I find it a very sad and disturbing fact when you are able to see your own brother on the street and not be sure if it is him, and just pass on by due to this reality of not being sure if it is, in fact, him. also it is sad that he couldn’t give a damn if it was you walking down the street or some 90 year old grandma. I have an interview tomorrow. I am incredibly nervous and, well, I hope I do okay. I’m making 1a.m. food, post-seroquel, and my co-habitant is still out I presume drinking. my eyes are burning for sleep and I am waiting to eat. I bought a fan today for this hell-hole of an apartment. it is rotating back and forth and back making some white noise which moves across my mirgraine in soothing waves. . . for now. this morning one of those goddamn giant centipedes with all the hairy looking legs and arms had the nerve to crawl into my abode. I tried to kill/trap it it, but to avail. I’m looking for a 1½ by the end of the month, but the prospects are looking slim. I got fed up looking through the classifieds while I was at the laundromat. at least now there is clean laundry. thanks be.
caffeine and methylene
Thursday, September 4, 2008
I saw the pill. I looked at the pill. I tried not taking the pill, and then as it got later, I gave in. I gave in and took the pill. the pill that is now working its way into my system. the pill that will take away my present and my presence and make me sleep. I sit here waiting for it all to fade away into a semi-nothingness, where it just dulls down and I still feel the urge to kill myself anyways. my life is upside down. it is turned on its side and snoring, making giant walls collapse and things I thought were safe implode unto themselves. caffeine is my drug, methylene is the brain synapse symbolism of what is my chemical functionality or non-functionality to be exact. or rather to be unsure, inaccurate and insane. or rather again unstable, imbalanced and/or exceptionally messed up. tomorrow I will have a semi-high/crying hangover. I am hot; it is too hot in here. the chair is wobbly and as I become more sleepy I am at more of a risk to fall off or allow the chair to fall over with me on it. my arm has some scratches on it. I cry internally at the fact, but part of me is cold and heartless, relentless with scorching bitter thoughts. the pill makes me hungry and I want to eat. it is quite amusing to watch someone like me, a pathetic creature falling prey to the typical and inevitable motions of a pill like seroquel or any other lab-rat drug. I am a lab-rat; I have an illness. I need a solution. you are unsure of a cure; a real solution. you test on me. I am your lab-rat. innocent, yet knowing something is array. I eat food after I am getting so drowsy that I cannot prepare it. my motor-function is so low that I can, at times, not swallow and I choke. I choke, but I am hungry so I try to fight the pill. I need to because as it works in my system I also crave food. I’m a lab-rat. confused, irritable, innocent tears. all of the above and a lab-rat.
I’m not eating right now, but I want to. there is a plate of spaghetti and meatballs sitting in the fridge calling to me, but I am ignoring it. I am ignoring it because this is the pattern. so I ignore it and wait for sleep to come, and hope and pray it does before I break down and have the goddamn plate of spaghetti and meatballs at 3a.m. the other day I got a mennonite pamphlet in the mail. I mean, like I don’t get enough junk mail, but I really need some religious gunk thrown in with my regular mail to make my day extra special and shiny? it claims (gradually now) that I need to save my soul. what about this publicator printing like a gazillion non-recycled papers a year with this missionary crap on it? save my soul my ass. more like come to our institution and give us money to “support the congregation” or more like the church’s bentley which just happens to belong to brother chris over there. give me a break. and not only that but I read that sorry pamphlet and none of the writing in it even kept a straight line. just random quotations of a few words from this holy text and that, all to suit their own purposes. I mean, if these holy writings were even true, wouldn’t ”god” be finding this a little sacreligious by now? shouldn’t they be ashamed? I mean talking about being damned to hell, even college papers aren’t allowed to paraphrase and misuse context as much as that pamphlet did. wow. ok. sticking to paganism thank-you. and speaking of misusing context, I did a little mish-moshing myself lately, if I may say so myself, what with a deco I did for this girl in lithuania who wanted her theme to be “everything death. ” so I take a dorothy parker poem and stick it on there with a creepy church picture from like yugoslavia or something and I decorate that. the poem was ”resumé” and I found it quite amusing and hopefully the girl will get it, that although it’s saying fuck it I’ll live it’s also really morbid because she went through a lot in her life and basically wanted to chuck it all in a handbag. so I’m quite amused. ha-ha-. note sarcastic laughter.
