I wake up in darkness. I think to myself, "I fell asleep well enough
before noon; why's it so dark?" I check my phone beside my bed to see
what time it is. 22:16. How'd it get that late? I want to get up, but I
struggle. I feel paralysed and my body just wants to lull me back to
sleep, but my restless mind keeps me... somewhat awake. I think. Think
about all sorts of trivial things, and I think about why I can't get up,
why it's so dark, why I slept so long... Why? Finally, I muster up the
willpower to reach for my phone again. 22:45. I breathe deeply, somewhat
like a sigh, but mostly just to get oxygen to my brain. After more
paralysis, more cyclical thoughts, more mental agitation, I finally
build up the willpower to sit up. I reach for my phone again. 23:01.
Okay, time to get out of bed. Finally, I slide out of my bed, seeming as
though I hadn't used any of my limbs in decades, like I had been in a
coma, and I walk out. The hallway is mostly dark, but some light shines
down from the stairway to the main floor.
I begin to walk up the
stairs, and my eyes strain painfully to adjust to the difference in
lighting. After a few moments of pain, my eyes are adjusted. By the time
I get up the stairs, I suddenly get this... wellspring of energy. I
start fast-walking throughout the house, doing little things that
suddenly pop into my mind. I need to get that blanket and those pillows.
I forgot the water bottle. I need a tissue. I want some bubble gum. How
about some TV? Oh, gotta take my pills, first. Is it really Tuesday?
I'll wait until my mom gets back to ask her what day it is. I'll get
back to TV. Oh, how about I pet the cat? I'll return to the TV, again.
That spanned about five minutes. I literally walked to opposite ends of
the house repeatedly doing miniscule, almost purposeless things. I would
get something from one side of the house, then forget that I wanted to
do something on the other side of the house. I would then remember I
wanted to get something from another corner of the house. Up, down, side
to side... My heart was racing, my head was light, I felt like a
feather.
After hours of watching television, I eat, I reply to
messages online, et cetera, et cetera. 06:59. The time right now. 9
hours seemed like thirty minutes. But I didn't lose time; I was fully
aware of everything, if not hyper-aware. My mind was flying the entire
time, the gears turning so fast that it seemed like they were being
stripped and losing grip, yet rotating nonetheless, even if they didn't
accomplish anything by their rotations. I analysed, I pondered, and I
thought deeply. I was emotionally invested even in things that didn't
have a whole lot of emotion in the first place. My mind, my body, my
soul were being swayed to the current of whatever was around me. I
wasn't so much defined by what happened within me, but rather by what
happened around me. I was clear and transparent, allowing crystal
clarity into my surroundings. If anything, I was a conduit. I channelled
my surroundings, my influences, and my stressors. I may have often
channelled it silently, but it was channelled, nonetheless.
Now
my head feels like it's wearing a stone hat. Heavy on my spine, somehow
cutting off circulation to my cranium, perhaps even my brain. My eyes
are heavy and burn, my heart pumps slowly and silently, my breath is
fairly shallow. Where is that energy? Will I fall asleep and then wake
up temporarily paralysed again? When will I wake up, or go to
sleep, for that matter. I feel like something is wrong with my entire
nervous system, but I have no idea what. It feels... hmm... compressed.
Other times, it feels frazzled and twisted. And yet other times it feels
overcharged. Or even cut off. But at no time does it feel... right.
It's off, somehow, but I don't know why or what is causing it. Is it
fibromyalgia? Bipolar? Anxiety? Those are my big three. Fibromyalgia
seems like the most likely candidate. Dysautonomia - the dysfunction of
the autonomic nervous system. The things that are supposed to run more
or less without the necessity of thought or effort. You don't especially
have to think about digesting your food or breathing, or pumping your
own heart. These things, for the most part, typically work on their own.
Certainly, some things you can influence. You can purposely control
your breathing, but if you don't do it purposefully, it usually works
anyway. Anxious thoughts can certainly affect all of your 'autonomic'
functions, like heart rate, breathing, and - yes - even digestion.
Fibromyalgia can cause or even be the partial or whole result of some
form of dysautonomia. This path... feels right. I think it's this, I
think dysautonomia is causing these problems, but I don't know why. I
have no real connections I can tie.
A coma sounds very good right
now. Not have to think about all of these things, not have to worry
about staying up too long, or possibly getting nagged at for sleeping
too long, either. I mean, really, who nags at a coma patient for
sleeping too long? Usually the people are just happy when they finally
wake up! It would be interesting to see what the doctors could discover
while I was in a coma... I can't imagine what may be picked up in an MRI
or CT. If someone saw what was really going on in my brain and nervous
system... I wonder if I would get answers, or just more questions.
Normally, I run into dead ends or more questions, usually unable to find
any definitive answers. I would love to just once find answers.
A lot of frayed wires and loose bolts in this one.
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Wonderland
The weather has been unusual, lately. Yesterday, I heard winds howl so
loudly that I thought a whole fleet of jumbo jets were falling out of
the sky, and I kept on waiting for the sound of their crash, but it
never came. I looked outside, and despite the character whistle of the
winds, the trees didn't even seem to shiver or sway. I felt like there
was a war going on, but I was too blind to notice, all because of some
clouds and loud winds. A tornado, a hurricane, no matter how unlikely
they are, the thoughts crossed my mind. I kept wondering, "How could a
wind be so loud, but not even ever so slightly shake the tallest trees
around?" I thought that maybe planes were flying by, and the clouds were
just bouncing the sound waves down upon the earth all the louder and
from all the farther away. But planes, up in the sky, don't cause the
wind to whistle just outside your window, and they don't usually
constantly hove or circle around your house, seemingly never to go away.
I have fibromyalgia. Fibromyalgia gets worse in... pretty much any weather that isn't, on all accounts, considered average. Room temperature at normal humidity and pressure, with no clouds in the sky. That seems to be the only time my fibromyalgia doesn't react to the weather. This was a cloudy day, a bit colder, at a lower atmospheric pressure, and perhaps slightly higher humidity. I'm mostly inferring these things, as I haven't even stepped outside in probably three or four days. The effects of weather are very quick. Very sudden. 24 hours ago, I was unusually energetic, and even in a somewhat good mood. For most of the past 24 hours, I've been sleeping away hours, dreamlessly, feeling paralysed and weak. I've been dissociating, as far as I can tell, though I don't have much hands on experience with dissociation. Derealisation and depersonalisation. At first, it started out almost like malaise. A strange feeling that you get - instinctual - that makes you feel like something is wrong, or simply 'off.' But then... it became more. Hours seemed to go by and I hardly noticed, occasionally looking at the clock and just seeing a whole other number to the left of the colon. I saw shows and commercials, I was wary of them, but I quickly found it difficult to really recall what previously happened, or figure out how I got to the point I was presently at. My emotions left me. My nerves turned off. I could dig my nails as deep into my arm as I wanted, and I would hardly feel a thing. I would talk, barely, exasperated and weak, and in a monotone voice, if at all. When people in the house woke up and started to move around, talk, and do things, it was like when you're watching a movie and a crowd of loud teenagers walked into the theatre, acting as though no one else was there, and as though they owned it. I was just a viewer, trying to watch a move - life - and they had come in the middle of it and started to tear it apart and make it difficult to watch. It was like they didn't belong.
I read that, during derealisation and depersonalisation, you're suppose to use your senses more to get a tighter grasp on the solidity and realness of the world around you. You're also not suppose to zone out and get entranced by a singular thought. If anyone's watched the most recent episode of Mad Men, with the stimulant, then you might get an idea of why that was all difficult for me to do while watching it. Perception of time, this odd feeling of things not being real, seemed to just overlap with my feelings, if not confirm them, validate them. I got up, after some time, anyway, and made myself some tea, as well as some heavily seasoned tuna - lots of pepper and garlic salt, in particular. I was up, doing things, trying to use my senses. My sense of touch, sense of motion, sense of sight, sense of taste, sense of smell, sense of temperature... my senses could hardly have been utilised more without dumping the hot tea on myself, and throwing the pepper and garlic salt into my eyes. But it was all so... eerie. Strange. I recall feeling like a character in a TV show or a movie. I didn't feel like it was all completely real, but rather like I was simply supposed to think it was real. I imagined myself being a character on the TV show, Hannibal, and the tuna was actually human meat, but I didn't know that. My lack of knowledge would only sicken the crowd more, due to their secret knowledge which they would be unable to tell me. When I saw the sharp edge of the tuna can sticking up perpendicular to the can, I imagined some antagonist in a horror flick about to shove my face into until the sharp lid was embedded deeply into my skull. But I didn't feel any emotion toward these thoughts. Simply that they seemed strange.
