Quite long... but for those that like to think [I suppose].
I think I've hit upon a revelation. But how exactly do you tell the people that need to know the most? I'll get back to you on that one; I haven't yet.
For all my talk of a good life, of happy days, smiles, and easy classes... they really should know the truth. I never speak like that unless the situation is entirely different, which I'm sure they've figured out at this point. That would be the same things I said before I dropped out of high school.
Yeah. I've got a really sick feeling I won't be in college for as long as I should be. But that's a nearly standard feeling in the package for me. Maybe I don't know what I'm talking about. But I've got a nagging feeling... I'm smart. I've grown up hearing that. But that doesn't mean I'm capable. I'm not going to say I've had less life experiences than the people around me. Quite the contrary. I've been exposed to different sensations, different outcomes than them, possibly. Maybe. Or maybe they're all the same. It doesn't really matter to me. What does matter is that I can't shake these images, these sounds, from my mind.
I think I'm sleeping, when in fact I am awake. The people around me are real, the delusions are right in front of me. Do I reach out and grab the door knob, not knowing for sure that it is actually on that side of the door? It amazes me afterwards how such a little thing like that becomes such a big deal to my subconscious. One thing I do, [that I think quite a few people do, and therefore, many people probably don't do] is quite amusing to me. Whenever I encounter a door that has no actual knob to speak of [or that I am aware of at the least], I brace a hand on each extreme side of it and push. Whichever hand gives way a bit more I then place the most pressure on, and it appears that I'm just pushing a door open to the rest of the world. That's a minor insecurity of mine, yet it makes a big impact on my habits. Strange to think of. The alternative to this is that, when faced with a door that has a knob, I give it a twist and nudge it with my foot at the same time, to be sure which direction it opens.
I make no conscious effort to do these things; they're all habit. Much like all my idiosyncracies, much like everyone elses'. So what makes them appear sour to my mind? That's not the point to all of it; it was merely a common example. Much like the child who suffers night terrors, believing there's a monster under the bed. It becomes habit to arm yourself, or to hide yourself. Whichever route you choose then says something about future character, future habits. These things build up over time and make the critical difference between a well-prepared individual or a paranoid, imaginative one. But aren't they one and the same? I don't understand, as I'm sure you did until I questioned myself.
Friday night I suffered an entourage of delusions. I struggled to remain awake or to fall into a deep sleep, neither of which found me. Instead, I lay there, staring at the ceiling for one moment and at the back of my eyelids the next. Drifting, they call it. My breathing grew rapid, hectic. My eyes swirled in my sockets, trying to focus on things that I had yet to see. My brain felt as though it were leaking through my right ear canal, a sort of soupy feeling. How do you fight a deliria that stems from within? The usual sights were there for me to behold, though I always try my best to ignore them. So, naturally, they come into clearer focus. Common-place. As all this continues on, as I'm mentally [and, to me, physically] struggling to attain some dominance during the madness, the other half of me continues on as well. It's not a pleasant feeling when your mind is divided in two. The first half amuses itself by boggling all it knew and turning out from within, while the second wonders, quite sanely, when the other half plans on sleeping, because it dearly would like to get some rest before waking up tomorrow [which, it would also like to remind the first half, requires falling asleep in the first place].
Common-place. The fact that I am then accosted with a vision of two lumps of brain in a dorm room with a painted stripe separating their sides is perfectly normal too, as I am one of those paranoid, imaginative kids you've been told all about [though, sleeping in a waterbed, I never had the chance to have a monster hiding under the bed... just inside my mattress].
This isn't anything unusual for me, no matter how odd it is to read the words. I've always been under the belief that it was a common sort of occurance, that that was simply just a part of having a brain that functioned [no matter how loosely or sparingly we use the term]. After all, I was told [a bit too often, in fact] that I am a smart child, and even a smart-ass as well. Completely normal. I view myself as just that: completely normal, despite the fact that I've grown up with the belief that normal was just a place that astrophysicists and anthropologists made up to make sure the human race continues to strive to reach it.
