Wabbit Got Ears - The Blog

While I talk about current thoughts over here, this section is a continuous blog with each newest part being up here. Imagine it kind of like a diary - short, wild, chaotic, close.

Tue, 8.36 pm - September 23, 2025

AI summary of this post: The writer reflects on a lifelong habit of turning pain into fuel, describing it as both protective and corrosive. Using the metaphor of painting over cracks in a wall, they explore how survival meant covering wounds rather than healing them, until the “paint” itself became the trap. A new realization — “I will not go through the path of pain” — briefly lifted a heavy weight from their chest, showing that another way might exist. The post acknowledges how natural it feels to fall back into old habits, but ends with a new direction: that only softness, not more layers of paint, can bring real repair.

Had a recent new thought that popped up.

"I will not go through the path of pain."

What does this mean? - In short, I used to (and still do) seem to be using pain as a catalysator for energy. Sounds really much like a villain? - It does! Now, I know this is quite a jump, but it is very important for me to speak about. It used to feel as if my heart was like a stone, black, compressed and numb - for a long time. I can't even tell for how long. I got used to this feeling. That I am not allowed to feel. That I have to sabotage myself in a strange way, afraid that if I don't, it will be bad. Why would that be bad though? - No clue. There's still riddles to be solved here, but yesterday, I had this lifting. For a moment, my heart felt like it could breathe again. It happened when I said the above sentence, as I had been lying to myself that this has not been happening. Imagine it like having pain, anger, guilt, pressure, anxiety - but you brush over it, and say that it is not there. Because it logically does not make sense to be there. You smile at the white wall that you created. But it keeps cracking. You just add more paint, and one day, you forget what was even underneath, that it is real. You start seeing the paint as the problem, try another one, try other methods of applying, a different color. Tiny successes, followed by relief. But nothing ever lasts for long. The cracks always return. One day you decide - it's finally time to dig into the wall. And what you find is what you left there - but it had grown into the wall, holding onto it, shaking it. You wonder how you could be so unlucky. Until you realise. You did that. You remember applying paint, over and over again. You never dealt with your problems, with your feelings. You never dealt with yourself, scared of what comes after.

The paint was never the solution. The paint was - in a sad way - what kept you from seeing the problems, and therefor, from fixing them.

You became an artist on the way, thinking that this was due to your skill and sheer will - but in reality it had been nothing more than reactions to the cracks.

This is how I feel about myself, in an exaggerated way, for more clarity. To be honest, I got a little carried away by the story and will need to re-evaluate it a little - how much it matches my story. What stays real though is the fact that the sentence "I will not go through the path of pain." - really lifted something off my chest. It allowed for a moment without pain. As for me, pain is some weird kind of habit, way of safety or something. I have to research this all a little more. In the end, I believe that the paint might have even been necessary. For me to open it up at the right moment. I don't think the pain and the rest acts like mold in a building, it feels more as it - kind of just sits there. Making it unable to really heal.

After all this I asked ChatGPT about a possible solution to this. The most important points were to choose another method now, one that does not use paint, hiding. And to be gentle, as healing is not about applying pressure and force, but about allowing gentleness to come back in. I interpret this as in - I have to accept that my feelings are real, and are part of me, and part of what made me who I am now. Not just say it, but feel it. And to not use the pain, but to.. stop hiding its existance.

I am in pain, I am in pain since I can remember. Every moment of joy was nothing more than a thick layer of paint, followed by a bitter realisation - that it might last longer, but never forever. This is not some edgy way of playing pretend. This is my present, and was my past. Will I ever be painless? - For sure not! But I don't want my heart to be black and cold again. It feels like my chest is getting sucked in. If I'd put that sensation into a sentence, it would be "Your pain does not matter, life goes on.". "If my pain does not matter, then where do I put it?" - "I have an idea - I will use it, use it as energy. Even if it hurts me." - I think this is how it started. Pressure lead to giving up, causing inversion. From the other side, things that pull us down push us up. A motivation quote, but in this context - grotesque.

I'd like to end this on a positive note - Softness does not need paint. Softness towards myself might be the only thing that can fix the walls. Slowly, different, sometimes complicated - real.

Or with the words of ChatGPT: "Maybe the real strength is to let softness stay, even when the cracks show."

Thu, 8.49 pm - September 18, 2025

I wanted to write another post for today. This will not be in a diary-style, and I am not planning on writing on this site every day.