I took a lorazepam (Ativan) to see if it would help at all. Maybe if I dealt with anxieties, even if just pharmacologically, then my body wouldn't need to dissociate in order to escape. It didn't seem to work. The tea I drank had chamomile, velarian, and was a cocktail for calming and soothing the body to sleep. I also didn't know a particular difference. Everything still felt like it was only suppose to seem real, but like it wasn't really. It was like a dream, and I've almost always had cinematic dreams that were incredibly realistic, and not too unlikely. But not long after, my eyes became very, very heavy. I had been up for over 24 hours. Eventually, I couldn't open my eyes, I couldn't even move. I fell asleep, and then woke up. An hour went by. I closed my eyes, and then opened them again. Perhaps an hour or two more went by. Every time I... felt like I blinked, time skipped. Was this sleepless dreaming? Was this what it's like not to dream, and to have the deepest kind of sleep removed from death? Before I knew it, the sun had drastically changed position. It was no longer afternoon, or even evening. The clock said it was past 1:00; I can't recall the minutes. Either I went back in time and the sun blew up, or it was past midnight. I heard my mom talking about me. Saying how I had been sleeping all day, on the couch in the living room, with people coming and going, talking and doing things, but I just slept. She said that the weather changes were probably causing my fibromyalgia to take it all out of me. She couldn't have been more right. I slept for over 12 hours in all, the deepest sleep I had ever slept, and even after waking up at 5:11 in the morning, once and for all, all I wanted to do was go back to sleep. Jaden was coming. He slept on the couch, so I would have to move. I gathered up all my willpower and strength to get up, go to the bathroom after holding it in from virtual paralysis for nearly 20 hours, got some water, some food, and I went downstairs. Jaden came, got the couch to sleep on, and I've been... somewhat awake, somewhat present, since. It's been two hours and twenty-eight minutes, at this point.
Before I became virtually paralysed, I checked my weight. This was then obviously before my marathon of sleep. I've lost 10 pounds in barely over a month, no more than two. 10 pounds. The past month, I've probably eaten less than half of what I normally do. Everyday, my fibromyalgia suppresses my mood, presses down on my body, and I've been depressed for almost every day of the past month. I haven't had an appetite, and my antidepressant doesn't seem to have even the minutest affect. I get anxious over absolutely nothing - literally not even having a thought process associated with anxiety, but simply fearful for no reason. It's like I'd been living upon a mountain peak all this time, and I finally decided to walk deep into the valley below, but I can't find my way back up. I've occasionally thought I found a way, started to climb higher, and then found myself before a dead end with seemingly no detours, so I descended back into the valley to search for another, but I'm starting to feel like there are only ways down, not ways up. This valley is a clearing, with virtually no plants, just short grass, and you can see every corner of the lowland, but no discernible way up. There are no animals, no food. There is just one sad, lost individual, wandering in circles.
Introversion, thinking of one's self and issues obsessively, anxiety... this is supposed to be perhaps the greatest cause of dissociation, but I feel like I get the closest to feeling reality be real again is when I think about these things. When I remember who I am, why I am where I am... how I got here. And yet, my brain is apparently pulling the plug so that I don't think about these things. It's not actually supposed to be a bad defence mechanism, though its side-effects are never, or seldom, desired. It's like turning off a computer so a virus doesn't run rampant on it... but the virus did its job, anyway. Now you can't use your computer, anyway. If you just shut it off to stop the virus, then what are you going to do with it, now? You need to destroy the virus, remove it, not just disable it by disabling yourself. And yet, shut down like this, I haven't felt anxious... I've had some paranoid and unusual thoughts, but I've been unusually not anxious. Sometimes I forget to breathe, or it feels like I can't. Sometimes it seems like my heart doesn't know how fast or slow it's supposed to go, so it just goes through all the different beats until it sounds right. But I don't feel anxious. I don't feel pain, or at least it's much harder to feel it. I almost can't comprehend happiness or sadness, and yet depressing things make me tearful, even if they aren't that emotionally provoking. I feel like I'm irritable in some way, but not as though I would act upon it. It seems like my body is still active, but my mind mostly just turned off. Like a computer that's running without its motherboard, or its operating system, perhaps. And while my thoughts seem to wind and be too slippery to get a hold off, or to be too far into the distance to even really see, they feel so much clearer in the moment. When I focus on something, it becomes really sharp and clear, and I notice more details than ever before, it seems, but everything else is blurry, and when I don't focus on anything, everything is blurry in some way. Words on a computer screen seem to darken and fade as my eyes move, and even a bit while still, as if the ink that printed them bled... but they're just photons, light, absent ink or substance for that matter. They're all a single, solid color, and yet some seem to be clearer, others blurrier, some darker, others more faded. It feels as though my eyes are emboldening certain letters and words, as though they were relevant, but only in my peripheral vision, and they constantly change, so I can't see what's so important... even as I type.
If you took the soul and spirit away from a man, yet still let him live, I feel like I would be him. Memories, data... but nothing really seems to make sense or have purpose. Time is irrelevant, emotions are irrelevant, and even thoughts seem fairly irrelevant. I feel like I'm waiting, but I was never told what I'm waiting for. To wake up? To die? It's hard to tell. And after I think this, the thought will pass, and may or may not be thought again. Also hard to tell. I'm not treading in sociopathy. I'm not remorseless, but I'm currently not remorseful. I don't act in my own interests because I don't act. I'm not selfish because I find it difficult to think about myself, let alone anyone. When I do think of myself, I think in terms of abstractions and thoughts, but am unable to put any real meaning behind it. I'm not mentally healthy or orderly, as there is nothing but disarray and off-shifted thoughts in my head. I do, but I don't, know what reality is. I'm in Wonderland, if only I got there by not moving, and if only this world is Wonderland.
I have fibromyalgia. Fibromyalgia gets worse in... pretty much any weather that isn't, on all accounts, considered average. Room temperature at normal humidity and pressure, with no clouds in the sky. That seems to be the only time my fibromyalgia doesn't react to the weather. This was a cloudy day, a bit colder, at a lower atmospheric pressure, and perhaps slightly higher humidity. I'm mostly inferring these things, as I haven't even stepped outside in probably three or four days. The effects of weather are very quick. Very sudden. 24 hours ago, I was unusually energetic, and even in a somewhat good mood. For most of the past 24 hours, I've been sleeping away hours, dreamlessly, feeling paralysed and weak. I've been dissociating, as far as I can tell, though I don't have much hands on experience with dissociation. Derealisation and depersonalisation. At first, it started out almost like malaise. A strange feeling that you get - instinctual - that makes you feel like something is wrong, or simply 'off.' But then... it became more. Hours seemed to go by and I hardly noticed, occasionally looking at the clock and just seeing a whole other number to the left of the colon. I saw shows and commercials, I was wary of them, but I quickly found it difficult to really recall what previously happened, or figure out how I got to the point I was presently at. My emotions left me. My nerves turned off. I could dig my nails as deep into my arm as I wanted, and I would hardly feel a thing. I would talk, barely, exasperated and weak, and in a monotone voice, if at all. When people in the house woke up and started to move around, talk, and do things, it was like when you're watching a movie and a crowd of loud teenagers walked into the theatre, acting as though no one else was there, and as though they owned it. I was just a viewer, trying to watch a move - life - and they had come in the middle of it and started to tear it apart and make it difficult to watch. It was like they didn't belong.
I read that, during derealisation and depersonalisation, you're suppose to use your senses more to get a tighter grasp on the solidity and realness of the world around you. You're also not suppose to zone out and get entranced by a singular thought. If anyone's watched the most recent episode of Mad Men, with the stimulant, then you might get an idea of why that was all difficult for me to do while watching it. Perception of time, this odd feeling of things not being real, seemed to just overlap with my feelings, if not confirm them, validate them. I got up, after some time, anyway, and made myself some tea, as well as some heavily seasoned tuna - lots of pepper and garlic salt, in particular. I was up, doing things, trying to use my senses. My sense of touch, sense of motion, sense of sight, sense of taste, sense of smell, sense of temperature... my senses could hardly have been utilised more without dumping the hot tea on myself, and throwing the pepper and garlic salt into my eyes. But it was all so... eerie. Strange. I recall feeling like a character in a TV show or a movie. I didn't feel like it was all completely real, but rather like I was simply supposed to think it was real. I imagined myself being a character on the TV show, Hannibal, and the tuna was actually human meat, but I didn't know that. My lack of knowledge would only sicken the crowd more, due to their secret knowledge which they would be unable to tell me. When I saw the sharp edge of the tuna can sticking up perpendicular to the can, I imagined some antagonist in a horror flick about to shove my face into until the sharp lid was embedded deeply into my skull. But I didn't feel any emotion toward these thoughts. Simply that they seemed strange.
