Category Archives: rants

It all happens for a reason they say.

I didn’t take my medication last night. I felt great waking up this morning, six hours before my medicated daze would normally wear off. When I was first diagnosed with bipolar, I had been back but just a month from my little running away from home stint. I was living with friends, thinking I couldn’t tolerate it at home. I was 18 then. Still in high school, but far from normal.

I was, AM, brilliant, able to see or think things through in a flash that normal people seem to require some deliberation on. But, I had these voices, one actually, just singular. It would challenge me, my motives, my merit. It would talk about what I really intended or wanted from life, often quite unpleasant. It would challenge me to kill or harm myself, and when I didn’t, I would endure ridicule for being too weak or chicken shit to do so. So when this started leaking out in heaps, whatever the fuck psychosis I was enduring, a couple friends took notice. Suddenly, I’m leaving my friend’s home and entering the hospital.

“Manic Depressive Disorder with psychotic features” they said. Being ignorant to the whole real mental health thing, it took a couple days before I realized that what I had was commonly referred to as bipolar disorder. They put me on a med. It was soothing for a while. To be in that hospital. Mostly everyone was there for depression, it’s easy to form a community when most people have something in common.

I was also put on a sleeping pill in the hospital, Trazadone I think. When I was moved from the intense supervision wing to the more relaxed one, some interesting things happened. Wait, hold on let’s back up. This is a place where I fell in love with my now ex, maybe that’s a story worth archiving too.

She called when I was in the hospital, my now ex, let’s call her Jane for sake of anonymity. So Jane calls, says she got the info from my friend (the one I was living with) and was just worried and wanted to check on me. We tried a date a couple months before hand, but I was hung up on another girl and so I didn’t take her out again after that despite promising a second date. I was a jerk, but I was fixated on that other girl. Until this hospital trip. After I ended the call with Jane, I felt sort of silly, just light headed and well, flattered.

Backing up a little more, this girl had a crush on me, she had silly names for me and all that business. She drew me little things and made me little gifts. The Valentine’s Day months before my hospital trip, she bought me a pocket watch, one that was a gesture from my favorite anime show at the time. I hardly received gifts. It was nice. I had spent a little effort getting flowers for someone else that same day and it made me feel like an ass when I found that gift in my locker. But, I was hung up on that other girl, there was no getting through to me. Not all too unlike now I guess. That’s sort of amusing, heh.

Anyway, that evening after Jane calls, I dwell on this. The girl I was hung up on, let’s go ahead and give her a name, how about Kara? So, even though Kara had visited earlier in the week to check on me too, this phone call with Jane was all I could think about. Had I really given her a chance? Should I try to see if I can make something work? She did give me that pocket watch. No one ever really gives me gifts. But, she did. And it wasn’t just something generic. She took the time to know me and find out what I like…

Thoughts like that passed back and forth for hours. In the coming days they would only get more relentless. And I was happy for that. I still had some strong attachment to Kara. But, Jane, she was magnificent. I gave her another chance. When we first broke up a few months ago, I regretted ever giving her that chance. I even said some really hurtful things. I told her I was never in love with her and that it was just rationalized.

That was a lie. That was me shielding myself from how I really felt because I didn’t want to keep hurting. If anything, THAT was the real rationalization. Now I’m in a different place, I’m growing comfortable with who I am and she’s getting better too. I can’t say where I’ll be when I die, I know where I’m at now, and maybe I don’t like having feelings for someone who is unavailable, but it will work itself out one way or another.

Originally I was going to write about my first trip to the hospital and focus on that to show evidence of my experience with bipolar then relate that to now, as for why I’m on a med commonly prescribed for schizophrenia. The truth is I’ve been taking this med, and it’s been doing little. What’s been helping me is seeing my psychologist and working things out on my own with some help from my friends.

Everything happens for a reason. It just happens that the reasons they happen are only one in six billion chance that it’s for your benefit. There’s a lot of motivations in the world and a lot of people who have them. Maybe that’s why there’s so much difficulty in comprehending why things happen. I don’t know, I know that I’m off the med and I feel good. I feel active and alive, and this all too pleasant. Perhaps it is mania, but it’s nice to at least have thoughts again.

Manic Waffles and the Bearer of Slackerdom

Pretty sure I’m having a manic episode. Pretty sure that’s my thing right now. Not positive, at least not 100%, but, I mean, when was I ever?

Here’s the thing. I know I can be good, I’m a downright amazing person, I’m worth fighting for and loving. Recently I’ve been “waffling”. I flop back and forth about what to do with my life, or who to keep in it, or what to do when I wake up in the morning. And it sucks. That’s not an apt description of it. I lie in indecisive agony, because I have no direction in my life.