at wits end pt II
Monday, September 1, 2008
so today I saw a really amazing movie and now I’m fighting to stave off sleep. . . [just a drug. . .] you can’t make anyone love you if they don’t want to, and I believe that includes making them love you properly. I believe in true, real love, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be a martyr for the cause. [what should I do?] I don’t know, but I do. I need to start living my life, fully. I need help, but it’s not worth this kind of crap. I don’t know, but I do. I need to get a job, and stay stable. I need to make art and feel vital, without making crappy art with no feeling in it. I need to dance and look for more musicians without letting myself be taken advantage of. letters, friends, job, money, money, money. . . money makes the world go round and my life is no exception unless I become like the ultimate hippie and wander the earth playing music or dancing for food and finding shelter in my gypsy caravan and have little gypsy babies for lack of better means. he sleeps without me, as I float and bloat about. I take the pill and pills and the water stays in my body, in one place, floating, not leaving. . . my eyes droop, but he sleeps and I need to write. some people live, breathe, and sing love, but when it comes down to it, they have no love to give or they don’t give it. they keep it inside, greediliy and clasp it to their charcoal heart. hypocrisy; you leave me no choice but, to make a choice, and. . . [I need to rest. . .] I’m going to burn anyways because nothing is good enough for you, I am not perfect and one day you will set up the stake and tell me I must burn, I must leave. but don’t be a fool, I have been through the worst and if more, much worse is yet to come then I will get through it; I have me and I love me even if I can’t always see that. I remember doing this, years ago, the music blaring in my ears at night, while they sleep. . . almost goodnight, but bittersweet, poems in the night, to make my eyes think they see prosperity and. . . [sleep now. . . sweet seroquel].
lost
Thursday, August 28, 2008
writing has always eased my soul. but when times are confusing and wrought with oppositions, does it help me then? should I bother? and where is my mind resting when I don’t or can’t write? sometimes I wonder if everything is as it should be or if I can make it better than it all. beauty is in the eye of the beholder and bludgened relationships are blindfolded backwards. sometimes I wonder. . . magick is my only friend [yet lately I have felt a distance. . . not for long] it’s still there but it hides in differnet times, in different places and guises. some people have said that the mad have a unique connection to the otherworld, alternate universes or states of being. I believe that those who are on the edge of their own reality are truly able to connect more to the “true reality” (there are various definitions, e.g. Piet Mondrian’s work; quite interesting) and that includes psychic issues, the occult, magick . . .etc. the time for sleep has come, my eyes are falling. . . forgive me.
panorama
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
full-circle. 360 degrees. “my life in cinemascope.” lately I have felt like I am in a hot air balloon watching my life in all it’s confusion and glorious intentions. drinking coffee, I think I can make it through my mountain of endlessness today. lately it’s been a full scale panorama; my life and everything in it. I increased my tegretol by 100mg on my own because, as I mentionned before, my doctor was being fussy about it and wouldn’t increase it for the sake of perhaps having more side-effects. but I’d rather have more side-effects and be stable than have less and be a raving lunatic every night around feeding time. what’s really wild is that I feel better. instead of listening to dodo-head and numbing myself with seroquel at night (and 25mg during the day people! we’re talking zombie-time), I am taking 75mg now at night (I admit 25mg more was needed on top of my 50mg because of recent stresses) and I don’t wake up totally dead. I actually wake up early like you know normal people as long as I go to bed on time and even then it’s not that hard to wake up as long a I have 8 hours sleep. if you read any article on the internet about what to do if you can’t sleep and are on these type of meds, it will say the solution is usually to tinker with the mood stabilizer and with that a regulation in sleep along with other irregular mood symptoms will follow. I should be a doctor dammit.
just yesterday I finally got a reply about a study that I inquired about. hello? do you still want to know about the study that you inquired about? um yes. of course. duh. my mood disorder has not miraculously disappeared between the time of inquiry and now. well, let me tell you about it then: wearelookingtofindtherelationbetweencertainserotoninincreasingdrugssuchas paxilandprozactothosewithirregularmoods such as violent outbursts, frequent ups and downs, self-mutilation, etc. (I swear she really spoke like that) anyways, I’m like uh huh that’s me ok continue. ok what medication are you on? umm well let’s see there’s tegretol, seroquel, and rivotril. oh. how do you spell that one? which one? tegretol? yeah. t-e-g-r-e-t-o-l. it’s a mood stabilizer. (shouldn’t she know this already? as a person doing a study for her probable doctorate, I feel compelled to doubt all others with similar degrees if this one is honestly being so dumb.) what? you can’t accept me? why? well, inordertokeepthestudyresultsasaccurteaspossibleweneedtokeepthegroupas homogeneousaswecanand you are on seroquel which is not in the same group as the other drugs I mentionned blah blah blah. oh. well, I have a friend who was previously misdiagnosed as being major depressive. now she’s been rediagnosed as being bipolar, but I think she’s taken those medications. she just got released from a hospital stay of about a year, but I think she might be interested. oh. oh I’m sorry wow that’s a long time. yes. yes it is. it’s not easy being a mentabulous mind-fuck. I mean, it’s not easy to have a mood disorder. oh okay well good luck. yes thank you good-bye.
and that was my conversation with the pansy with the proposed doctorate.
just yesterday I finally got a reply about a study that I inquired about. hello? do you still want to know about the study that you inquired about? um yes. of course. duh. my mood disorder has not miraculously disappeared between the time of inquiry and now. well, let me tell you about it then: wearelookingtofindtherelationbetweencertainserotoninincreasingdrugssuchas paxilandprozactothosewithirregularmoods such as violent outbursts, frequent ups and downs, self-mutilation, etc. (I swear she really spoke like that) anyways, I’m like uh huh that’s me ok continue. ok what medication are you on? umm well let’s see there’s tegretol, seroquel, and rivotril. oh. how do you spell that one? which one? tegretol? yeah. t-e-g-r-e-t-o-l. it’s a mood stabilizer. (shouldn’t she know this already? as a person doing a study for her probable doctorate, I feel compelled to doubt all others with similar degrees if this one is honestly being so dumb.) what? you can’t accept me? why? well, inordertokeepthestudyresultsasaccurteaspossibleweneedtokeepthegroupas homogeneousaswecanand you are on seroquel which is not in the same group as the other drugs I mentionned blah blah blah. oh. well, I have a friend who was previously misdiagnosed as being major depressive. now she’s been rediagnosed as being bipolar, but I think she’s taken those medications. she just got released from a hospital stay of about a year, but I think she might be interested. oh. oh I’m sorry wow that’s a long time. yes. yes it is. it’s not easy being a mentabulous mind-fuck. I mean, it’s not easy to have a mood disorder. oh okay well good luck. yes thank you good-bye.
and that was my conversation with the pansy with the proposed doctorate.