I took a lorazepam (Ativan) to see if it would help at all. Maybe if I dealt with anxieties, even if just pharmacologically, then my body wouldn't need to dissociate in order to escape. It didn't seem to work. The tea I drank had chamomile, velarian, and was a cocktail for calming and soothing the body to sleep. I also didn't know a particular difference. Everything still felt like it was only suppose to seem real, but like it wasn't really. It was like a dream, and I've almost always had cinematic dreams that were incredibly realistic, and not too unlikely. But not long after, my eyes became very, very heavy. I had been up for over 24 hours. Eventually, I couldn't open my eyes, I couldn't even move. I fell asleep, and then woke up. An hour went by. I closed my eyes, and then opened them again. Perhaps an hour or two more went by. Every time I... felt like I blinked, time skipped. Was this sleepless dreaming? Was this what it's like not to dream, and to have the deepest kind of sleep removed from death? Before I knew it, the sun had drastically changed position. It was no longer afternoon, or even evening. The clock said it was past 1:00; I can't recall the minutes. Either I went back in time and the sun blew up, or it was past midnight. I heard my mom talking about me. Saying how I had been sleeping all day, on the couch in the living room, with people coming and going, talking and doing things, but I just slept. She said that the weather changes were probably causing my fibromyalgia to take it all out of me. She couldn't have been more right. I slept for over 12 hours in all, the deepest sleep I had ever slept, and even after waking up at 5:11 in the morning, once and for all, all I wanted to do was go back to sleep. Jaden was coming. He slept on the couch, so I would have to move. I gathered up all my willpower and strength to get up, go to the bathroom after holding it in from virtual paralysis for nearly 20 hours, got some water, some food, and I went downstairs. Jaden came, got the couch to sleep on, and I've been... somewhat awake, somewhat present, since. It's been two hours and twenty-eight minutes, at this point.
Before I became virtually paralysed, I checked my weight. This was then obviously before my marathon of sleep. I've lost 10 pounds in barely over a month, no more than two. 10 pounds. The past month, I've probably eaten less than half of what I normally do. Everyday, my fibromyalgia suppresses my mood, presses down on my body, and I've been depressed for almost every day of the past month. I haven't had an appetite, and my antidepressant doesn't seem to have even the minutest affect. I get anxious over absolutely nothing - literally not even having a thought process associated with anxiety, but simply fearful for no reason. It's like I'd been living upon a mountain peak all this time, and I finally decided to walk deep into the valley below, but I can't find my way back up. I've occasionally thought I found a way, started to climb higher, and then found myself before a dead end with seemingly no detours, so I descended back into the valley to search for another, but I'm starting to feel like there are only ways down, not ways up. This valley is a clearing, with virtually no plants, just short grass, and you can see every corner of the lowland, but no discernible way up. There are no animals, no food. There is just one sad, lost individual, wandering in circles.
Introversion, thinking of one's self and issues obsessively, anxiety... this is supposed to be perhaps the greatest cause of dissociation, but I feel like I get the closest to feeling reality be real again is when I think about these things. When I remember who I am, why I am where I am... how I got here. And yet, my brain is apparently pulling the plug so that I don't think about these things. It's not actually supposed to be a bad defence mechanism, though its side-effects are never, or seldom, desired. It's like turning off a computer so a virus doesn't run rampant on it... but the virus did its job, anyway. Now you can't use your computer, anyway. If you just shut it off to stop the virus, then what are you going to do with it, now? You need to destroy the virus, remove it, not just disable it by disabling yourself. And yet, shut down like this, I haven't felt anxious... I've had some paranoid and unusual thoughts, but I've been unusually not anxious. Sometimes I forget to breathe, or it feels like I can't. Sometimes it seems like my heart doesn't know how fast or slow it's supposed to go, so it just goes through all the different beats until it sounds right. But I don't feel anxious. I don't feel pain, or at least it's much harder to feel it. I almost can't comprehend happiness or sadness, and yet depressing things make me tearful, even if they aren't that emotionally provoking. I feel like I'm irritable in some way, but not as though I would act upon it. It seems like my body is still active, but my mind mostly just turned off. Like a computer that's running without its motherboard, or its operating system, perhaps. And while my thoughts seem to wind and be too slippery to get a hold off, or to be too far into the distance to even really see, they feel so much clearer in the moment. When I focus on something, it becomes really sharp and clear, and I notice more details than ever before, it seems, but everything else is blurry, and when I don't focus on anything, everything is blurry in some way. Words on a computer screen seem to darken and fade as my eyes move, and even a bit while still, as if the ink that printed them bled... but they're just photons, light, absent ink or substance for that matter. They're all a single, solid color, and yet some seem to be clearer, others blurrier, some darker, others more faded. It feels as though my eyes are emboldening certain letters and words, as though they were relevant, but only in my peripheral vision, and they constantly change, so I can't see what's so important... even as I type.
If you took the soul and spirit away from a man, yet still let him live, I feel like I would be him. Memories, data... but nothing really seems to make sense or have purpose. Time is irrelevant, emotions are irrelevant, and even thoughts seem fairly irrelevant. I feel like I'm waiting, but I was never told what I'm waiting for. To wake up? To die? It's hard to tell. And after I think this, the thought will pass, and may or may not be thought again. Also hard to tell. I'm not treading in sociopathy. I'm not remorseless, but I'm currently not remorseful. I don't act in my own interests because I don't act. I'm not selfish because I find it difficult to think about myself, let alone anyone. When I do think of myself, I think in terms of abstractions and thoughts, but am unable to put any real meaning behind it. I'm not mentally healthy or orderly, as there is nothing but disarray and off-shifted thoughts in my head. I do, but I don't, know what reality is. I'm in Wonderland, if only I got there by not moving, and if only this world is Wonderland.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Déjà Vu
These déjà vus are getting more frequent. I used to only get déjà vu
every once a while... maybe every other week, or so. But now... it's
every day, multiple times a day, and each time I just instantly stop
what I was doing and get sucked into it for just a moment... and then
the feeling kind of lingers. They're mostly just emotions, senses, but
not really pictures or scenes in my head. I mean, the scenes still pop
up from time to time, but most of my déjà vu, lately, has been much more
like emotions alone. I'll read, see, hear, feel... I'll sense
something, and then a flood of emotion pours over me, sometimes nearly
compelling me to cry, or outwardly and very clearly react. I'll feel
just as I felt some time in the past - sometime I can't clearly recall -
and then thirty seconds later, the small crack in the curtains, where I
can just barely peek into some past event, gets closed, and I'm cut
off. Thirty seconds, sometimes a little longer, sometimes a little
shorter, and I simply can't recall the memory at all, but the feelings
associated with the memory seem to stick around for some time. Sometimes
hours, even, but rarely more than a day.
I keep on wondering, "Is this déjà vu? Are these even really memories, or real memories?" I have had an annoying case of the false memories for years, now, but those are usually just plain ol' 'memories,' faint holographs of events I thought happened, but never actually did. My mind has liked to rewrite history, or insert utterly false events altogether. But these... These have such strong emotions, it's hard to imagine that they're from false memories... It's driving me nuts. I feel like I had major amnesia, and also got brainwashed into believing I lived a whole life up to a certain point that I never even lived! And now I'm at the point in the movie where the main character starts recalling his real past, and realising the past he thought was his past wasn't even real. Now, obviously, I'm not that bad. I have more real memories (when I can access them!) than false ones. The false ones are just typically nuisances... Things that hold little true significance, but that I always seemed to recall. I can typically recall false memories much more easily than real memories. Real memories typically just... come to me. It's not that I can willingly recall them, it just happens whenever the hell it wants to! Usually when I'm trying the least, actually. Usually when I'm distracted or caught up in something, that thing that I'm absorbed into triggers the memory.
You know when you're just having a conversation, and then someone says something that reminds you of something else? It's kind of like that... It just suddenly pops into you're brain, and you're like, "Oh, yeah! I remember that!" Well, that's about the closest normal approximation I can think of for this. This is more like you're soul exists in more than one time, and the you from the present feels what your soul feels from events of the past. It's sort of like that intuition, shared sense, that twins are supposed to have, at least sometimes, but my twin is from the past, and doesn't yet exist, and when it exists now, I'll be in the future. Despite being in two different places on the timeline, I share those senses. That's what it feels like. It's also kind of like on TV shows when a character starts tweaking out because of broken, quick flashbacks where the audio and visuals cut in and out repeatedly. It's not so debilitating, of course, and much less clear... There's a strong vagueness to it. It's about as clear as a room full of smoke in a burning building. But just because you can't see it hardly at all, it doesn't mean the fire won't still burn you and the smoke won't still choke you.
