I've learned a lot over the years (forgot even more!), and I still learn more every day. I've probably spent more time trying to figure myself out than I've spent on any one other thing in my life (except maybe sleep), and yet, I still appear to be an enigma to myself that might never be fully deciphered. But, regardless, I've learned some significant things, even in just the past few months or year. So, in no particular order or method, I'll list some of those things.
When I feel better, I feel worse, seemingly out of some kind of masochistic desire to always feel bad. Perhaps I like feeling the need to be taken care of (a borderline quality), or that I'm not special when I'm 'doing better,' or that I like the attention I get when I'm doing quite obviously poorly, despite constantly saying otherwise. I strive for mental distress, self-destructiveness, the inability to function, relying on others, and psychotic/neurotic/delusional features that clearly separate me from others, and am saddened when I don't experience those things. When I'm happy, I'm unhappy, and I'm unhappy when I'm unhappy, so no matter what, I end up unhappy somehow.
I've overstepped my bounds 'one too many times' several times throughout the years until I developed a morbid fear of doing so; thus, my comfort zone has shrunken to the size of an acorn, and I fear going even a smidgen out of that comfort zone. I've started to blame my inability to function and go out of my comfort zone on my 'moods' and whatnot, when the comfort zone and my episodes are quite distinct, even if influenced by one another. I appear to be quite highly functioning because I avoid stepping out of my comfort zone at all costs, but if someone saw me try to step out of my comfort zone, they'd see me as a cowering, fearful, catatonic, emotionally shattered train-wreck, instead. I achieve functionality by doing absolutely nothing at all, which isn't truly functioning, is it?
Sometimes I can't quite distinguish an 'episode,' or the start of one, from a benign, irrelevant state or quality because of hyper-vigilance. If I feel unusually tired or lethargic, I might think I'm dipping into a depressive episode when that's not at all true, or if I feel excited about something, I might think I'm going into a flight of hypomania, when that's not at all true, either. I see what may be a sign of a mood shift and assume it's because of a mood shift before assessing the situation and possible causes. I might be tired or lethargic because I took a medicine with an antihistamine; I might be excited about something because I genuinely love that thing, and nothing more.
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if my 'personalities' still existed these days. I'd have fake conversations with 'them' in my mind, and then reminisce about when they did actually exist. I often hope that I could get them back simply by getting off of my meds, and attribute any and all of my success from my early years with bipolar, anxiety, and a menagerie of other issues to them, as separate entities, even though they were me. I strongly believe that my subconscious mind could much better lead me in life than my conscious mind, and that if I don't get my hallucinations back, I'll never be able to progress in life.
A lot of people think that my fondness of the name Najjar is because of my ancestors bearing that name, but this is only a half-truth. I have a great fondness for that name because one of my 'personalities' that I had before getting on meds had that name, and he was the best of them all. Even though he was me, and vice versa, he guided me in ways I couldn't guide myself, he protected me, he helped me through life and deal with hard situations, and the list of good things goes on and on... I try and try, as hard as I can, to preserve the memory of him, even after years of him not even existing anymore. I highly doubt that going off meds could eventually lead to his revival, but I certainly wouldn't object if it did.
I can't commit... to anything. A routine, a job of some sort, a goal, a course in life, an idea for a profession, responsibilities and obligations, and so on and so forth. I can't commit, and then I get angry when I stop doing whatever it is I inevitably stop doing. I have no one else to blame than myself, and get mad about that, but then blame myself and feel worse, yet don't start doing whatever I wanted to make a commitment to again. Also, if I have even a tiny break in a habit or routine, it almost always becomes nearly impossible to get back into that habit or routine. This means that things that take effort and persistence (i.e. almost everything in life) are typically doomed to fail. Even working on my commitment issues takes too much commitment for me to do.
I often have more anxiety about anxiety than the anxiety I'm anxious about. I worry about worrying and I fret about fearing. This causes me to avoid things that actually cause real anxiety to the point that I never really appear anxious. As with most things in my life, I avoid triggers at all costs, and by such avoidance, appear relatively normal and stable to others, when even the tinniest of triggers could make everything instantly come crashing down. What's left of my life is constantly balancing on a sharp, deadly blade, trying not to fall. When I try to step out of my comfort zone, even to a degree that seems so infinitesimal and minute that it should be benign, I panic to the point where I avoid that thing at all costs. The fears and anxieties always seem to add, but never subtract, and it seems like I'll one day fear absolutely everything.
Spiders? Keep it a hundred feet from me, kill it, and flush it down a toilet, please. Bees? Nuh-uh! I'll just never go outside when bees are alive, and make certain to keep doors to the outside open as little time as possible! Saliva? If it touched your food, either keep it away from me, eat it, or throw it away, but I'm definitely not going to touch it! Shaking hands? No siree! Unless you have Purell or something as good, of course... Touching pretty much anything in the outside world, and a large number of things in my own home with my bear... well, anything? Nada; you can open public doors for me, I'll hold it in until we get home, even if my insides feel like they're going to explode, I won't touch a rail with my hands, especially if I'm going to have my hands near or on my mouth, or touching food I'm going to eat, and the list goes on...
Most of the time that I don't sleep well, I got caught up doing something, like writing this, and then I blame my inability to sleep on my meds. After all, if they aren't strong enough to forcefully knock me out like an elephant tranquilliser, what good are they? If I don't feel the overwhelming sedation, then I'm most certainly not going to 'try' to go to sleep. After all, I drive myself crazy if I lay in bed with my mind unable to shut down for even a fifteen or twenty minutes, and I need stimuli to drown that out. Also, since I hardly know what it's like to have a normal, natural sleep pattern that isn't primarily drug induced, somehow that means that not feeling naturally tired means that I have to be forced asleep.
I somehow seem to think that, if I were only able to control my sleeping without meds, dropping my meds would allow me to regain my hallucinations and 'personalities' once again, but in a more controlled manor, even though those hallucinations were most likely induced by lack of sleep. I want psychosis without most of the bad side-effects, I want to go through Hell - just the deluxe tourist package that ensure that I inversely don't endure physical and mental distress; obviously I can't get both. I've always had unrealistic expectations for life, and just can't seem to shake that habit.
Well, those are just a few of my insights. I thought I'd cut it short (probably not that short to anyone who reads this.)
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