Monthly Archives: April 2015

Back to the Old (In perhaps the best of ways)

I’m here. Doing well, time for some more introspective, doesn’t that sound delightful? I got my music blasting a mix of nerdcore and 8-bit sounds (chiptunes (also Anamanaguchi is great, look em up if you like the old arcade style music)). I am on solid ground if only for the moment, I’m not letting this abate easily, nor am I choosing to waste it.

Trying to write more on here since it feels it has been a great direction of my recent misgivings, thoughts, and ideas, and does wonders for my attitude. So I have a few things jotted down on a list to start tacking away about.

Tonight? How people live their lives. I’m of the opinion there are 5 major ways a person can live out their life. Not sure what I’m going to write about this beyond that, that’s all that’s on the list. The 5 ways? Well, let’s just jump into it.

There’s the Escapist. The escapist usually hates their current surroundings or situation, and does what he or she can to flee to another world. Sometimes this is represented in a slacker or bookworm who has nothing more than a astounding number of stories committed to memories to show for his life. Maybe the Escapist has formed an addiction of sort, whether it’s drugs, love, porn, or something else. The Escapist just dreams of a better place in whatever way he can find it.

There’s the Hedonist. She loves life and is willing to try anything once. After all, one’s all you got. She might be a daredevil or someone who doesn’t make heavy commitments and just tries to live in the moment. She also probably has traveled or tried lots of food and is definitely a good friend to have when you want to know if something is authentic enough. Essentially, she just lives life to live it believing that a life not lived is not a life at all.

There’s the Afterlifer. He might be a “bible thumper” or a legitimately good Samaritan. This person is likely to do his best to live his life in accordance with some set of principles, likely religious, that indicate his quality of being after he dies. He is likely to have a solemn life, but believes his riches will come later and that “this” life is rather fleeting and without reward on its own.

There’s the Legacy Author. She lives her life to leave something behind. She likely is a very idealistic person, and has some ultimate goal of accomplishing or setting the bits in place to accomplish. She may want to leave her family a vast fortune to not worry about the harsher side of life, or she might be very socially aware and be trying to manufacture solutions to problems that she felt needed to be overcome. She lives her life with a constant goal in mind, and though may deviate from this on occasion, it usually is still playing some role in her decisions and actions.

Then there’s the Ambitious. I would argue he is the same as the Legacy Author in his style of living, but is more motivated by personal glory, fame, or power. He can be very similar to the Legacy Author, but may approach problems differently if the interest in it does not impact his own coffers or ability to progress forward. He’s probably the one a lot of idealists will refer to as power hungry or greedy.

Really there is no one correct way to go through life and chances are you position yourselves differently between these five roles depending on your current situation. I can imagine a few more that should play an important role in the way someone decides to live, but I think I can squish them into one of those 5 roles above for the most part. I think it’s important to reflect that my goals and your goals or anyone’s goals and motivations are different and that’s not inherently contradictory. We can all live a better world if we better understand ourselves and others.

This was a light version of the mildly tumbling philosophies that roll around in my mind. I hope it’s a conversation starter for anyone who reads this and more importantly to me, this is a sign my head’s doing well enough to consider other problems or thoughts that aren’t related to me being bipolar, and that’s an awesome thing even if no one else finds this post interesting. I would like to end this with saying I believe I shift between a Legacy Author, Escapist and Afterlifer depending on what’s going on in my life, right now I’m wanting to leave the world a better place than when I came into it, so I’d argue it’s legacy author for the time being.


What more do I have to say?

What more can I tell the whole world that so few care to know or explore? You know most of my darkest secrets. And suddenly they don’t hurt so much. Maybe I’m mentally ill, but I’m not ashamed of who I am. I wish my fellow friends and peers who weren’t so impaired could at least be comfortable with who they are. Granted, there are times I hate who I am and how I have so much to contend with just to get through a day of little value, but I’m proud of how I handle most days and certainly how I treat people. And most of all, I’m proud of who I am, a good person.

So what more can I deliver to my so few readers? I struggle with the thought. As a sort of mental health blog I should be showing you how things get better so you can be inspired right? I had a friend recently tell me I was her inspiration in this regard. Then I tried to commit suicide. Try eating that just dessert.

I wish my thoughts were beautiful all the time. These analytical pieces, these bits of math and engineering, this… poetry that cascades through me when times are rough or good. This poetry never makes it to a page to be written or articulated. It stays with me. I like that though. I like that I see my friends and I can think of them as the ember or the moon, or some great constellation, representing a god no longer thought of. I like that these words give me comfort, though sometimes I don’t understand their origin. It’s a lot like the “bad” thoughts I have, but these ones are beautiful.

