The Grand Experiment

You know I keep saying that I should blog more or that I will blog more?

Obviously I've failed at that. I'm not going to say it anymore because it makes me sounds like a huge liar. I'm not; I just have a problem remembering my login info. I also have a problem with finishing entries. I am a lame blogger and very casual one at that. I've gotten into the terrible habit of sharing to much on Twitter. I hope that by convincing myself to vomit on here, I will save myself some embarrassment. Probably not, but trying can't hurt.

I'm starting a new experimental bipolar drug soon. I have to wait two weeks for my old stuff to clear out of my system, and I can feel that I'm in a pretty manic state. I don't sleep too much; I've even failed at napping properly. I'm always up and doing something, like the batch of Yoda cookies that I made at ass crack of dawn this morning. Hopefully I don't bottom out before I start the experiment, and I've made sure to try to enlist others to help me keep track of my mood and behavior.

I like manic me. Most people that have bipolar II don't mind the manic state because it's a hell of a lot better than the depressive one. I'd rather feel like I'm coked up 24/7, 365 than spend a day in the lowest depths of my depression.

Today* has been pretty interesting. I witnessed an epic battle of man vs. squirrel this morning. Squirrel won, but man put a pretty good fight. I also joined a meditation class. It starts tomorrow, though their flyer says otherwise. I've joined a book club on Goodreads through Oh No They Didn't, and I've started A Game of Thrones, something I've wanted to read for a while. I had lunch with a hobo and had a really good talk with him. I'm feeling great, different even. I'll have to see where things go from here.

*I logged in this morning and realized that I never published this, so here it is.

La Grande Malaise

I've had problems with depression for the last five years, and it bothers me how fashionable it seems to be sometimes. While teenage angst seems to be something that everyone has had to deal with, the sort of depression that I find myself dealing with everyday is almost soul crushing. While I haven't had a day where I couldn't get out of bed in a while, I feel like I'm constantly fighting a losing battle with mind.Lately I've found nearly impossible to leave the house by myself.

Coming to terms with the fact that I seem to have more problems that I'd care to admit is difficult. I've got a new therapist, and Wednesday is our first meeting. Thankfully I'm in Augusta because I'm not sure if I'd go if I were in Athens. Hopefully this will be turning point.

Happiness May Be a Warm Gun

"I start to feel like I can't maintain the facade any longer, that I may just start to show through. And I wish I knew what was wrong. Maybe something about how stupid my whole life is. I don't know. Why does the rest of the world put up with the hypocrisy, the need to put a happy face on sorrow, the need to keep on keeping on?... I don't know the answer, I know only that I can't. I don't want any more vicissitudes, I don't want any more of this try, try again stuff. I just want out. I've had it. I am so tired. I am twenty and I am already exhausted."
-Elizabeth Wurtzel

There are days when I wake up and feel as if I'm fighting a losing battle. I can't even begin to describe the insurmountable tidal wave of pain I feel when I actually take a step back think about what's happening to me. I'm a manic depressive schizophrenic, but no one around me wants to come to terms with that fact. Everyone ignores it like it isn't there, like everything is fine. It isn't fine, it won't be fine, and I'm afraid it will never be fine.

I'm living in a world that demands happiness and positivity. Everyone is busy ignoring what's always there in the background. Is it really so bad to welcome gloom and sorrow once in a while? I'm not the only person lying to myself, but maybe my lies are bigger and far more dangerous than most. I'm done with telling myself I'm fine when it's getting more and more obvious that I'm not. I'm done with lying about what is clearly in front of me.

I can see is that something isn't right anymore, that I can barely keep up my veneer of normality. They've come back to silently taunt me with their false existence; things and sounds that are real only in my mind. I've been running away from the truth of the matter because it's far too depressing to admit. I can't imagine not being able to live a fulfilling life, but as time goes by, that dream seems farther and farther out of my reach.

I've fallen into a pit of despair, but I'm not sure I'll be able to climb out this time.

Is It the Most Wonderful Time of the Year?

The holiday season is fast approaching, and I'm already feeling the anxiety and paranoia building up inside of me. Whenever I can manage to drag myself out of my apartment, I'm assaulted with the consumerism that has become Christmas. Macy's and other department stores starting building their displays in September, and once Halloween is over, it's full blown panic to get everything one would "need" to make this season the best ever. For me, it's probably the opposite.

I'm positive now that I'm suffering from full-blown agoraphobia. At the beginning of the semester, it wasn't so hard to go outside of my apartment. Now, waking up in the mornings to go to class or work is a battle. Every morning I awake this heighten sense that someone's watching me, or that my entire day is going to be the worst I've ever had.

I feel like I'm about to self-destruct. I'm afraid of what this mean for my future. I'd never want to get to the point of considering institutionalization, but if I can't get a handle on my everyday life, how am I going to be able to get through the mess that's usually Thanksgiving and Christmas with my family?

