I have started seeing my therapist again.

Which is going ok.
We talked about some things. How I'm really freaking out lately about everything: 
My present school, future school, work, money, family, boyfriend, weight, blah blah blah.

She wrote me a letter recommending single and/or quiet housing at my new school. We'll see how that goes. She actually had brought it up before I could, but as I was talking to her about it, I started crying.  I realized just how difficult it would be to have a roommate.

Being... well, "all up in my business", basically. I have sleep issues off and on, There are times when I need a huge amount of sleep: I go to school, I come home, I sleep, I get up for a couple of hours and do homework and then I go back to sleep for the rest of the night. 
There are times when I do the opposite: can't sleep pretty much at all. Maybe 3ish hours a night for a little while.

And to have someone else there while I'm trying to sleep who is not someone I would like to cuddle really freaks me out.

Not to mention, and this REALLY got me going, I take 6 or seven medications and I don't really want the fucking world knowing that.

I just couldn't contain myself and was bawling because I'm totally freaked out about living with a total stranger.
I fucking hope I get a single.

I don't know if I can do it if I don't.
I really don't.
I'm having trouble breathing right now thinking about it.
And I feel like a fucking idiot because I can't just be normal.

We talked about how surprisingly well-functioning I am and why the fuck am I trying to work and go to school?

I don't know.
But I do know that I'm starting to fall behind in school.
My time just goes no where, and I'm tired, and I get frustrated and I'm stressed out.

But I can't quit my classes and if I tried to stop working my parents would want to shoot me.

So I don't know what the fuck to do.


In the beginning...

This is something I started writing and have played with; I plan on expanding it [obviously]. I have more written but nothing else coherent enough at this point to share. I do think the language is a bit too loose and not uniform enough, so I am going to work on that. Though, I'd be interested if anyone wants to give constructive feedback. If you would like to point and laugh- that's your prerogative as well, haha.


As he sat there, Ronaldo could feel that something was about to “go down”, but he could not intuit what it might be or how it might happen. He could however, feel a dust storm forming. It began in his belly and slowly built outwards, impeding his sight, his hearing, his touch and smell, even sense of taste.
Until this point he had been quietly and calmly [well, seemingly calmly] sitting and waiting. The waiting was always a bit painful, but if you reminded yourself that it was going to happen before you even got there, the pain was dulled.
Really he was fine until the cheerleader with the eye came in. She had a heavy bandage over her eye and they were trying to run her in without having her trip over anyone or anything. It looked like under the bandage she was probably crying blood.
That’s when the storm started creeping in. The shakes started becoming visible again.
Ronaldo stood up, took a non-chalant look over the waiting room and slowly began to walk to the other side, toward one of the restrooms for families.
He made it about three or four steps, when a National Geographic ad for “Wild Cats Week” came on the waiting room television. This caught his attention. In his mind’s tempest, this made was an appropriate prompt.


Setting the bar.

There is something a bit peculiar that seems to happen after a person finds out I have bipolar (and OCD to some extent as well).

Expectations change.
Maybe perceptions.
Both, perhaps.

One would think, in theory, that a person tries to "use" their diagnosis as some type of excuse; the popular opinion seems to be that the mentally ill attempt to obtain carte blanche based on their level of crazy (and also that they often do).  This may happen at times with those "normal" but unexposed individuals who can tolerate such personal irresponsibility.

Generally, though, the actual reality is that the crazies are held to a much higher standard of behavior.

Let me explain:
When a person learns (for example) that I have been diagnosed with a mood disorder, for a very long time they see everything I do and say, every way I react, through that lens.


Welcome to my world.

I'm extremely frustrated.

I have seizures. Seizure activity. Seizures.
Like usual, no one could decide at one point what to call it.
But now, the "episodes" extend well into partial seizure territory.

When one becomes incapacitated, that is usually an actual seizure.
[So says the neuro.]

I also get migraines.
I also have bipolar disorder.
I also have sleep issues- which may or may not have anything to do directly with any of the above.

These all interplay to produce a nice clusterfuck every once in a while.

For the past 10 days, maybe two weeks at this point, I've been having a lot of headaches and had a few migraines. I can only guess that all the sunlight [which I tend to be reactive to], the crappy sleep, the slowly declining effectiveness of the topiramate I am taking- are all starting to catch up to me.

Oh, and my allergies. Can't forget my allergies- which range from pollen to "what's behind door number three".

If you do not get migraines, I will attempt to explain some things about them at this point:


OCD- It's all the rage!

Ok, kidding.
It does seem to be the topic of the day however. I just posted something on It's Not Your Brain; It's Mine about the cycle of OCD thoughts.

And Neurotic Nelly posted some explicit things regarding OCD being a big deal [because it is] on her blog, recently.  Please check that out.