My closest friends eventually materialize as something else when these thoughts come, and they fade as quickly as they come, despite my memory being careful to note rational and trivial things, these words feel ethereal, in a way that I can never hold on to them for more than a few minutes. And when I do, I’m left with these interesting and sometimes beautiful remnants.

I must confess, I had a lot more of those thoughts when I was pining for that girl I’ve mentioned a few times. And the turbulent thoughts were just as increased. But I had these pretty pieces and strings of words that felt like God was talking to me. When I wanted to scream from the internal frustration and agony, those words consoled me. They weren’t always in relation to her, rarely in fact did they have anything at all to do with her. Sometimes it was just something she said or thought that led me a few leaps down of thoughts and I was being soothed.

It never really made me happy on its own, it still doesn’t, but it makes me see or think about things a new way that I usually find comforting, if only for the moment. It made me feel like I could some day be happy…

Shit kinda hit the fan recently and I’m still recovering, not knowing where I’m going or where I ought to go. Some decisions still weigh heavily and need to be made. But even now I have those warm thoughts. I imagine a heavy set gentleman with an eccentric and fully beard laughing boisterously as he presents me these comforting thoughts as though they were as necessary as a warm bed.

I feel good at the moment. Maybe not content. Maybe not free of frustration. Certainly I have no goals, immediate or distant. But I have my imagination. And a world of pictures and words in there, even if I can never manifest them. It feels powerful. But, I feel good, and I’m ok with where I’m at in this moment. Anyone with bipolar knows how important that can be.

I’m ok. I’m ok, and for some reason, thinking about that at this very moment. About me, the person I’m not ashamed of and completely proud to be. My friends and girlfriend who I care about so deeply. It just feels, ok, and I really like that. Let’s keep this up, I have nothing else to hide and I didn’t scare off those ones I care about so much after all, that makes it worth it.

Splay It Out

There are some things I hide very well. Some things I don’t wish to discuss the finer details with anyone, even a counselor. But, let me do my best here and now to get this weight off my shoulders without feeling like a lunatic.

People. There’s a reason I both consider them toxic and myself to them. There’s plenty of reasons why I hesitate to get close to people, and yet I still manage to do so every now and again.

Mostly when I talk about my problems I suggest it’s unknown why I try to push people away, that’s just the ‘episode’ talking or whatever. I try to delegate the accountability somewhere where it’s a gray area and just play the ignorant fool. But here’s the thing, I know why I push people away. I know why I find people insufferable or consider myself to be damaging their lives or at the very least my relationship with them. Granted, knowing the reason for those things doesn’t help me understand the origin of it.

I often want to hurt people. I mean, maybe it’s not “me” per se, but it goes through my head as though it’s one of my thoughts. Actually it’s more like a dream or a fantasy. One that does not align with at all who I am. It’s not general stuff like “I want her to hurt” or “I don’t like what he did, hope he has it comin’ to him”.
It’s very specific stuff. Usually physical, sometimes psychological or emotional.

See, I get these… “plans”? I don’t know where they come from really, but they’re there. Sometimes it’s beating the living shit out of a person, accounting for their strengths and weaknesses, how to most effectively assault them and whether that includes isolation and how to achieve that. Maybe I have a weapon this time or the next and I can see myself plunging the knife into them. It scares the right fuck out of me. Sometimes I cook up these ideas that can ruin their life, long term plans to sit on and implement. It should be said I never act on any of these, and that’s why I try so hard to remind myself I’m still a good person, but have a difficulty believing it. There are some really dark thoughts I’ve had about harming people, people I love.

My girlfriend suggested this was an aggressive OCD, maybe, I dunno. Often I turn that hate on myself to bear when my mind is telling me these disgusting things. I’m quite surprised that self harm hasn’t played a larger role in my life. All of this did recently culminate in my attempted suicide I guess though, so there’s that.

If anyone who knows me personally is reading this, you’ll recall I’ve wondered how close to a sociopath I am, and this is the reason why. Because I dream of violent things that I’d sooner die than commit. Because something in my head is wrong when I get close to a person I imagine the things that I would do to cause the most harm…

Thankfully though, I’ve had none, absolutely none of these thoughts since being on the new meds, Seraquil I think. It seems to be doing wonders for now. I hope I can continue this ride to a better me, because I don’t want to fall back to the way things were, I may have seemed strong in moments, but that was always right there in my mind, terrifying me. It was especially bad if I felt like someone hurt me.