This year is set to be extra special. My cousin (who's a year younger and has just started college) is pregnant and has therefore committed the Epic Fail of the year. She's been in class for less than 3 months, and lives less than 10 miles from her mom and stepfather; I think I've said enough. That does mean that the Barnett family won't be visiting for either holiday, and that will spare my family having to listen to my aunt's so called Christian manifesto on living life.

My oldest cousin and my oldest uncle on my mother's side will be spending the holidays in prison and jail respectively. My granny's new beau (who I hate as much as her last one) will unfortunately be joining us unless he manages to infuriate her before Thanksgiving. My aunt might show up, but her girlfriend's on the run from the law, so she'll probably pass up coming into any of the Southern United States.

So I think it will be me, Ma, Sir, Megan, Kandise, Jordan, Granny, James (the beau), and Uncle Denis. We're probably have the usual spread, and we'll all be pooped before 8 p.m. It might actually be somewhat normal, considering most of the nefarious elements of my family won't be able to make it.

A normal holiday. That'll be the first this family has ever seen.

With a Little Help From My Friends

So I realize that I've been doing a fail job at posting. Rest assured, now I have more time to moan and complain via the interweb, so I'll definitely be posting more. Recent problems with my health (mental and physical) have sidelined a lot of things, including this blog and another blog I'm working on, but I'm back in business.






House premiered last night, and a bunch of my friends came over to watch it with us (my roommate and I). There was an attempt of sabotage from someone that I despise (I will refer to this person as Das Weibcheneselgesicht for the purpose of not getting sued), but as usual she failed to succeed. Everyone, except for Der Fliegende Holländer, joined us to watch the lovely Gregory House be himself, a lovable douchbag. I love Hugh Laurie, so if he's in, I'll watch it. I even saw that horrible new movie with Keneau Reeves because he had a supporting role in it. The show was as epically awesome as ever. The ending of the episode made me want to cry a bit, but I managed not to bust a tear.

It made me realize how decent of a person I must be, as compared to House. Actually, the isn't really all that hard, but I it really got me to thinking. I have a lot of friends that actually want to hang out with me or talk to me on a regular basis. Poor House, and some other people I know, don't have that. I don't know what I would do with my friends. After what happened last week (a mini mental breakdown), I really appreciate what all of my Athens crew are doing to help me get better. Thanks everyone.

The beginnings of an epic quest

A year ago today, I was sitting in the office of Dr. Peeples, the dorkiest/coolest pharmapsychologist certified by the state board of Georgia. While our usual discussion was going in the direction of "blah blah, worried about college, blah blah, my extended family is crazy", He asked my a question that I still can't answer affirmatively. "Are you happy with your life up to this point?" As I sat there with my confused faced (that oh so attractive grimace that makes me look like a chimp), I felt a panic attack coming. I had no idea if I was content, much less happy.

Reflecting on that life changing question, I can't say that I've ever been truly happy. I’ve gone through life laughing off or raging about the misfortunate parts of living as Timeeka Bruton. Dr. Peeples, being a Tibetan Buddhist sage trapped in the body of a 37 year old white man from South Carolina, said that happiness is a relative state of mind. Well I have never truly felt it. I wasn’t a happy baby, a happy child, or a happy teenager (but happy teenager sounds like a paradox). I’m afraid that my adult life is going to follow the same course.

My grandmother (granny for those who know her) once said that one is never truly happy and that we all live in a toss-up between contentment and discontentment. Looking her life, it seems as though she has lived in discontentment for the past 30 years. The only one of her birth children to succeed in life (stable job, married, “healthy” family, her OWN house) was my mother. The rest are perfect pictures of what you can do to completely your life and of those around you. Their failures pushed my mother and grandmother to try to do the best with my generation. And when my oldest cousin failed to make something of his life, all of that hope was transferred to me.

Being the model child of my entire family (nuclear and extended) is the reason why I am physically and mentally afflicted. The panic attacks, the cysts, and my immune system are responding to the pressure I’ve put on myself to succeed. I HAVE TO SUCCEED. I CANNOT end up like my grandmother, my mother, my father, my aunts and uncles, my cousins, and even my older brother. I have spent my entire life up to this point in a constant state of panic, and I know that I can’t live the rest of my life this way.

There was a point in January of this year that I decided that I would try to put myself into a coma. I didn’t want to die (it seemed too cliché to attempt suicide), and I didn’t want to physically harm myself (because I am a chicken). I thought if I spent maybe a week or two completely disconnected from the rest of the world, I would be able to calm down and figure out what is was that I was looking for in life. Instead, I ended up falling out of my loft after taking two really strong pain killers that my doctor prescribed for dealing with my cyst. After that really awesome month of back pain, I realized that the only way I would manage to even begin to figure things out would be to cut myself off from friends and family, which only led to more therapy.

So a year after being handed the question that will drive my life, I haven’t even cracked the surface. I am still hanging out in the darkness of my own psyche. But who knows? A year from now, I might have part one figured out.