I'm so tired of this crap... Even just one day of complete clarity would be grand, and then I could die, happily remembering what it's like to have any sense of clarity.
I keep on wondering, "Is this déjà vu? Are these even really memories, or real memories?" I have had an annoying case of the false memories for years, now, but those are usually just plain ol' 'memories,' faint holographs of events I thought happened, but never actually did. My mind has liked to rewrite history, or insert utterly false events altogether. But these... These have such strong emotions, it's hard to imagine that they're from false memories... It's driving me nuts. I feel like I had major amnesia, and also got brainwashed into believing I lived a whole life up to a certain point that I never even lived! And now I'm at the point in the movie where the main character starts recalling his real past, and realising the past he thought was his past wasn't even real. Now, obviously, I'm not that bad. I have more real memories (when I can access them!) than false ones. The false ones are just typically nuisances... Things that hold little true significance, but that I always seemed to recall. I can typically recall false memories much more easily than real memories. Real memories typically just... come to me. It's not that I can willingly recall them, it just happens whenever the hell it wants to! Usually when I'm trying the least, actually. Usually when I'm distracted or caught up in something, that thing that I'm absorbed into triggers the memory.
You know when you're just having a conversation, and then someone says something that reminds you of something else? It's kind of like that... It just suddenly pops into you're brain, and you're like, "Oh, yeah! I remember that!" Well, that's about the closest normal approximation I can think of for this. This is more like you're soul exists in more than one time, and the you from the present feels what your soul feels from events of the past. It's sort of like that intuition, shared sense, that twins are supposed to have, at least sometimes, but my twin is from the past, and doesn't yet exist, and when it exists now, I'll be in the future. Despite being in two different places on the timeline, I share those senses. That's what it feels like. It's also kind of like on TV shows when a character starts tweaking out because of broken, quick flashbacks where the audio and visuals cut in and out repeatedly. It's not so debilitating, of course, and much less clear... There's a strong vagueness to it. It's about as clear as a room full of smoke in a burning building. But just because you can't see it hardly at all, it doesn't mean the fire won't still burn you and the smoke won't still choke you.
I'm so tired of this crap... Even just one day of complete clarity would be grand, and then I could die, happily remembering what it's like to have any sense of clarity.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Agitated Depression
Agitated Depression... a 'mixed state' in which symptoms of depression
and hypomania collide into a volatile mixture... In my experience,
nothing good ever really comes of it. But this one... state that
I'm going through... feels... like a relief. Like a prisoner who has
been starved, beaten, and tortured, and - finally - as he is being
lashed, hit, beaten, and sliced... has a glimmer of relief, of joy. He
rejoiced because he knows that it's all going to end soon. He'll be free
soon... as he bleeds out in the mud and the life fades away from him.
In my agitated depressions, everything... intensifies. I'm aware of
everything around me, unlike mania (in which I'm often laser focused,
and can't seem to pay attention to more than one thing), and...
everything, EVERYTHING has some sort of feeling attached. The
lifting sun outside bothers me because... it feels like a timer has
reached its end and is buzzing, and I'm going over some sort of
never-spoken, never-seen time limit. The chair I sit on brings pain, and
the keyboard drives me mad with urges that I simply can't deny... Urges
for communication and purpose. The screen is a portal, a gateway...
It's indiscriminate and can show both the most awful and the greatest of
things. The blanket brings comfort and safety with it's weight as it
rests on my body and wraps me up. The pillow brings comfort in its
softness, even if the comfort is more psychological than physical. Well,
those are examples of idle things, at least... Trivial things.
But every emotions, every feeling... even my empathy, it all becomes... magnified, more like through a telescope than a magnifying glass. My brain bursts with sorrow and joy, with elation and despair. When someone else is sad, I'm depressed, and when someone else is happy, I'm joyous. But, most of all, I'm conflicted, even to the point of tearfulness about everything, good or bad. My heart is in a tug-of-war between numerous different forces, different feelings. The chemicals in my brain seem to be pouring and washing over my brain without restraint, without purpose, sometimes mixing and clashing with other chemicals. Sometimes causing paradoxical effects. I see life through a kaleidoscope that changes and fluctuates without ceasing, impossible to grab hold of any one solid image. Everything morphs and changes as if liquid or gaseous. Nothing is solid anymore, and everything is flowing, drifting, swirling, or sloshing. The world, particularly that of my mind, turns into a sea of green liquid metal that will swallow up any poor soul who falls in. It looks so, so cold, but its scolding and burning. The world around just fades into an intoxicating bile-green fog, while the few 'solid' things that can keep you out of the liquid metal are constantly morphing and changing, a maze of pathways where at any moment a hallway can become 10 times the length you thought, or when you thought it turned left, it may suddenly turn right. The inorganic, hard metal flows like a living creature, moving at a whim, shifting and morphing.
The pain amplifies... My head feels like it weighs a hundred pounds and my neck struggles to support it. I just wait for the spine to snap after taking so much strain. My shoulders feel like they've turned to stone, and my back struggles to hold that up. And then.. my poor lower back... taking on the burden of it all - the entirety of the slowly solidifying, petrifying flesh. The knives and needles stab me willy-nilly, the nerves shoot with electricity along their roots, their branches. I feel like I was in a car crash, and then the car flipped into a garbage truck right as it was compacting the garbage. I'm filthy, smashed, and contorted. Oh, my head... It's like someone wrapped an iron band around it and then tightened it more and more until they couldn't tighten it any further, like a belt on a man who denies he's gained a few pounds, and insists on the notch he remembers being able to squeeze into. And this is but a fraction of all I feel... But a minute, almost meaningless, sliver in the grand scheme of things.
I tire... Exhausted and beaten, I envy that prisoner... I envy his escape... He didn't take his own life, he didn't avoid further punishment... He endured it and endured it until... it ended. He was released. He was free.
But every emotions, every feeling... even my empathy, it all becomes... magnified, more like through a telescope than a magnifying glass. My brain bursts with sorrow and joy, with elation and despair. When someone else is sad, I'm depressed, and when someone else is happy, I'm joyous. But, most of all, I'm conflicted, even to the point of tearfulness about everything, good or bad. My heart is in a tug-of-war between numerous different forces, different feelings. The chemicals in my brain seem to be pouring and washing over my brain without restraint, without purpose, sometimes mixing and clashing with other chemicals. Sometimes causing paradoxical effects. I see life through a kaleidoscope that changes and fluctuates without ceasing, impossible to grab hold of any one solid image. Everything morphs and changes as if liquid or gaseous. Nothing is solid anymore, and everything is flowing, drifting, swirling, or sloshing. The world, particularly that of my mind, turns into a sea of green liquid metal that will swallow up any poor soul who falls in. It looks so, so cold, but its scolding and burning. The world around just fades into an intoxicating bile-green fog, while the few 'solid' things that can keep you out of the liquid metal are constantly morphing and changing, a maze of pathways where at any moment a hallway can become 10 times the length you thought, or when you thought it turned left, it may suddenly turn right. The inorganic, hard metal flows like a living creature, moving at a whim, shifting and morphing.
The pain amplifies... My head feels like it weighs a hundred pounds and my neck struggles to support it. I just wait for the spine to snap after taking so much strain. My shoulders feel like they've turned to stone, and my back struggles to hold that up. And then.. my poor lower back... taking on the burden of it all - the entirety of the slowly solidifying, petrifying flesh. The knives and needles stab me willy-nilly, the nerves shoot with electricity along their roots, their branches. I feel like I was in a car crash, and then the car flipped into a garbage truck right as it was compacting the garbage. I'm filthy, smashed, and contorted. Oh, my head... It's like someone wrapped an iron band around it and then tightened it more and more until they couldn't tighten it any further, like a belt on a man who denies he's gained a few pounds, and insists on the notch he remembers being able to squeeze into. And this is but a fraction of all I feel... But a minute, almost meaningless, sliver in the grand scheme of things.
I tire... Exhausted and beaten, I envy that prisoner... I envy his escape... He didn't take his own life, he didn't avoid further punishment... He endured it and endured it until... it ended. He was released. He was free.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Sonata
Each person has a song. Many think that songs with words, with a voice,
are the most powerful and most beautiful, but I respectfully disagree.
The sonata, devoid of a human voice, but bountiful in the beautiful,
natural resonance of the universe, is truly the most beautiful, I
believe. Every song is utterly unique, played literally for a lifetime.
And these songs often overlay upon others’ songs, creating a symphony of
sorts. When two songs clash, and simply aren’t harmonious, they either
remain horrid to the ear, or they depart until a harmonious tune is
found. Many symphonies have moments of cacophony to provoke emotions,
especially that which is difficult to bear and hard on the ears, only to
return to the beautiful essence that was invoked from an individual’s
very soul.
