I'M NOT CRAZY! (Institutionalized!)

I assume that most people think I went crazy, because I changed for the worse so suddenly. I don't really think I'm crazy. Sure I say it a lot, and I'm afraid of becoming crazy, but I don't think I'm crazy now.. not yet anyways. All that happened was that I changed. Maybe for the worse at the time, but now I think it's for the better. I don't get caught up in petty things like what Brittney Spears ate for breakfast, or even what her latest single is (I hear them, yea, but I don't really care about them). I don't use drugs anymore. I'm not attracted to the bad kids anymore (granted I'm scared of everyone right now, but that's besides the point).
You know the kind of change I'm talking about, right? Not like, "I'm not goth anymore, I'm scene *pose*" but like, an Epiphany-esque change. A change that you feel with every fiber of your being. A change that means you'll never see the world the same again for as long as you'll live. I've had a bunch of these changes before, but they were usually subtle and slight. That night it literally hit me like a mac truck. On the highway. Speeding. I'm talking like a buck thirty in a sixty-five. So yea, it changed me. And it scared me, and it hurt. I mean, come on.. getting hit with heavy stuff really hard is scary, and it usually hurts.
So why doesn't anyone get it? Why do they act like I'm an alien? I'm still the same general person I was, I have the same sense of humor and stuff. I'm just nervous, that's all. I'm scared of people, so I'm really quiet at first. But then when I do speak everyone looks at me like I was speaking Japanese and said something really offensive about their dead grandparents. I just don't get it.
And no one feels like they need to clarify, or tell me what they think. They skirt around it, brush it off, they don't want to touch it with their bare hands. I mean, shit, I know I was a total bitch and a skanky ho, but JESUS so were every one of my friends at one point or another (okay, maybe not all of them, but some are definitely permanently stuck on bitch (I still loved them, though).). So how come when I went through a phase, it was like I pooped on their God or something. I KNOW my behavior was inexcusable, and I've told them that. I've tried to make it up, start anew, show them I'm sorry. But I guess I was just gone for too long and they got used to me not being around. And when I was around I was jumpy and happy and fucked up and loud, and then I come back and I'm meek, shyer than usual, quiet, and paranoid as fuck.

...I guess I understand why they think I'm crazy. But I'm not. I just had an abrupt realization about the people in this world and I was really shell shocked. And the fact that I had a little psychosis goin' on from drugs couldn't have made me look too good, either, I suppose

Do you see how pretty that is? The bright red of the male cardinal is so brilliant when he's surrounded by pure white snow. I just love the contrast. LOVE it.

My dad likes to feed the birds in the morning and he said that at first he was just feeding cardinals, and then other birds started showing up, like blue jays and the tufted tit mouse, woodpeckers, and even squirrels, and the cardinals stopped coming around. I thought that was weird. They're boldly colored feathers made me think they were an aggressive, arrogant bird and to find out they were meek and shy around other birds was puzzling to me at first. Then I thought of myself. I dye my hair vibrant natural colors and dress sometimes in neons or brights, but I'm very shy, very withdrawn, very introverted.

The cardinal also inspired one of my most disturbing and beautiful daydreams.
I am walking through this open snow covered field at dusk and am making my way to the middle. I'm sad, lonely, and have realized what the world is all about and I don't wish to be a part of if. I want to become a part of the beauty in nature around me and cease to be a creature that aids in the constant destruction and degeneration of the world it needs to survive. Even if I recycle everyday I'm still human and my very presence is like acetone on nail polish. I slice up my arms deep and long and spin around in a circle, leaving my mark. I lay down, and I am taken in by the universe. I hope that the scene I left behind will be seen as I had intended it to be seen. Me becoming what I wanted. The beauty in my destruction is powerful and overwhelming. It is graceful, passionate, angry, profound, moving, and fucking gorgeous. My pale skin was brought out by the red and the red was so bright against the blueish white snow. Yes, I'm dead, but look how pretty it is. It's going to be okay.

