Better the mediocre doctor you know...

Well, I'm back with my old psychiatrist.

Who is... eh, ok.
Before I left him for the "new" doctor, I was having mixed feelings about him. But after having gone to the new doctor, who wanted to start pulling my meds generally and lowering my methylphenidate specifically, I guess it's just better to go with the doctor who agrees that if I'm reasonably stable, why fuck with shit *right now*? Particularly when I'm going through a stressful period.

I mean, i haven't been anything resembling stable all that long. I would say it's been a matter of weeks.
I would want a good solid six months before even considering pulling any meds or lowering dosages or anything like that. And I would want to do that over the summer or a winter break.

So. Yeah.

It's relieving though, to not have someone trying to constantly argue with everything I say.
Anything from when I say "People are unpredictable" to "the concerta helps me function" to "I'm stressed out" to "I'm bipolar".
Contradictions to everything all the time.

It was frustrating.

Doesn't matter because he doesn't take medicare anyway so the point is moot.

But whatever.
Changed back.


Let's be friends.

I had a weird dream last night.

In it, BF and I broke up.

I am pretty sure I initiated it but it turned into one of those "sorta-kinda-mutual" things in the end.
Then we tried to be friends, but it just wasn't working and I had to tell him "I can't do the friend thing with you". I just couldn't. It hurt way too fucking much.

It was really sad.
I woke up feeling really messed up and the echo of that followed me through a good part of the day.

And that's the thing about dreams. You can live a lifetime overnight.

I mean, in my head, I actually felt that hurt, that pain.
In a strange way I'm still trying to get rid of it.

Because i woke up just at the end of the dream, before it had enough time to skitter away.

I don't know.

It's not like I think it's indicative of anything.

It does make me miss BF though.


autism entry

I have a love/hate relationship with autism.
How it applies to me, specifically.

I have been diagnosed repeatedly as autistic and at one point it became a status symbol for a couple of people I associated with, which was just scary.

I just don't fucking care at this point.

Not true. I care.
I'm still worried about being called a fake. This happened with those people after they had convinced me they were my friends and then decided no, we weren't friends anymore. Also I wasn't autistic. Not only that but I had actively lied about it, had lied to them.

It's hard to know where one stands sometimes. But that's true about anything really.

And when things come up about autism, I don't know if I can speak about it to most people. I have such conflicting feelings. I feel like there's something different and not right about me developmentally, definitely.

But it's like... sometimes treated as a club.
I don't like that.

I know if you meet me, you might just think I'm a little "shy" or a little "awkward", but if you spend time with me doing stuff it can be apparent that some stuff isn't quite right and... I don't like having to "prove" to people that it's a problem.

I also don't like other people trying to say that their awkwardness is the same as some of the shit that I've dealt with. The amount of effort I put forth to give the impression that maybe I'm a little "shy" or a little "awkward" [as opposed to a completely dysfunctional moron] is huge. I also had to learn how to do it, how to hide what things were like for me when I was younger.

Getting in trouble at school all the fucking time, being made to cry, because I don't understand the directions of the teachers. I was supposed to just "get it together" and "listen up". When I finally did have "friends" they took advantage of me and made fun of me. Having a mother who is intolerant of your noise sensitivities to the point where she would chase you with a vaccuum cleaner as a little kid. Screaming in school when the fire alarm goes off.

But then I feel like a jerk.
Who am I to say?

It's all very confusing.

It's supposed to interfere with your life.
But it's not.
It does sometimes. It doesn't sometimes. ...it pretty much does all the time; no one else sees it.



A few things, actually.

I had an appointment on Monday with my psychiatrist.
There has been so much bullshit going on with this crazy teacher at school that I just completely forgot to go. Which is so unlike me and really upset me.

I didn't remember until that night when I was thinking about how I hadn't gone to the bank, crap, but then remembered that the reason I had needed to go to the bank was so I'd have cash to give to the doctor.

I emailed him and apologized and gave him various times over the next two weeks that I could meet, but stressed that I was going home [wednesday afternoon] and running out of meds.

He wrote back "No- Call me."