So what is your sonata? What does it sound like? How has it crossed and blended with others’ sonatas? Most sonatas are epics, are journeys for the mind and soul. But some are cut all too short, and make but brief, yet often quite powerful, songs. Tempos often vary, within each song, creating turbulence and calm, excitement and lethargy, happiness and sadness. There are spikes in pitch, as well as lows. No matter what, though, each and every song is a work of art. Something truly beautiful comes from each individual’s sonata.
My sonatas feel like they could be embodied across the vast range of Ludwig van Beethoven. Within a single song, he can make a lament, and then suddenly increase to something exciting and joyful, and then return to the slower, deeper, more lethargic elegy. Bipolar is a synonym for someone who’s life is inevitably beautiful, whether through tragedy or triumph. Sometimes the triumph comes completely from the tragedy, like a phoenix rising from the ashes and the flames, and then soaring into the sky and embodying the sun and the stars that provide us light, both utterly illuminating, and through the inevitable darkness. Moonlight Sonata and Fur Elise seem to touch my soul the most, at least as of yet. I’m not connoisseur, much to my dismay, and I know that those are two of his most popular songs, but perhaps there is a reason behind that. While many are moved by the two songs, and perhaps they do in fact touch their souls, I believe them to embody my very life essence. I’m not moved; rather, I am. I hear those songs I know that I am them.
As I see and hear the song of my life playing before me, progressing as I do, my soul feels enlightened. My eyes close and my heart opens up. Through four days of... a fairly strong depression, I’ve come to feel... high. It honestly feels like I took opioids, and yet I haven’t taken anything. I’ve spent most of my time for a few days, and for so many hours, just laying down, sleeping, or barely remaining conscious. I’ve been somewhat out of myself, and yet so aware. It’s like I’m meditating while walking about, and while utterly present. I went from feeling so, so heavy... hopelessly unable to even lift myself up, to feeling like I’m walking upon clouds. And yet, I still feel terribly heavy. It’s like my insides are made of stone, but my skin, and an aura around me, are lighter than helium, lighter than hydrogen!, lifting this heavy, awkward body into the clouds, higher and higher, until I’m past the atmosphere, and I see the glory of our world before my very eyes. And then I turn around and see the greater glory of the universe around me. This deep depression brought me joy and the ability to see clearer, and yet I fear it will be fleeting, and I will return to my ignorant, awkward, bulky, heavy self, or perhaps my oblivious, energetic, light self. Either way, oblivious or ignorant, I will be once again blinded and unaware.
But these most powerful of moods - especially the lower I go, rather than higher - the purer my soul. It’s like these occasionally, magnificent depressions are a form of ritual purification and trial after my soul becomes overly burdened by darkness and impurities. I know what it feels like to be high off of narcotics - legally, of course... The pain of my body sometimes requires their powerful effects. But I also know what it’s like to have very high manias and very low depressions without any outside agents. My own body is capable of recreating the effects of those powerful narcotic drugs without even needing such things. I know what it’s like to be addicted to drugs, and what the feelings of drugs are like, not from taking them, but simply from being who I am and experiencing life as I do, naturally. It’s beautiful and tragic. It’s a war inside me - a war for my soul. And it’s impossible to truly tell which side will, or has, won... until the dust has settled, and it is all concluded. Not until one force is totally destroyed by the other will I know which side one.
But this war waged inside me is not something terrible, necessarily. Some wars are necessary, especially those which are spiritual. Sometimes one has to prove its dominance over the other. Sometimes one has to struggle to survive against another. And struggles are what really mold the individual, for better or worse. Whichever side is winning will determine which side the soul deviates. Shall it be pure and grand, or shall it be impure and poisonous? My bipolar is truly a journey toward enlightenment, and when the war is ended, and I’ve died, all will become revealed, and it will be evident who I truly am, and where I truly lie. I have struggled very much, and so I have been molded more and more into something great, whether great for the better reasons, or for the worse.
Many raving maniacs are actually truly enlightened. This kind of enlightenment brings about something utterly irrational and incomprehensible, and sometimes this does a number to the mind. Their souls know, and their minds try to know, and they can’t help but spew the incoherent, otherworldly mess for all to hear. I hear it... Like whispers. And my spirit whispers back, so subtly and quietly. It is not in the mind, but in the spirit and the soul that this is heard. There are not voices, nothing even comparable to our universe, and yet something in me understands. My mind is boggled, and I cannot recreate it so that others may hear, but I can merely attempt to exemplify a mere, faint shadow of its greatness.
And though I am so euphoric, I am so tired... so sleepy. My eyes struggle to stay open, though it’s not even noon. I’ve slept for so many hours previously, and yet my body and my brain beg for more rest. My body remains like stones on the inside, full of granite, too heavy to hardly lift. I wish to faint, to simply snap asleep, almost comatose, as each movement requires grand effort. Perhaps... this is my cross to bear. And yet, I cyclically go through this. From the joy of life, to the burden of my cross and death, to the grand rebirth, and back to life. It replies over and over and over. Sometimes it’s a mere reflection, distorted in ripples and waves... and yet, other times, it’s as clear and real as can be.
My sonata...
So what is your sonata? What does it sound like? How has it crossed and blended with others’ sonatas? Most sonatas are epics, are journeys for the mind and soul. But some are cut all too short, and make but brief, yet often quite powerful, songs. Tempos often vary, within each song, creating turbulence and calm, excitement and lethargy, happiness and sadness. There are spikes in pitch, as well as lows. No matter what, though, each and every song is a work of art. Something truly beautiful comes from each individual’s sonata.
My sonatas feel like they could be embodied across the vast range of Ludwig van Beethoven. Within a single song, he can make a lament, and then suddenly increase to something exciting and joyful, and then return to the slower, deeper, more lethargic elegy. Bipolar is a synonym for someone who’s life is inevitably beautiful, whether through tragedy or triumph. Sometimes the triumph comes completely from the tragedy, like a phoenix rising from the ashes and the flames, and then soaring into the sky and embodying the sun and the stars that provide us light, both utterly illuminating, and through the inevitable darkness. Moonlight Sonata and Fur Elise seem to touch my soul the most, at least as of yet. I’m not connoisseur, much to my dismay, and I know that those are two of his most popular songs, but perhaps there is a reason behind that. While many are moved by the two songs, and perhaps they do in fact touch their souls, I believe them to embody my very life essence. I’m not moved; rather, I am. I hear those songs I know that I am them.
As I see and hear the song of my life playing before me, progressing as I do, my soul feels enlightened. My eyes close and my heart opens up. Through four days of... a fairly strong depression, I’ve come to feel... high. It honestly feels like I took opioids, and yet I haven’t taken anything. I’ve spent most of my time for a few days, and for so many hours, just laying down, sleeping, or barely remaining conscious. I’ve been somewhat out of myself, and yet so aware. It’s like I’m meditating while walking about, and while utterly present. I went from feeling so, so heavy... hopelessly unable to even lift myself up, to feeling like I’m walking upon clouds. And yet, I still feel terribly heavy. It’s like my insides are made of stone, but my skin, and an aura around me, are lighter than helium, lighter than hydrogen!, lifting this heavy, awkward body into the clouds, higher and higher, until I’m past the atmosphere, and I see the glory of our world before my very eyes. And then I turn around and see the greater glory of the universe around me. This deep depression brought me joy and the ability to see clearer, and yet I fear it will be fleeting, and I will return to my ignorant, awkward, bulky, heavy self, or perhaps my oblivious, energetic, light self. Either way, oblivious or ignorant, I will be once again blinded and unaware.
But these most powerful of moods - especially the lower I go, rather than higher - the purer my soul. It’s like these occasionally, magnificent depressions are a form of ritual purification and trial after my soul becomes overly burdened by darkness and impurities. I know what it feels like to be high off of narcotics - legally, of course... The pain of my body sometimes requires their powerful effects. But I also know what it’s like to have very high manias and very low depressions without any outside agents. My own body is capable of recreating the effects of those powerful narcotic drugs without even needing such things. I know what it’s like to be addicted to drugs, and what the feelings of drugs are like, not from taking them, but simply from being who I am and experiencing life as I do, naturally. It’s beautiful and tragic. It’s a war inside me - a war for my soul. And it’s impossible to truly tell which side will, or has, won... until the dust has settled, and it is all concluded. Not until one force is totally destroyed by the other will I know which side one.