Some moments I’m ready to take on the world, knowing my full potential (I’m greatly intelligent and can have good people skills, and I excel at anything I get behind full force). Other moments, I’m ready for the world to just make some sort of end happen. My emotions are a whirlwind of incomprehensible thoughts and ideas.

Flipping back and forth between ideas like my ideas are some sort of boring television cable in the middle of the day. At moments I yearn for things to return, then *click* I want a chance with this woman over here. The options are not nearly so simple either, but they almost are always mutually exclusive.

Recently I had been talking with my ex about my situation mentally. How I desired to be with someone who wasn’t available. I know, clearly a bad idea for both of us. I know so little else though. And she knows me the best, I just wanted some insight. I tried to talk to an older friend who knew me pretty well too, I wanted her opinion because I had doted on her some time years ago with a manic nature driving me to write poems and give her gifts. She passed on talking to me, it made her husband uncomfortable, which is just fine I guess, that’s not out of reason.

I just let so few people in. Like really in. This new girl, the one I’ve mentioned time and time again, she caught me off guard. She was gorgeous and nice and funny and caring (and quite the nerd). I found myself spilling my problems to her before I even knew what they were. There was a lot of natural comfort there and I ate it up. She made me feel worth something or at least started me with an incentive to make myself feel that way.

And it’s still hard, I don’t always feel that way. Especially now, when I’m switching in between motives and decisions so fast I could be on a grid iron about to be served and covered in syrup (Blueberry please!). She helped me to feel normal. Something I sometimes had with my ex. Usually with my ex I was embracing being a little off. That wasn’t a bad thing, it was quite good. But somewhere in all the chaos, my heart fell out in this new person’s lap.

And so I tell her eventually, “Hey, I got a story, and I just need you to know…” that kind of bullshit. And she at first declines. Probably in denial or not wanting this to be a thing (who could blame her, she was, IS engaged). But, she comes out of it, “I’m not going to stop being your best friend” she tells me. And my mind tells me this is a dead end, but I can’t quite quell the desire.

So I waffle. And I dote. And I threaten my very few existing friendships. And I sit around, waiting for ideas to come, and they do. In a great number. Some to show my affection to my off limits best friend. Some to carve a path for a future. Some to have confrontations to get a sense of closure. I don’t know what to do. But, maybe that’s ok, I’ll just be me for the time being until I’m ok with one path or another. I’ll risk what I deem necessary to achieve my own values. I can ask nothing more of myself.

And neither can anyone else. So, as I waffle, at least I do so on my terms. When this boat stops rocking, maybe I’ll get some placid seas for a change.

It Hurts Being Right

Sometimes I wonder if I just do things to be right. I anticipated a horrible depressive episode sometime in February, and I’m just now getting on the upside of it. Was I just fulfilling my prophecy or was it the usual catalyst? I wish I knew, either way, it sucked.

I was victim to a traumatic slideshow of all my life’s hurt and emotional pain. My brain, restless in its attempts to converge on a permanent solution to end all troubles. I mostly stamped my feet, I got really close to doing things I have no doubt I would regret.

I wanted so bad to tell her…

I’m not normalized. I’m so far removed from normal that I don’t have a decent concept of what it’s supposed to be. I dote on a woman who is not emotionally available for that. I have to beat my self up internally to not piece together these strange romantic ideas that feed me most of the day. I can’t get my mind off her, and worse, I struggle to do so, making for some painful internal dialogue.

Sometimes I’m ok that she’s taken. Glad even, so long as she’s happy. But, I fixate on this way too much. I mean, not for the first time, I have wondered if this is how stalkers start out. We’re best friends though. I would never do anything to hurt her. Even more strange than that, I find comfort in the thoughts of my ex-fiance. Sometimes it just seems like it would be nice to go back to being with her.

I don’t even know where I am headed anymore. I just know that I don’t socialize enough to really be in any sort of “dating game”, I’m fixated on this woman’s beauty and character, and I’m wanting to be back with my ex.

I don’t know why I wrote this. I thought it would make me feel better to get this out of my head. Really, I just have a headache still, same as when I started, and I should be lying down, not thinking about where I’m at on the relationship front.

It sucks being right sometimes.

The Odd One In

I feel that’s as apt a description as they come. I’m the odd guy. The nay-sayer of social networking and paradigms. The guy who goes against the grain, not because “he can”, but, because his values somehow formed that way. I don’t believe chivalry is dead as I have noted more than a handful of times. I don’t believe there is a mainstream capacity of society that really enriches and embraces who I am. I don’t believe kindness should go viral and I think we all owe it to each other to be empathetic in times of need.