You're probably thinking I should bring that up to my therapist, but it wasn't really me fantasizing about killing myself. It was just a short indie film, starring a dead me, floating through my mind. If I could I would post it up here so you could see what I mean, but technology isn't that good yet, and I'm no film maker. But I assure you it was beauty in tragedy at it's best.


(...I bet if it starred Keira Knightly you'd watch it...)

We wish you a Merry!... wait, what?

To elaborate on my last post, what the hell is so merry about Christmas? It's a holiday based on deception.

1. The Christmas tree is a Pagan thing. I gather that Christians let Pagans/Druids keep their tree worshiping as a comprimise for joining Christianity. (I'm no religious expert) ( oh and so are Easter eggs).
   
2. Parents make up some jolly fat guy with flying reindeer so you'll be good all year, except most parents don't really enforce the "Be good, Santa's watching" thing until late November, so you can be bad all year round until after Thanksgiving when your parents remember they have that in their arsenal of threats.
3. Parents also make a big deal out of Christmas when you're young. It seems like the most magical holiday of all magical holidays. Until your parents decide you're getting a little too old to be happy about Christmas, tell you there's no Santa, and from that moment on they start training you to be as miserable as they are on this joyous occasion (subconsciously, of course).
4. The typical Hallmark reason. People like to buy stuff. People that sell stuff like their stuff to be bought. The people that sell stuff make a big deal out of Christmas as well and basically make you think that if you don't buy people stuff for Christmas they won't love you anymore. And every store has their sales on the same damn day, and every procrastinator goes to those stores on the same damn day looking for the same damn things that have been burned into their minds as the 'it' gifts and the must haves. Because let's face it, every kid that didn't get a Tickle me Elmo that one year knew, just knew, that their parents hated them and wanted them to die an Elmoless death.
   
5. No one really knows for sure if Christ was even born on the 25th and I just heard they actually think he was 'born' in August. Wait, does anyone even still care that it's supposed to be Christ's birthday? I mean, I know when I was little and I asked why we celebrate it that's what my parents told me, but we never sang Happy Birthday to Jesus or anything. We just exchanged gifts and ate food and never mentioned Christ or Jesus or God at all, really. So what is supposed to be a remembrance of a great happening has turned into just another gimme, gimme, gimme thing.
   

Now, I'm not trying to be bitter or a Debbie Downer, but... I'm just sayin.

Oh, Seinfeld

It just doesn't feel like Christmas. When you're young your parents make such a big deal out of the holidays and your birthdays. Once you're older than 12 they start to give up the charade (for holidays, anyway). What's the point of even putting up a charade in the first place? They make you think that Christmas is the greatest thing in the world and then they're like "Oh, sorry, we lied, it doesn't really matter too much and there's no such thing as Santa. Merry Christmas! :D" (or Hanuka, Kwanza, whatever you celebrate)

I say, Festivus for the rest of us!

If only it were that easy

I'm going to compile a list of things that I hoped, in the waaaayyy back of my head, (though I knew probably wouldn't be) would be a miracle cure (in no particular order).

1. Dropping my bad influence friends. (good idea, though).
   
2. Moving away. (where you are is where you are).
   
3. Self-help books (very helpful, but no cure).
   
4. Therapy (though it is helping, it's no miracle cure).
5. Meds (made me 10x crazier and 100x more disoriented).
6. Doing lots of drugs (see above reason).
7. Pretending to be ok (makes you more weird).
   
8. Mental hospital (they don't care about you).
   
9. Being 110% honest about what you're going through to the people trying to help you (doesn't make the problems go away)
10. Trying to make people understand what you're going through (they don't care).

I had decided to take a bath. I plugged up the drain with a pair of blue latex gloves because I couldn't find the stopper. I adjusted the water temperature and sat in the tub. I took notice as the water rose up around me. When it had reached maximum capacity I turned off the water and slid my bottom forward, allowing me to lie back with my head perfectly resting on the lip of the tub. I stared up at the ceiling through the oval above me created by the surrounding shower curtains. I slid down so my mouth was under the water but I could still breathe through my nose. With each breath I felt an enormous amount of pressure on my chest. It was like I was leagues instead of inches under water. I couldn't help but think of that song Red Water by Rehab.