I called him and he made an appointment for Thursday night at 6pm, when i would already be in NH.
Ok, I agreed to it, which I shouldn't have. But he was kind of pressurey about it.

When I got to NH on wednesday night I sent him an email saying I had come home and wouldn't be able to make the appointmentand would call to reschedule.

I still have not done this.

My meds...
I was running out of lithium and have run out of concerta and I don't know where the script is for topamax now because apperantly it's expired. Which is a big surprise to me.

I came home and found lithium that is still good, so I'm good on that. But the concerta, that's a problem and so is the topamax, as stress minus topamax= increase is complex migraineness.

TO head that off I've been taking some lorazepam that I pretty much never take. It's a theory, maybe it'll work. It's at least helping with all the anxiety cause by the untreated adhdness going on right now.

OK. SO missed doctor appointments.

I found out yesterday that my parents are switching insurance and because it wouldn't be a continuation of policy or some shit, I don't eve know if I understand it, I can't be on their insurance anymore.

So I'm going to medicare.
And that means I can't see this jackass that I'm talk about anymore anyway after the 1st of the year.

I've been thinking off and on about kicking him anyway, so it's no big loss.

The drug program bullshit is overwhelming and expensive though. It's going to cost more than twice, approximately to get my meds. I'm on generics- more than I was before. And I have to try to track down a pharmacy in my area that will take one of the more reasonable drug programs.

As far as a new doctor goes... my school has a psychiatric nurse practitioner on staff.

...I guess I'm willing to give that a shot.
If it doesn't work out she can refer me somewhere else I suppose or I can go back to the old doctor, who wasn't all that great either, but didn't suck as much as this one.

I can keep my therapist.
SHIT I haven't found out if I can keep my GP and fuck I hope I can.


I'm on a bus.

I have an issue with public transportation and despite living in the city for nearing a couple months now, I've not really ridden the bus that much by myself.

I realize the feelings I have regarding the T, generally, are pretty unreasonable.  But when you happen to be on the ASD spectrum and have a serious case of social anxiety, things are often strange and unreasonable.
The thing is:
I'm scared of it.
I'm scared because the names of the stops come up so fast and I'm scared I'm going to miss them and then not know where to go. I'm scared of people. I'm scared of touching them and having them touch me.
I'm scared of things that are new and unfamiliar.

Yesterday, though, I was supposed to have dinner with a friend from highschool, so I got my ass on the bus, to a place I'd never been before, and Actually Did Not Explode.

Holy shit!

I was so nervous, too.
The initial stop where I had to get the bus was a stop that I'd never been too, also, so I was all worried I wouldn't find it.

Totally an adult doing adult stuff.
For serious.


Meta is the new black.

I was walking to main campus.
I'm sure normal people aren't just walking along, minding their own business, then get suddenly interrupted by the thought of
"Was that a real voice, or not?" followed rapidly by a lengthy tangent with a thesis of "What is real anyway?" and ending with "If a tree craps in the woods does anyone hear it?"

WHAT? What the fuck is that?

...and after thinking about thinking, I got caught in this metaphorical never-ending mobius strip type attack of thinking about thinking about thinking...

Then I realized I had to cross the street.
The light was in my favour, I think.



I can't figure out if I'm depressed or what.

I'm fundamentally different from those around me.

It takes a lot to make me laugh. Like, really laugh. Most people get a forced laugh out of me most of the time.

...does everyone just do that?
Do I have a shitty sense of humour?

I don't know.

I know I feel really uncomfortable often because I'm not naturally laughing or giggling along with everyone else. And I don't know why.
I feel kind of broken.


Starting at zero to Lesley...

In between shots of tequila.

And... I started out trying to recover from a depression that had lasted for months, maybe years, and taking one class.

And now I'm going to Lesley University.

Like, how the fuck did that happen?

I don't fucking know man.



I was trying to do schoolwork and everything was taking forever. Just taking so long to do. Like it was all in slow motion. I don't know why. But this power point I was working on was taking me hours. Something like three hours for four slides.

I think I'm just getting this anxiety paralysis. Everything seems like too much to do. I don't know why.

So, I was sitting there, trying to do work and I hear someone writing on my white board outside my door.

But I'm not really friendly with people in my dorm, so now I'm all paranoid, so I get up and open my door, and it turns out someone had just written about liking the stuff on my door.

So now I look like a big fucking jackass and I feel really stupid.

And crazy. I feel crazy.


Welp. Thank you for that.

I was watching this thing on Scientific American Frontiers online.
And this may be a little disturbing...

They were talking about choices.
The television series M*A*S*H* ws mentioned- specifically one of the episodes in which a bus full of people was hiding from the enemy and everyone had to be quiet but a baby was making noise.

The mother ended up smothering it.

And they showed it.
And the whole thing was so sudden, the way they said it, and then showed it afterward [which they didn't really introduce... if you are curious, you can read about the incident in the first couple paragraphs here. Not so jarring]

I was like "wow. Thank you for that, fuckers. I was cheerily enjoying my brain/cognition show, but thank you very much for that."

So now it's like two in the morning and I can't sleep.

Sometimes things get disturbing, when you talk about humans.
Ok, a lot of the time things get disturbing. 


Weekend Update.


I've been here, at the new school, for four days.
I really don't feel like writing any more right now but I guess I will anyway.


I'm feeling a little like everyone's talking about me lately. And it's past "oh no what if they're talking/laughing/joking about me" into "They ARE talking/laughing/joking about me". So actually into the paranoia realm. I mean, a few people in the hall = a meeting about how to tell me I've done something bad or I'm pissing everyone off or I just don't belong here.

I don't know just what to do about it. I mean, I have experienced this before. I know it will go away. I can use that fancy "insight" that people always are telling me I'm so good with. But it's making me feel a little crazy. And a bit like I don't want to do things or go places.

I try to talk and think the things away. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. I'm not letting it run my life, but I still feel like I want to hide. It's not a good feeling to be carrying around.

But still,  I'm managing to meet some new people, despite that little, uh, "bump".

I met a couple neat girls on this "walkabout" thing. The school took us around the city for a day and on the public transportation so we'd get used to it and know a few places to go.

The girls I met are pretty nice and seem intelligent. The three of us had a really interesting discussion on medication and it's overuse and a balance of the doctor-patient relationship. One of the girls has a brother who is bipolar who chooses not to take medication. She's open to learning about why meds are a good idea, but she just said they've found for her brother specifically, medication wasn't the answer.

The other girl was really cool to talk to. I remember someone I know had said at one point that DBT should be a requirement in highschool.
I mentioned this and she understood what I was saying and agreed. Heh.

Everyone here thinks I'm in my early twenties, which is fun.

Especially with this guy on my floor who's actually like 30 and who I'm pretty sure has written me off as young and annoying.

Though today? He seems to be rather more nice than he has been? Not that he's been mean, just he's being more friendly.

We both have different ways of meeting people.
I just say hi when I happen to sit next to people or the opportunity presents itself and a conversation just happens.

I've noticed he will run around introducing himself to as many people as possible. Like, all the fucking time. But he rarely is hanging out with the same people.

I have a few people that I am trying to foster relationships with, But I am pretty sure there are like four people right now that I could call up and go to a meal with and it would be no problem.

He seems to often be kind of... floating around.
I don't know.
Hard to explain. Like he doesn't seem to be fostering anything. He's collecting.

I know I am totally analyzing this.
It's just that he's on my floor and I moved in early and have seen how he's been meeting people because it's like in my face [he's across the hall] and it's a small school.

And I like learning about people.

I had Principles of Art Therapy today.

I made some kind of blue lion with fire and a light bulb. ...out of tissue paper and puff balls.

It's a blue lion, because I want to bring into class the courage to try new things, and I'm a leo and blue is my favorite colour. And a light bulb because I want to take away from class new knowledge. And there is a wall of fire, because I am a firesign and I always bring with me a kind of barrier that I put between myself and others.
[all these things were based off of suggestions or requirements of the little activity]

Anywho. I'm in college and I make blue lions. YAY. 


Sewing Machine Abuse.

I hate being here.
Have I mentioned that?

