many things

April 9, 2013

I’m not dead. Yet. I’ve just been knitting and watching documentaries.

I have also been slowly recovering from a spike in rapid cycling, which sometimes happens. I distanced myself from people and gave myself some time alone. It helps me to become reclusive. People tend to set me off, and I don’t want to hurt them by saying something ridiculous that I didn’t mean to say.

During these times the dumbest things come out of my mouth. For one, I can’t speak straight, so my words are jumbled, and sometimes I stutter. Once one of the new hires at work got very suddenly too close to me and it frightened / unnerved me so much (because if there is one thing I hate with a passion, it is people getting too close to me without prior permission) that I started hard enough to gasp for breath and immediately hit a s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s. I had been trying to say the word “six”.

She giggled and asked if I was okay. All I could do was mumble yes and get back to what I had been doing, as far away from her as possible.

See, all of this comes back weeks after it happens. I couldn’t have written about this instance directly after it had happened; not even days afterward. It had to settle and boil down and be analyzed from top to bottom. I think I hurt her feelings, because she seemed to approach me gentler after that. Anyway, she only showed up for one more day, then quit.

I was relieved. I could not have dealt with extremely sudden invasions of my personal space. Work is stressful enough and my manager doesn’t have any understanding of personal space because she is affable and touchy and grew up in a house where you reach out and lightly smack another every time you say something you feel is remotely funny for some reason. One more closing in on my space makes me feel sick.

I’ve been known to say things that are entirely inappropriate. Hell, it’s my specialty. I don’t say these things in a comedic kind of way, though–oh no. I have to be awkward as hell. I have to turn a shade of puce when I talk and look suspicious because I fidget and lose eye contact.


But, it’s okay. It happens. The best thing to do I have found in this situation is to just keep your mouth shut and try to think what it is you want to say rather than actually say it, even if you do feel it is relevant, because it probably is not.

It helps, it really, really helps, to have a conscious rein on things. My rein is “okay it’s time to go hide inside and knit for days upon days now.”



March 28, 2013

I haven’t written in a while. Whoops.

My days have been heavy with work and then coming home and playing video games and then flopping down for sleep. Sometimes after episodes there comes a stretch of nothing where the brain tries to recuperate. When socializing happens, you win a few friends, you lose a few more. At work, you try to maintain the Face That People Expect To See. Your diet loses a couple of points as you consume hot fudge sundaes with extra hot fudge.

I alternate video games. Last time it was Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword, and before that, Okami. This time, it’s Harvest Moon: Animal Parade which is a very soothing time-waster. When I play video games now, I think of Carl Sagan saying to his son, “Never show this to me again. I don’t want to waste time.”

Eat a few sour cream and onion cheesy poofs. Turn up the dorky music that makes you feel better. Drown out the voice of reason a little longer.

I took up a journal, but I’ve only discovered an unhealthy decline in the perfection of my penmanship. I’m appalled.

There’s a three day weekend coming up, wherein I’ll probably only get out of my clothes to attend a family Easter dinner, and only grudgingly, which means I’ll wear comfortable things.

Otherwise, it is either a). Venture Brothers marathon + knitting; b). Firefly marathon + knitting; c). Writing

I’m tired. But it’s one more day.


March 22, 2013

It’ll be a long day at work, something I’m not necessarily looking forward to but ready to pound into submission nonetheless. Grr. Grargfg.

I get such a strange, dreadful anxiety when I’m close to being out of medicine. It’s almost a physical pain. An eerie tightness in the chest.


March 20, 2013

Ever have a day where someone tells you about something great that has happened to them and expect a lot of attention and praise out of you for it? Well fuck you, you’re not getting that out of me. Not this morning, at least. I’ll offer praise and attention when I’m feeling less like a cantankerous old man.

Good word, cantankerous.

I find that a lot of the time people tend to contact you to tell you about their wonderful news even when–and sometimes especially when–they haven’t spoken or paid attention to you in forever. They just want an ego-stroke, they don’t actually give much of a shit about you.

I am seriously having one of those days. I only want to care about people closest to me, not people who remember I exist when they want me to masturbate their feelings for them. I find it just about as ridiculous as an old high school bully trying to friend me on Facebook.

There is a reason why I live in the middle of nowhere, with just one person for company, and a smallish handful of close friends and neighbors whom I consider largely worth my time, effort, and mental masturbatory services. I do not do sycophantic fawning over people greedy for it.

I get exceedingly tired of people sometimes.


March 20, 2013

And fuck if I don’t feel like I fit in anywhere. Is alienation a symptom of bipolar disorder or am I just paranoid right now? That “no one understands me, baw” feeling. Ugh, I hate it, it is pretentious, but fuck if I don’t feel like I fit in anywhere.

But you know. Bawww, whine, whatever. I was raised to believe that nothing I said had merit and people don’t pay me any mind anyway, so I don’t feel as if talking about this feeling is–well, let’s just say that when I feel this way, another voice tells me “shut up, cuntface, who the fuck gives a shit” which is true, completely true, wholly true.

I was told this tonight, so I did, and I realized I was in the grip of a euphoria that was threatening to overrun me. It started with the news about the Higgs Boson certainty, that scientists were 99% sure they had witnessed an actual Higgs Boson particle–this floored me. I was alight with wonder and happiness, and literally nothing has bothered me since then.

