Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Never mind. I don't even want to type that.

This is the third attempt at a post. It's not happening. Whatever.

Monday, September 15, 2014

Story Project, Page 3

Sometimes I don’t know where I’m going, or where I came from, or why I’m running toward something I can’t even picture inside my head. The days blur together into a multicolored streak, and the nights are one long string of lurking in the darkness. I feel much more at home in the dark, much more myself. I begin to really wake up in the late afternoon, and am fully awake by early evening. If left to my own devices, I’d become completely nocturnal on my own in probably three days, tops. Nights have this endless quality to me that I’ve felt for years. I remember being surprised once when I was little that the sun came up eventually. How could it? The night was supposed to be limitless! It’s like I thought the sun couldn’t rise until I’d gone to sleep. I’d have made an excellent vampire, although I could do without the taste of blood. I experience that often enough that I don’t really relish any more of it than I already have to put up with.

I can be tired without being sleepy, and sleepy without being tired. Sometimes I’m hungry and sated at the same time, or simultaneously energetic and unable to move a muscle due to the effort required. Sometimes the pills knock me out almost instantaneously, and other times they seem to have no effect at all. I still take them, though. Just in case. I wish I had a sleeping pill that I could count on to work every single time. I have to take three types of pill to even manage sleep at all, and sometimes those don’t kick in for hours. I don’t know why.

-schism-


She told me all this, and I didn’t believe her. Why should I? I imagine she’d made it all up for attention, although it did seem like she should’ve thought up something that would have been less trying for everyone involved, and for this lack of courtesy I disliked her even more than I’d originally thought I would.

It’s bullshit, really. All this crap that no one can prove. How can you possibly expect anyone to believe you if all you offer them are wild stories with no substantiation? I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she just created this mess in order to explain away all her wretched, repugnant behavior. People who don’t want to admit to their own shortcomings sometimes come up with outrageous lies to justify to themselves (and everyone else) why exactly they shouldn’t be held responsible for [name your crime].

Pitiful, and probably dishonest. Like she thought I wouldn’t be able to figure it out. How dare she think I’m that stupid. How dare she try to sucker me into what was obviously a ridiculous tale of woe specifically designed to garner sympathy and forgiveness for a complete lack of moral standing. I resent her more for that than anything else: the assumption of my overt stupidity. She could’ve at least come up with something verifiable, then produced something palpable to support it. Like faked brain trauma, with an x-ray of a concussive fracture. Something. Anything, really. I’m not picky. That would’ve been more believable than this take-it-on-faith hogwash she’s feeding me. I think I actually hate her for it.

-schism-


Does she think I’m lying? That I’m making it up? That I want sympathy for something that isn’t my fault, isn’t my doing, wasn’t my choice, took over my mind without my consent? Why is this happening to me? Why is the idea of me being different so hard to stomach?

And more to the point: how can you prove what you can’t see?

There is nothing to be done. She isn’t the only one. There are others. They think I don’t know, but I do. I can hear them whispering to each other. “She’s faking it.” “That’s not even a good lie.” “Real crazies look different.” Their voices echo back over and under each other until there is nothing left but the sound of their judgment ringing inside my head. But they aren’t the only ones in there. They’re just the loudest right now. Pretty soon there will be others, and then I’ll go back to huddling in a corner, cramming my fingers into my ears and trying to shut them all out. But you can’t drown out what’s inside your own mind without screaming as loudly as you possibly can, inside and out.

And then, just when you’ve attained a moment of peace, is when they decide you’re really crazy.

Sunday, September 14, 2014

I took one more picture of this shirt, and one of our 1000 cranes

I hope to still lose something like 15-20 lbs, but I do feel pretty good with most of the pill weight already off. I took one other picture of the shirt, and it is here (this is mostly for my family members who read this and never get to see me because Montana is far away, y'all):

MEEEE. I know it's backwards. But it looked odd flipped.
Ballet begins again next week, two hours per week, and then immediately goes into the fall quarter following the interim one-month session. I'll have class three hours per week from October through December, and after the first couple of weeks it will turn into an excellent workout. I hope I am able to build enough confidence in my skills during this quarter to feel good about transitioning into beginning-intermediate ballet for winter quarter. We shall see!

Also, because I liked how this picture turned out, our senbazuru:

Friday, September 12, 2014

Friday photograph

Took this last night in the car. I was trying to show off my new Halestorm shirt, but you can only see a bit of the thing since I was also wearing a hoodie (it was kind of cold). The filter seemed fun, so I slapped it on.


Plus I got to feel all superior because it was a juniors' medium that fit instead of a ladies' size. I take my small pleasures where I can find them. It wasn't even two days ago that I was feeling kind of chunktacular, so this was a nice change. Yaaaaaay.

Also, this: I HATE how people refer to having children as "starting a family". So my husband and I are not a family by ourselves? We need to spawn in order to qualify as a family? Why can't we call it "adding to our family" or something? I suppose it's not terribly important in the grand scheme of things, but it always makes me grit my teeth. 

Thursday, September 11, 2014

Thanks, brain. Really.

I was mentally serenaded again this morning at dawn, but at least this time it was Halestorm's music instead of Sister Act. I'll take what I can get. Don't have a lot to mention at present. Ballet begins again next week for the interim session, and I'm looking forward to that. Otherwise everything is basically just trucking along as usual. Hope y'all are well.