I. hate. being. here.

I'm pretty sure my mother is demonstrating some very preliminary symptoms of Korsakoff's Syndrome. I know it seems a little... dramatic to say that.  But I'm not even fucking kidding. The woman drinks like a fish and eats like a bird. It's not a far stretch.

She doesn't remember a lot of shit and gets confused about things, randomly fills in details with details that seem to make sense to her, will repeat herself a lot, and get pissed off at people or often just ignore them when they call her on it.

So, for example: The Sewing Machine.

I got this awesome Hello Kitty sewing machine for Christmas.  Really big hairy deal.  It was the Christmas present.  I left it in the dining room for a couple of weeks, in the corner.  I go to get it out and it's not there.  My mother had moved it.  Of course, I let it go and just kept letting it go until she could no longer remember where she had put the damn thing.

At this point she doesn't even remember moving it really.
Because I came home today, to find an entirely different sewing machine in front of my door.

After spending a few weeks pestering her repeatedly about wanting my goddamn sewing machine.
I yelled down the stairs "This isn't my sewing machine. Mine was a Hello Kitty one"
"Well, then, I don't know"
"It was in the dining room"
"I don't know where it is then"

So I did what any reasonable crazy person would do after being trapped like an animal in a cage for lengthy periods of time with people who are [in a lot of ways] even more dysfunctional than myself.
I kicked the sewing machine into the wall, slammed my door and proceeded to beat it with my fists.

...I'm not proud. I don't like that very very occasionally I act like a cornered wild animal and just don't know what to do with myself. But this reaction is singularly restricted to being in this house, with my parents, for much more than a week. Obviously, it is not a good place for me to be.

I deal with legit insane people on the daily, some of whom don't want to take their meds and don't want anyone else to take meds either. Some of whom feel they are crusaders for anti-pharma, and also- they aren't crazy, there really are dogs in the neighborhood with transmitters in their teeth, but I wouldn't understand because I'm a woman. [doesn't make any sense, right? A good part of my job is getting these people to come around to a rational point of view]

Living here is still, by far, way more taxing and frustrating than trying to convince someone who won't take meds that "they" are not monitoring various individuals via canine dental apparatus.

My mother is poisoning herself. No one, least of all her, seems to care. But I'm stuck watching it.
They move my things all the time, and apparently it's my fault that my mother- whose cognitive decline seems to be set on "fast forward"- can't remember where she put something that I care about.

She could have just asked me to move it.
But then she'd have to remember, by the time she talked to me, what she was going to ask me.

That's just crazy.


Art Therapy and Clinical Neuroscience

BF rocks.
He got me a book called Art Therapy and Clinical Neuroscience. [Edited by: Noah Hass-cohen and Richard Carr]

It's awesome. I'm fucking psyched.
Get it? "psyched"?  ...ok, sorry.

Speaking of BF...

I hadn't seen him for like...two weeks but was so tired today when I did see him that I basically drove an hour [as I haven't moved to the city yet] for a nap and a booty call then decided I was too tired and needed to go home.

[The guy cutting down trees outside with some mechanical buzzing thing didn't help either, but that was just an additional thing factor. 'icing on the cake' if you will.]

So yay me: the ultimate in girlfriend technology.


Bouncing 'round the room.

I am so ridiculously, existentially bored.

If I say it enough, I won't know what it means anymore.

Maybe that could actually help.

I am literally wandering around the house, stomping my feet and going ARGH.
I want to rip my hair out.

I feel all caged in. 


Find people who like what they see, not see what they like.

My friend K sort of recently got engaged. [about a few months ago]
To a really awesome guy.

The first time I met him was actually without her, though they'd known each other for years and were "kind of sort of maybe" dating at the time.  They were both coming up to the state but he was flying in one night earlier and needed a place to stay.  She's such a close friend and though I wouldn't do it for anyone
[and neither would my mother for that matter] K is like family, so any friend of hers is a friend of mine and I said he could stay at my place.

I went to pick him up at the airport and had an orange coffee cup, which I told him when he called my cell to say he had landed.  Later on he said "I thought that was ingenious because you know, carrying something bright and noticeable so I could pick her out... but then I realized... no, she was just carrying an orange coffee cup. heh."