"...And he was layin
in an overflowing bathtub of red water..."

I moved my hands through the water, touching every molecule, feeling the heat.

"...The first and the last time he ever relaxed."

I closed my eyes and focused on how uncomfortable the heat was becoming. It felt like I was sweating under the water.

"... And they said, he had a smile on his face,
his final offer. The steam on the mirror said 'I got one more thing to say'..."

It was getting hard to breathe so I sat up and pulled the gloves out of the drain. I turned on the cold water, adjusted it to just under luke warm and turned on the shower while I sat in the hot bathwater. It shocked me at first, but it was relieving. I stood up and felt dizzy and weak, and my stomach hurt. I washed my hair while the water drained, rinsed off the stagnancy of the bath, and went downstairs.

Childhood memories (or, am I boring you yet?)

I used to watch The Wizard of Oz all the time. The only copy we had was one my parents copied from ABC onto VHS. They tried their best to 'edit' out the commercials, but their reflexes weren't that great. There was one part, I think it was after they first start to venture into the Wicked Witch of the West's territory, where they caught a part of a commercial about a little boy drowning in a pool. They showed a little boy diving into a pool while they talked about a little boy's death. Nickelodeon always used to show this commercial that said "Go outside, we'll be here when you get back" over the summer. It featured a kid jumping into a pool. That always reminded me of The Wizard of Oz and in turn The Wizard of Oz has always reminded me of a little boy drowning in a pool.

I remember another time when I was little, and my brother was babysitting me. My parents had gone out and they were gone almost all night. Me and my brother were debating over what movie to watch. Actually, he was putting things on, and me, the brat that I was, was throwing a tantrum over everything he chose because I wanted to watch The Fox and the Hound. After a while he went downstairs and came back up with my movie of choice. He opened it and popped it in the VCR. The trailers confused me because none of them were for Disney movies, but I dismissed this observation. I should have paid attention. He had put The Terminator in the Fox and the Hound box. I was pretty pissed but I watched it anyway. Well, most of it. I was pretty scared. I started crying. My memory cuts out and comes back in when my parents came back home. They were all dressed up and my mom came up the stairs and said "We're married!!" and everyone was acting all happy and stuff except for me. I wanted to rat out my brother for making me watch that movie, plus, I was really, really confused. They were already married. I asked my mother about this many years later, and she had no idea what I was talking about. Maybe they were just joking around? Maybe I made it up? Maybe I dreamt it? I have no idea.

Another time, on Mischief night, my parents went out somewhere and my brother was left in charge. He was in his room most of the time, and I was in the living room playing with my set of plain wooden blocks mixed with painted lettered blocks. I liked the plain ones better, though. All of a sudden, I heard a noise coming from outside. It sounded like marching. I was curious so I looked out my window, but couldn't see anything. A few moments later it got louder. I looked out my window again, and this time I saw a bunch of people dressed all in white with pointy white hoods. They looked like a bunch of ghosts, except there was a leader and he had a torch. I knew that they had to be the KKK. I was so frightened. I had heard so many terrible stories about them. I banged on my brother's door, but he ignored what I said. He had music playing so he couldn't hear the marching. I think he had a friend over, too. I remember hiding under the dining room table until the marching sounds faded off into the night. I ask the same questions as in the previous memory, as no one has any information on this 'happening', I have no proof that it did.
Now this memory, this one goes WAY back to when I was still in a crib. It's the only memory I have of being in a crib or the house we lived in before we moved to bumblefuck. My parental unit had just layed me down to go to sleep. I watched the hall light disapear from the room as the door closed. There was a night light near the crib. I was trying to sleep, but the tip of my left index finger was really itchy and it kept me up. With my eyes still shut, I scratched and scratched and scratched until I heard a tiny popping sound and felt a piece of my tiny finger fall off. Alarmed, I held my finger up to my face. The pad of my pointer was gone, exposing under it something that looked like hair. Not messy hair, but a tight circular pattern of hair. Kind of like the patter to the right, and I f.r.e.a.k.e.d internally. I was also pretty amazed. I remember thinking "Veins look like hair?" I was also puzzled as to why I wasn't bleeding. Eventually I fell asleep and when I woke up, my finger was back to normal.

