It's 1.09 am here, and July 16. I am now 16, or actually I have been for almost a week now. Doesn't feel any different. Same old, same old. I'm currently at Ylläs, I've been here for a few days now. I've been hiking/walking, killed my back and legs and couldn't breathe properly. I just remember I 'ave this old blog with a mate of mine, so I checked it out a bit and felt kind of... sad. The texts I used to write there are short, but they sound so happy and carefree. What went wrong?
But that aside, before I hit the sheets, I want to talk about my (apparent) pyromania.
I've always found fire fascinating. Ever since I was a wee lad, I loved watching fire, in the fireplace, in the sauna, wherever. I always thought it'd be well mint to see a proper fire. And I always wondered what would it be like to burn down a building. I secretly dreamed about burning down my old school. I loved burning my old papers and textbooks in a fireplace at a beach near my house.
My family has a tradition to burn some old things a few times per year, and I've always liked it. I've always loved watching the things burn, and I wondered what would it feel like to burn, or to burn someone. I like water, too, but I never found it as fascinating as the flames and smoke.
Sometimes I just want to watch the small flame from a lighter. When I was younger, my mate and I went to that beach to burn some papers, and once we bought a bottle of hairspray with us. It was beautiful, the way the hairspray made the fire go.. boom. The table where we one night burned a plastic file is still there, and whenever I look at the marks, I see the flames and I quite like that memory.
I like the warmth the fire gives. When other people moved away from a fire, I wanted to go closer. One day something inside me just clicked.. All the urges to burn things down came rushing back, and they were hard to tame.
I used to cut myself, as a way of self-harm. I've always found blood very fascinating, too. But I figured it wasn't... enough. The problem was easily solved, though. I stopped cutting, even if all the razors and blades still exist. With my obsession with fire, I put two and two together and started burning myself as a method of self-destruction. It hurts, it burns, but it gives me a satisfaction cutting never gave me.
Everyone knows I love fire and it's no secret. And now, not even the fact that sometimes I hurt myself, isn't one anymore. But to be honest, I couldn't care less who knows.