Which was funny.

So we went to mcdonald's where I found a salad I could eat and talked.he later told K "The first time I met [Josie] I thought she was a scientist, just from talking to her."

This has confused me until today, when I recalled something else.

A few years prior to that, I had been sitting on the porch of another friend.  We were just talking about random shit and he said "Where do you think memories come from?" or something like that.

So I go into this whole thing about how I think they are probably in different parts of the brain depending on what they are associated with but it might depend if it's like a memory from when you were two or yesterday or something like that, though memory is funny because like, we do some things automatically and I think that's different than a memory of a day at the beach and I said something about how I think there is one specific part of the brain that processes memories but I didn't know what it was called and if you destroy that part than you can't make new memories and you forever will wander about not able to make new memories, but still knowing your past...

And went on and on from a semi-cognitive perspective, I guess, that's what you'd call it?  Well, brain gooshy stuff perspective.

But he kind of halted me after a little bit and was frustrated and a little annoyed.
"No, that's not what I mean, you always do that."

I think he wanted some social or spiritual answer, but I couldn't give it to him.
Even before I KNEW I was into cognitive shit, I was into cognitive shit.  And, apparently, it annoyed my friends.

...time to get new friends.
Which I did. And I'm glad I did. They were not fabulous people, or really great friends in fact. But I still miss them. Funny how that works.

I showed my poster presentation board to K the other day when she came over and she was super impressed.
We have known each other since grade school and she has seen all my ups and downs and... deviations...

I was talking about the Research Methods class and getting all excited. I have an idea for a study that I want to do, if I can ever get my ass together.  My old advisor said she would help me with stuff, so between her and someone I can find at my new school... maybe I can do it.

It would be a qualitative study having to do with synesthesia.
Kind of nervous about doing a qualitative study, but I think I can do it. Probably. Maybe. Ha.
I just have to find the right faculty advisor to help me.

Ok. I need to fucking start school now.

I'm getting way antsy.


A is for Awkward, that's good enough for me.

Ten year reunion: "enough awkward to last another ten years!"  It was really good to see my two friends though and we had a nice, awkward, amusing time.

I had a hard time explaining to people what, exactly, it is I'm studying and wanting to do.  I don't quite have the vocabulary down yet for it and I'm not fluent in the speak so I just find myself stumbling over explanations and bouncing between bumpers of neuroscience, art, and therapy without coherently blending them well enough to get my point across.

I know what I want to do.  With a gun to my head I could stumble through a basic outline of what it means and it would make sense to people who are doing it, or people familiar with it or who already know what I'm talking about.  But to the basic lay person?

Neurological deficits and art therapy?  WTF?

I guess... I need to work on that.
It doesn't help that I'm like, anxious as fuck that I'm going to say the wrong thing because I'm like... all new to all this stuff and haven't actually been taught anything formally and don't think I know anything [which is a fairly accurate statement] so I'm scared to actually say anything about anything.

 In other news...
I'm fucking sick of everyone moving my shit around this house and not telling me where they put it.
I need to get the fuck out of here like, yesterday, last week, last month.

My mother lost my Hello Kitty sewing machine.  She can't remember where she put it.  Instead of asking me to move it somewhere, she just up and relocated it and now can't fucking find it.

This is not a rare occurrence.

I'm bored.  I'm anxious.
I want to just sleep until move in day.


RE: Dear Doctor

I saw my psychiatrist today.

I kind of groaned inside when I sat down and he said "I got your note, but I didn't read all of it yet." as I took that to be a bad sign. He did read the rest of it however, and the proceeded to hmm and hah and look through his notes.

[I don't really mind this.  He works out of what I think is his home, and doesn't have a waiting room.  So either he can look at his notes with me there or I can wait out in the street. Most doctors who have waiting rooms get a minute to regroup in their office while their patients wait outside, I imagine. He's only seen
me twice, so I don't really expect that he has my shit down exactly]

He then said what I suggested, that we lower the methylphenidate a little bit and see how it goes for a couple months, sounded like a good plan.  We also settled on slowly, very slowly, transitioning from lamictal to lithium, which I agree with because the lithium works noticeably better than the lamictal and going
slowly onto it should leave me without the stupid.