Anyway… I don’t dare detail the darkest of these thoughts, but I want to say that they aren’t “mine” anyway, and maybe it’s enough to just know that someone who cares about me is reading this and can better understand me.


I’ve recently fixated on this word, “bedlam”. Unsure why, I heard it in a song recently and since then I’ve been thinking of ways bedlam is represented. It means a scene or state of wild uproar and confusion. HA, why does that feel familiar?

I feel like I usually am coming undone at the seams, this torrid life shredding me apart as I struggle to piece others back together. Why? Why have I always done this? It’s something I admire in others, and even clearly see in myself, but it often brings more harm than good. Even when I know I’m valued, sometimes in part due to this on occasion colossal effort to do good for others, I still feel worthless.

One day I’m parading and confident in who I am and how I can do great, just a couple later I’m swallowing pills for a variety of reasons that I don’t want to really talk about with anyone.

I just wish I knew what I wanted, what I really wanted. But, I don’t. So each day I drain away energy doing various unproductive things, sometimes piecing my life together in the dull moments, sometimes scratching away the etchings already in my mind.

When I downed all those pills, I was absolutely confident I would live. I would tell my mom when she got home, drive down to the ER and the doctors would pump my stomach or whatever and I would be at most missing work for a day. So why did I do it? Also, not exactly how it turned out, I was in the ICU for a couple days mostly out of consciousness and under a full delirium, at one point I was at high risk of some interesting heart problems. But really, why? I was so calm about it, like it was just another part of my daily routine. I never once felt scared or regretted it. I also didn’t feel like I would die, but a small part of me was really shooting for it, like if I died, eh, so what?

What would be remembered of me if I just ended there? “Smart kid that leaped about when discussing social issues, he loved to do good, he’d give the shirt off his back. We don’t know what went wrong in his head, but we do know he struggled with some demons. Even so, he was a close friend to many and always strived to impact his fellow man in a good way. He will be missed…”

Maybe when they finally cleaned out my room, (my mom would probably leave it untouched for a really long time) they would find my “vices”. Methods of contraception, indications that I had sex, not that bad given that I’m 24 years old, that’s probably expected. If someone could crack my password or used software to get one of my computers logged in, they’d see I had a porn problem. Though in my defense, I hardly watch the porn, I kinda have some sort of data fetish, where downloading and storing it gets me off, I’m just a weird person. (A quick search reveals at least 329 Gigabytes of pornography in my main porn folder on my desktop alone) I’ve probably watched a despairingly small portion of it. I can also attribute this to manic cycles when my libido is really high.

But that would be all of anything incriminating. I’m a good guy. I do my best to make the world and people’s lives a better thing. I still wish I knew why… Especially if I end up hating myself at the end of the day.

Bedlam. That’s how I live my life half the time, a state of uproar and confusion. The other half is high energy and pleasant. I really do enjoy my manic cycles, I often feel like Superman in them. NO, Batman, because he’s better.

Anyway, really enjoy my new psychiatrist, he’s confident and funny, and makes me feel like I can get better again. To the little bit of hope that hasn’t been shredded out of me, that it may multiply in months to come.

Twas a crippling blow, what felled me

Never been here before. It’s… different. I overdosed on my psych meds Monday night. I guess it’s a “good” thing I didn’t lethally overdose. I say I’m feeling fine, but I don’t feel like I’m even here anymore. Maybe that’s the side effects of shoveling a few dozen pills down and chasing it half an hour later with charcoal drink while you struggle to stay conscious.

I’m not fine. I’m different. Not ready to kill myself, not sure if I WAS ready to kill myself. I wish I knew why I did it…

I recently revealed some things to my girlfriend I had buried so deep, things I considered to be foul, thoughts I wish I had never had. Nothing specific, just shadows. Haunting hallucinations and thoughts that culminate in violence.

“I didn’t act on them” I remind myself. It doesn’t count if I don’t act. I don’t know why I can’t believe that. Maybe because they’re still my thoughts, still my maddened fantasies? I kept her hid from details, I’m not ready to share any amount of detail regarding this front. But, at least she knows the thoughts are there. That I’m more troubled than I let on…

That guy you see smile all the time, helping the people as he goes, he’s just a byproduct of his own hellish visions, hoping he can endure them and keep being the “good” guy he wants everyone to believe he is. But there’s a breaking point, I can feel it. That’s probably why I choked down those pills. It’s a warning of some sort. People need to know, I’m not alright.