What painting teaches me:

It is better to try and fix a mistake early. You can often use something simple to wipe it away, rather than having to start over the entire shape or even the entire picture.

Different strokes are appropriate at different times. A heavy, charged stroke brings a different result than a calm, controlled one. There are different times to use each- it is a learning process to know when to use which.

Everyone has their own style, and some take more time to develop it than others.

If you make a mistake, there is always a way to benefit from it. You can learn how not to do it again, take advantage of it and work it into an established plan, learn about how you made that mistake and grow from it.

A challenge can always be enjoyable.


Also, saw this at one point on a kind of "you know you are bipolar if" list. Usually I don't really appreciate them, but this sticks with me:

"Last night you understood the secrets to the universe and this
morning you are contemplating whether the jam goes on top of the peanut butter or under it."

This looks like a good spot.

Yesterday I sat on the couch and stared for about forty minutes. I did this because it was pretty much all I could do.

...I can't even begin to explain what is wrong.


My life, concentrated.

Today, while waiting around Harvard Square, I did some general people watching.

There was an "older middle-aged" gentleman with a sign that said "looking for human kindness". He had a cup with some change in it. He wasn't harrassing anyone, but just standing calmly.

I had left my debit card at my place and had only realized this when I was in Davis before coming to Harvard, after I ordered something to eat and then had to use all of four dollars in cash I had.  Also, it was hot and I really have to watch my water intake so I had to buy a water, and I couldn't afford to give him my last two dollars in case something came up and I really needed water. I know that sounds stupid, but my body doesn't actually regulate temperature very well anymore [yay anticonvulsants!].

So... I stood there, thinking. I usually carry a bunch of different snacks with me, because I have a weird diet and have a hard time finding to-go food.  I walked up to him and said "Hi. How are you for food?"  He said he was ok for food and thanked me for asking. I said, if he was sure, ok. Because I couldn't afford to give him money, but I could give him something if he needed a little food for today. He said "No, thank you sweetheart, i appreciate it" I said ok, and walked away. A few minutes later I realized I hadn't really been all that kind when I approached him.

I went back up and told him I realized I hadn't introduced myself and asked his name and gave him mine.  I said I would likely be back at some point, and he said, with a half-smile, that he hoped he wouldn't be there if I did. I said I hoped so too.


I kind of just want to stop...


That's right. Stop everything.

Cause this is just bullshit.

Life = bullshit. I'll try to talk to my room mate/friend about my mom being overbearing, well I mean even more overbearing than usual, ever since I kind of "came out of the closet" and talked about some of the "bipolar ocd life sucks and then you die" stuff on Facebook.

My friend was like "yeah but you aren't like, bad now, right? I mean you're fine"
I just kind of nodded.

It's so easy for me to just sit there and nod. Much easier than to try to explain that slowly but surely I'm shriveling up inside. That every day is a struggle. This is not histrionics. This is reality.
I quite literally have to launch my self out of bed with a "1-2-3" and then kinda jump out, or I would never make it. Getting up normally is like slowly peeling off layers of skin. Painful.

Time keeps going by like there's no time at all. I have no sense of it.

If I just sit and don't keep myself distracted enough, I just start thinking. Or crying. Or just wondering why I'm not dead and "doesn't that make more sense at this point?"

On the other hand, I can also giggle at some things and I paint and I *kinda* go to classes.

Everything, therefore, must be just peachy.

I feel like I'm never going to be back to any moderate semblance of normal ever again. This has been going on for months, it feels like.

It's a slow burn. It's so painful and soul-sucking.

I actually kind of want to die a lot. If I said that to anyone who knew me they'd laugh in my face.


I Never.

This song makes my heart hurt sometimes [just a little].
I want to learn to perform it, but I'm not sure I know how to sing and cry yet.
Maybe I'll just sing it for me.


I see what you did there.

There is sometimes no segregating mood symptoms from topiramate-induced lability from migraine prodrome/postdrome from temporal lobe STUPIDITY.

Also: Everyone says that I have great insight. "Wow, that was very insightful" "At least you are able to maintain such good insight into the situation" "Considering you have bipolar, your insight is very good"

Ok, so they say these things right up until the part where I start worrying that my brain is actually getting worse.

Then, its no longer "insight"; its either "hypochondria" [to the layperson] or "a tendency to pathologize" [for those who like to gaze down their nose at you]… either way it pretty much amounts to:
"It's all in your head."

In my head, you say? No. Way.


Why should I be sorry?

This deviates enough from the typical crazy discussion that it may just serve to keep you on your toes.

I want to reveal something to everyone.
Something that no one ever acknowledges- my family, my best friends, people I date, the crazies I talk to on a regular basis [who may or may not fall into any one of those categories].

Are you sitting down?


I'll wait as everyone expresses that just the opposite is true; that I am "big boned"; that I am my "own type of beauty" [really? is there any better way to acknowledge what I'm saying and simultaneously deny it?]; or, my favorite, simply: You are not fat.

I find all the variations amusing but the simple, outright denial of the situation seems to be the most hilarious.

You know what these things do [for me, anyway]... they perpetuate that being "fat" is a terrible thing. That there are all kinds of reasons a person would never want to be "fat".

Fat is not immoral.
Fat is not lazy.
Fat is not ugly.

There are, admittedly, people who can be either immoral, lazy, ugly [or some combination] as well as "fat". But there is often an assumption that these things are intrinsically linked.

It's just not so.

I'm fat right now for many reasons.
One of the reasons is, in fact, that I do not go tothe gym as often as I "should".

Before you jump all over that, please ponder the following:
There are plenty of people who do not go to a gym regularly, even ever.
My BMI is 39.6. I routinely walk 10-15 miles each week, run up the stairs, and when I do go to the gym I often do about an hour of cardio in a target HR [~140-~165] without overexerting myself. I feel good after, not like I need to go to the hospital because I'm so grossly out of shape I might collapse.

This argument that I see often on dating sites [OKC I'm looking at you] that men like thin girls "because you need to be healthy" is completely unseated in any part of reality.

My general labs are always good, my BP is actually on the lower end of healthy- it tops out at 110/70.

As far as I can tell there is really one possible health issue here: I may be beaten to death on the street because my ass does a little wiggle when I walk, and apparently fat is like the greatest offense one can commit.

Fat even at times seems to outrank both actively stupid and genuinely homicidal in the most offending characteristic an individual can possess.
This is simply fascinating to me.

I was involved with a guy once [yes, physically- and that is actually important to my point]. He professed to only be interested in "petite" girls, and by no stretch of the imagination have I ever EVER met that description. Not even when my BMI was about 23 and people were starting to comment I was "a bit too thin".

I am simply a big person.

But even so, this guy [who is actually pretty intelligent and reasonable on most subjects], was interested and actually *gasp* attracted to me.

At one point he said, for serious:
"Your weight doesn't bother me. It's like... you don't let it hold you back"

I laughed, because as well as the words being kind of amusing, he also seemed to be experiencing right then and there this epiphany regarding his personal comfort zone, and his perspective on what he deems attractive.

But I mean, what I didn't say to him was this:
Really there are all kinds of reasons life can intimidate me [and has].  Having little to no talent for emulating a pixie would generally fall far down to the bottom of that list, if it makes it at all.

And despite this, I feel the need to "warn" men on OKC [again with the OKC, right? we'll get there], that I'm not this teeny little dainty flower... as if I should apologize because the common expectation seems to be that you can hold a woman in your pocket.

I don't know why I've done this.
I'm not going to anymore.

I fit in my clothing, I'm healthy, generally happy.
I don't fill my body with crap.
It would be nice to lose some weight and actually I am slowly doing that.

That seems to be more of an issue of wearing clothing I want, than anything else.
Other people telling me that I am "fat" or that I am unhealthy have little to no effect on how I actually treat my body, how I regard it, how much I like myself as a person and the body that accompanies that person.

It's annoying and stupid. You are like a fruit fly with that shit. Really.

"Fat" is not a fucking badge of dishonor.
Let us all move away from that concept now.

Things no one will tell fat girls.
Fat sex- What everyone wants to know but is afraid to ask.

And one last minute, completely apropos addition:
Thomas Burdett [sings Queen cover.]


wait- what!?

Someone referred to me today as a Manic Pixie Dream Girl.

Actually, they said that it was probably how people [mostly men] tend to frame me.

I guess... I should turn that over in my head for a while.


And as a result, this catch-all now has authentically quirky women (MY GOD IS THAT EVEN REAL STILL) with offbeat interests everywhere thinking about the way the MPDG moniker now renders jokey and false any attempt at cultivating what we used to call an interesting personality.

This phenomenon has women in the position where they are thinking "if I act like me, I'm trying too hard..."

And really?
Totally screwed up. But I have found myself thinking this, and thought "no wait, maybe that's just me being crazy"

The reality is, recently I've been accused of being inauthentic. I honestly have no idea where these accusations came from.
out of pixie dust? 

But apparently I don't actually exist. Things I do, say, feel, wear- ITS ALL FAKE.


I have time. Obviously.

I heard that, when stressed or anxiously awaiting news, some people will distract themselves by cleaning, taking a walk, maybe playing some mindless games... You know, to get away from "reality" for a little while?
When i need a break?
 I turn to my houseplants and inform them we are going to play Make Believe.

No joke. Need yet another hobby, apparently.
Or a job.
 That job would be nice about now.
[I did say i would get back to the whole 'crazy' theme, yes?]