Normal. Perfectly normal. Just like every other child, going through phases or fantasies. I still hold a constant belief that my "sight" is entirely normal, common-place, even acceptable, that it won't fade away with time. The color pictures on the television tells me otherwise; people like me are in dire need of assistance. "They" spent years and millions of [possibly] hard-earned dollars rearing me properly, giving the same white-washed words to me that were given to every other child. "Normal; unique; special; loved; etc." And then, at the end of this training session, they tell you one phrase that, like everything before it, contradicts the sense of self. "You belong. You're unique like everyone else. You belong." Belonging and being accepted are two entirely different things, once you get to the core of the matter. Belonging implies that you were made for this existence, like a fitted glove. Being accepted implies, using the same analogy, that perhaps the glove was too large, or the wrong material, but that the wearer does not seem to mind. Or, if the do mind, they continue on with their business, quite possibly [buying a better crafted glove next time]. Being accepted doesn't sound so nice compared to its alternative, does it? You'd rather be snug and comfortable than just a pageholder, something to keep until something better appears. This is being accepted by a human factor, the sense of separation from the whole completely intact.
[My own personal view of belonging vs. accepted? Belonging is a sort of easy meal ticket; people see you and immediately make room. People have to grow accustomed to you in order to properly accept you. Someone's got to work for it to happen correctly. Depending on current trends, the meaning of these words are then interpreted [for some reason, I could not figure out how to spell on my own tonight] by their users and lose all point whatsoever, thus obscuring my own conclusion and causing me to care less about either option.]
That very same television, that very same lecture. What do they tell me? They confidently tell me there is treatment, hope. They could snip off a bit of me and redo the seams, find someone I fit just fine. Sure. But how do you go about curing something that a person has grown accustomed to? I know, just because a child is used to wearing shoes two sizes too big, doesn't mean that they should live the rest of their lives like that. There's so many other sizes to try, after all.
So what is the next step in my life? The standard issue claims college, degree, workforce... but it also claims that I'm not fit for this. That I need to be fine-tuned. Typically, that is what college is for, isn't it? But what about those that suffer from psychological predicaments? How do you break through the noise and focus on what's in front of your face? I imagine it'd be fairly obvious with all these words I write that I can only hold onto a thin line of focus, which derails slightly at intervals. One could also argue that I'm staring this right in the face just by talking about it, and therefore should have no problem listening to my lectures.
The over-used response would be "if only you could see inside my head". Personally, I don't want any more clutter in my head than I already have; adding you would just be yet another nuisance. Asides from the fact that I'm an eighteen year-old female that suffers constant disillusionment and has a tendency to be morally indecent... there's not much else. The rest of the things in that grey matter matters little. They all boil down to me eventually, since expression is such a hard thing to come by, the cliche is inevitable at its best.
Why is it I can sit back and analyze a situation from above, beneath, aside, and behind [and possibly forward] without remembering to keep moving? How do I admit openly that my mind is rebelling? I don't have it all under control; I never expected [or wanted] to. But I really don't know how to live compared to many people. I don't know what it means to do so in a standard fashion that would allow me to continue on unabated. I don't know what it's like to have a career or a paying job. In fact, I really don't know much at all. I've been told I'm horrible at communicating with people on a humane level, but I've also been told that I'm just damn popular. I attract everyone's attention easily and can keep it for as long as I feel necessary. But beyond that?
I don't know what the Hell I can do with my life. I know my writings, and I have quite a few. I receive a constant flow of feedback on everything I do. But what does that do for me? How am I putting dinner on my table? Do I want to have that roasted turkey on a fine mahogany table, or am I allowing myself to be satisfied with a snack-pack in my lap? Allowing? I'm quite sure that between the two choices, even given the option, I'd choose the latter. I don't have enough time to sit down and enjoy that enormous dead bird, in the end. Because no matter how much I ramble, I'd much rather sit down and watch the twisted play my mind orchestrates for all my viewing displeasure.
----
I can't stand to be trapped in a house.
I dislike the idea of losing contact with people.
People are constantly trying to find out one thing that has yet to happen to me.
I will chase a person down if I find it plausible.
[By plausible I mean this: if I think I can figure out where they've gone, or make a totally random guess.]
I [nearly] always have a pen in my pocket.