She said that it might be some sort of particular OCD, maybe. But, it doesn’t lighten the burden. I can still see their faces seared into my mind, over an event that never happened, but I greatly longed for. I feel this is getting a little too “real” again…

So, Monday morning I go to work. Just another day, another dollar. Except, he talks to me again. I do my best to shut him out. He creeps back into my mind with a whisper here, a whisper there. He reminds me of who I “am”. How I can’t hide from that. I continue through the day. But, not before fantasizing about killing myself.

Like all this internal thought is terribly full of sin, and the only method of absolution is to be the driving mechanism of my own demise…

All of my friends wanted to know “what happened”, as if it was some singular event that pushed me off the edge. No, it was the flooding of all the painful thoughts of years past to present that made me indulge in the fantasy of dying.

I hate being abstract, it feels like I’m just some angsty kid looking for an outlet because his soul is so dark. Think what you want. I can’t bear to confess my thoughts though, that’s why the general vagueness.

I’m a mid-twenties adult, who’s probably a lot more mentally ill than even he believes and certainly more so than he lets on. And it fucking sucks, because, I’m so brilliant, if I could leave this behind me, I could still accomplish great things. It sucks because it makes me afraid to get close to people. It sucks because there’s nothing but pain on the inside in these times of reflection, even when the thoughts themselves recede, all it takes is a slight trigger and I’m thrown back to the memory. But, virtuous I am, for I have not caved and committed true atrocity, merely stayed my hand, reinforced generosity and kindness.

Call it cliche, but it’s like there’s another me in here. Waiting to feed on my despair and remind me of the terrible things I can do and how easy it would be to accomplish them, and that I would truly enjoy them. A demon if you will.

Ha, demons… Now there’s a thought…

Anyway, to better days even if they’re covered in sin.

I want to withdraw

I wish I could just disappear for a while. Go under the radar a few years or so and work on some projects on my own. I have one such project I can become obsessed with and am tempted to do so. People are so often toxic to me, and it’s not that something is wrong with them, it’s me. It’s my perception of them.

I would go to work on the days I had it, get my 8 hours of socialization in (hating most of it). Come home, eat or rest and get to work on my research or the nitty gritty bits of my project. This sounds great to me.

I guess things probably won’t work out that way. But, I wish they would. All of my bad thoughts, they’re subverted when I’m obsessing over something, whether it’s random number writing, pieces of elegant poetry, some girl, or a wonderful endeavor I’m working towards. But in these moments of obsession, I’m highly irritable and eventually lose focus or need to take a breather, and then it happens. Thoughts of self harm, worthlessness, anger knowing that I’m only providing diversions in an otherwise cruel world…

I recently wrote about an “incident” I had at work. That was the first time I ever wrote or really spoke any specifics about an incident. It got me thinking. I really am not all well in the head. I remember one night I woke up after a nightmare and saw a man standing in the closet. He brought his index finger to his lips as a gesture for me to keep quiet. He stood there for a moment, and I too terrified to breathe. He slowly shook his head no as I tripped getting out of bed hitting my head on the door to the bathroom, when I turned around he was gone and my head was hurting. I screamed for my mom and didn’t sleep any more that night, I was about 13 then.

Or what about the man who called my name from the wheelchair in the mall? That one happened in high school. Shouting at me, he just kept yelling my name. I even waved awkwardly before sitting down and he was nowhere to be found. What about the plump lady in black with a purple umbrella who always had a cat on a leash I could always catch glimpses of but never much more than that? She showed up a lot.

What about the brief moments I’ve thought I was God trying to experience life as a human, forsaking my own memory to try to get the full experience? Backing this up with rationality that God has to be one of us because he wasn’t doing His job if He was upstairs.

What about when I swore I kept a dream journal for a month and wrote down as many details as I could and when I experienced deja vu and recalled writing about it, it never turned up in the place I stashed it (or anywhere for that matter)? What about the time that I recited something aloud, in an almost trance-like state before I had ever heard it, and then it played for me to hear minutes later?

The list goes on. It really does. I mean, how crazy am I really? Because I know I don’t have a gift for seeing the dead or predicting the future, nothing like that. The only rational explanation is that I’m delusional.

It’s been a concern of mine if my memories are even real. Why is that? I know I’m intelligent. The metrics show that. The academic competitions show that. Speaking with me shows that. Remembering a lot of trivial things that really have no place shows that. Maybe my brain is wired all wrong and genius was just a precursor for my madness. Am I just worried about my memories because it doesn’t seem to fit together rationally?

Oh the amount of crazy inside me… It’s a lot more than I reveal. I’ve just told Jaslyn about some of it. Some nice juicy bits. Now the room feels like it’s spinning… I think I need to wrap up the post for now…