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

More fun with The Crazy

It's nice to know that in spite of the many pills I take, my body is constantly trying to find ways to circumvent them. Maybe it thinks we're playing some sort of game? Apparently the dose of Seroquel I'm on ought to have me veritably sleepwalking through my day and completely knocked out when sleeping, but no. It's all I can do to fall asleep at night, and if I wake up during the night for whatever reason, my brain will start babbling to itself again at top speed. Last night it decided I really needed to listen to all the songs from the movie Sister Act. In order. Multiple times. Plus all the visuals from the scenes, so basically like watching clips from the movie over and over. I cannot express in words how annoying this was. The songs are fine and all, but I did not want to listen to them for an hour or so around dawn.

That wasn't really the crazy, though. The crazy was beforehand.

I was sitting up in bed idly staring at the wall across from me and thinking about something inconsequential, like feathers or art or whatever (we have feather fans on the wall over there), when all of a sudden everything I was looking at swirled in clockwise on itself like a whirlpool for about 3 seconds, then snapped back to normal. Like reality just started going completely haywire and forgot what it was supposed to be doing, then began moving in weird directions, whatever it wanted to do. Then the anti-psychotics kicked back in (sort of, more on that later), and the strange distortion went away.

I tried to reproduce it, to see if it was some sort of normal visual thing, like those Magic Eye posters (remember those?) or something, but no. No reproduction was possible. FUN. You know, on some level I wonder if those episodes are me seeing what's really there. Like being able to see past the "normal" that we take for granted and see just how weird and malleable space and time really are. I don't know. Probably not, but it's an interesting idea. Kind of the whole "there is no spoon" thing.

Later, I was trying to relax and get sleepy, and I heard a distinctly female voice that seemed to come from outside myself call my name. I sat up and asked Patrick if he'd heard anything speak. He said he'd made a noise with his iPad or something, but that was it. I most definitely heard "Taryn", in a female voice that wasn't mine. I suppose I should be grateful it didn't start singing songs from Sister Act... You can't exactly go slap your own delusion.

I'm not particularly alarmed by either of these, but it's kind of annoying. The anti-psychotics are supposed to be getting rid of this shit! Maybe I need more. I don't know. Apparently you can go up to something like 800mg of Seroquel, and I'm at 400. Who knows? I emailed my psych lady, and we'll see what she has to say about it. I have an appointment in 2 months.

Tuesday, September 09, 2014

Halestorm - I Miss The Misery [Official Video]

I love this song and the video that goes with it. If you don't like metal, you will not like it. Consider yourselves warned. Also: to get rid of the little red boxes on the video, mouseover them and click the X that appears.



Welcome to the nightmare in my head (Story Project page 2)

I run my fingers slowly over the thick velvet curtains that drape one section of this room. There are no corners, as the space is round, but careful delineations still exist. These curtains, with their rich jewel tones and heavy fabrics, lend an air of sensuality to the room ‐ a whisper of the exotic, the luxurious.
I turn my gaze slowly toward the far side of the room and am immediately arrested by the sight of several massive doors, all apparently cut from solid steel blocks, and sealed tight with a variety of locking mechanisms.

Only three doors exist in this chamber, and two are marked with an enormous bloody X across their surfaces. The third bears no symbol at all, but this only serves to make it more of an unknown, increasing the trepidation with which I formerly regarded it from my place by the curtains.

The light is low in this room, primarily arising from the flames of candles. These are lit at a variety of what appear to be shrines, each with an inscribed bronze plate on the wall above its ornamentation and fire: Faithfulness, Intelligence, Creativity, Love, Honesty. I know them all for what they are, and what I have not been. They are dreams, ideals, beautiful shining paragons of what could have been, should have been, might still be. Everything I ever wanted to become and either never was or still am striving to achieve. Some I approached for a long, torrid affair. Others I never managed to do more than flirt with or glance up at as we passed on the street. No matter the depth to which our relationship grew, all of these shrines remain in my mind, their candles of adoration lit, and the persistent hope that I might one day attain all of them wafting lazily through the air like incense in a cathedral.

This room is eternally locked and sealed, with no way in or out. The sole inhabitant is the one who was born in this chamber, and I will never open the walls to the outside. The unmarked door does not lead to the world we know; that portal opens only into a deeper dream, where creatures with knives for teeth and too many legs skitter in the dark. The remaining doors, those each marked with a bloody X, contain memories better left locked up and forgotten.

3am: the darkest part of the night unfailingly fills my mind with poisonous whispers. When I was small, I could only run in terror and hope to hide somewhere the monsters wouldn't find me. I surrounded myself with a cocoon of golden threads, woven from fear and fledgling bravery.

As the years have passed, I've grown stronger and more able to fight the things that go bump in the night. I've learned tactics, strategy, and the ability to know when to run and when to stand and fight. I become more ferocious inside the realm of my own mind with every day that passes. Over the years, I have broken down the final barriers separating me from my dream self. We have melded into a single girl, strengths and weaknesses blended into a better version than either could have become alone.

The inner sanctum with its candles and air full of dreams now serves primarily as a staging ground, a fortress from which to launch the assault. I have finally become what the darkness fears, and I will make the creatures lying in wait beyond the unmarked door run screaming.

Welcome to the nightmare in my head.

Say hello to something scary.

(Author’s note: thank you to Halestorm and their awesome song Mz. Hyde for the last two lines.)