But this war waged inside me is not something terrible, necessarily. Some wars are necessary, especially those which are spiritual. Sometimes one has to prove its dominance over the other. Sometimes one has to struggle to survive against another. And struggles are what really mold the individual, for better or worse. Whichever side is winning will determine which side the soul deviates. Shall it be pure and grand, or shall it be impure and poisonous? My bipolar is truly a journey toward enlightenment, and when the war is ended, and I’ve died, all will become revealed, and it will be evident who I truly am, and where I truly lie. I have struggled very much, and so I have been molded more and more into something great, whether great for the better reasons, or for the worse.
Many raving maniacs are actually truly enlightened. This kind of enlightenment brings about something utterly irrational and incomprehensible, and sometimes this does a number to the mind. Their souls know, and their minds try to know, and they can’t help but spew the incoherent, otherworldly mess for all to hear. I hear it... Like whispers. And my spirit whispers back, so subtly and quietly. It is not in the mind, but in the spirit and the soul that this is heard. There are not voices, nothing even comparable to our universe, and yet something in me understands. My mind is boggled, and I cannot recreate it so that others may hear, but I can merely attempt to exemplify a mere, faint shadow of its greatness.
And though I am so euphoric, I am so tired... so sleepy. My eyes struggle to stay open, though it’s not even noon. I’ve slept for so many hours previously, and yet my body and my brain beg for more rest. My body remains like stones on the inside, full of granite, too heavy to hardly lift. I wish to faint, to simply snap asleep, almost comatose, as each movement requires grand effort. Perhaps... this is my cross to bear. And yet, I cyclically go through this. From the joy of life, to the burden of my cross and death, to the grand rebirth, and back to life. It replies over and over and over. Sometimes it’s a mere reflection, distorted in ripples and waves... and yet, other times, it’s as clear and real as can be.
My sonata...
Monday, April 8, 2013
A Hitchhiker's Guide to My Mind...iverse.
I want to try and make a basic outline of how my mind works, how to
attempt to traverse it, and the various common qualities of different
moods/phases/areas. It's more in a hope that others might be able to
avoid certain issues in the future. First, some basic background. I am
bipolar I - I rapidly cycle, usually from day to day - or at most week
to week - between moods that are typically either depressed or manic (or
mildly depressed or hypomanic), with brief and somewhat uncommon pauses
of relative normalcy. There are also some fairly frequent minor 'mixed
states,' which blend two extremes into a more volatile combination,
usually leaning toward depressed, and some much more occasional major
spikes. The major spikes tend to also be mixed states, and - while I
could be wrong because I don't have enough data yet - they go in a
monthly cycle. I know... it's my 'period.' If I start ripping your face
off with words, getting really irritable, switching from seemingly happy
and extroverted to reclusive and introverted... well, you just might ask me, "Is it that time of the month?" in which case I might just
want to rip your face off... or laugh. Who knows?
::::Geography::::
My mind has mountain peaks and low valleys, volcanoes and soothing hot springs, burning deserts and frozen tundras, flat plains and rolling hills... You name the geographical feature, my mind has it. Now, if you go outside and you look at a hill, you can easily identify it as a hill. You look at the topography of my mind, and it might be a little more difficult because these ain't yo nomull evruh-deh heeeeels, ya siy? Also, by my kooky sounding spelling, one might think I was more toward the 'higher' spectrum, whereas I'm actually in a mixed mood right now that's heavily leaning toward the depressive side. Literally every moment feels unbearable and dazing, yet I frequently cover it up with nonsensical jokes and fake smiles. I'm also actually in a lot of pain right now from my fibromyalgia, and I've had increased anxiety lately. So do you think you can so easily identify the geographical features of my mind, especially now? Well, let's go over some of the more basic qualities of my psychological topography so that you could better identify these features without necessarily stuffing your brain so full you have an aneurysm.
---High Ground---
Mountains:
There are two primary kinds of mountains - volcanoes and just plain giant heaps of rock. Volcanoes are perhaps the most relevant for those around me, yet perhaps the least common, as well. Volcanoes are moods that are big enough to be mountains, but with the added quality of being very volatile, and potentially dangerous. 90% of the time, a volcano will be a mixed state (reminder - a combination of depression and mania that creates an explosive and/or volatile compound.) Mixed states are much less common for me, and they usually aren't quite mountains/volcanoes, either. I'm not sure, yet, as I've only recorded about a month of my mood patterns so far, but from what I've recorded, I have a hypothesis that my volcanic mixed states come along roughly once every month. My mood can flip flop, I can be extremely irritable, I can seem extremely difficult to get a read off, I can seem unpredictable, I can explode in your face and melt it right off with words alone, I can become extremely anxious and worried, I can be irritable and difficult to work with, I can become extremely emotional, and it essentially becomes no holds barred. A bit of my steam was relieved from a recent eruption, so I'm not quite so unstable at the moment, but one eruption doesn't necessarily mean that another won't come. These moods also tend to last longer than my normal moods - as long as a week! Usually, there's some build up as well as a gradual decline after reaching the peak. The best tactic when you see a volcano? Well... stay away from it, you daredevil dumbass! What else do you think you should do? Climb to the top and take a swan dive?
The other kind of mountain is just tall and imposing. While there may be some minor qualities of one mood type when it's dominantly another, the little fragments are usually of sub-clinical and fairly irrelevant levels. For instance, I might go through a depressive episode but have a number of ideas and be unable to sleep. Does this mean I'm in a mixed state? Nope, not at all. A lot of ideas and difficulty sleeping has never made a hypomanic mood on its own. Sure, a mixed mood doesn't always necessarily need to have a full blown hypomanic mood on top of a full blown depression, or a full blown mania on top of a full-blown/moderate depression, but the symptoms of either are usually quite significant and contribute considerably to the volatile nature of a mixed state. Note that there are no real 'depressive mountains,' as depressions are typically lows, like valleys. The only real exception is a mixed state, but it has a giant pit in the centre filled with scolding hot magma that goes below the earth's crust.. so I'd say that the 'low' kind of makes its way into there. Anyway, mania mountains tend to have very sharp peaks and both rise and decline very quickly. They're usually fairly short-lived, seldom lasting more than a couple of days. It's ironic how a person in a flight of mania might feel like they can move mountains when their mania can seem as imposing and 'high' as a mountain.
Hills:
Hills are usually mania-related and can be quite frequent and rolling. This are usually enjoyable for both those around me and myself. Usually a hill is when I seem more positive, more energetic, full of ideas, perhaps more talkative, and overall more kooky - but markedly less of all of those than mania mountains. Hills denote hypomania. This is the happy-fun-times of bipolar. This is when the bipolar person is still relatively in their right mind, but are obviously 'higher' than normal. Admittedly, it can also sometimes just feel a little bit 'happier' and 'energetic' than usual to the bipolar person themselves and those around them. Hypomania seldom, if ever, gets a person hospitalised, and they're even often overlooked by the world at large. In fact, bipolar II individuals who have hypomania, but not full-blown mania, might - or are rather almost guaranteed - to be diagnosed simply as 'depressed' because people typically don't even notice the extent of hypomanic episodes. Hills can sometimes be overlooked, as well, especially when you have much more extreme features like a great canyon or mountains that reach past the clouds. Hills are common and - while sometimes marvelled at or even loved - fairly unremarkable in the grand scheme of the bipolar spectrum. Hills might also be indicative of more minor mixed episodes, though these hills are quite rare. Hills like this might have scolding hot springs and be volcanically active far underneath the surface. Just in case you do run into a mixed state hill, look for unexpected or unusual changes that deviate from the normal hypomanic mood.
---Low Ground---
Canyons and Valleys:
Canyons are usually when my mood takes a sharp drop into depression. I can seem perfectly fine and even normal and then - oops, there's a cliff there! Usually, the lowest of the lows comes almost immediately, and then the depression might go away almost about as suddenly. Valleys, on the other hand, tend to be longer lived and have more gradual descents to and ascents from the depression. The geographical definition of a valley, and most lower points, can have the word 'depression' in them, in fact. Plain depressions usually aren't as complicated or varied as mania and hypomania, so there's little need to go further in depth, but for a quick description... During a depression, I can be less vocal, have little or no energy, little or no motivation, feel as though I am actually physically feeble (or more than usual, at least) which others can feel, too, I can often have worsened or increased incidence of fibromyalgia flare-ups, as well as general achiness, stiffness, and lethargy, I can seem more withdrawn and be more of an isolationist, and... above all, I can occasionally cover it all up with compulsive and fake smiles, and reassurances that nothing's wrong (my energy level is usually telltale, however.) Canyons and valleys are usually the worst of the worst. If I do have a facade, I usually can't maintain it for very long. I often shut down completely, or quite near. These places are also often much darker and colder than the areas higher up.