When I came home I put a movie on even before I changed out of my work uniform. Zero silence tolerance, though there is zero silence in the house anyway, what with the cycling of a fish tank or two. Sometimes silence is wonderful, and sometimes, on days like these, it is not.

My brain is whirling. I’m still in wonder. A Higgs Boson!

No longer a theory–now we know.

Cannabis is helping wonderfully. I’m settled. I may not be able to decide on what I want to do, or what I want to say or see or–well, whatever–but I’m remaining seated. I’m not going out and doing crazy things.

Like I want to.

Higgs Boson.


March 4, 2013

Mania will lessen in emphasis over time. Eventually it will turn to a middle ground, and soon, depression. Thankfully I’ve just gotten over a big depressive turn, so…here’s hoping the depression is still on vacation. Mania isn’t gone so much as it is not as present in the forefront, which is appreciated as much as it can be. There are so many things I can get done when I’m in this mood, but my biggest challenge is deciding on what.

At work, it’s easy to make this decision. There are always things to do, and they need to get done before a certain time. At home, I’m surrounded by an endless complexity of arts, crafts, books, musical fascinations, video games and movies, things that tear my attention away from the last thing and get it focused for something new. I can even go outside and entertain sidewalk chalk delusions on the front porch, take a walk, take pictures. Hell, I want to do all of these things. But which do I want to do most? And first? Can I make a list? What if making the list takes too long and I don’t get around to doing what I wanted to do?

Sometimes, I just start somewhere. Anywhere will do. When I end is when I end.


March 3, 2013

Yesterday, I had a full-blown manic phase happen, which I am still experiencing. I was going to write “fighting” or maybe “getting over” but I do neither of those things when I’m in a manic phase. I don’t fight it, I let it happen, and I don’t get over it. I’ll never just “get over it”.

I speak dramatically in order to emphasize importance; not to emphasize drama. Bipolar people have the unlucky disadvantage in that they’re so very…interestingly behaved that they’re mistaken often for being badly behaved, or overly-dramatic, attention-seeking, etc. This is quite unfair. The stigma attached to mental illness is something that will have to be continuously overcome; but through calm explanations, I’m sure we might be able to handle it confidently.

Mania comes in many different forms. I’d been feeling this mania creeping up on me for some time now–that’s the thing with my meds, see, I am afforded an objective look at my mood swings, and they creep up much more slowly, with less explosive impact. However, what I can’t help, I can’t help! Mania happens and I have to let it go, because I don’t have any choice in the matter.

Yesterday I worked out some of the signs of my mania with my best friend, whom I live with. Over our weekly treat of Mexican food, I had several tics. I fidgeted terribly. I knew I was and in some cases, like when I was eating, I tried to make the fidgeting into a flow, wherein I didn’t stop moving, but I moved without needing to pick at things like the table or my bottom lip or my fingernails or wring my hands or the napkin or look around and shake or jiggle my legs. I have a hard time keeping eye contact, or staring at other people in general–not that they’re scary, I just don’t know them, and I don’t want to know them, and maybe my friend knows them and that means I’ll have to get to know them, and that in itself is scary. I stuttered a little bit in the car.

That night after I got home from work (where I never stopped moving–work is fast-paced, which is good) my friend was listening to Vocaloids, one of her favorite bands. She promised me it was a short playlist, so I agreed to listen to it. I don’t like the Vocaloids. I don’t like the music at all. It doesn’t flow. It has no logical melody except in one or two songs and the beat drives me insane. Unhelpfully, I become a music Nazi when I have episodes like this. Also unhelpfully, I have zero concept of time. After three songs I thought, we have to be completely through the playlist by now, and I asked my friend if we could listen to something else.

Apparently I looked wild-eyed and begging, as if her music were the worst thing in the world, because we immediately had a little fight about it. We don’t have big fights, not anymore. I like to think we’re past that point, or hope we are. Little fights happen now, and it’s mostly over when I need to step back and realize that I’m being bipolar; sometimes it’s when she needs to step back and be tolerant of my being bipolar. Either way, we always manage to work it out and hug afterward, and compromise. We compromised by listening to something we both liked, which was the amazing Koji Kondo and the Hyrule Symphony Orchestra. I desperately needed something orchestral, anything at all would do.

I obsessed consistently over a Facebook comment. I just had to go back and check and see if there were any more comments. There were. Excellent, I hate wasting my time, even seconds of it, when I am manic.

Hmm, what else. Ah yes–I am also pushy. So pushy. We had to watch or do things that I was going to be okay with. I hate that, I think it makes me sound horrible and makes me horrible to be with, but the important thing during this time is to make compromises, I’ve learned. However hard it is to do so.

A lot of the time I feel so much like a child. I have to keep remembering that there is a great deal of miscommunication between my amygdala and the rest of my brain; my friend has to remember it, too, and though she’s worn thin by stress from work, oh my GOD TIME WARP JUST CAME ON THE IPOD, DANCE PARTY, she never fails to be supportive and tolerant. Bless her bones.




God I love this song. The euphoria it induces is ridiculous, like a drug. I love dancing to it, I love freaking out to it, I love singing to it, and I love air-guitaring to it.

I’m going to listen to this again and dance with a cat.

Oh right, I should probably bring medical cannabis into this at some point. I guess I can describe it like riding passenger in a Formula 1 race but being in complete control of the car. Without cannabis, I am not in control of the car, just the passenger. With cannabis, I can direct the vehicle while it is at top fucking speed.

And it’s kind of awesome.