If I don't have a pen in my pocket, I spend the rest of the time searching for one.
I spend more time in my head than with the people I surround myself with.
For all my talk of a good life, of happy days, smiles, and easy classes... they really should know the truth. I never speak like that unless the situation is entirely different, which I'm sure they've figured out at this point. That would be the same things I said before I dropped out of high school.
Yeah. I've got a really sick feeling I won't be in college for as long as I should be. But that's a nearly standard feeling in the package for me. Maybe I don't know what I'm talking about. But I've got a nagging feeling... I'm smart. I've grown up hearing that. But that doesn't mean I'm capable. I'm not going to say I've had less life experiences than the people around me. Quite the contrary. I've been exposed to different sensations, different outcomes than them, possibly. Maybe. Or maybe they're all the same. It doesn't really matter to me. What does matter is that I can't shake these images, these sounds, from my mind.
I think I'm sleeping, when in fact I am awake. The people around me are real, the delusions are right in front of me. Do I reach out and grab the door knob, not knowing for sure that it is actually on that side of the door? It amazes me afterwards how such a little thing like that becomes such a big deal to my subconscious. One thing I do, [that I think quite a few people do, and therefore, many people probably don't do] is quite amusing to me. Whenever I encounter a door that has no actual knob to speak of [or that I am aware of at the least], I brace a hand on each extreme side of it and push. Whichever hand gives way a bit more I then place the most pressure on, and it appears that I'm just pushing a door open to the rest of the world. That's a minor insecurity of mine, yet it makes a big impact on my habits. Strange to think of. The alternative to this is that, when faced with a door that has a knob, I give it a twist and nudge it with my foot at the same time, to be sure which direction it opens.
I make no conscious effort to do these things; they're all habit. Much like all my idiosyncracies, much like everyone elses'. So what makes them appear sour to my mind? That's not the point to all of it; it was merely a common example. Much like the child who suffers night terrors, believing there's a monster under the bed. It becomes habit to arm yourself, or to hide yourself. Whichever route you choose then says something about future character, future habits. These things build up over time and make the critical difference between a well-prepared individual or a paranoid, imaginative one. But aren't they one and the same? I don't understand, as I'm sure you did until I questioned myself.
Friday night I suffered an entourage of delusions. I struggled to remain awake or to fall into a deep sleep, neither of which found me. Instead, I lay there, staring at the ceiling for one moment and at the back of my eyelids the next. Drifting, they call it. My breathing grew rapid, hectic. My eyes swirled in my sockets, trying to focus on things that I had yet to see. My brain felt as though it were leaking through my right ear canal, a sort of soupy feeling. How do you fight a deliria that stems from within? The usual sights were there for me to behold, though I always try my best to ignore them. So, naturally, they come into clearer focus. Common-place. As all this continues on, as I'm mentally [and, to me, physically] struggling to attain some dominance during the madness, the other half of me continues on as well. It's not a pleasant feeling when your mind is divided in two. The first half amuses itself by boggling all it knew and turning out from within, while the second wonders, quite sanely, when the other half plans on sleeping, because it dearly would like to get some rest before waking up tomorrow [which, it would also like to remind the first half, requires falling asleep in the first place].
Common-place. The fact that I am then accosted with a vision of two lumps of brain in a dorm room with a painted stripe separating their sides is perfectly normal too, as I am one of those paranoid, imaginative kids you've been told all about [though, sleeping in a waterbed, I never had the chance to have a monster hiding under the bed... just inside my mattress].
This isn't anything unusual for me, no matter how odd it is to read the words. I've always been under the belief that it was a common sort of occurance, that that was simply just a part of having a brain that functioned [no matter how loosely or sparingly we use the term]. After all, I was told [a bit too often, in fact] that I am a smart child, and even a smart-ass as well. Completely normal. I view myself as just that: completely normal, despite the fact that I've grown up with the belief that normal was just a place that astrophysicists and anthropologists made up to make sure the human race continues to strive to reach it.
Normal. Perfectly normal. Just like every other child, going through phases or fantasies. I still hold a constant belief that my "sight" is entirely normal, common-place, even acceptable, that it won't fade away with time. The color pictures on the television tells me otherwise; people like me are in dire need of assistance. "They" spent years and millions of [possibly] hard-earned dollars rearing me properly, giving the same white-washed words to me that were given to every other child. "Normal; unique; special; loved; etc." And then, at the end of this training session, they tell you one phrase that, like everything before it, contradicts the sense of self. "You belong. You're unique like everyone else. You belong." Belonging and being accepted are two entirely different things, once you get to the core of the matter. Belonging implies that you were made for this existence, like a fitted glove. Being accepted implies, using the same analogy, that perhaps the glove was too large, or the wrong material, but that the wearer does not seem to mind. Or, if the do mind, they continue on with their business, quite possibly [buying a better crafted glove next time]. Being accepted doesn't sound so nice compared to its alternative, does it? You'd rather be snug and comfortable than just a pageholder, something to keep until something better appears. This is being accepted by a human factor, the sense of separation from the whole completely intact.
[My own personal view of belonging vs. accepted? Belonging is a sort of easy meal ticket; people see you and immediately make room. People have to grow accustomed to you in order to properly accept you. Someone's got to work for it to happen correctly. Depending on current trends, the meaning of these words are then interpreted [for some reason, I could not figure out how to spell on my own tonight] by their users and lose all point whatsoever, thus obscuring my own conclusion and causing me to care less about either option.]
That very same television, that very same lecture. What do they tell me? They confidently tell me there is treatment, hope. They could snip off a bit of me and redo the seams, find someone I fit just fine. Sure. But how do you go about curing something that a person has grown accustomed to? I know, just because a child is used to wearing shoes two sizes too big, doesn't mean that they should live the rest of their lives like that. There's so many other sizes to try, after all.
So what is the next step in my life? The standard issue claims college, degree, workforce... but it also claims that I'm not fit for this. That I need to be fine-tuned. Typically, that is what college is for, isn't it? But what about those that suffer from psychological predicaments? How do you break through the noise and focus on what's in front of your face? I imagine it'd be fairly obvious with all these words I write that I can only hold onto a thin line of focus, which derails slightly at intervals. One could also argue that I'm staring this right in the face just by talking about it, and therefore should have no problem listening to my lectures.
The over-used response would be "if only you could see inside my head". Personally, I don't want any more clutter in my head than I already have; adding you would just be yet another nuisance. Asides from the fact that I'm an eighteen year-old female that suffers constant disillusionment and has a tendency to be morally indecent... there's not much else. The rest of the things in that grey matter matters little. They all boil down to me eventually, since expression is such a hard thing to come by, the cliche is inevitable at its best.
Why is it I can sit back and analyze a situation from above, beneath, aside, and behind [and possibly forward] without remembering to keep moving? How do I admit openly that my mind is rebelling? I don't have it all under control; I never expected [or wanted] to. But I really don't know how to live compared to many people. I don't know what it means to do so in a standard fashion that would allow me to continue on unabated. I don't know what it's like to have a career or a paying job. In fact, I really don't know much at all. I've been told I'm horrible at communicating with people on a humane level, but I've also been told that I'm just damn popular. I attract everyone's attention easily and can keep it for as long as I feel necessary. But beyond that?
I don't know what the Hell I can do with my life. I know my writings, and I have quite a few. I receive a constant flow of feedback on everything I do. But what does that do for me? How am I putting dinner on my table? Do I want to have that roasted turkey on a fine mahogany table, or am I allowing myself to be satisfied with a snack-pack in my lap? Allowing? I'm quite sure that between the two choices, even given the option, I'd choose the latter. I don't have enough time to sit down and enjoy that enormous dead bird, in the end. Because no matter how much I ramble, I'd much rather sit down and watch the twisted play my mind orchestrates for all my viewing displeasure.
----
I can't stand to be trapped in a house.
I dislike the idea of losing contact with people.
People are constantly trying to find out one thing that has yet to happen to me.
I will chase a person down if I find it plausible.
[By plausible I mean this: if I think I can figure out where they've gone, or make a totally random guess.]
I [nearly] always have a pen in my pocket.
If I don't have a pen in my pocket, I spend the rest of the time searching for one.
I spend more time in my head than with the people I surround myself with.