As in starting at 300mg for two weeks, then going to 600mgs for two weeks and once I'd been on 600mgs for a little bit, then drop the lamictal a little bit.

Then after two weeks go to 900mg and see where we're at.
I'll probably have to go to at least 1200mg, I'm thinking.  My blood level was at .5ish at that point last time, I think, though my memory for such things is never to be trusted, so it could most certainly have been higher.

I'm feeling better about him.

He said at one point, that he was looking to get me on fewer medications, but only as I need, not just for the sake of getting me on fewer medications.  So, that is to say, if I can get by with fewer medications, good. If not, then ok.

He also said he would value my input and if I have ideas be willing to hear them. Heh- then he said "but if you're saying something I think is harmful or stupid, I'm going to tell you..."

At which point I laughed and said ok.

He also said, after asking if he was making me anxious, that the likelihood of him turning into a werewolf anytime soon is pretty low so I shouldn't worry about that and then gave me a brief history of werewolf movies.


Dear Doctor...

I'm supposed to talk to my doctor about my medications on Thursday.
I foresaw this being a disaster, frankly.  I tend to get intimidated and anxious easily, can't explain things and just shut down, communication-wise.

Which, of course, is really unproductive.  It's not that I'm trying to be difficult, it's just that I get really really anxious and overwhelmed and pretty much just feel like no matter what I do it's not what I'm supposed to be doing.

I guess that's it.

In light of all this, I thought it might help to email my doctor before the appointment and share my thoughts.
This way, he would know what I was thinking about before hand, I would have all the time I need to try to explain and he would have time to think about things also.

He seems to think that the buproprion should be adequate for the ADD and was wondering why I am on the methylphenidate ER. My biggest concern is that he wants to simply pull me completely off the methylphenidate right before the challenge of a fulltime semester [which I haven't done] at a new school in a new living situation.

It is quite obvious to me that this is less than ideal. Then again, I'm the mental patient- what do I know, right?

I've tried to go without the methylphenidate before. It was not pretty. That would be the time I went from a good clean A down to doing so poorly for about a month that it averaged my grade out to a C+ in the end.  So that didn't end well. It wasn't all the medication, I will grant that. However, it's kind of like pulling a net on a tightrope walker when they are at the half-way point.

I had no coping skills to manage that change.

He said that I am on a really high dose and he said he has concerns about me being on such a high dosage.  I'm willing to take that into account.

Part of what I wrote to him:

The problems that I feel have that have been helped by methylphenidate:

1. I think I'm multitasking but I'm not.  I feel as though I'm getting more done, but I'm actually interrupting production of several tasks repeatedly, stopping the flow of work and jumping between these projects/tasks/activities, only to attempt to pick up where I stopped last.  It is disorienting; usually it means I end up with either unfinished tasks or poorly done tasks or both.  In tasks that require some sort of continuity or coherence, a disjointedness is often evident.  

2. People like to laugh and call me scatterbrained.  I call me frustrated and occasionally pissed off.  Unmedicated, I don't remember/find it exceedingly difficult to find things or train myself to remember where they are.  I try to live by "always put it back in the same place", but when my brain runs off to a new exciting adventure every few minutes, "That goes back in it's place" is often cut off by "oooh, shiny!".  That is to say, before I can follow through with a controlled and thoughtful action, it is often interrupted by a new thought and action which is neither controlled nor well-planned.  

3. I am extremely impulsive, often doing and/or saying before thinking.  I have a terrible and chronic case of "foot-in-mouth" disease.  Being medicated does not necessarily tell me that what I am going to say is wrong but rather gives me pause. I have a buffer to think rather than my mouth simply running into the conversation with out me. Or, in another case it prevents me doing things like turning a half full cup of water over to look at the bottom.

The disorganization and the interruption of thought makes schoolwork extremely difficult.  This would explain why I had such difficulties for the month or so that I was off of concerta and ended up dropping my solid A in anatomy and physiology down to a C+. The last thing makes life in general difficult.