Who the hell am I?

If you've lost who you are, it's really important to think about your likes and dislikes, even if it's something like "I like puppies, I like cake, I like cheese..." because it's a start. It seems like something really simple. I know some people are probably reading this going "How do you not know what you like??" Well, it's easy to lose touch with one's self and forget. I remember being in the hospital and a nurse asked me "Well, what do you like to do?" I had no fucking clue. What did I like to do? "Uhmm... drugs?" In reality that's all I did, and I didn't really like it anymore, but, well, I didn't really do much else. "Okay, well, let's make a list, then. Think of what you like, and what you don't."
"Like what?"
"Anything that you like or don't like."
"*laugh* Okay."

Likes:

• Looking at snow.
• Swimming
• Music
• Drawing
• Writing
• Reading
• Guys :-*
  

Dislikes:

• Cold.
  
• Shoveling snow.
• Anything with snow other than looking at it.
• The color yellow

Get the idea? If you're feeling like you've lost touch with who you are, I suggest taking this simple step. The list doesn't have to be long at all. It can be a few things at first, and just add things as you think of them, even if it takes you a month to 'complete' (it'll never really be complete people change all the time) it, at least you'll have an idea of who you are, and what you like. :)

G,IHTW.

I to the corner store this morning to get cigarettes. I went in the front door and proceeded directly to the line, as I didn't have money for anything else but my wonderful cancer sticks. I stood behind a man being checked out by my potential cashier, and I noticed that I really liked the cashier's hair. It was a variation of 'the bump', except it was almost flat. It was sectioned like 'the bump' except instead of having a teased, pretty loose... bump, she had tight braids on a tight, smooth, shiny. I can't seem to find a picture of what i'm trying to describe, but it was really pretty. Then I noticed her face. She was pretty. I could never look like that. I'm not as pretty as 'ethnic' women. I think almost all ethnic women are pretty, if not aesthetically then in their confidence. I'm just a plain-looking Caucasian girl with low self-esteem and a slouch. My skin could never reach a complexion darker than white bread, with the exeption of sunburn.
So anyway, I was waiting in line when another woman opened the other register and said "Next!", so I stepped over and greeted her, and asked for newports. I've been checked out by her enough times before for her to not ask me for I.D. She didn't say hello to me like I did to her. She pretty much ignored me and spoke loudly to the man behind me, except when I appologized for counting change (I only had 4 dollar bills, I had to pay the rest in quarters and dimes). I recieved a short "It's okay" and she opened the register prematurely, stuffed my money in, gave me my nickle back (heh nickleback) and did all this without even looking at me. I said "have a nice day" and she did not. I know, I know, I'm over thinking this, but she's always so friendly to the people behind me or next to me, and not me. When I'm the only one in the store, she's quiet and reserved and acts like... I don't know like I'm a leper or something. I don't get it. Yea, this shouldn't bother me, but it does. It makes me not want to go back to that store everytime she's my cashier, but it's the closest one and it's just silly to drive farther away for something I can get two blocks from my house. And all this raises silly questions like "was I rude?, was I talking to myself? Did I seem fake?" I certainly hope I did't come off as fake, I mean, that's just how I am around people I don't know too well (when I do have to talk). I'm polite. At least I think I am. Am I supposed to be rude?

God, I hate the world.


most days anyway.

Seeing ghosts?