apple and the tree
Thursday, August 21, 2008
I don’t underdstand. a yelling, screaming, churlish grandparent is currently outside my “abode” yelling, screaming and being churlish to his grandchild. how is this perfectly normal? this child is being sworn at and is swearing in turn, using vulgar terms and now I can see where the whining of the younger comes from; definitely the senior. I just woke up. it is almost noon. technically I was up at 6a.m. but decided to fulfill my sleep requirement before facing the day. this kid is singing and ruining my goddamn train of thought, and his grandfather is smoking and swearing and guess who is my landlord? yes. . . lucky darkgoverness. I’m contemplating what to have for lunch since I had, like, toast (and other undiet-like things) to eat upon waking the first time this morn. today I have to continue calling for appartments and then go to a baladi class. a.k.a belly dancing class. I cannot back out of it now, because I promised to meet my co-habitant in front of the building when I am done the class, so I have no means of escape. no giving in to the depressive feelings or the tired limp arms and legs and mind. . . also there is no way out of the art projects now; the woman told an aquaintance that she wanted to call me to see if I was coming around with anything. an aquaintance who wants to buy my work by the way, therefore double the pressure. well, triple and quadruple the pressure if you include my inner-maniac who enjoys self-flaggelating myself mentally by-way of the emotions, telling myself that I am not worth anything, let alone being successful. but I fight it. everyday I try the same tactics to do so. and sometimes even more. god I feel like two 3-year olds are talking outside but really it’s like an 8 and a 60 something year-old. my phone is still not working properly. today is the day it was supposed to be magically resolved, however I see no signs as of yet. hmm.
at wits end
Saturday, August 16, 2008
surrounded by clutter, I am having a panic attack. I have done absolutely nothing today, and I have things to clean up. things to clean up and put away. phone calls to make and sedatives to take. no wait. I took one this a.m. after being unable to get back to sleep naturally after the daily co-habitant shifting of 6 a.m. right now I have slept but my eyes feel like they are rotting. I am attempting to cook, and hopefully I can start supper early this evening and bake what I planned to bake. my mind is jumping from one thing to another and I am having difficulty sticking to writing this entry. how can I handle all this? that is what I am thinking. my mind is meandering about the possibilities and horrendous realities that are now. why does it all seem so hard? I contemplated sending a commentary to a bipolar magazine, however I just feel that the magazine is too happy peppy and unrealistic. they would never accept my entry. I wonder if they have a reject bin full of submissions like my present feelings; of highdom, sadness, hopelessness. and then they take a nice few rare entries on how life is grand if you just have enough mind-numbing medications and such a great therapist and they edit them to pieces making it ultra-brite, to a point where I can barely look at the page directly. I wonder when I can ever function normally, I feel at a loss; for words, mind-body control, and a life. art projects are never going to get done at the rate I am going, what will become of me? I believed I would make it to where I want to be, but will the years just keep on passing to nowhere and here? what happens when you are already at wits end and it get worse. . .
a sadist’s dream
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
welcome to reality, open wounds to your left and a convenience store to your right. along the walls you might find melodramatic inconsistencies, and down the hallway, a so-called dirty bathroom. it has been umpteenth days since I have written, and a lot has gone on. added to my menagerie of capsules and pills are omega-3 (once more!) and B100 complex and etcetera. I am tired and I need to clean my bathtub. as well I need to continue looking for a new appartment. that’s right, darkgoverness, girl genius, has landlord trouble. after having this intruder come into my house like “la-dee-da no one’s home I’ll just let myself in” and not only that but judging my appartment in regards to and in alignment with his OCD standards and obsessions, I have decided to move. as well, my phone line is being messed with, upon what level I do not know, and I am waiting, like a sloth, for a technician to correct this problem as of 1-5 today. it is now 3pm and I see no change, which means I will have to actually get up and do some work, not using this event as an eternal excuse to hover around doing absolutely nothing. also I am on a diet, which makes this work thing a not so exciting ordeal when all my break will be is a bunch of mixed nuts and raisins. they thrilled me for about an hour the other day and now I am over it. really. as well, I am behind in my letter writing and deco making and art projects which someone finally wants to take on consignment and I have collagers-block. lord almighty, this is not the time for that. not only that, but I need more materials. for an artist to buy materials for specific projects and ideas, it is a never-ending endeavour. perhaps instead of doing all of this I can just do a sudoku as my co-habitant has gotten me absolutely addicted to the things. or I could always take the ones I finished or can’t do and make art out of it. ha-ha-. I need to sort papers in this house. argh.