I am now entering what will probably be the most challenging semester I have encountered, in terms of adjustment, work load and stress.  Making drastic medication adjustments would probably be ill-advised.  I would like to, at first, have the methylphenidate reduced to 72mg in the morning from 108mg and leave the methylin in the afternoon as needed.  After a couple months, once I have adjusted more, it could work to have a further reduction if I seem to do well on that.

If he has an issue with this, I'm not sure what I'm going to do.

While I don't have huge problems with him right now specifically, there are things that may or may not be problems in the future.
If he's willing to accept that you can't just go at someone's cocktail with a chainsaw, that makes sense.
If he wants to start hacking away at everything while I'm in the middle of a huge life-change, that kind of raises a flag for me.

The fact that I changed psychiatrists, even though I was not thrilled with my last one, was a huge "leap of faith" in the first place. I'm not being totally resistant to what he's saying.  I just am not about to jump off a cliff, thanks.

I'm worried.


"Grit is a combination of passion and persistance"

I heard this on NPR today, and it just stuck with me.
I think I've got the whole "grit" thing down.

I've been fucking around with this idea of writing a book for a couple years or so now.  Probably longer.
What stops me is that I don't feel like embarrassing and shaming myself and everyone I know.

But, I'm realizing, I can tell things in pieces and still get the point across.
Because I don't really think telling a linear story is quite what I was going for anyway.

Still, the thought of omission kind of leaves me uncomfortable.  So I don't know if this will ever happen.
I've thought about it and had it make enough noise in my brain lately that I've started some notes, though.

Just about various things I might write.
Just to see:

Am I really interesting?
At all?
What would I write about?
Do I have enough to fill a book?
Does any of it have a point?

I also don't know if- and I'm not sure if this will make sense but I hope it comes out right- my story, of my life, accurately represents bipolar or not.

It sure as hell accurately represents my experience with bipolar.

However, is bipolar more about spending tens of thousands of dollars, or just a couple thousand?
Fucking everyone you know? or maybe just a few along the way that you really shouldn't have?
Putting yourself in situations where actual harm comes to you? or just narrowly escaping it?

I mean, sometimes I wonder, if I'm not extreme, are people going to want to read it?
Bipolar has been a destructive force in my life; when is it destructive enough that random people would actually pick up the book?
I don't know.

I mean I can relate to electroboy even though I haven't done half the shit he has.

I can write. If I try.
There are some fairly interesting stories that I don't mind, and even at times enjoy, telling.

But there are different reasons.  Some of them are funny in the normal way, some of them are funny in a really morbid kind of way. Some are sad, some are crazy and remind me that things are better now. Some are sentimental in a... semi-mental way; to be honest sometimes I miss being that crazy. Telling stories lets me be that crazy again, without all the actual real-time life fuckuppage.

Even though it sucks, insanity is occasionally liberating.  In a really terrible "fuck the world" kind of way.

...My new doctor has his doubts about me being bipolar.
Though I have been repeatedly diagnosed various types of bipolar by several doctors, he is skeptical.

I'm not sure why we constantly go through this process of having to prove our various flavours of insanity. We, as in pretty much every basket-case in the Western world.

It' actually worse for younger females specifically. They all tend to get funneled directly into the borderline category any time they show up at an ER.

...this would be the major reason I rarely go to the ER or initiate emergency intervention. I don't mind the label, I might the way everyone treats people who have that label. It's wrong.
Really wrong.

But it's also not appropriate for me, if you want to look at the bigger picture.


I guess another thing that stops me along the lines of "Am I bipolar enough?"

My doctor said to me the other day, his tone really having the effect of casting aside any notion that my illness may actually impair me in different aspects of my life:  "Oh but you've never been hospitalized, right?"

No... never have... stopped short at the ER.
...guess everything's okie dokie then.


Tunnel vision can be lonely.

I keep writing about this, but nothing is making it better.

I guess it must be self-preservation.  Which is kind of sort of working.

But it's been going on so long, that it's what I'm becoming.
That's all I am- this animal that works on instinct, the most obvious of which seems to be the self-preservation response.
I have little dedication to other people; but it's not that I make no effort.