That's kind of the look I used to get when I was really tweaking. Maybe that should have been a warning sign? You know, when people are talking around you and you look like that^ staring out a window, and people have to wave their hands in front of your face and ask if you'd just seen a ghost. I didn't care, though, at the time. I just wanted to get F.U.C.K.E.D..U.P. and forget the world. Jesus effing Christ, in hindsight I should have ran really far away from this shit. But, I was in high school, I already knew everything, right? What's the worst that could have happened? Who cares if I've lost a little weight (going from 120 to about 99)? So what my friends don't approve, what do they know? Well I'll tell you what, if I could have foreseen this, I'd be in a better place.
But then again, who wouldn't choose happiness and mental stability over not being able to function properly?? I'd be doubtful of anyone who says they'd rather be foaming at the mouth talking to themselves under a bridge smelling like shit and eating frogs. Or, you know, even something not as extreme as that.

Tyler Durden (or Drugs for thought pt2)

is this gif working?

I did something like that once. In the food court. at the mall. It only lasted about 4.5 seconds, but that was long enough to really scare me. And I was speaking gibberish. In my head it sounded like I was speaking English, and I was talking about a railing or something, joking with my friend that I was almost certain I was looking directly at. When I snapped out of it, I was staring into the space next to where my friend was sitting, and caught the tail-end of the gibberish noises. I paused for a moment, blinked, then looked over at the person I was sitting with, who was looking at me like I had just been sitting there talking gibberish to myself! I asked her if i had been talking, and what I was saying and all she replied with was "Shut up. Just shut up. SHUT! UP!" I looked around me and saw the other two boys we were with eating their food standing up way over by the Wendy's. Staring. Smiling. Laughing. Did they know that was going to happen? Those two boys standing way over yonder. Why was I being affected like that? No one else was. What shit. And now I wonder, when people look at me like I have three heads for no apparent reason (which is often in my mind), if I'm pulling a Tyler Durden. Just not as cool.

What did you just tell me to do?

Orly, Mr. Goldfinch? Well I doubt you've heard of social anxiety, you silly yellow bird.

I don't know about you, but when people tell me to "just relax" it's like going "let's tense it up a notch! BAM!"

Now, this wasn't always the case. Granted I have always been a shy person around people I didn't know very well or at all, but usually it didn't take very long for me to melt my internal ice and, dare I say, ... relax. But now? Oh my god, for. get. it. Throw me in a room full of people [my age] and weather I know them or not i'm as stiff as a board and only adding "really?" or "wow." to a conversation. Oh yea, and that paranoia thing I mentioned in my last post? Really fucking helpful. -.-#

Needless to say, I don't really get out much, and people don't get it. Why, just two days ago I was talking to a friend who was asking probing questions as to why I haven't met anyone new (I recently moved) yet, and the conversation when something like this:

"Have you met anyone new yet?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Well, you know, I'm awkward and shy and stuff."
"How about just doing stuff where you're around people? You don't have to talk to them, just go to a coffee shop and read a book. And drink your coffee. Why don't you do that?"
"Oh, I don't know... maybe because I'm a nervous wreck."
"Well, just stop being so nervous. Just relax."

Oh, no he di-en't!!! *fingerswivel*

I'm okay with going to the supermarket, or the corner store, or someplace where I'm around people for a minimal amount of time, and I'm doin my thang and they're doin there's, but that coffee shop idea? or going to classes? standing in line? going to work? I have to be there for a long period of time and an exchange of words between me and someone (lasting longer than a "Hey, can you reach that for me? Thanks.") is almost bound to happen (also, I'm hypersensitive to people looking/ staring at me. That really freaks me the fuck out). I probably wouldn't seem that weird right away. Actually, I'd probably be okay to talk with for a while, until I start looking at the person I'm talking to (this happens with strangers and 'friends') through a fish-eye lens and that change in atmospheric pressure happens again.

