so much fun while teaching, I get satisfaction from it and I notice that my students make progress, although sometimes not as much as I'd like to. Still, even though I can't be a full-time teacher, as much as I'd like to, I'm happy with those 5 hours a week. I do regret that I can't be in front of an entire class, but private lessons also have an advantage: you can invest more time to tackle your students' flaws and skip extra exercises when your student has few problems with a specific topic. 

5 hours of private lessons a week means that there is still much time left, too much to be honest. Of course I have to prepare all those lessons, but still, I have enough empty hours left in a week. So I decided to pick up my karate lessons once again. As you probably know, I wanted to take up karate when I was an 8-year-old girl. However, my parents didn't feel like it. They thought it was "for boys". So instead of taking up karate, I had to be happy with gymnastics and trampoline jumping. I never really liked it though, and after a serious injury, when I broke my elbow, my feelings towards this quite dangerous hobby only got worse. When I was 14, I finally made  up my mind and decided to quit. When I took up karate two years ago, I felt incredibly glad that I could make up for the past. Finally I did something that I'd always wanted, finally I was being nice for myself! I immediately knew that I wanted to go on with this karate project. And I'm stil practicing it, even though I almost lost a year while I was admitted at the CIB. At this moment I even notice that I'm considering it a very important activity in my life. It's not just karate training anymore, no! I'm training to obtain the yellow belt. Although I won't get it until over a year, I do notice that I admire the discipline that our Senseis and most of my fellow karatekas have. I also try to put everything that I have in it, and I try to display some discipline. I take the remarks of the Senseis into consideration and try to be a better karateka every training. Learning is important, making mistakes is part of the deal. 

Being a big girl also means that I can create some sort of  healthy gap in the relationship between me and other people because, as me and my psychologist are discussing during almost every session, I'm too dependent on others in order to find my luck in life. My life depends on others, which is not okay for a 33-year-old grown woman. Especially the bond between me and my mother cannot be considered to be healthy. We are too close. That's when my psychologist and I discuss that I should make my own choices in life. It starts small but will eventually end up with something big, and honestly, I really don't want this, I loathe the idea already, but... it will be necessary if I ever want to be capable of living my own life. Actually, last week was one - actually the very first! - moment in which I made a decision, knowing that my mom wouldn't like it. I cut my hair - well, let's say that the hairdresser did it ;) - knowing that my mom would have her own ideas of this crazy, impulsive action. And guess what, she did! But right now, Debz is happy. Because Debz showed that she can be a big girl.

Not my God

Today, March 23rd, 2016, I'm celebrating my 33rd Birthday. I've been waiting quite a long time for this day to come and honestly, I've been looking forward to it. That's because it's been years since I wasn't admitted to a psychiatric clinic or that I was feeling as good as now. However, my birthday is completely overshadowed by what happened yesterday at Brussels' airport Zaventem and underground station Maalbeek, also in Brussels. Those cowards from IS have killed 34 innocent people and more than 230 victims are still in hospitals all over the region. Some are still fighting for their lives. I have no words for these terrorist attacks...

Yesterday I woke up quite late in the morning. First thing to do in the morning: breakfast with a quick glance at Facebook. Unsuspectingly I opened my Facebook page and this is what I saw: 

My first thought: "No, this can't be true! No attacks in Belgium! Please God, no no no!" 
Unfortunately, a quick look at the news page showed me the undeniable truth: Brussels under attack! That was around 11 AM. Back then, it was unknown how many people had died and how many were injured, nor who had done it. Only later did we learn that 34 people had died and that more than 230 people had been transported to various hospitals in the region. Some are still fighting for their lives. Also, it had been announced that IS had taken responsibility for the bombing attacks. Those cowards, again! Killing innocent people, why? What's their purpose? 

I notice that all these terrorist attacks led by muslims are wearing heavy on my mind. I do know that not every muslim is a terrorist, but it looks like every terrorist is a muslim nowadays. I'm not a racist, nor a xenophobe, but I'm getting enough of it, to be honest. There is a slight possibility that today's suicide bombers were guys who had fought in the Syrian war. If only they had stayed in their own country! I'm getting irritated by those muslims that don't adapt themselves. And I don't know why, but when I'm outside, just strolling through the city, it seems that there are more and more of them, day after day. And what's even worse, it are these muslims that make us, christians, adapt ourselves to them, which seems so f*cking unfair to me. An example: to welcome a group of muslim fugitives in a christian building, people decided to put away all the crosses, in order to make the muslims feel more at home. How ridiculous is this?! Why do we put away our proper signs of our belief away? I mean, they won't certainly take off their kerchief?! 

Europe has been too tolerant with muslim terrorists and - if you ask me properly - with muslims in general. If they come here and they dress normally, they speak the country's language, send their children to school, participate in an activity in the society, well then I don't see any reason why they can't stay. And why not, they can maintain their religion, but they should it incorporate in our way of living. And if that means that they can't slaughter their sheep without anesthetics, well then they have to accept that, those are the rules WE have and they should just stick with these rules and not make a fuzz about it!

Still, I want to go back to their religion, their belief if you like that better. Is Allah really such a good god? Or should we put that in doubt? I haven't read the Koran, but I am reading the Bible. My God is not Allah. My God is a god of love. He loves his children, each and every one of them. He asks His children to divulge this message of love. He is not a god of war. However, if Allah really was a god of war, revenge, destruction etc., every muslim would be a terrorist. I think that those muslims we see on the news and all those who claim to be terrorists are no muslims at all, but just some perverts going loose and using Allah as an excuse to rectify their disturbed minds and actions. Actually, I think that many muslims will have to admit that, if these muslim terrorists claim that Allah guides them in their heads, Allah is not their god. In any case, he is not my God, because my God is a god of love, and that's exactly the message I want to divulge here: not my God! My God would never push me to kill other people in His name, He would never allow that! Therefore: