affective

New Habits

2010-04-28T20:29:00.000-07:00

So I’m trying to turn things around. There’s too much sitting around doing nothing in my life right now.

The main things I’m focusing on are trying to get a job, trying to be healthier, and getting some mental stimulation into my day in some form.

In order to do these things I’ve used some resources on the computer and internet to help me.

For example for the job-searching I’ve been using Craigslist and the such. That’s been going all right. I just had a job interview yesterday at Wegmans and I’m hoping to hear from them soon for the second part of the interview.

For weight-loss I’ve set up an account on a website called Habitforge. (Well, this is one of many things I’m doing for weight loss, but this is the only thing that involves the internet). With this website you make an account then enter a habit that you’d like to “forge”. The theory is that it takes 21 consecutive days to form a new habit. So, they check in with you everyday (via e-mail) to make sure that you went through with your habit. If you did, they add it to your building agenda. As soon as you reach 21, congratulations. You have formed a new habit. The habit I’m trying to form is taking my dog, Trouper, for a walk everyday at 5 pm. This is for his health as well, actually. He’s a bit pudgy. And a little mentally unsound.

Well he is my dog.

As for mental stimulation. I have three focuses: writing, music, and art, all of which I wish to approve upon.

So with the Mac application, Things, which I only have the tester version of at the moment, I made a sort of schedule for myself. I have it so that I write for at least 30 min on Sundays and Wednesdays. I play or write music on Monday and Fridays. And I make art on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

It’s okay if I don’t stick exactly to my schedule, as long as I’m doing something productive. So if I want to substitute one for the other, that’s fine.

It’s going pretty well right now. I just hope I can stick to it.

Fate or karma or whatever

2010-04-24T15:24:00.000-07:00

Ah, okay, so something odd happened.

Something hurt me. I won’t go into much detail, but I was sure I was going to lose a lot of sleep over it and I was not looking forward to it.

In my mind I pleaded to the powers of fate that the memory of this event might just be plucked from my head so that I wouldn’t have to dwell and weep over it all night. So that I could just have a peaceful night’s sleep.

The powers of fate answered.

At around 1:00 I heard stirring in my mother’s room. I hadn’t gone upstairs yet. The stirring lasted a while, and I was starting to wonder. Then she came out of her room and I heard her saying something. I thought she might be suggesting I go to bed, but I could hardly hear her. Then I realized there was something wrong.

I rushed to the steps where I met her and she told me her throat was closing up. She needed to go to the hospital.

I ended up driving her there. As an aside, it was the most driving I’ve done in a long time and the first time I drove on main roads and the highway in years. Luckily it was so late, so there was hardly any traffic and I was more concerned with my mother’s condition then my usual fear of driving. I was surprisingly calm, but occasionally shaky.

She was much better by the time we reached the hospital and by the time she received attention, you could hardly tell there was a problem, but we were still there for hours and we didn’t get home until 6 am.

I fell asleep immediately, never once worrying about the thing that happened to me earlier that night, never shedding a tear. Just glad that my mother was okay and that we were both back home and safe in bed.

So, how do I feel about this? I got what I wanted. I never had to dwell over the memory, and maybe I didn’t get to sleep exactly when I planned on it, eventually I did get to right to sleep, and it was completely undisturbed.

I really don’t know how I feel about it.

Yes, it was nice to bypass that misery, but I can't help but feel guilty in its wake...

Classy musing

2010-04-22T18:59:00.000-07:00

When I was younger I never thought I would say, "I can't believe that bitch is younger than me". Not only was I clueless, I was also a bitch.

Psychiatry Insanity

2010-04-22T15:11:00.000-07:00

I have a new psychiatrist, finally.

I’m trying to think how many psychiatrists I’ve ever had. Keep in mind that psychiatrists and psychologist are different things—psychiatrists prescribe medication and usually have shorter sessions than psychologists. You also see them less often and have less of a familiarity or “relationship” than you would with a psychologist.

I’ve also found that they’re less reliable. They’ll send you away or leave or what have you with ease, which didn’t use to matter as much. Hell, I used to be picky about what psychiatrists I had based on their personality. But that was before Clozapine.

Clozapine is an anti-psychotic. It is also a pain in the ass.

So why am I on it? I’ve taken a couple anti-psychotics before, but nothing works for me like Clozapine. And it does it without any side effects.

Here’s the thing, Clozapine is known to cause this condition called agranulocytosis. Basically, low white blood cell count. As a result, when on the medication, the prescribed has to take frequent blood tests, and the psychiatrist has to be specially qualified in order to prescribe it, and not a lot are.

I’m okay as long as I have a psychiatrist supplying me with this medication that’s vital to my mental health. And I was okay a many months ago, when I was with the psychiatrist I had been with the longest. Then she announced her retirement. So, we searched the psychiatrists on my insurance and asked for my old psychiatrist’s appointment and went to see a new psychiatrist. Keep in mind that by the time you get to see a new psychiatrist it is usually at least a month-- a month that you’re cutting into your supply of medication, which has to be refilled every month.

It turned out that the new psychiatrist, Dr V, didn’t believe he could handle my case, so again I searched for a new psychiatrist and made another appointment. (Dr. V was nice enough to write me a script to tide me over). The next psychiatrist lasted much longer, but ended it as well because she was moving on to teaching. Searched, made an appointment. The next guy it turned out didn’t actually handle Clozapine, which was a bit of a scare because then I didn’t have a script to get me by, and my situation became desperate. We actually had to contact a doctor I knew at the hospital who had done so much for me in the past in order to get a script. Then it was back to the searching and the appointments.

It only took one more before I found the doctor I have now. I don’t remember exactly what happened with the last one. Too busy I think. Anyway, I have a doctor now, she can handle my case, she isn’t going anywhere and she is actually not that bad as far as personality goes. Which, ya know, is simply a plus.

Fucking with my sleep

2010-02-08T21:48:00.000-08:00

I had the weirdest sensation last night.

So my insomnia has come back, full-fledged. Ridiculous.

I stopped taking my Ambien a good while ago because it is counter-active to weight-loss and it makes me feel stupid. My mental functions have significantly improved since I’ve been off it. I had been substituting it for Propanalol and Melatonin.

Pronanalol is not a sleeping medication, in fact it was not originally intended for psychiatric purposes. It is sometimes prescribed to treat social anxiety, as it was for me.

I’ve also found that, if taken at bed time, it helps with insomnia for three reasons—it calms the mind (racing thoughts keeps one awake), it causes fatigue, and it slows down heart-rate (which mocks what would happen naturally as one falls asleep).

So, I had been taking the Propanolol and the Melatonin for a while until it seemed that I could sleep without them, which has been a few weeks now.

(As an aside, Melatonin is a naturally occurring chemical that regulates the sleep cycle. It’s very safe and over-the-counter. Of course you should consult with your physician before starting any blah blah blah, etc.)

Anyway the sensation I began this whole post to describe— last night I couldn’t sleep. I tried until 5 am, but was plagued with intrusive thoughts. I finally gave in and knocked back the meds.

Naturally, I took the amount I had been taking the last time I took the meds. The amount I was taking after I had built up a tolerance.

I... felt like I was melting. Which was okay, actually, at first. Melting is okay for someone who desperately wants to fall asleep. The problem was—because of course there was a problem—my mind still wouldn’t shut-up!

It wasn’t sleep paralysis, but it was a similar concept—the mind is awake, but the body is still or “asleep”.

So my body was relaxing, going limp, I felt like I was falling asleep, I started snoring, but my mind was still completely conscious, still bothering me with my stupid qualms. Torture!

It didn’t last long. Longer than I wanted it to. And of course I was worried that I had done something harmful to myself. But I suppose that’s the price of a good night’s sleep.

Stuff to think about while I'm in bed sick

2009-11-30T19:29:00.000-08:00

I don’t know why I can’t feel like physical crap without feeling like emotional crap as well. At first I thought it was some hormonal thing, but it seems to be vicious coincidental bullshit, so that after that sad Thanksgiving, I get to toss around in bed all day thinking about it.

Yes, that was a particularly bad Thanksgiving. My dad got absolutely hammered the night before (left his car in the city, came home in a cab) and didn’t show up next day. We almost couldn’t pay for the meal.

Yesterday was even worse. My brothers were playing catch out in the street and my father was watching. I went out and asked if my dad had bought dog food and he said he only had enough money for toilet paper. When I came inside, my mother asked about the food, and I told her dad didn’t have enough money for dog food.* My mom stormed outside and started yelling at my father for having enough money to go out drinking with his college buddy but not enough to buy light bulbs (which we also desperately need) and dog food. My dad positively fled inside and up to his room, I’m sure for two reasons, but not sure on which was higher in his priorities—to get away from my mother or to garner some privacy. After all, it was a nice day, and my brothers weren’t the only ones in the neighborhood outside enjoying it.

But our familial image was hardly my main concern. I’m already tired of being in the middle of my parents’ fights, trying to assure one or the other when I need to. The last thing I wanted was to actually start one of their fucking spats.

I’m going to have to fix them with muzzles soon.

*Don’t worry about Trouper, by the way. He is being fed.

Trying to understand

2009-08-03T21:47:00.000-07:00

I can’t stop thinking about that night.

I didn’t get too far into it when I first brought it up because there is far too much to say, but something so meaningful happened that night and I think I will be spending a long time trying to explain what it felt like.

I want someone to understand what happened, what I experienced. I want someone to tell me it’s not crazy or just plain stupid to want someone to care about something that happened to me while I was high off my ass.

Yes I have considered that it probably seemed so much more special than it really was because I was high off my ass.

I just don’t think you can throw it away just because of that.

It moved me.

I felt like I understood life a little better.

Clarification

2009-08-03T21:10:00.000-07:00

For the record:

This blog (affective, the one I’m writing in right now) is for a running observation of my life (or at least that’s what I’m aiming for)

My other blog, losesomething, is for whimsy and randomness. For example links, videos, pictures and the such.

Blog Changes

2009-07-22T20:38:00.000-07:00

You (whoever you are, I don’t think anyone reads this anymore) may have noticed that I changed the style of the blog a bit. I haven’t been happy with the style for a long time, but I hadn’t been getting to it. I may change it more. It will always be gray, though. That will always stay the same.

The content is changing as well. This blog is nothing special as is and I don’t care for it. I’m going to try to update it more often with more thoughtful posts.

Current disaster

2009-07-17T23:09:00.000-07:00

I went to the hospital Thursday morning. It was about four in the morning.

First I should say that Mary, my best friend of nearly 16 years, ran away to Hawaii for a couple weeks. She said she was going to be there for a couple years with her boyfriend who is stationed there.

Then I should say she came back.

Yesterday morning was just like old times. We were hanging out playing video games.

Mary pulled out a blunt and suggested it might be pretty fun to play video games high.

Indeed, said I.

I’ve smoked pot about three or four times before. I’d only gotten terribly high once before and it was after I had smoked a lot of pot over an extended period of time. That night I had a period of blackouts, paranoia, and several hallucinations, but was all around fine and mostly enjoyed the experience.

This time was a little different.

I lost my fucking mind. I was in the kind psychotic, delirious state that causes people jump off of buildings because they think they can fly.

I’m not going to go into the details for now other than to say that it was rather traumatic and I’ve been left with a lot to think about. It’s weighing heavily on me and whereas I’m no longer crying at the drop of a hat, I’ve been moping and dwelling.

I don’t know who to talk to. I don’t know who would understand.

I feel very lost and lonely.

Mary and my relationship is sort of rocky right now. She brought me to the hospital but just left me at the front door because she didn’t want to get in trouble. I wandered the halls bawling for god knows how long because I couldn’t figure out where I was supposed to go.

And there’s more… there’s so much more. I just can’t get into it right now.

I'm worried

2009-05-30T14:35:00.000-07:00

I just found a deer tick on Trouper.

My last dog, Quebec died a very tragic death of lyme disease.

I got the tick tick off, head and all but I don't know how long that tick was on there. It wasn't engorged so it couldn't have been on there many days.

I don't know if there's a way to check for lyme disease, or if there was anything I could do if I did know.

I just can't let that happen to Trouper.

Heh heh heh

2009-05-10T00:37:00.001-07:00

one use only

Good idea.

2009-04-27T23:29:00.000-07:00

click it. click it good.

Dr. Marc

2009-04-26T16:21:00.001-07:00

Last session Dr. Marc and I were discussing the disability prospect and the fact that I might not always have my parents to rely on in case it’s true that I really can’t manage a job.

And I said something stupid along the lines of “But, I mean, it’s not even just old age. A person can die at any time!”

To which he said, “Yeah I heard that somewhere.”

Smartass.

Why I'm a douche:

2009-04-25T23:56:00.000-07:00

Was there any doubt?

----

I was watching the sun set.

I was sitting on the front porch of my house, which, while the house itself is not perfect, is in a beautiful neighborhood, and is nice to sit outside especially at this certain time of day.

I’ve always been more of a rainy day kind of person but it was hard not to appreciate the flowers all around and the cool breeze that carried their scent over the freshly cut lawn. I let Trouper run free.

I had just gotten off the phone with my mother and I guess the moment really got to me. I started to cry. I was filled with a strange combination of love and sadness. Love for everything that surrounded me—my family, my dog, this neighborhood I grew up in, every amazing opportunity and advantage I’ve been granted.

And sadness because of the fact that I didn’t deserve any of it.

What could I have done to deserve all of this? I’m not that good of a person. A particularly odd thought coming from me considering that I don’t believe in karma. But the thought was there, and I couldn’t let go of it.

I didn’t cry very hard, or for very long. Mostly because Trouper was there and he doesn’t permit crying. (In fact he barked in my face until I stopped. Gotta love that dog)

Besides, the sun had nearly completely set, and there wasn’t much left to see.

I wiped my eyes and we stepped inside.

Now, the story might have been a little more interesting if I distorted the truth to say that the moment I sat down on the couch on turned on the T.V. the commercial came on, but it was really more like 20 minutes later.

You know those commercials with the little kids in third world countries with the big teary doe eyes that you can send a dollar a month to make all your guilt go away and secure a place in heaven someday? (It will probably be in the smoking section, but you wouldn’t have it any other way, would you?)

It was a young African boy in the commercial. He had apparently just watched his parents die and had to take care of his younger siblings himself. There wasn’t enough food for all of them, so sometimes he would feed them and go without food himself.

At one point they show the young boy with his back against the wall, staring straight forward with a single tear rolling down his cheek.

And I’m immediately infuriated with myself.

Fucking douche.

I was actually crying?

BOOHOO!! I’M SO GODDAMN SAD THAT I CAN’T APPRECIATE THAT MY LIFE IS SO FUCKING AWESOME!!

Story of my life.

Story of my awesome. Fucking. Life.

Double-douche.

2009-04-25T22:55:00.000-07:00

Yes, I realize my last post was also rather douchey, but I want to clear up the fact that I’m not explaining why I’m a douche because it’s a bit complicated and I’m just too lazy to bother.

I’m not having a break-down or anything. I’m just recognizing douchedom.

Douchedom?

I'm such a douche.

2009-04-25T18:50:00.001-07:00

Seriously.

I'm not going to bother explaining.

Things are okay.

2009-04-22T19:48:00.001-07:00

Okay.

Great things have been happening and some shit has gotten me down, so everything is a bit so-so.

I’ve started drawing, creating art, and playing guitar again. Not because I was forcing myself to, but because I wanted to.

So that’s amazing.

But I saw a new psychiatrist the other day, and we had the first session where they get to know everything about you and your whole history and she suggested that due my situation and the number of times I’ve been hospitalized and my situation over the past couple of years, that I should consider applying for disability.

That’s just one of those things that takes your life in another direction, and puts the way you see yourself in a new light.

I don’t feel very good about it.

Neat image

2009-04-07T18:57:00.000-07:00

I don't know where it's actually from, but this is where I found it.

Party from Hell

2009-03-29T15:58:00.001-07:00

I went to the party from hell last night and am not very happy today.

It wasn't one of those felt so lonely you could hug a radio in the bathtub kind of parties. In fact there was a definite moment where I just needed to get away from people. Therefore making it more of a so discouraged by humanity you dislodge a pillar on your friend's front porch party.

And don't be fooled, that's not something clever I came up with that you didn't get, that's what happened during my alone time. After I witnessed something I'm going to say is about 90% of why I feel like crap today, I wandered out to the porch, walked up to the pole that was helping to hold up the roof up and hit my head on it. And what happened? It fell over.

Jack walked by, it being Jack's going away party I wanted only to get away from and Jack's house I just damaged, and told me it was no problem, that the pillars were really just for show. Which was nice of him, but I still felt guilty. He was sadly dealing with his own drama that night and I was trying to not be a bitch by not bringing up my drama, so I asked him if things were going better for him and he sighed and said, "No, not really," as he fixed the pole. I felt like a further buzzkill.

And I won't go into my feelings for Jack, who I've known for as long as I've known Mary (about 14 years) but let's just say that I'm not exactly thrilled that he's off to Arizona. Not to say that I'm not happy for him. It's just a not-so-thrilled-happy.

If you need me I'll be on the laying couch wishing I had icecream to ruin my diet with.

Manamana

2009-03-26T19:58:00.001-07:00

Just watch:

This seemed important at the time

2009-03-22T23:00:00.000-07:00

I texted myself:
Mar 21, 2:27 am
hand massages

I think I had just remembered they existed and wanted to make a note not to forget.

Seamless.

2009-03-19T20:15:00.000-07:00

I had some awesome lucid dreaming last night/this morning. It was actually this morning because it was just before I woke up.

I was completely in control of what was occurring in the dream. I was working off of it and it was working off of me. Well, I was just going through the dream when I saw something that inspired me and I became lucid. I wanted to create what I saw in real life. So I started planning it out.

It didn’t take too long for me to realize that my plans were going to be lost if I didn’t wake-up and get them down. So I decided to wake up.

That was the best part. In my dream I walked up to the object, a necklace, actually, and observed it one last time, crossed my fingers, and then shifted into wakefulness.

I say I crossed my fingers because I’ve attempted this many times before without much success.

That fucking loop.

I dream that I am waking up over and over again. They do that in T.V. shows and movies. Oh it was just a dream. Oh that was just a dream. Oh that was just a dream.

This time was seamless. It was this unreal experience. I felt like I was walking down a tunnel, or descending a staircase, with my fingers skimming the walls.

And it was…… brown.

That’s just what I saw as I was waking.

It was really cool. I don’t know.

First Saint Patrick's Day

2009-03-18T19:05:00.000-07:00

Ha, last night.

My brother and I celebrated Saint Patrick’s Day at a Thai bar and restaurant in Little Italy. We met some of his friends there.

Neither of us gets drunk almost any other day of the year. Hell, this was my first legal Saint Patrick's Day.

We may have over done it a bit last night.

But it was good fun.

I think the best part was when Cory and I went out for a smoke and we were discussing his screenplay. He just recently finished his first draft and he gave me a copy to read.

I had had three whiskey shots, a long island iced tea and a margarita when he asked me if I thought the story was too much from the male perspective.

“No, no, no. It’s about people, ya know?”

That was a laugh.

I was a little worried, though.

I don’t know if the alcohol didn’t mix well with my medication or didn’t mix well with me or if I’m just not used to being that drunk, but I think something wasn’t quite right. Maybe that is how it goes when you’re just that drunk. I guess I wouldn’t know.

All I know is that I felt like I was asleep when I was awake. Or like I wasn’t in my body. Or like I wasn’t alive. I could see through my eyes, but I wasn’t living. And minute-to-minute I couldn’t remember what was happening immediately after it happened. Which doesn’t make much sense.

I think depersonalization is the best way to describe it.

I’m not worried about it now. It’s good to know that I should just avoid drinking that much.

Just some wonderfulness

2009-03-13T20:14:00.000-07:00

Uh... uh... Moustache.

Digging

2009-03-04T20:06:00.000-08:00

I was digging through photos and found this gem:

I think it just about sums everything up.

Also, this picture made me long for long hair again:

I don't quite know why.

At a church in Arkansas

2009-02-23T12:45:00.000-08:00

This story traveled about my Aunt's church.

A minister was giving a sermon on the mutability of humankind and at the climax of his homily, delivered a line from the bible often used on Ash Wednesday or at funerals. "Remember, man, that thou art but dust and unto dust shalt thou return."

A young girl, allegedly five or six, upon hearing this quote, turns to her mother and whispers:

"What's butt dust?"

An odd sort of druggie.

2009-02-12T20:59:00.000-08:00

This one I’m intrigued by.

Feb 6, 2:46 am
Furnish room w/ drug rep medication promotional goodies

I wasn’t sure how to phrase that at 2:46 am. In fact, I’m still no sure how to phrase it.

But I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. If you’ve ever been to a psychiatrist’s office, or even a doctor’s office, you’ve seen them. Seroquel pens. Clarinex clocks. Viagra tissue
boxes. (Think about it a second. Got it? Yeah.)

These objects inexplicably tickle me and I'm incredibly drawn to the idea of collecting a whole range of such ridiculous objects. True, most of them are pens. But occasionally, you come across such a rare beauteous gem as this:

A Paxil CR Floaty USB Mouse.

There's fake pills floating around in the bottom part of the mouse! How cool is that?!

The only way this drug rep promotional goodie could be goodier would be if they were real pills. It could be your pillbox.

"Hey Johnny, how's the depression going?"

"Never better. I've got my Paxil CR Floaty USB mouse."

Sadly, when I came across this item on Ebay, it came with the news that drug rep promotional items as of Jan 1, 2009, are no longer being distributed. It didn't go into detail, and I haven't been able to dig up any more information on it, so I'm not relying to much on that one source, especially since they're attempting to sell me something. At any rate, if it's true, I'm very saddened by this possibilty. Those kitschy, over-the-top items were always my favorite part of so many doctors visits.

Well, I suppose I now have a mission. I don't just want to collect pens, but it may come down to that. Ebay has a plethora of promotional pens. But I know that occasionally I'll come across a goodie as goodeous (new word, trying it out) as the Paxil floaty mouse.

If I could find a Viagra tissue box I could die happy.

That would be my holy grail.

This one makes me curious

2009-02-09T10:44:00.000-08:00

Feb 9, 4:44 am
Like a puppy with a hardboiled egg

2009-02-06T12:33:00.000-08:00

Feb 6, 12:39 am
Make your own play dough. potato salad

Sleepy texts

2009-02-02T19:43:00.000-08:00

Lately I’ve been texting myself in the middle of the night.

Aside from my pillows, blankets, and lamp, I go to bed with two things within my reach—a book and my cell phone.

Most of the day I don’t make some sort of effort to jot down my ideas. It’s only when I’m half asleep, that my ideas are crazy enough and my confidence is limber that I feel compelled to hold on to my thoughts. Of course, it’s also important to realize that I’m on the brink of sleep and will no doubt lose my idea if I don’t record it.

So I reach over, grab my cell and text myself a little note.

Here are some of the things I’m texted to myself:

Jan 30, 12:18 am
Crap as shit.

Jan 30, 8:27 am
Feet up eye down legs up hair down sitting in a rocking chair. fresh horns

Jan 30, 9:59 am
I used to fit in that?

Feb1, 12:14 am
You ever let an itch go? You ever eat all the crust first? You ever pour your sugar in then not stir it?

Feb 2, 12:58 am
Make up words

Feb 2, 1:02 am
Dush

Ho hum

2009-02-02T12:49:00.000-08:00

Phfoo.

I’m back home.

Back on a leave of absence.

So that’s fun.

Let’s see, the whole chain of events here… On the 17th of November I had my gallbladder surgery. It couldn’t have gone smoother. Afterward my surgeon mentioned my gallbladder my exceptionally diseased and the whole procedure was even more urgent then even he had anticipated.

I didn’t get a chance to pass this information onto the health services ladies because four days later I went to the emergency due to severe hallucinations. Perhaps it was because of the painkillers. I was hospitalized.

I stayed at Northwestern Memorial Hospital over Thanksgiving and for nearly the remainder of the fall term. I was home in time for Christmas.

At the hospital, my doctor put me back on Clozapine, an anti-psychotic which I had tried before but had to stop because of the devastating effect it had on my white blood cell count. She decided it was worth trying again. It works like a charm, but it also means that I have to have blood tests every week in order to get the drug prescribed.

Getting blood tests every week is not so bad. Especially if it puts a stop to the psychotic symptoms.

I’m having trouble with depression, however. It’s pretty bad right now, but I’m having problems in my social life. Which is a weird thing for me to say.

I mean, when I not having problems in my social life?

I guess I'm just upset because I'm having problems in places that were always so secure. With people I always relied on.

It's all very ouch.

Yeah right.

2008-09-25T00:27:00.000-07:00

"Yeah right. That'll never happen to me."

I said.

They made a point of telling us that some-whopping-percentile of the students at this school change their major or "focus" before the end on their four years here. I was so sure that I wasn't going to be one of those people. So fucking sure.

And now look at me.

This is another way of saying I'm really getting into video. And others tell me I have a lot of potential.

I had this great crit today. Maybe just because it's my birthday?

I didn't do much for my 21 birthday. Didn't party. Didn't get hammered.

I did, however, finally get the other half of my snakebites which I'vebeenwaitingforforever.

Pictures will come soon.

I'm still not sure what this journal is for. I don't think I have the focus to shine it directly on schizo-affective disorder, nor do I care to dig up those emotions on a regular basis.

Lines.

2008-08-23T11:28:00.000-07:00

For my first real post on this blog, I’m going to talk about lines.

I have a problem with lines.

I remember when it started. I was on the bus on my way to school. I think I was in the seventh grade, so, about 13 years old. I had my head against the window, gazing out tiredly, when I saw the strangest thing.

There was a stark black and white line coming out of the very bottom of a lamppost, running straight out and fading at the corner of my vision. I knew from the moment I saw it that it was otherworldly. Nothing in the world looked like it, or behaved like it. It was resonating with danger and power, blurry around the edges because of this resonation, and it was there specifically for me to avoid it.

It was as though my life had suddenly merged with a cartoon. Or their was a silkscreen on my perception.

When the bus passed the lamppost, I could only imagine that the line was passing beneath me, so I lifted my feet.

From then on I would see lines coming out of different things. I don’t know why some things have lines, and others don’t. I don’t know. I don’t make the rules.

As far as I could determine, anything that is not a part of the background—anything that stands within 30 feet of me— and especially anything that looks like a line itself, such as a lamppost or a fencepost, has lines.

All people have lines. In fact, each person has two lines. One coming from the side of their feet, and one coming from either the front of their feet or the back of their feet, depending on which side of them I’m facing. In other words, each person is at the corner of his or her own right angle.

They are black and they are white. They are not gray. They are not black sometimes, and white other times. They are black and they are white.

In the beginning, I lifted my feet whenever I passed by a line, or stepped over it if I was walking. As time went on, and lines became more frequent, I learned that I was almost as happy tensing up my feet, making the arch rise, as I was lifting my feet. I don’t know why tensing my feet is nearly as effective as lifting my feet. I don’t know. I don’t make the rules.

But even if I was happier avoiding the lines, I was never really happy. I always felt invaded by the lines, aware of them and avoiding them even if I wasn’t paying attention, realizing I was doing it before I even before I thought of the lines. Even when I stopped actually seeing the lines, when I was diagnosed psychotic and put on—what else—antipsychotics. I still know they’re there, and I still feel their power.

I am bothered by them sometimes more than others. Usually when I’m stressed. When I’m most bothered by them, it is very noticeable. I myself feel my heart race, my teeth clench, my breath shorten, my stomach contract, and my hands sweat. Other people see a look of intense distress on my face or the way I hunch my shoulders or flinch.

Because of the lines, I am never really relaxed. I always feel as though I’m being attacked, invaded, or pressed upon.

Life is not easy with lines and even though I know they are not real, that they are nonsensical, I can’t stop myself from reacting to them. If I ignore the lines, if I don’t lift or tense my feet in their wake, I become panic-stricken.

It doesn’t matter what I believe, the lines have power over me. Even if I believe that I will never truly be happy until I learn to let them go.

First post

2008-08-14T19:01:00.001-07:00

This is the first post of this blog for which I have not yet decided the purpose.

Can I get a "hell yeah!"?