Ravines and Gullies:
These are basically the same as canyons and valleys, in that order, but simply smaller. When I have a facade or try to cover up the depression, I can typically pull it off much better and for a longer period than with the canyons and valleys. Because valleys last longer, I usually maintain no facade, or it can only survive a smaller portion of the depression, but a facade can often survive the whole depression of a ravine or gully. Gullies might not even really register on other people's radars as, while they might be wider in proportion to ravines, they're also typically shallower. Gullies might seems like simply slower points in life, or even appear relatively 'normal.' They may last longer, or appear flatter, than ravines, but I'm typically decently functioning (well, relative to me, at least) and can have at least a semi-decent outlook without too much effort. There usually isn't nearly the degree of awe-striking power as a deep depression can cause, but they're usually much easier to deal with, as well. These mild depressions are fairly common and often relatively short lived.
---The Ocean---
To stick with the geographical theme, the ocean can represent the great unknown. It constitutes most of the world, and yet it's probably the least explored and the least understood part of the world. Much of my mind is still an utter mystery to me, but with new tools, new things are being learned everyday. The great, deep blue can seem imposing, mysterious, and even scary, and perhaps it should be... to a degree. For if we sink into this great unknown... could we ever come back? I perhaps get too curious for my own good, sometimes.
::::Tectonic Activity::::
Anxiety isn't really like any particular land feature, but acts more like tectonic plates shifting. Anxiety can form mountains and volcanoes, dry up and create new seas, tear land apart and make giant holes, it can swallow houses whole into the ground like they never existed, it can shake the ground and your foundations, it can send tsunamis crashing into cities, and it can instill fear. While anxiety isn't exactly any particular land feature, it can certainly contribute to the formation of land features. My anxieties can plummet me into a depression, or send me into a manic high. Sometimes, it causes volcanoes to explode, and for my foundations (beliefs, for instance) to shatter right from under me. Anxieties can scare me into a seemingly catatonic state, or send me running. What I do certainly know, however, is that something bad always comes when anxiety is looming over me, and it's most volatile when paired with a land formation that's already existing.
::::Geography::::
My mind has mountain peaks and low valleys, volcanoes and soothing hot springs, burning deserts and frozen tundras, flat plains and rolling hills... You name the geographical feature, my mind has it. Now, if you go outside and you look at a hill, you can easily identify it as a hill. You look at the topography of my mind, and it might be a little more difficult because these ain't yo nomull evruh-deh heeeeels, ya siy? Also, by my kooky sounding spelling, one might think I was more toward the 'higher' spectrum, whereas I'm actually in a mixed mood right now that's heavily leaning toward the depressive side. Literally every moment feels unbearable and dazing, yet I frequently cover it up with nonsensical jokes and fake smiles. I'm also actually in a lot of pain right now from my fibromyalgia, and I've had increased anxiety lately. So do you think you can so easily identify the geographical features of my mind, especially now? Well, let's go over some of the more basic qualities of my psychological topography so that you could better identify these features without necessarily stuffing your brain so full you have an aneurysm.
---High Ground---
Mountains:
There are two primary kinds of mountains - volcanoes and just plain giant heaps of rock. Volcanoes are perhaps the most relevant for those around me, yet perhaps the least common, as well. Volcanoes are moods that are big enough to be mountains, but with the added quality of being very volatile, and potentially dangerous. 90% of the time, a volcano will be a mixed state (reminder - a combination of depression and mania that creates an explosive and/or volatile compound.) Mixed states are much less common for me, and they usually aren't quite mountains/volcanoes, either. I'm not sure, yet, as I've only recorded about a month of my mood patterns so far, but from what I've recorded, I have a hypothesis that my volcanic mixed states come along roughly once every month. My mood can flip flop, I can be extremely irritable, I can seem extremely difficult to get a read off, I can seem unpredictable, I can explode in your face and melt it right off with words alone, I can become extremely anxious and worried, I can be irritable and difficult to work with, I can become extremely emotional, and it essentially becomes no holds barred. A bit of my steam was relieved from a recent eruption, so I'm not quite so unstable at the moment, but one eruption doesn't necessarily mean that another won't come. These moods also tend to last longer than my normal moods - as long as a week! Usually, there's some build up as well as a gradual decline after reaching the peak. The best tactic when you see a volcano? Well... stay away from it, you daredevil dumbass! What else do you think you should do? Climb to the top and take a swan dive?
The other kind of mountain is just tall and imposing. While there may be some minor qualities of one mood type when it's dominantly another, the little fragments are usually of sub-clinical and fairly irrelevant levels. For instance, I might go through a depressive episode but have a number of ideas and be unable to sleep. Does this mean I'm in a mixed state? Nope, not at all. A lot of ideas and difficulty sleeping has never made a hypomanic mood on its own. Sure, a mixed mood doesn't always necessarily need to have a full blown hypomanic mood on top of a full blown depression, or a full blown mania on top of a full-blown/moderate depression, but the symptoms of either are usually quite significant and contribute considerably to the volatile nature of a mixed state. Note that there are no real 'depressive mountains,' as depressions are typically lows, like valleys. The only real exception is a mixed state, but it has a giant pit in the centre filled with scolding hot magma that goes below the earth's crust.. so I'd say that the 'low' kind of makes its way into there. Anyway, mania mountains tend to have very sharp peaks and both rise and decline very quickly. They're usually fairly short-lived, seldom lasting more than a couple of days. It's ironic how a person in a flight of mania might feel like they can move mountains when their mania can seem as imposing and 'high' as a mountain.
Hills:
Hills are usually mania-related and can be quite frequent and rolling. This are usually enjoyable for both those around me and myself. Usually a hill is when I seem more positive, more energetic, full of ideas, perhaps more talkative, and overall more kooky - but markedly less of all of those than mania mountains. Hills denote hypomania. This is the happy-fun-times of bipolar. This is when the bipolar person is still relatively in their right mind, but are obviously 'higher' than normal. Admittedly, it can also sometimes just feel a little bit 'happier' and 'energetic' than usual to the bipolar person themselves and those around them. Hypomania seldom, if ever, gets a person hospitalised, and they're even often overlooked by the world at large. In fact, bipolar II individuals who have hypomania, but not full-blown mania, might - or are rather almost guaranteed - to be diagnosed simply as 'depressed' because people typically don't even notice the extent of hypomanic episodes. Hills can sometimes be overlooked, as well, especially when you have much more extreme features like a great canyon or mountains that reach past the clouds. Hills are common and - while sometimes marvelled at or even loved - fairly unremarkable in the grand scheme of the bipolar spectrum. Hills might also be indicative of more minor mixed episodes, though these hills are quite rare. Hills like this might have scolding hot springs and be volcanically active far underneath the surface. Just in case you do run into a mixed state hill, look for unexpected or unusual changes that deviate from the normal hypomanic mood.
---Low Ground---
Canyons and Valleys:
Canyons are usually when my mood takes a sharp drop into depression. I can seem perfectly fine and even normal and then - oops, there's a cliff there! Usually, the lowest of the lows comes almost immediately, and then the depression might go away almost about as suddenly. Valleys, on the other hand, tend to be longer lived and have more gradual descents to and ascents from the depression. The geographical definition of a valley, and most lower points, can have the word 'depression' in them, in fact. Plain depressions usually aren't as complicated or varied as mania and hypomania, so there's little need to go further in depth, but for a quick description... During a depression, I can be less vocal, have little or no energy, little or no motivation, feel as though I am actually physically feeble (or more than usual, at least) which others can feel, too, I can often have worsened or increased incidence of fibromyalgia flare-ups, as well as general achiness, stiffness, and lethargy, I can seem more withdrawn and be more of an isolationist, and... above all, I can occasionally cover it all up with compulsive and fake smiles, and reassurances that nothing's wrong (my energy level is usually telltale, however.) Canyons and valleys are usually the worst of the worst. If I do have a facade, I usually can't maintain it for very long. I often shut down completely, or quite near. These places are also often much darker and colder than the areas higher up.
Ravines and Gullies:
These are basically the same as canyons and valleys, in that order, but simply smaller. When I have a facade or try to cover up the depression, I can typically pull it off much better and for a longer period than with the canyons and valleys. Because valleys last longer, I usually maintain no facade, or it can only survive a smaller portion of the depression, but a facade can often survive the whole depression of a ravine or gully. Gullies might not even really register on other people's radars as, while they might be wider in proportion to ravines, they're also typically shallower. Gullies might seems like simply slower points in life, or even appear relatively 'normal.' They may last longer, or appear flatter, than ravines, but I'm typically decently functioning (well, relative to me, at least) and can have at least a semi-decent outlook without too much effort. There usually isn't nearly the degree of awe-striking power as a deep depression can cause, but they're usually much easier to deal with, as well. These mild depressions are fairly common and often relatively short lived.