Sadly, most people tend to take social awkwardness for being stuck up, so they tend to avoid contact with me. If only I had the courage to stand on a table in a crowded room and scream "I DON'T THINK I'M BETTER THAN YOU, I'M JUST SCARED OF YOU!!!" Of course, they could also be avoiding me because I'm talking to myself and don't know it, or I smell bad, or I'm ugly, or I have something on my face, or I'm looking at them like I want to kill them, or....the.........list.............goes...................on.........................................

Drugs for thought

(image from Something* Creative)

Has that planted a seed in your head? Or are you not affected by thoughts like this? Things like this used to go through my head every second of every day at the speed of light thanks to a drug induced psychosis. Every thought felt so plausible that to this day I'm not entirely sure my head was just making things up. It turned my whole world upside-down. It was like everything I knew to be was shat on with the fury of a thousand suns. In literally a second it was like someone changed the filter on my lens. I felt the change (maybe because I was rolling face, but that's besides the point) in the atmospheric pressure around my world.
I started seeing the people I had been hanging out with in a new, ugly, ugly light. I thought they had been monitoring me, had put cameras in my house, tampered with my things, planted drugs in my house and car, and drugged and raped me in my sleep. The worst part was, though, was that some of the things I was thinking could totally have happened. A few weeks before this I had lost my car keys at the mall. The 'friend' I was with didn't seem interested in helping me find them, and kept persuading me to just let it go and leave. So I did. A few days later I noticed one of my key chains on her set of keys, and yet another key chain of mine on another 'friends' set of keys. This meant absolutely nothing to me until that night. Every single thing that people had said and done around me that I found strange or out of place became clips in my head that fell into their place in the movie of my life (or so I thought). I'd go into more detail, but trust me, it's a long story. Maybe I'll write a book if enough people are interested :D haha.

Now, how can a drug like ecstasy, that makes you feel soooooooo good do something soooooo bad? I knew it was melting my brain or putting holes in it, but psychosis? Isn't that for people who take too many hallucinogens? Well, apparently not. It isn't a well-known fact, but paranoia and ecstasy seem to go hand-in-hand for many people, especially if you already have a mental condition, or a condition just waiting to spread it's wings and fly you off to lala land (a.ka. a psyche ward). I'm sure my previous coke habit, habitual marijuana use, and dxm trips didn't help things one bit, either.
Normally, these affects should just go away, like this guy's did when he stopped smoking pot (for a little bit). I mean, seriously, 40,000!?!? and his paranoia and anxiety subsided after ditching dubies? Well, shit. Why hasn't mine, then? I stopped smoking as well after a month or so of freaking the fuck out and putting two-and-two together, but it's been close to a year of being clean and sober and the paranoid wheels of my mind keep on turnin. Granted I can go a day without a thought, but, when i'm lying in bed attempting sleep, they come creeping back.

Setting the mood

To kick things off, I'm going to share with you a poem that I recently read that pretty much sums up how I feel most of the time. It also inspired me to start this blog and express how I feel to others, and hopefully be able to help others to see that they are not alone in this harsh world.
So, here it is:

Here In Bed
by David Ignatow

Here in bed behind a brick wall
I can make order and meaning,
but how do I begin? How do I
emerge without panic
to the sounds and mass
of people in the street?

Are they human who stare
as I pass by as if sizing me up
for a mugging or a filthy proposition,
and am I human to have to be
frightened and on guard?

It's people I'm afraid of, afraid
of my own kind, knowing their angers
and schemes and violent needs, knowing
through knowledge of myself
that I have learned to resist,
but when I can't i have seen
the havoc I have made.

It's this, knowing their desperate motives,
as I have known mine, I'm afraid of
in them. I hide upon a bed
behind a brick wall and listen
to engines roaring up and down
the street and to voices shouting
to one another and find no meaning
or order in them, as there is none
in me when I am free of self-restraint.

The bed is my victory over fear.
The bed returns me to my self
as I was young and dreaming
of the beauty of the trees
and faces of people.

The third and fourth stanzas are what really hooked me to this poem. I'm interested in knowing what other people think of this.