I was at the place of my parents today. Lots and lots of pain from there. Even though my parents are not here - I could feel something interesting: The second I imagined being someone else, visiting a place I have never been, not knowing my parents, just being here as a stranger - my mental chains were lifted. The cage-feeling that I grew around was gone in an instant. Amazing freedom, very easy to find out what is causing this problem this way. More accurately though - what was causing it. It has been a long time since this feeling is there - so long that I cannot even remember a time without it.

Wed, 10.08 pm - September 17, 2025

AI summary of this post: The writer starts their blog with no big plan, just a wish to be genuine. They share a glimpse of their life—creative, a bit odd, born in the 90s in Germany—and their fascination with mental health shaped by personal and secondhand experiences. Rather than chasing labels or fame, the blog is about exploring inner chaos, searching for truth, and slowly moving toward real healing and a more human way of living.

As a first blog post - really being honest here - I don't even have a clue they work. I never had a dream of becoming a sort of blogger. I looked into one once, but that is about it. Somehow, I never even liked them. "Who cares about the life of a random person?" - I often thought to myself. I was though - working on a diary. One that I have been writing in since four years by now!

But for this blog - I do not have a clue as to what people want to hear, how to get famous, nor if anybody will ever read this. And in a way - this is a good thing. If you knew my story, you would know that the worst motivation for me is called 'fueling the flame'. Which - for now - you can understand as "not doing something out of genuineness". This is a place that I want to create which is as genuine and close to my actual life as it possibly can be. I don't have a clear direction yet, but it will most likely go into a sort of mental health kind of direction. I was thinking about writing an "About Me" - but I am simply too scared for something like that for now. Maybe I will add one in the future.

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I will try to tell a little bit about myself here, just so it is done.

I am a man born in the 90s, artist since I was a teenager - with lots of breaks - loving any way to express myself, often using it as a sort of escape. Lacking the drive to stay with a hobby - where drawing and writing were the only ones that had stayed somewhat consistent over the years. I was born in Germany, lived with my parents until my early twenties, and am living alone since around four years now. After finishing school I did an apprenticeship and got a job at that same place three years later. I am working there since a long time by now, still close to the place I grew up. I have a strange sense of humor, especially for things that are absurd and surprising, I love evening walks right after the sun has set, I always loved the sea and its windy nature and I am a big fan of anything that sparks my emotions. Not because I am a very emotional person - but more because I tend to be quite the opposite. So anything that ticks that feels great.

Now - you'd probably ask yourself: "Why does he mention mental health so often? Is he crazy?"

Well, to answer this question, I first would have to agree - I am sort of crazy. Not in any way that I could easily describe, but still fitting into that category. And why talking about mental health? - This is because since the start of my life, I have been confronted with all sorts of interesting experiences about this exact topic. Note that not all these buzzwords are diagnosis nor are they all about me personally - here they are:

BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder, not to mix up with Bipolar Disorder), OSDD-1 (Kind of like "DID" - you know, the thing with different personalities in the same body, just - not as divided), Narcissism (The thing every person has, except in an unhealthy amount), Depression (don't need to explain that one), Autism, ADHD, Psychosis, Dissociation and more.

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Now, that sounds scary, but luckily, not all of these topics are about my own life. They either came to my interest because of personal experience, experience with other people, or simply out of interest. Keep in mind that I have zero expertise in that field, and technically no diagnosis either. I won't be diagnosing myself as well, yet I do have educated guesses without them being too binding. Whatever happens in my brain and body does happen - with or without a diagnosis. That's why the exact label is not that important to me personally, and instead, the truth is. Meaning - what actually happens, if I want it or not.

I am currently on a very slow and long journey about finding the truth. Finding out the hidden secrets of the past. Not out of vengeance but because after all these years, I am certain that I will need the truth to finally heal.

What do I mean with "heal"? - That I can be happy. Actually happy. Not as in "all the time" - because that is simply not possible - but in a way that I would consider somewhat normal. Always being on the edge, and feeling that I can't rest and must run, being certainly not normal. Coping mechanisms layered ontop of each other, making me somewhat normal appearing, is also not what I want either.

This is also not about becoming a "perfect human being" - but more about "becoming human" - to exaggerate a little bit.

If I could summarise it in one sentence it would be the following: "My head is full of chaos". It did not used to be this way, but it is now and has been for a very long time. And while I am searching for solutions since I was a child, I never found out what exactly was wrong. But I want to, and already have found out a little bit by now.

I hope this first entry has not scared you too much. If yes, I am sorry for that. If no, feel free to come around whenever there is something new. But for now, bye bye!

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