It’s some odd development that leads me to understand, I’m the weird one, in the kind of way that almost everybody loves. I can fit in. Yet, I don’t want to. Maybe, it’s this anti-culture movement that allows for me to sway from one side to the other, not caring, nor missing a beat if I should declare myself eligible.

I feel more independent and freed than ever. I feel like I can take on the world. Usually I feel like this is my mania setting in, and then paranoia creeps up and slaps me back down to the trough. But, this is sustained. I can feel it, I know it. In a world where nothing was ever absolute to me, I see what I’ve never seen in me before, and I love it. I feel reborn, renewed to fight the day with unending strength.

And when I waiver, I don’t fall, I’ve come to reinforce it. There’s been a few people in my life that got me here. One particular lady, that for reasons I can’t fully explain or comprehend has served as a most wondrous catalyst. It feels unfair to call her a friend. Even best friend does not do her justice. But, I know now my time is not to be spent on that matter or any tangential one.

My time is to be spent on me. Molding and creating myself anew. I can be what I have needed me to be. I don’t need others, but can embrace them. I’m wonderful. I am wonderful.

I am wonderful.

I feel ready. To take on the world. To not let up. I’ve been weak. I’ve been full of excuses, rationalizations, taking comfort in other’s pity. No, not any longer. I’m me. Even when I was weak, I was full of the things I admired. I have made mistakes, but I have learned from them. I carry that with me, and mold myself to something new, better. Not for anyone else.

When this started, I wanted to be better for her. Then I wanted to be better for someone like her when the chance came along. Now, I will be better, but, not for anyone other than myself. And when, not if, my future lady enters, I will be full of all the confidence, and romance, and care and love that one body can muster. I feel it intuitively. I know it within. And that’s something to be happy about.

Intellect Introspect

I tried to sleep a bit ago, my mind abuzz with all the events of today, once more, she eludes me, that dream region. I wish to simply take haven in that ethereal realm where dreams are nothing more than reality. But, to what I owe displeasure for my lack of asylum?

Thoughts…

Nothing particularly troublesome, truth be told, just some interesting ones I suppose. I worked an 8 hour shift today, afterwards on the drive home, I begin to ponder some weird questions in my mind regarding certain structures of number sequences. This is just a thing I do, I don’t really know why, it usually just leads nowhere. For about the last 4-5 minutes of the drive home, I became incredibly fixated on these ideas, and in fact upon getting in the door, I began to write 4 different series of numbers down trying to keep track of these ideas I had. I won’t actually get into the thoughts that were perpetuating this, they seem rather silly in hindsight, both the motivations and the implementation of it. Anyway, I spent about 45 minutes, just writing numbers and staring at them trying to find patterns and put a “method to the madness” as it were.

Nothing.

I spent 45 minutes writing numbers across several sheets of paper for no apparent reason, did not accomplish even my facade of a goal. I placed the pen down and stared over the papers while Jaslyn carried a light conversation with me after me having “shushed” her several times.

She leaves for some sort of event, I suddenly became overwhelmed with exhaustion, and giving in, I considered a nap, which about an hour later I succumbed to the thought of. But, prior to that, I wondered how my of intelligence is an illusion. How much do I poison my own thoughts in regards to my knowledge and abilities?

I will tell you, I feel I am of notable (notable is a good word for it) intelligence, but that I don’t hold my intellect in such high regards as others who know me do. I feel that this is in part due to me simply knowing something they do not. I do not hold their lack of knowledge (ignorance is such a negative word, despite it’s denotation not necessarily requiring that) as a reason for why I am more intelligent.

I simply know something. That’s it. It is no measure of intelligence, simply one of facts or knowledge. I feel competent and comfortable saying I am reasonably intelligent, because by my methods of assessment, in at least a relative stance, I do have the ability to learn and retain seemingly more easily than a host of other people. Even still, though my observations are only accurate in regards to the self contained system, that is to say myself. Others, the observations are possibly flawed for various reasons, whether it is assumptions or rigidly based on secondhand accounts, I have no way of truly “knowing” the value of these indications.

I can safely say that, people in all of my classes, throughout all of my academic endeavors, have considered me “smart”, or at least informed me of this. So, it seems exceedingly unlikely, that so many different people would possess the same thought, were it not at least true to some degree.

I try to objectively assess these things through the ages as I lay next to my fiance moments ago, before feeling the need to archive them.

Kindergarten: I was the first student in my school (at least I was informed of such) to be proposed and followed through for integration of the GT (gifted and talented) program at this stage. Because there is no kindergarten level of GT, it merely includes additional “classwork” that I must complete, while the other kids often play, I am writing or examining something for this “classwork”. It should also be noted, that anecdotes provide indications of these amidst other things, throughout my childhood. One such anecdote included how distraught I appeared to be after the first week of kindergarten, I came home and explained to my parents how I was upset that I was not taught how to read. At this point, my father had been teaching me for several months, and I was able to read simple things, and the “books” they had in the classroom proved no real challenge, I apparently expressed this to some degree.

