Archive for the 'health' Category


Artery Artillery

So, I downloaded a new app (Noom) to try out this healthy lifestyle thing, and to possibly lose a bit of weight, like. I walked about for like three hours doing mostly grocery shopping, and I gained like a ga-zillion steps on the pedometer that comes with the app. And when I got home, I had a totally healthy salad for late lunch/early dinner today, which I couldn’t even finish. And I almost kind of enjoyed it. Sooooo I figured I was up for some gratification.

Coffee-chocolate cake and white chocolate-coffee muffins

My arteries aren’t going to know what hit them.

I barely survived making those, I’m not sure I can actually eat any of that. So… If you’re working tomorrow, and you’re working where I’m working, you’re in for a treat.

Chocolate. Sugar. Butter. Coffee.

I’m not quite sure what I did! With the cake, I was going roughly the same way as with the Sinfest cake from before, except I used gluten-free flour, and the topping is just melted chocolate, margarine and loads and loads of powdered sugar. By the time I was hanging out with the muffins, I was pretty much just throwing stuff in. Main ingredients were melted butter and coffee. I added white chocolate chips to the individual muffins, but they simply melted and turned the insides into delicious goo. Clearly, the recipe still needs some tweaking…

The topping is simply powdered sugar, water, red food colour and essence of lemon. Yum! I almost served the muffins raw, but it turns out the white chocolate chips were the reason the insides never hardened properly. Somehow, with added oven time, the whole muffins ended up tasting like lemon, and the topping also tasted like coffee. It was weird, but in a pleasant way. Lemon Surprise! Next time, possibly I’ll have a go without the white chocolate.

I think I’ll have that heart attack now.

Bonus! Check out the cake goodness from our housewarming party:


I can only take credit from the bunny cake and the cat cake (the Significant Otter’s and my birthday cakes, respectively), Senja and Tommi made that beyond-awesome octopus cake with licorice boat victims.


This is not a success story

Have I written recently about depression? Like medicine, it’s something easily forgotten when not immediately needed. Not that I imply that I need depression! (Although, do read on as to how I may be wrong.) I think it’s almost safe for me to write about how much better I feel now than I have for a long, long time. Maybe since early teens.

Like the title says, this is not one of those “How I beat ****** and lived to tell the tale” -stories. No; I’m not healed. My therapist tells me it is possible to be cured of depression (although I find that hard to believe), but I still have my periods (ha!*) of good old gloom. However, they’re shorter, milder and less frequent. In fact, lately  for most days I feel, for lack of a better word, normal. There have been a couple of random moment when I might even have wandered across on temporary contentment, or possibly even brief moments of happy.


If you have never experienced depression, you have no idea how strange, wonderful and freaky that is. For me, normalcy is something that is best described as feeling nothing, but not in the way depression-normalcy feels. Depression-normal is gray and dull. Normal-normalcy is regularity, everyday, colours as they are, good and bad things notwithstanding. There are roughly two kinds of people in the world: those to whom normal means everything that is good and right in the world; and those, to whom it stands for stagnancy, conservatism and boringness. Most people I know, myself included, belong in the latter caste. It’s the caricature-normal we think of when we say “normal”. Nobody really wants to be like everybody else! But feeling normal, surprisingly, does not make me want to wear cardigans and house decorate for babies.

That utter un-named fear of normal is possibly why some of us with depression shun healing. “If I cease to be depressed,” we think to ourselves, “Will I stop being creative and different and me?” The brain that takes us down the slippery slopes of depression also takes us to look at the world in a different way (some have written we can see the world as harsh reality, without the softening effect of optimism and belief in general goodwill), which makes us sometimes arrive at ideas we may otherwise have never thought of. The very same brain that makes us hate ourselves with a passion may, at any given time, give us such insight or moments of brilliance, that regardless of the terrible all-consuming, guilt-riding, self-serving depression we hesitate to give it away lest it takes it all away with it.

A human being is a creature of habit, and as habit go, depression is a faithful old dog. It haunts our every step; every moment of joy is trailed by lurking shadows; we never forget depression, and we rest assured that if everything else in the world should fail, one thing remains constant. Unlike regular life, depression bears only known risks and darkness; regular life has ups to contrast downs, but those just make the downs so much more terrible! Anyone with manic periods (whether bipolar or not) will probably know what I mean; once you get down from a high point, it’s a hell of a drop. Depression may be the only safe place to rely on when the world just seems too much.

I am not saying depressed people choose depression any more than cancer patients choose cancer, and anyone with a just-cheer-up solution to depression is welcome to come try that at me. It is just that a fist in your face often offends, etc. But, sometimes, death seems less of a danger than life.