It's simply that nothing comes of the efforts.
No nice things. Little acknowledgement of anything really.
The effort seems to stop at action, it's all internal. If you happen to be able to track me down and drag me to something social, it may be behavioral, but not extensively.

It took a couple people a month to track me down because I simply wouldn't respond to them.
They live the next town over.

I'm a crappy friend.
I'm keenly aware of this and I feel bad and awkward.


Tertiary Colors: These are those "in-between" colors like Yellow- Green and Red-Violet.

I'm feeling rather "in-between" my self.

It looks like it's spelled really really really wrong.
But I don't think it is. Hold on. Let me check ONE MORE TIME.

*check. check. recheck. check again*

It's right.

My mother and I were driving past a sign that said "Dry Ice Sold Here!" and I read it aloud. My mother said "Then you'd be smokin'!"
I said "no, then you'd be sublimatin'!" and started giggling.

She didn't quite get it.


so... thats not exactly normal...

You ever find yourself discussing something and suddenly realize "wait, that's not really normal..."?

Well that kind of happened tonight.
I mean I know when things aren't right or normal, but it doesn't always have the real impact that it should.
I was in an online chat and we were discussing thoughts centered around people we love dying.

I mentioned how I imagine people in my life dying, like those close to me, all the time.
Like pretty much every day.

This is a constant theme in my life. That bad things are going to happen.

From it being "inevitable" that a glass will fall off a table and shatter, to someone falling down the stairs and breaking their neck, something bad is always going to happen.

Someone is always about to die, my peace is always about to be disrupted, I'm always about to be yelled at for something I did, I'm always about to get into a car accident, and on and on and on.

And it causes this anxiety, and often- a fear.
I'm often afraid.
I'm so used to this "fear" that it doesn't even show anymore.
It's just... there. I'm uncomfortable and afraid and anxious and always expecting the roof to cave in on me.

...uh. sometimes even literally.

Though sometimes, certain things will protect me.
If I close the door, nothing bad will happen. It's a barrier.
If I clap my hands or yell, the "badness" might go away.

Ya know? I'm fucking crazy.
My therapist said the other day she's surprised I'm functioning as well as I am.

I feel like a time bomb.
I hear this tick tick ticking.
I feel it.

There is a lot of yelling here, and it doesn't help.

It is how they deal with stress, but it increases my stress.
If I don't get out of here soon, I will explode into a bazillion little tiny pieces.
Like so many shards of a glass fallen off the table.

how beautiful


It's easy to be crazy, right?

I think it's easy to be crazy.

Not that it's fun, or pleasant, or easy in that it's easy to deal with. But it is easy. SIMPLE.

It just kind of happens. It's something you fall into.
You just kind of let the crazy take you. And even if you don't let it, it's still taking you, a part of you. So that part of you is relieved of duty and of the responsibilities of dealing with all the other things. You don't see life as you normally would, don't intake stimuli like normal, don't respond like normal. That part of you doesn't feel or think like normal either.

Time is like a vacation. A twisted, tortured vacation.

The pull to be crazy, even to be depressed, is understandable. For me at least.
I have found myself thinking-briefly- but thinking it: "maybe I should just be depressed".

With depression, your senses are blunted, there's less input to work through. your brain doesn't have to work as hard- it simply have fewer resources to work with and less information to get through.

You work to survive.
Things are put down to "how do I get through today" [and sometimes you work on tomorrow if you are lucky].

But when you aren't depressed, you are "better". And so your brain is just like everyone else's right?

You have to work on today, clean up yesterday, plan tomorrow, next week, next month, next year.
Listen to the person in front of you, next to you, across the room and filter all of it. Because your brain hears it all.
You see brighter colors.

Sometimes, I don't feel like I am ever "baseline" because when I'm not depressed, and I'm not manic, I feel like I'm just about to go either way. [I think a good deal of that has to do with my personal difficulty in filtering out a lot of sensory stimuli.]

The demands on you when you are "well", though they are normal demands of normal people, can trigger you right back into an episode.

I am lead to this thought:
"is there ever hope to lead a normal life if I can't handle the regular stress of an "everyday life" without going out of my head?"

I don't know.