an update
I haven't posted in this thing in ages. Wouldn't be surprised if most people have defriended me. But it doesn't really matter. Just gonna let it flow.
I had a mental breakdown the other day. For weeks I've had the urging of some friends to go and see a therapist and get on some medication. I used to do that. But back in ~Feb 06 I quit taking all of my meds cold turkey. Stopped showing up to the therapy and psychiatry appointments, and convinced myself all I needed was a healthy hobby. Not like the appointments or medicines were doing any good. After a year I still vivid dreams of exsanguination or defenestration. So I read. I read a lot of books between february 06-> may 06. Probably 50 or so. Which is really ridiculous, because that's more than I had ever read in my life up to that point. Anyways, I enrolled back into school, declared English as my major since it is what I had been spending my time doing since I got off my meds, and had a great time that summer. Fall was pretty nice too. I was taking 23hrs of class (secretary and I were buddy buddy at this point so I could do pretty much anything I wanted) and I became acquainted with a few people. Grades were excellent, and pretty much everyone in the department had high hopes for me. Teachers that I didn't have were dying to have me, and teachers that I did have were dying to have more of me. One even made me the assistant editor of an 18th century peer review journal that he publishes. Only criticism I ever had from anyone was the size of my vocabulary. (apparently "otiosity" is a no good term, which is just fucking silly).
Anyways, to continue, Spring started off alright, but gradually declined. Apathy once again to set in, and I started to question whether or not what I was doing really had any merit. Was there a bigger picture? I sure as hell didn't think so. I had become an absurdist by philosophy, except unlike Camus, suicide to me didn't seem like a coward's way of accepting that life is a big ball of nothing. But rather that living it, as if it were possible to embrace futility with open arms, seemed to me the cowardly thing to do. Accepting that life is ridiculous and not counteracting the absurdity with a proclaimation of "I know what you are, and I'm not going to be bound to you" felt like a retreat back into the world of wanting, or somehow a desire for wishful thinking--hoping that there really is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. But no. Camus was wrong to me, yet I did nothing about it. I continued pushing the rock up the hill, and went to class (sometimes), and did my assignments(sometimes late), and had a pretty terrible turn for the worse, at least academically. At the end of the term I was mentally exhausted, so I decided not to go back to school during the summer, I quit my job, and left my family (the people I worked with were the closest people I've ever been to).
I stayed couped up in my house for about 2 weeks, playing world of warcraft, wishing there was more to life than the mere passing of time. I longed for enjoyment, for sadness, for fear, for excitement. I just wanted to feel something other than nothing.
Well, a few weeks passed by and I got a call from a woman that used to work with a woman I used to work for. (I've posted before about my wonderful coloring in excel cells to make pictures because of how bored I'd get at work---that job). She didn't tell me what she wanted me for, but I figured the pay would be better, and it'd be an alright way to pass the time, so I showed up filled out the necessary paperwork and was hired on the spot, with my start date being 2 weeks later.
This new job is a bit strange for me. I've got virtually no experience with web design, little experience with coding (I can code C++ and fortran90 fairly well, but anything else is *whoosh*). Well, first day on the job they toss me a small book on ASP 2.0 and tell me to learn. Took a crash course in html, read through the book, and well, now i'm building an enormous fucking website almost singlehandedly. My boss chips in with style ideas from time to time, and they give me the data I need to plug into the pages, but all coding, that's me. So I guess when people tell me I'm smart, perhaps they're right. I am pretty fluent in a terrible coding language at this point.
Come 8/16/07. First day of a new term, and I've got to say, I was pretty fucking bummed the whole day. I thought after being couped up in a house, and trapped in a cubicle I'd have been excited as hell to get back to school. But I just wasn't. I'm 22 now. And these 18 year old kids on campus just make me realize how fucking old i'm getting. I see kids that went to high school with my little brother, I see kids that still have mommy and daddy hand them everything, all constantly texting each other for no reason other than to text. "omg, a pigeon almst shit on me, can u blieve dat?" Get off my fucking lawn, punks.
This semester hasn't been very long so far, but I've already missed 2 days. I just don't give a shit. People constantly ask me "what are you going to do with your degree?" and I don't know what to fucking tell them. I don't know where I want to go, or what I want to do. I thought I had it all planned out, but things never really work the way you wanted them to 18 months ago.
My father called me the other day while I was in class. When I called him back he informed me that he would be moving to Mildenhall, England. He, my 2nd time step-mother, and their two children are moving to the motherland, and I've only dreamt of going there. They go on cruises, they go to beaches, they travel all over the fucking place, and I'm stuck here in the same fucking place I've been for the last 19 years. Two decades in alabama is enough to depress anybody. Maybe I'm a little bit envious because I never had any of those things that they do. When I was a child I wanted so badly to be a gymnast, but we couldn't afford it so I never had the opportunity. My half-siblings however, have done everything they've ever wanted up to this point. Guitar lessons, soccer, gymnastics, you name it, they've done it. I feel a little guilty for my jealousy and selfishness, but I really don't get much from that side of my family. I guess that's my fault though.
Back to the mental breakdown. I finally got the nerve to walk into a counseling center's office. I'd been debating doing this ever since the end of fall '06, because that's when my apathy and sociopathy started to set in again. I walked in, uncomfortable as anybody could fucking possibly be, and asked the little bitch sitting at the desk if I could set up an appointment to talk to somebody. She gets up to look for the scheduling book, and I look around the office to see just what kind of place this is--"domestic violence", "have you been raped?", "depression doesn't just hurt you" pamphlets on the wall. The woman comes back and we schedule an appointment, I'm still not sure if this is the right thing to do, but continue, knowing that my friends would be disappointed if I chickened out, so I asked her if I could go ahead and fill out and necessary paperwork then instead of later. While I'm filling it out, paranoia started to creep in: "Wtf do they need my address for? Siblings? Past mental health diagnosis? SSN? This is a bad idea alex. They're gonna use this against you. It's gonna get out that you came in here, and you're gonna be known as a crazy. Do something. Do something." So I did. I got up and started screaming. I don't know really what else happened. I sort of blacked out. I remember blurbs. I remember demanding that they burn any evidence of me ever having been there, or i'd burn it for them. I remember throwing something. And I remember the little bitch at the desk get really compliant real quickly. She said "....if..we...uh..we can refer you to someone else if you'd like....?" "No thanks, lady" and I walked out the door, fell on the ground and burst out into laughter.
After that I realized, maybe I am a little crazy. Maybe I do need to be on meds, but I can't stand the thought of going back to a psychiatrist or clinical psychologist. I don't want to lay my life story out there for just anybody. I can't trust these people. I can't trust anybody. Even here, I'm omitting and embellishing because I can't trust myself enough to be honest to any degree. But I need some fucking help or I'm afraid I'm gonna hurt somebody some day. =\
I'm back on an anti-depressant and anti-anxiety medication, though I'm not happy about it. I hate being medicated. I'd almost rather be crazy. My mom says "I think you might be bipolar," I think I might be a dolphin. Bipolarity means nothing to me. Maybe I'm hypomanic, maybe I'm not. But I don't really care. Who doesn't have ups and downs? I don't see how looking at an inkblot and saying it looks like a minotaur jerking off onto a rotisserie means I've an anxiety disorder. I'm too disillusioned with the whole psychology industry to trust anything that they have to say. Pseudoscience garbage, all of it.
this is long and really going nowhere. end.
I had a mental breakdown the other day. For weeks I've had the urging of some friends to go and see a therapist and get on some medication. I used to do that. But back in ~Feb 06 I quit taking all of my meds cold turkey. Stopped showing up to the therapy and psychiatry appointments, and convinced myself all I needed was a healthy hobby. Not like the appointments or medicines were doing any good. After a year I still vivid dreams of exsanguination or defenestration. So I read. I read a lot of books between february 06-> may 06. Probably 50 or so. Which is really ridiculous, because that's more than I had ever read in my life up to that point. Anyways, I enrolled back into school, declared English as my major since it is what I had been spending my time doing since I got off my meds, and had a great time that summer. Fall was pretty nice too. I was taking 23hrs of class (secretary and I were buddy buddy at this point so I could do pretty much anything I wanted) and I became acquainted with a few people. Grades were excellent, and pretty much everyone in the department had high hopes for me. Teachers that I didn't have were dying to have me, and teachers that I did have were dying to have more of me. One even made me the assistant editor of an 18th century peer review journal that he publishes. Only criticism I ever had from anyone was the size of my vocabulary. (apparently "otiosity" is a no good term, which is just fucking silly).
Anyways, to continue, Spring started off alright, but gradually declined. Apathy once again to set in, and I started to question whether or not what I was doing really had any merit. Was there a bigger picture? I sure as hell didn't think so. I had become an absurdist by philosophy, except unlike Camus, suicide to me didn't seem like a coward's way of accepting that life is a big ball of nothing. But rather that living it, as if it were possible to embrace futility with open arms, seemed to me the cowardly thing to do. Accepting that life is ridiculous and not counteracting the absurdity with a proclaimation of "I know what you are, and I'm not going to be bound to you" felt like a retreat back into the world of wanting, or somehow a desire for wishful thinking--hoping that there really is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. But no. Camus was wrong to me, yet I did nothing about it. I continued pushing the rock up the hill, and went to class (sometimes), and did my assignments(sometimes late), and had a pretty terrible turn for the worse, at least academically. At the end of the term I was mentally exhausted, so I decided not to go back to school during the summer, I quit my job, and left my family (the people I worked with were the closest people I've ever been to).
I stayed couped up in my house for about 2 weeks, playing world of warcraft, wishing there was more to life than the mere passing of time. I longed for enjoyment, for sadness, for fear, for excitement. I just wanted to feel something other than nothing.
Well, a few weeks passed by and I got a call from a woman that used to work with a woman I used to work for. (I've posted before about my wonderful coloring in excel cells to make pictures because of how bored I'd get at work---that job). She didn't tell me what she wanted me for, but I figured the pay would be better, and it'd be an alright way to pass the time, so I showed up filled out the necessary paperwork and was hired on the spot, with my start date being 2 weeks later.
This new job is a bit strange for me. I've got virtually no experience with web design, little experience with coding (I can code C++ and fortran90 fairly well, but anything else is *whoosh*). Well, first day on the job they toss me a small book on ASP 2.0 and tell me to learn. Took a crash course in html, read through the book, and well, now i'm building an enormous fucking website almost singlehandedly. My boss chips in with style ideas from time to time, and they give me the data I need to plug into the pages, but all coding, that's me. So I guess when people tell me I'm smart, perhaps they're right. I am pretty fluent in a terrible coding language at this point.
Come 8/16/07. First day of a new term, and I've got to say, I was pretty fucking bummed the whole day. I thought after being couped up in a house, and trapped in a cubicle I'd have been excited as hell to get back to school. But I just wasn't. I'm 22 now. And these 18 year old kids on campus just make me realize how fucking old i'm getting. I see kids that went to high school with my little brother, I see kids that still have mommy and daddy hand them everything, all constantly texting each other for no reason other than to text. "omg, a pigeon almst shit on me, can u blieve dat?" Get off my fucking lawn, punks.
This semester hasn't been very long so far, but I've already missed 2 days. I just don't give a shit. People constantly ask me "what are you going to do with your degree?" and I don't know what to fucking tell them. I don't know where I want to go, or what I want to do. I thought I had it all planned out, but things never really work the way you wanted them to 18 months ago.
My father called me the other day while I was in class. When I called him back he informed me that he would be moving to Mildenhall, England. He, my 2nd time step-mother, and their two children are moving to the motherland, and I've only dreamt of going there. They go on cruises, they go to beaches, they travel all over the fucking place, and I'm stuck here in the same fucking place I've been for the last 19 years. Two decades in alabama is enough to depress anybody. Maybe I'm a little bit envious because I never had any of those things that they do. When I was a child I wanted so badly to be a gymnast, but we couldn't afford it so I never had the opportunity. My half-siblings however, have done everything they've ever wanted up to this point. Guitar lessons, soccer, gymnastics, you name it, they've done it. I feel a little guilty for my jealousy and selfishness, but I really don't get much from that side of my family. I guess that's my fault though.
Back to the mental breakdown. I finally got the nerve to walk into a counseling center's office. I'd been debating doing this ever since the end of fall '06, because that's when my apathy and sociopathy started to set in again. I walked in, uncomfortable as anybody could fucking possibly be, and asked the little bitch sitting at the desk if I could set up an appointment to talk to somebody. She gets up to look for the scheduling book, and I look around the office to see just what kind of place this is--"domestic violence", "have you been raped?", "depression doesn't just hurt you" pamphlets on the wall. The woman comes back and we schedule an appointment, I'm still not sure if this is the right thing to do, but continue, knowing that my friends would be disappointed if I chickened out, so I asked her if I could go ahead and fill out and necessary paperwork then instead of later. While I'm filling it out, paranoia started to creep in: "Wtf do they need my address for? Siblings? Past mental health diagnosis? SSN? This is a bad idea alex. They're gonna use this against you. It's gonna get out that you came in here, and you're gonna be known as a crazy. Do something. Do something." So I did. I got up and started screaming. I don't know really what else happened. I sort of blacked out. I remember blurbs. I remember demanding that they burn any evidence of me ever having been there, or i'd burn it for them. I remember throwing something. And I remember the little bitch at the desk get really compliant real quickly. She said "....if..we...uh..we can refer you to someone else if you'd like....?" "No thanks, lady" and I walked out the door, fell on the ground and burst out into laughter.
After that I realized, maybe I am a little crazy. Maybe I do need to be on meds, but I can't stand the thought of going back to a psychiatrist or clinical psychologist. I don't want to lay my life story out there for just anybody. I can't trust these people. I can't trust anybody. Even here, I'm omitting and embellishing because I can't trust myself enough to be honest to any degree. But I need some fucking help or I'm afraid I'm gonna hurt somebody some day. =\
I'm back on an anti-depressant and anti-anxiety medication, though I'm not happy about it. I hate being medicated. I'd almost rather be crazy. My mom says "I think you might be bipolar," I think I might be a dolphin. Bipolarity means nothing to me. Maybe I'm hypomanic, maybe I'm not. But I don't really care. Who doesn't have ups and downs? I don't see how looking at an inkblot and saying it looks like a minotaur jerking off onto a rotisserie means I've an anxiety disorder. I'm too disillusioned with the whole psychology industry to trust anything that they have to say. Pseudoscience garbage, all of it.
this is long and really going nowhere. end.