undress me
Thursday, July 24, 2008
undress me. [I am hanging up my clothes . . .] undress me. [putting the shirts and buttons and laces away . . .] undress me of these habitual lies. [undress me . . .] undress me. I’m alone in the city. ["together we cry . . ."] I can’t think. [and I wonder . . .] stranger things have happened. and undress me. undress me of perpetuity. undress the endlessness, peel off the cruel realities . . . he sleeps and sits and lies and my mind melts, undressing. I saw a strange thing on the way home from my way out; a cat. bleeding melting frozen unfrozen stiff . . . dead. and a stranger watched me from the balcony, watching me watch the cat. the cat in the box, probably his box; the stranger’s. I walked away quickly.
sometimes I wonder what lies ahead. sometimes I don’t. I wonder at people who purposefully destroy their lives and purposefully lose control when, in my life, I have had the opposite . . . I have had to struggle for my life and gain control. sometimes I get so angry at these people, but most of the time I don’t because it doesn’t matter to me, but it strikes me. also, if this is shoved in my face like a 10-day old sack of garbage, then I get angry. infiltrating my house, my home, my sacred space. that is a no-no.
tonight I’m going to undress. undress to the skin, feel the wind touch me and reach into my bitter heart, undressing the innocence to leave nothing but purity. purity that no one can touch. [undress me . . .] not even you. [undress me . . .] or you. [undress me of all of the pain . . .] it’s gone. I’m free.
undress me.
overwhelm
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
as I sit here I believed much to be true about my life and my ability to live. after a day of tears, panic attacks, and having completed essentially nil (perhaps not realistically, perhaps a little bit), I have concluded once again on my daily inspection every now and then that I am still ill. and yet of course this is so! I am CHRONICALLY ill. today I was faced with bad memories and I feel ashamed. I feel ashamed because in these bad memories I have fair-weather friends who taunt me and judge me as not trying. and today I feel I haven’t tried, although upon agonizing, I realize I have. I am sitting here now. the keyboard is hot. the computer has been on all day. I have a letter to mail. it is raining outside. I just finished a heart-breaking, invigorating book. I am inspired to fight another day, although I am still having vicious, circular thoughts on how my day was wasted, how I wasted it. but the fear was there, was real. I couldn’t move and my tears just kept coming . . . I am also ashamed to admit that. but I will tell all on here; this is no holds barred. also, I will tell you something I have not told anyone. there is someone I used to know, and now we keep in contact, slightly. she is bipolar, like me. except the difference between her and me is that she doesn’t take medication and I do. she is a ticking time bomb. today the time bomb exploded again. I watched it online, on her usual place of implosion, myspace. slowly the photo changed. the status changed. the comments were deleted; photos. on her high, she feels her mate is disposable, or never needed in the beginning. I know because it happened to me. and what got me going was that I watched it again today. except happening to someone else. this someone else blogging that she truly loved only her and how can she possibly love another? that this new intruder, the replacement ho, will never be enough. but I just sigh and go ho hum. I’m like god in a way. for this someone else, this is brand new. to me, I have seen it too many times to count. in the beginning, I would try to interfere, warn, console my twin being. however and alas, people don’t get it until their wounds are a metre deep or so. so now I just watch. and why do I watch? because I am a glutton for pain, I suppose. my circular thoughts are a mighty crowded merry-go-round. right now, my co-habitant is snoring. sleeping and ignoring me. they will be sorry later when they can’t sleep tonight because it’s so early now. I tried to wake them but to no avail. eh. so I just sit here and circulate; my thoughts on ’shuffle.’ I had bad dreams last night. my blog was in there, so I guessed I should write or maybe god would send thunder down upon me from the heavens. oh wait. she already did.