34 hours away from sanity and what it means to be smart
I was looking through my phone to find something and there it was, a note from yesterday morning saying 'next lj title: a renewed sense of confidence (not arrogance)." I wish I could remember what I was feeling confident about yesterday. It's hard to believe that the note was written about 34 hours ago and it meant something then. A wave of sadness hit.
After that sadness hit, I decided to look back through my recent entries. In fact, I've just been on lj in general. This is an increasingly rare occurrence because I truly dislike accessing it on my phone. There were a few instances of lj entries typed out that way, but I didn't like it. Despite all the typos and other blunders, there generally is some sort of minor editing process to these. I can't believe it either, really.
My mind and body are continuing to go through a lot. Part of the lj looking has been a focus at some of the groups on bipolar. After another relatively good week, how can I sit here, home at 8 o'clock on a Saturday night, full of such defeat and sadness and tiredness? I slept 12 hours! Aside from some swimming, nothing was accomplished. Exercise is good, and I hope that it released enough of the "positive" chemicals in my brain to counteract whatever has been in there for so long.
My sense of doubt and discomfort is unbearable at these times. My writing, as I found out, isn't as neat or clear or exciting or even good as I thought. That's not to say I can't turn a good phrase. Truthfully, I'm just rather disillusioned by the whole process. I got called a "genius" yesterday and someone else recently decided to also relay a similar, though decidedly less ego stroking compliment.
I don't discredit or disagree with the sentiment that I am "smart." Although, I do wonder if that word has any actual semantic value left. "Smart" strikes me akin to "love" and "hate" --words that mean something even when they mean nothing. They are trite, overused cliches that do matter. I have to believe all of this. I just have to, and I can't explain why. So, when I say I'm not smart, it's not out of false modesty. If I am smart, I can only wonder how many other, smart people there are out there and how many of them are doing anything with their intelligence. If I am smart, how the hell did humanity get so far with people like me?
Yes, I am smart. Fine. But I'm lazy. I'm inconsistent. My intellectual prowess, if I can soothe my recently wounded ego, means nothing. Too long have I thought my training was in destroying. This is where the doubt comes in about smartness --if I am smart, why did it take me so long to realise that true power, true strength, courage, and conviction comes from not destroying, but creating?
Creation is a necessary component. Then, unfortunately, more doubt sets in. Why are we creating anything? I could go on about that same, tired, old Sir Edward Abbey quotation that I am across in the Merrill B Building Dormitory (Gandhi-Kahlo Hall, holla!) at UCSC in what must have been September or October of 2004. In fact, just invoking that time reeks of nostalgia and sadness. Wouldn't Carrie Brownstein profoundly speak out about using nostalgia and using it like a whore? But that wasn't until May of 2005, and I wouldn't truly hear it until 6 June 2005 at a concert in downtown Santa Cruz.
But, this gets back to the crux of the entry. When brain chemicals rattle around in a Manichaean struggle which modern folks tend to mention as that debate of free will or predestination, it just doesn't feel right. Nothing does, right now. It's hard to tell where the line between acceptance and defeat is drawn.
Thankfully, I have enough mental health knowledge, a strong enough support system (which I should strengthen by helping others more often), and understanding of self that I know this will all pass.
After that sadness hit, I decided to look back through my recent entries. In fact, I've just been on lj in general. This is an increasingly rare occurrence because I truly dislike accessing it on my phone. There were a few instances of lj entries typed out that way, but I didn't like it. Despite all the typos and other blunders, there generally is some sort of minor editing process to these. I can't believe it either, really.
My mind and body are continuing to go through a lot. Part of the lj looking has been a focus at some of the groups on bipolar. After another relatively good week, how can I sit here, home at 8 o'clock on a Saturday night, full of such defeat and sadness and tiredness? I slept 12 hours! Aside from some swimming, nothing was accomplished. Exercise is good, and I hope that it released enough of the "positive" chemicals in my brain to counteract whatever has been in there for so long.
My sense of doubt and discomfort is unbearable at these times. My writing, as I found out, isn't as neat or clear or exciting or even good as I thought. That's not to say I can't turn a good phrase. Truthfully, I'm just rather disillusioned by the whole process. I got called a "genius" yesterday and someone else recently decided to also relay a similar, though decidedly less ego stroking compliment.
I don't discredit or disagree with the sentiment that I am "smart." Although, I do wonder if that word has any actual semantic value left. "Smart" strikes me akin to "love" and "hate" --words that mean something even when they mean nothing. They are trite, overused cliches that do matter. I have to believe all of this. I just have to, and I can't explain why. So, when I say I'm not smart, it's not out of false modesty. If I am smart, I can only wonder how many other, smart people there are out there and how many of them are doing anything with their intelligence. If I am smart, how the hell did humanity get so far with people like me?
Yes, I am smart. Fine. But I'm lazy. I'm inconsistent. My intellectual prowess, if I can soothe my recently wounded ego, means nothing. Too long have I thought my training was in destroying. This is where the doubt comes in about smartness --if I am smart, why did it take me so long to realise that true power, true strength, courage, and conviction comes from not destroying, but creating?
Creation is a necessary component. Then, unfortunately, more doubt sets in. Why are we creating anything? I could go on about that same, tired, old Sir Edward Abbey quotation that I am across in the Merrill B Building Dormitory (Gandhi-Kahlo Hall, holla!) at UCSC in what must have been September or October of 2004. In fact, just invoking that time reeks of nostalgia and sadness. Wouldn't Carrie Brownstein profoundly speak out about using nostalgia and using it like a whore? But that wasn't until May of 2005, and I wouldn't truly hear it until 6 June 2005 at a concert in downtown Santa Cruz.
But, this gets back to the crux of the entry. When brain chemicals rattle around in a Manichaean struggle which modern folks tend to mention as that debate of free will or predestination, it just doesn't feel right. Nothing does, right now. It's hard to tell where the line between acceptance and defeat is drawn.
Thankfully, I have enough mental health knowledge, a strong enough support system (which I should strengthen by helping others more often), and understanding of self that I know this will all pass.