---The Ocean---
To stick with the geographical theme, the ocean can represent the great unknown. It constitutes most of the world, and yet it's probably the least explored and the least understood part of the world. Much of my mind is still an utter mystery to me, but with new tools, new things are being learned everyday. The great, deep blue can seem imposing, mysterious, and even scary, and perhaps it should be... to a degree. For if we sink into this great unknown... could we ever come back? I perhaps get too curious for my own good, sometimes.
::::Tectonic Activity::::
Anxiety isn't really like any particular land feature, but acts more like tectonic plates shifting. Anxiety can form mountains and volcanoes, dry up and create new seas, tear land apart and make giant holes, it can swallow houses whole into the ground like they never existed, it can shake the ground and your foundations, it can send tsunamis crashing into cities, and it can instill fear. While anxiety isn't exactly any particular land feature, it can certainly contribute to the formation of land features. My anxieties can plummet me into a depression, or send me into a manic high. Sometimes, it causes volcanoes to explode, and for my foundations (beliefs, for instance) to shatter right from under me. Anxieties can scare me into a seemingly catatonic state, or send me running. What I do certainly know, however, is that something bad always comes when anxiety is looming over me, and it's most volatile when paired with a land formation that's already existing.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Letting Go
For some people, it comes naturally (perhaps too naturally), and for
other's, it seems utterly impossible... Letting things go is something
that certain people have an affinity for, and other don't. Some people
are lucky enough to be somewhere in the middle, but I think most people
are at least a little too far to one side or the other. I, personally,
have extreme difficulties letting things go, especially things that
aggravate me. Every once in a while, however, I manage to let something
go, and I can never get used to just what a relief it is! It's like an
enormous burden suddenly vaporising and floating away into the sky.
Okay, it's not always so graceful, and getting to that point is
definitely easier said than done...
Several days ago, I sought out an answer to something on a website that's specifically for asking questions and getting answers from other users in an attempt to share useful knowledge. Well, I haven't always found the community on that site to be so utopian. In fact, sometimes it's just full of arrogant, self-righteous ass-holes, to put it nicely. There really isn't any other way I can think of putting it, that isn't harsher, to give the right idea. Well, needless to say, I got a bit incensed with some of the people on their and even got to the point of reporting one and writing an angry message to another. These didn't go unwarranted, either. I was not irrationally lashing out - I was taking appropriate actions in response to their actions. I thought that my angry message was even quite restrained and civilised!
Well, I went out of town for Easter weekend, and for that whole time, I didn't check my e-mail or that website. It was actually nice that I forgot about it all. Well, after getting back home (tonight), I got on my e-mail and checked the messages. Well, I got more than I was expecting, but one stuck out in particular. It was a message from that site. Specifically, it was the reply to my angry message. The person actually had said that they didn't even know what I was talking about, and so they couldn't even reply to it. For a brief and immediate moment, I became inflamed. I wanted to (virtually) scream at him until my head exploded!
...But then, something unusual happened. I rubbed my headache riddled head, checked the box next to that e-mail... and deleted it. I then deleted all of the other junk and moved on. It wasn't instantaneously, but it was pretty quickly, that I sudden felt this great sense of relief. I didn't have to worry about the stress of ranting furiously at this guy, or trying to reign myself in so that I wasn't in turn accused of being belligerent, or awaiting his next reply, or the possibility of several more back-and-forth messages... I just stopped it right then and there. On a scale of 1-10 of how hard it is normally for me to let something like this go... it probably gets a solid 7. If you throw in some erroneous information on the other person's end, then it probably jumps to a 9 or a full-blown 10. It can probably sometimes seem like I might be more willing to give up a kidney than to give up a conversation about something that makes me angry. Well, I guess I must be willing to give up a kidney, now!
You might hear stories of people who got great relief from not stressing out about certain things so much, and you might either scoff at it or think it's completely obvious... or both. I've often scoffed at it and thought it sounded completely obvious. I have always had trouble not making sarcastic or irritated remarks about positive life stories, whether out of jealousy or some warped perception of reality. I could just as easily think that the person is being hopelessly positive in a hopeless world (warped perception) as I could jealously crave what they've found. Well, I don't really get jealous about that sort of stuff right now (I've come to be like the people I've made fun of!)
Now, admittedly, if I didn't have the headache, weren't tired, weren't lacking the mental stamina to carry out the incensed ranting back-and-forth, and I didn't feel like it would be inevitably pointless, I probably would've continued with it. I would've fruitlessly have brought more stress upon myself out of some inane idea of right and wrong, good versus bad, and an idiotic moral-crusader-type delusionary complex. But what's the point? In all of my experience, I'm the only one who really loses anything out of such situations. Sometimes I may even feed other people's warped psychological appetites, and then I'm not only bringing damage to myself, but providing something that my 'antagonist' wants! So, again, what's the point? Simple, and essentially only, answer... There isn't one. It's totally pointless! So... I cut it off. I stopped that horrid cycle, at least for now. Score one for me!
So I probably saved myself a considerable amount of utterly unnecessary stress just by ignoring something that could do nothing more than cause me unnecessary stress. I think that my head and body would be thanking me for saving them that burden if they... well... were autonomous and could speak as entities other than myself.
Several days ago, I sought out an answer to something on a website that's specifically for asking questions and getting answers from other users in an attempt to share useful knowledge. Well, I haven't always found the community on that site to be so utopian. In fact, sometimes it's just full of arrogant, self-righteous ass-holes, to put it nicely. There really isn't any other way I can think of putting it, that isn't harsher, to give the right idea. Well, needless to say, I got a bit incensed with some of the people on their and even got to the point of reporting one and writing an angry message to another. These didn't go unwarranted, either. I was not irrationally lashing out - I was taking appropriate actions in response to their actions. I thought that my angry message was even quite restrained and civilised!
Well, I went out of town for Easter weekend, and for that whole time, I didn't check my e-mail or that website. It was actually nice that I forgot about it all. Well, after getting back home (tonight), I got on my e-mail and checked the messages. Well, I got more than I was expecting, but one stuck out in particular. It was a message from that site. Specifically, it was the reply to my angry message. The person actually had said that they didn't even know what I was talking about, and so they couldn't even reply to it. For a brief and immediate moment, I became inflamed. I wanted to (virtually) scream at him until my head exploded!
...But then, something unusual happened. I rubbed my headache riddled head, checked the box next to that e-mail... and deleted it. I then deleted all of the other junk and moved on. It wasn't instantaneously, but it was pretty quickly, that I sudden felt this great sense of relief. I didn't have to worry about the stress of ranting furiously at this guy, or trying to reign myself in so that I wasn't in turn accused of being belligerent, or awaiting his next reply, or the possibility of several more back-and-forth messages... I just stopped it right then and there. On a scale of 1-10 of how hard it is normally for me to let something like this go... it probably gets a solid 7. If you throw in some erroneous information on the other person's end, then it probably jumps to a 9 or a full-blown 10. It can probably sometimes seem like I might be more willing to give up a kidney than to give up a conversation about something that makes me angry. Well, I guess I must be willing to give up a kidney, now!
You might hear stories of people who got great relief from not stressing out about certain things so much, and you might either scoff at it or think it's completely obvious... or both. I've often scoffed at it and thought it sounded completely obvious. I have always had trouble not making sarcastic or irritated remarks about positive life stories, whether out of jealousy or some warped perception of reality. I could just as easily think that the person is being hopelessly positive in a hopeless world (warped perception) as I could jealously crave what they've found. Well, I don't really get jealous about that sort of stuff right now (I've come to be like the people I've made fun of!)
Now, admittedly, if I didn't have the headache, weren't tired, weren't lacking the mental stamina to carry out the incensed ranting back-and-forth, and I didn't feel like it would be inevitably pointless, I probably would've continued with it. I would've fruitlessly have brought more stress upon myself out of some inane idea of right and wrong, good versus bad, and an idiotic moral-crusader-type delusionary complex. But what's the point? In all of my experience, I'm the only one who really loses anything out of such situations. Sometimes I may even feed other people's warped psychological appetites, and then I'm not only bringing damage to myself, but providing something that my 'antagonist' wants! So, again, what's the point? Simple, and essentially only, answer... There isn't one. It's totally pointless! So... I cut it off. I stopped that horrid cycle, at least for now. Score one for me!
So I probably saved myself a considerable amount of utterly unnecessary stress just by ignoring something that could do nothing more than cause me unnecessary stress. I think that my head and body would be thanking me for saving them that burden if they... well... were autonomous and could speak as entities other than myself.
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