First Grade: I began implementation with the GT program, I was in a multiclass program with another grade, second grade, outside of the GT program. I took an interest in learning cursive, though my first attempts, I did not actually grasp the concept. I tried to assist my peers in learning multiplication, my teacher awarded the student who completed their time tables accurately first with a prize. I usually won, on several occasions, the teacher indicated that she would also give second place a prize, due to my uncanny consistency. All in all, I don’t remember much about first grade, other than we got to play on Mac computers sometimes in GT, we learned to begin typing on computers as well, being taught about the “homerow keys”. I questioned the computer teacher why the keys were the layout that they were, she never gave me a real answer, I suppose that’s difficult to explain to a kid. None the less, I caught on fast and became a fast typist in the classroom, leading me to complete my assignments quickly, and freeing me up to play games.

Second Grade: I was supposed to remain in the multiclass/grade setup, but a teacher moved away and most of the kids were relocated. I was with a teacher I remember upset me towards the end of the previous schoolyear, I admittedly don’t remember the details, but I threw a fit before getting to see the principle. She spoke with such kindness and comfort. She called my mother, my mom’s voice was really nice to hear then, I don’t remember much of what she said. Afterwards, the principle asked me if I wanted to go back to the same classroom, but that one of the teachers would be gone now. I thought that sounded nice, so I agreed. They took care of it well enough I suppose. In the new classroom I still was trying to muster the effort to successfully stifle the remnants of sniffling I had from the fit before hand. I still remember two of the kids names, who were just the perfect idea of innocence looking back on it. Charles and Stephanie. Stephanie asked me why I was upset. I just continued to try to regain my composure. Charles says he is upset because he wanted to stay at home and play games today. Stephanie, seeming rather perceptive, says something to Charles about that’s not what I’m upset about probably. She turns and asks if I’m ok. I nod a yes. “Hi, I’m Stephanie, we were just about to color this picture, want to help?” Such an odd memory. Those two were my closest friends in that grade, I remember that. She was always so concerned and perceptive for a second grader, Charles just more or less was a class clown (like most second grade boys).

I wish I would continue detailing all this stuff on here, but I really ought to put a strong effort into at least finishing up this post, as well as not making it drone on for an eternity. But I have a lot of these memories, just perfectly clear. Some of them, for various reasons, I am able to confirm to an extent, after having wondered if I falsified memories, given the detail. I know I also have memories from before I turned three, not knowing my exact age, but I have several of them. I only know I was not yet three, because we still lived in an upstairs apartment, we moved across town into a duplex, a couple weeks before I turned 3 and lived there for over 10 years. I don’t have many memories from the apartment, mostly just jumbles and parts. I remember some dreams I had when we lived there too though.

I remember my dad always stocked frozen corn dogs in the fridge when we lived there, but after moving, we had a pantry and it was usually “dry” snacks that he munched on. I remember a lot of commotion about our cat killing a scorpion. I remember sitting in the backroom of a footaction, where my dad was manager, while he worked, and he would check on me often, sometimes on break, he would take me to the arcade that was a few stores away, after all he worked in the mall. I remember a particular fit I threw about forgetting to brush my teeth, it woke my dad up, and he just brushed his with me, telling me it would be alright. I remember talking to “imaginary friends” and having arguments with them, to the extent that my mom would come in and ask who I was talking to. I remember jumping on my parents bed, when they clearly told me not to, but my mom was being less attentive, packing for a trip, and my dad always the lax one, only spoke and made no physical effort to stop me, until I plummeted down and smacked the top of my head on the headboard of the bed, knocking it lose and sending me into a fit of pain and tears. We had to visit the emergency room, I got stitches.

I remember a lot of stuff, stuff that people, ones with degrees I might add, tell me I shouldn’t. They have the paper, not I, so I try to trust in their judgment, but I know those are memories. I remember our apartment, I ask my mom about some of the more notable memories, and she confirms them. I remember weird little details and stuff. I hear that’s some sort of indication of intelligence, so again, maybe I just am a little bit “smarter”, I dunno.

Anyway, if I get back to it, I will definitely some tomorrow, this was actually a really great way to analyze and think about some things, that I don’t usually provide attention to.

Hope this isn’t as boring to read as I feel like it is. I at least enjoyed writing it, and remembering some of those things. Nostalgia can be weird sometimes, at least when looking back to times as a kid.