As for me — I feel as though I’m in a strange calm where I fear no death and hold wary optimism towards life. Having a job and a boyfriend and moving in a new flat together in a few weeks (ta-dah!) certainly helps; but the fact remains I would not be in this situation were I in the mental state I was eighteen or twenty-four months ago. How did the improvement happen? The depression in me would say: “Time”. I would, however, attribute a large part of the healing process to actively attending therapy (twice a week for two years; once a week now) and eating my medicine like a good girl. I recognise life will not always be easy and I feel fairly certain that sooner or later I will make another nosedive… but maybe, just maybe, it won’t be so bad this time. I know now normalcy for what it is, and I don’t have to dread it anymore.

* You know. Periods = hormone things = mood instability = depression.


A Personal Tale of Weight Loss

That’s right, Ladies and Gents! It is time for another one of those endless tales of battle between gain and loss, of good and evil! Unlike for many, this is hardly a battle of epic proportions, although it is an age-old comic tragedy – or tragic comedy, as you please! It is, once more, a time to wail and bemoan the weight of a woman; the fate of the overweight. I warn you though, this is gruesome and brutal, so those of weak constitution for poor poetry are excused from the audience… And now, let us please your appetites, let us let loose the morbid tale of Laura’s Eternal Struggle!

‘Tis a tale of the peoples obese
who eternally battle the weight
of the weight, ne’er to cease:
the woe do them ever frustrate.

‘Tis a tell, I do confess,
which is never far removed
from most people’s address
of how they can e’er be improved.

Now I bring to your eyes,
your ears, the story of a maid
who herself daily did chastise
endlessly she was dismayed:

”Fat, fat, fat and ugly!” She cried,
”how can anyone love what I so
despise?” She’s sit on her bedside
and feel e’ver so mellow.

Many were men to offer advice:
”Eat less, move more! Get out
and about! Early to bed, early to rise!”
And other such things they would shout.

”Once your depression heals,”
the lady therapist sagely inferred,
”Your weight, it like so peels
sunburn off your body, undeterred.”

Some would swear ‘pon Vitamin Ds
and exercise, and willpower and zen.
(Strange how apparently the keys
are like to sadness and weight again!)

She met a nutrition expert whose
solution to her bodily war
was cleverest: ”In order to lose,
you should eat more, by far.”

Truth to be told she was not so
attracted to the idea of eating,
for her appetite was mighty low
and legal tender e’ver fleeting.

But she tried and spent frail
cash on eating well for a week
or two, or three. And it was a fail,
mostly due to her finances weak.

So she ever mopes on her bedstead
and bemoans and rests, weary
in body and soul, always shred
of self-love, her future bleary.

To this day this tragic wench
only eats enough for survival.
She waits for the woe to quench
or for the appetite’s revival.

And so, to introduce the end,
finally, for our weary legend:
there is no moral, no intend
to provide a happy ascend.

Whether a lady or a gent, have a heart:
all obese are not lazy, wretched or vile
This feeble theme I willingly part:
Make room, they’re only here for a while.

Terrible epic poetry by yours truly. Here’s a hint for the inspiration:


Times are a-changing

All my life, I’ve been running after change. It’s been the one thing driving me forward: getting from one place, one circumstance to another. I’ve always been looking for a way out, and geographically I did. I moved country a few times. Looking back, I was just standing still while the world kept rolling underneath my feet. Well, I’m running now.

On one hand, it’s all good: I’m finally going to graduate and… get on with life. It’s been on hold for ten years* and seems to be catching up with me. I’m dizzy and confused and I don’t know what I want. Everything was so simple, in theory:

1 Study animation

2 Get a job in Korea/Japan

3 ????


Ah, those were the days! Now I’m having to deal with all kinds of grown-up things, such as trying to make room for another person in my life… It’s my first real relationship, and I’m over thirty already – which means I’ve had over 15 years of arranging my life to my schedule, my wants and my needs. It’s a learning process.

I’d tell you a story, but he would probably mind.

I’m seriously having to think about what’s realistic and what’s not; what kind of a job I want, can I handle being in a real job, am I going to give up on the idea of moving out of Finland, should I continue trying to make a career as an artist, can I afford to live in Helsinki, and so on, and on, and on and on? It’s true for travelling, warfare and life: they consist of long, boring periods of waiting around for something to happen, and short chaotic periods where everything attacks you all at once.

And now, I don’t have a good closing anecdote. I barely just got my medication right, and my life still rotates around trying to find a way to live with or heal from depression. I don’t know if I’m facing back or front, and I’m a little hazy on the difference between up and down, too.

I’m a little sad and a little weird tonight.

Thank you and sorry. I had to get that off my chest so I can go back to worrying what to wear for Elina & Toni’s wedding. I’m thinking a black bin liner and a paper bag for my face.

*Oh, let’s just not get into that now.


Undisputed Territory

Warning: Personal stuff

”We have normality. I repeat, we have normality. Anything you still can’t cope with is therefore your own problem.” (Douglas Adams)

It’s a strange feeling, normality. After two years of especially fatiguing times with my constant companion, The Terrible Depression, feeling neutral is a novel experience. Sure, I’ve had good days, too; either bordering on mania, or still with that black current underneath. I’ve had not-so depressive days, too, but they haven’t been neutral. Those are the days when I’ve felt nothing at all.

Recently I became aware of this new sensation of standing in the world all by myself. Mister Depression was not whispering in my shadow, and Miss Mania was out making trouble with someone else. Sure, this doesn’t mean I’m healed – a lifetime of darkbound thinking isn’t erased just like that – and it doesn’t even mean I won’t continue to have bad times, too, for the rest of my life. It feels like a breath of air so pure it hasn’t existed on this planet for thousands of years: exhilarating and completely alien at the same time.

I’m compensating by suffering from PMS as of yesterday. It makes me feel as miserable as ever, but at least I’m not convinced this is another sign that it’s pointless to try and get better.


Addicts Anonymous

We are all around you. Most of us do not even acknowledge we might have a problem. We might say ”I’m a connoisseur of tastes” or claim we have everything under control. We might laugh about it, or blame our problems on it. Some of us look down on mere alcoholics as bumbling amateurs and we only feel guilt once found out. We might recruit accomplishes – children are the best for this purpose – or have an entire gang of heavy users. We might justify our behaviour on humans basic hedonistic practises, or even on ancient biological needs. We say, ”it’s innocent, and I harm no one else.”. Our closest people might unknowingly and innocently become our enablers, and we get our panacea in myriad forms from any grocery stores or corner shops. Some of us even cook our own from common household goods. Those, who have very little hope for recovery have often resorted to using the raw ingredients.

Yes, it is true: I, too, am one of these unfortunate addicts. Those wonderful crystalline carbohydrates for some; others have the sole taste for the Theobroma, food of the gods. The endless possibilities and forms and the bright, artificial colours. The sweet thing. Sweets in British, candy in American. The divine sugar. The sweet cocoa derivations. The wrapped, the bagged, the unsorted selections. The confectionery, the pastries, the puddings. Ice creams, soda pops, chewing gums, bars, powders. Sweet, tangy, soft, hard, boiled, natural, artificial, Go On Have A Taste, Just One.

I can tell you from experience that they’re harder to give up than cigarettes and alcohol combined. They’re everywhere and impossible to get rid of. They make me sick, but I don’t want to have the willpower to just stop. Speaking of which, I have plenty of worries to drown and a tub of ice cream waiting.


This post contains nekkidness!

What is it with Americans and nudity? I’m frequently baffled by their prudeness and downright terror at a sight of a (female) nipple, when they’re not shy about violence in films, video games, comics etc. If I were to have children (which I won’t) I would much rather 1) expose them to nudity rather than violence, and 2) encourage them to think of a human body as a natural thing. I can vouch for the fact they will not turn into nude beach, self-exposing sex maniacs, as this is how Finns have grown up since the dawn of time. On the other hand, we are a terribly depressed nation. Maybe it has to do with the fact that mere sight of a nude human doesn’t seem all that titillating?

Sure, we have separated saunas in public places, but we all grow up going to sauna with the entire families, sometimes with neighbours, and at cottages all over Finland’s 80,000 some lakes, people go between sauna and lake without bothering to be bashful about it. In the nekkid! In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s happened in a whole lot of families that a kid looks at dad and goes ”Daddy, what’s this?” and does something to make the said daddy go cross-eyed. I bet you it’s not the child that gets traumatised…

Ah. This could easily be another endless rant about historical and psychological context and consequences, but instead, I’ll just post the pictures Photobucket removed from my account with no further explanation. SUFFER, ye prudes!

In case you didn't get it, I didn't draw this.


(I was able to draw the bottom two without getting traumatised or aroused. Amazing, isn’t it?)

PS: Which bees make milk? BOOBEES!!

Heard it through the grapevine:

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It Has Been Written:

March 2019
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And guess what!

Give me all your money: