Obsessiveness and language learning, etc.

I think the reason I stopped therapy was mostly that (1) I considered hypomania much better than the state I was in before a couple months ago, and (2) I am afraid that any treatment to “stabilize my moods” is going to put me closer to the aforementioned state, which is my worst fear at the moment. As for things like coping strategies or whatever, I feel like if any coping strategies were going to work with me, they would have worked at some time in the past 25 years. I’d been contemplating quitting therapy for at least 6 months before I actually did.

That being said, I’m still very far from stable and I just feel like I need to regain some self-discipline. I will, on occasion, get very, very fucking angry over some stupid shit. Today it was because someone claimed a translation project I wanted, and I screamed a long string of profanity (not even muttered under my breath, I mean I fucking screamed “fuck” about 20 times) and nearly put my hand through my wooden desk. Glad I work from home, haha. On a serious note, though, I need to not do anything that could potentially injure my hands, because they’re sort of important to me considering they’re what I use to work. But that’s where the desired self-control comes in, I suppose. It feels good to be angry though; it’s much nicer than the sort of void I was in before. People could have pissed me off in any conceivable way then, and I wouldn’t care, because I didn’t give a shit if I was alive or dead. Now I just sort of randomly rage about stupid shit. That’s one of the things that drove me to compulsive exercising when I was in college though, in addition to projects like a video game thing that I spend untold hours/months/years coding. It gave me something to do with the extra energy. Same with when I’d buy German grammar books 15 years ago when I didn’t know any German, never took any classes, and I was like goddamnit I am going to do every exercise in these books until I understand German. And so I did, 8 hours a day sometimes. That’s why I bought the piano. I’ve completely forgotten how to read bass clef, which is really weird because I can still read treble clef and the last time I actually had to read music when when I played trombone, which was bass clef. So my right hand knows what to do and my left hand just hovers stupidly in mid-air. I’m sure it’ll come back to me. I also cut up a bunch of pieces of watercolor paper (I have a gigantic roll of it) to do some paintings to try to sell. I had some bad BDD-related moments because if I was going to work a self-portrait in there, I had to take pictures of myself (the angles are too weird for a mirror), but it didn’t bother me that bad. I don’t even have a state ID, I haven’t since 2007, because I don’t want to have to have my photo taken. The Cushing’s syndrome is a big part of that, but it existed long before the Cushing’s. Will probably do a couple more serial killer paintings just because people buy them on there, but I’m bored to death of doing them.

Another cousin died

I thought it fit here, too, though I mentioned elsewhere that I just lost another relative (cousin) more or less to mental illness; he was on a lot of meds and also self-medicated with alcohol thanks to bipolar disorder. They found him unconscious a couple days ago, just died in the hospital yesterday though. I think his whole family has been fucked up by the death of his brother in ’02 still, I mean, even more so than a death in the family usually seems to fuck people up, which is a lot. The uncle has been severely depressed for a very long time now.

I’m the same as I’ve been. I’m curious as to what my regular doctor will say on Thursday, as well as how much of the truth I will tell her. I imagine my retelling of the past couple months to her will be something like “Yeah, been eating better, stopped drinking soda, lost 40 lbs, exercising more” when the reality of the matter is a bit different and involves starvation, binge drinking, sleep deprivation, and drug abuse. In addition to exercising and not drinking pepsi (unless I need a mixer for rum).

I’ll normalize a bit eventually. Still extremely unstable, and the cousin dying isn’t helping matters, though I haven’t been extremely close to that part of the family because of how far away they’ve lived my entire life.

Character Armor

hat’s exactly why I was unable to talk to my therapist at all. I have extreme difficulty saying anything of an emotional nature to anyone, especially concerning myself. So I was literally unable to discuss any issues bothering me with my therapist because I thought that “self pity” didn’t match my manufactured macho image of myself that has no feelings and laughs at death, and so on.

And then also because people tell me it’s unlike me to feel self pity, then I feel even worse if I have anything resembling an emotion because apparently I am not allowed to; it doesn’t fit my image. So then I clam up and become the most fucked up, sexually repressed, emotionally constipated person I’ve ever encountered, and they’ll be all like “you can talk to me.” No, I fucking cannot. Apparently, I can’t talk to anyone. All I can I do is deny and repress to keep up my image. (The author Sam Keen called this “character armor,” if I recall correctly, and seemed to think it only applied to men.)

What I have concluded is that no one at all even gives a fuck about me or cares whether I live or die.

Everyone ignores me unless I complain or seem unhappy, and then I just get the message everyone wants me to shut the fuck up and not bother them.

Left the house today

Managed to leave the house socially for the first time in .. I dunno… maybe the first time this entire year. It was really nice to hang out with two friends I’ve known since high school or earlier, they are now dating each other and have moved into a new house. We talked a lot, drank a lot, smoked an entire pack of Marlboros in >12 hours (I only smoke blu e-cigs and not real cigs anymore, so that is uncharacteristic). I thought my bad habits were finally catching up to me a while ago, tired and shaky and headache, but then I realized it was just low blood sugar and could be correctly easily with a bit of candy or sugary beverages.

Because discussion of mental illness tends to eventually lead to discussion of sex, the one asked me to clarify what my sexual orientation actually is. I think the only constant is that while in a depressive episode, I don’t think I have one; and while manic, it changes every five minutes and I’m not sure it’s actually relevant anyways since various issues prevent me from actually acting on it. I answered the question anyway, because it’s easy to understand why people might have no idea and/or be confused about what my orientation might be. They kept offering food despite the fact I had been telling them I’m having huge troubles eating most food. I ended up eating a bit of garlic bread.

Other than that, I have not taken any recreational drugs at all today. Whoo. I also ate a whole grilled chicken breast and half a yogurt today.

Random thoughts on this town and mental illness

I’m still having significant difficulty with eating food. Mostly living on Gatorade. I managed to eat a plum today though. Interested in what will happen when I see my doctor again. I have a dentist appointment next week also, hoping that won’t cost too much because I also need to get a yearly checkup and shots for the dogs. My anxiety is worse than it has been but still manageable. I hate to sound like an anti-psych drug person, but I simply do not want to be on more drugs. I’m already more pharmaceutical than human, last I checked. I have some cheese. i will eat it later. It’s mostly just that the desire to eat is totally absent.

For the past 8 years or so, I had an incredible fear that, if I ever were to *not* be in a depressive episode again, that is, if I were to either be manic or in some vaguely normal state, that everything I ever refused to deal with would sort of hit me over the head at once. All sorts of denial, repression, and just refusal to think about shit, and that all of this would sort of incapacitate me in some way. I feel like I’ve failed as a human being. But as it is, it sorts of trickles into my consciousness slowly, here and there. Life still seems nightmarish but in a very different way. I sort of went from a tendency toward being apathetic and sober to being very energetic and volatile and that clashes so much with my self-image that I still am unable to integrate into human society in any sort of meaningful way that doesn’t seem nightmarish to me. And it’s probably true to an extent that I avoid people because I don’t like seeing happy, well-adjusted people because that hurts me, and I am not exactly sure how to improve my situation. Also, because I take a stupid amount of pride in attempting to be an island and to withdraw from all human contact.

I am not around people I don’t know. I don’t really have any IRL friends left because depression and medications have caused me to stop talking to them/doing stuff with them to the point where they just don’t talk to me anymore.

So I’d say the solution is for me to calm my tits, get a second job and/or work more, and maybe someday I can afford a car and afford to move out of this shithole town.

When I was still in therapy, I sometimes complained about not having emotions, and I’d say that certain things are objectively shitty in my life and I should feel sad. He told me I shouldn’t complain about NOT feeling bad. I still completely fucking disagree. Feeling awful and going to bed crying every night is 100x better than how I was before. It was just complete emptiness and not caring about anything, not caring if I was alive or dead, and that fucking terrified me because it bore absolutely no resemblance to being alive.

Still having trouble sleeping and eating and spend most of my waking hours (and there a lot of them) struggling in one way or another. And because I have this bottle of 151 I started drinking before 8:00 this morning, which I think counts as an ill-advised attempt at self-medication. But as I said, it’s better than before. At least I feel like I’m alive. I’m sure my old self-discipline will come back to me eventually and I’ll level off a bit.

Mostly it just seems like I am in hell. Part of this hell is of my own making, and the rest is due to circumstances beyond my control. And part of it is I was in such a severe depression for 8 years that I accomplished pretty much nothing at all. I don’t see many good things in my future, certainly not in the near future. Also, fuck my life.

Someone assumed I was depressed and I had to tell him I am not; I am most definitely extremely manic. I’m just not in the mildly psychotic euphoric mania state that I was in when this all began. But as I said, bipolar depression can apparently have a lot of differences from regular depression. Personally anyway, when in a legitimate depressed state, I do not and cannot feel sad, I do not cry, etc.; I’m just very apathetic and rather grim. In a dysphoric manic state (which, so far as I can recall, is the state in which I’ve lived most of my life) everything just seems rather sad and nightmarish, but in kind of a beautiful way. Also obvious signs I’m still manic: still can barely eat or sleep, still have headphones on 20 hours a day, still making idiotic purchases on ebay, crying myself to sleep for no particular reason, obsessively exercising to get rid of excess energy, racing thoughts, and so on.

Worrying about not being in a depressed episode anymore

For the past 8 years or so, I had an incredible fear that, if I ever were to *not* be in a depressive episode again, that is, if I were to either be manic or in some vaguely normal state, that everything I ever refused to deal with would sort of hit me over the head at once. All sorts of denial, repression, and just refusal to think about shit, and that all of this would sort of incapacitate me in some way. I feel like I’ve failed as a human being. But as it is, it sorts of trickles into my consciousness slowly, here and there. Life still seems nightmarish but in a very different way. I sort of went from a tendency toward being apathetic and sober to being very energetic and volatile and that clashes so much with my self-image that I still am unable to integrate into human society in any sort of meaningful way that doesn’t seem nightmarish to me. And it’s probably true to an extent that I avoid people because I don’t like seeing happy, well-adjusted people because that hurts me, and I am not exactly sure how to improve my situation. Also, because I take a stupid amount of pride in attempting to be an island and to withdraw from all human contact.

I don’t think there is much chance of me enjoying being around people, not as long as I live in this place, no. I have given up on that.

Anyway, I was not prepared for a huge personality shift at this time and it will take me a while to adjust, that’s all.

I’m just not good with people. And any time I am around people I can’t quite shake the feeling that I am wasting my time. I just had a brief moment of weakness and cried myself to sleep last night.

Now that I have some energy I would like to paint more, get some more decent portfolio pieces together, apply for other types of jobs.

When I was still in therapy, I sometimes complained about not having emotions, and I’d say that certain things are objectively shitty in my life and I should feel sad. He told me I shouldn’t complain about NOT feeling bad. I still completely fucking disagree. Feeling awful and going to bed crying every night is 100x better than how I was before. It was just complete emptiness and not caring about anything, not caring if I was alive or dead, and that fucking terrified me because it bore absolutely no resemblance to being alive.

Still having trouble sleeping and eating and spend most of my waking hours (and there a lot of them) struggling in one way or another. And because I have this bottle of 151 I started drinking before 8:00 this morning, which I think counts as an ill-advised attempt at self-medication. But as I said, it’s better than before. At least I feel like I’m alive. I’m sure my old self-discipline will come back to me eventually and I’ll level off a bit.

Mostly it just seems like I am in hell. Part of this hell is of my own making, and the rest is due to circumstances beyond my control. And part of it is I was in such a severe depression for 8 years that I accomplished pretty much nothing at all. I don’t see many good things in my future, certainly not in the near future. Also, fuck my life.

Someone assumed I was depressed and I had to tell him I am not; I am most definitely extremely manic. I’m just not in the mildly psychotic euphoric mania state that I was in when this all began. But as I said, bipolar depression can apparently have a lot of differences from regular depression. Personally anyway, when in a legitimate depressed state, I do not and cannot feel sad, I do not cry, etc.; I’m just very apathetic and rather grim. In a dysphoric manic state (which, so far as I can recall, is the state in which I’ve lived most of my life) everything just seems rather sad and nightmarish, but in kind of a beautiful way. Also obvious signs I’m still manic: still can barely eat or sleep, still have headphones on 20 hours a day, still making idiotic purchases on ebay, crying myself to sleep for no particular reason, obsessively exercising to get rid of excess energy, racing thoughts, and so on.