More Clues

Last night I dreamed about a roller skating rink, the one I used to go to in Minneapolis. Well, first, I was with my family, but I needed to talk to Terry, so I decided to call her. I received her voice mail recording, in which she was saying to J. specifically that she had this summer project that was keeping her way too busy, but once it was over, she said in this sweet way, "I'll fuck you... I love you." And I thought, well she really does love her. Then Michelle's dad was dropping us off at the roller skating rink. As he drove off, I realized I left my shoes and socks in the car and began yelling frantically for him to stop and telling Michelle to call him. But then Michelle had my shoes and socks. Inside it was a party for Collette. It was me, Collette, Michelle, and Terry - and a few random people and the DJ. It was a birthday party for Collette. Michelle gave me a pair of skates that were size 9 but they fit okay. But the DJ wouldn't play any good music or turn it up. I was skating by myself, but trying to skate fast and do some tricks, but it felt weird like when you try to run in dreams but it's slow motion. I was trying to have fun though. But suddenly I stopped and knelt down, and I had a flashback like Dexter on the last episode of season one, but I don't know what I remembered, and I started sobbing. The memory had something to do with my mom, I think. Another memory had to do with the skating rink itself, and one time I went there with my childhood friend Levina, aka Coko, for her birthday (Of course! Having the same nickname as Collette, my adult friend who was there in my dream, but my childhood friend Coko was a little black girl from down the street). That time I was the only white person in the place, and I couldn't keep up with Coko or she didn't want to skate with me. All the black people were skating so fast and dancing too and doing all these tricks like skating on one leg. I admired them but I felt scared and alone. I tried to hang out in the bathroom and wanted to go home but I couldn't. Later in my dream I was upstairs in the rink and there were mats on the floor. I asked Collette (Coko) if she wanted to wrestle and she did, so we went for it. But then I hurt her. Then I realized I hadn't seen Michelle in a long time and started searching frantically for her. I was looking through this bubble window onto the skating rink. Someone said to me, "You're way too protective of her." And I said, "But I haven't seen her in 45 minutes, I'm worried and need to make sure she's okay."

toilets in dreams

One of my reoccurring dreams has to do with toilets. I have to urinate, defecate, or masturbate, and I cannot find a private place for this - someone or more than one person keeps walking in on me, the door won't close or has no door, or - the toilet is so dirty and disgusting that I cannot use it. Last night I dreamed that I was in a bar and looking for the bathroom, and it turned out to be an outhouse but inside, upstairs. Oddly enough, I was wearing a skirt and high heels. The toilet itself was filthy and overflowing with a mountain of urine-soaked toilet paper, which also covered the adjacent wall and toilet paper dispenser. For some reason there was no feces though. There was no way to sit on that mound of soiled paper, so I tried to stand over it, but I was urinating all over myself before I even got in position. I was peeing all over my high heels. I really couldn't stop and decided not to try to stop. Then these girls opened the door and saw me. I came halfway out of the "outhouse" but I continued to urinate so I went back inside, but the door remained open. I was gesturing as if this couldn't be helped. Later, I was looking for those shoes. They looked different when I found them, like a weird color and a larger size, and they were naturally soaked. I tried to dry them off but it was useless. Then some of my high school friends were there. Then my sister Cary was there and it was me, Cary, Michelle, and her brother Chris, but it was a different version of him, younger and actually a different person. We were trying to set him up with Carolyn. The four of us began running circular laps around this bar, using staircases on either end of the room and running the lengths on both floors. Then I was with a nurse and a doctor and they were talking about Michelle. They said, "Who are you?" And I said, "I'm her partner," and so they decided to tell me. They were going to give her a urine test and also change her medications. Then I woke up in real life and said to Michelle, "They're trying to trick me." So I must have had another dream that I cannot remember.

What does urine symbolize in dreams?? Usually in this dream of mine there is a lot of feces involved, or masturbation. So I understand that as having something to do with my early development and also possibly sexual boundary violations of myself relegated to infantile amnesia. But urine and high heels? I have to do some research.

PS. I just read the last line from yesterday's blog in which I referred to people "peeing their pants," and I wonder if my dream was pointing to my feelings upon having recently received negative feedback about this blog and about my public writing in general. It is unfortunate that when I reveal myself it gives others the power to judge and misunderstand me because I hate being misunderstood and judged. But why the skirt and heels?

In Defense of Myself and The Death Drive

Apparently, according to someone who I thought was my friend, all of queer Brooklyn hates me, thinks I'm crazy, pathetic, scary, and not only all of these queers but all of their friends and their friend's friends. And this is all because I posted something on craigslist last week, addressed to two people that were defaming my character and trying to turn my "friend" against me, three years after a situation that was very horrible and hurtful for me, which resulted in me "stalking" someone. Now, I won't deny that there was a stalking element, but I truly believe this person deserved it. As I see it, the depth of the narcissistic injury I received and endured gave me license to take revenge as I saw fit. This "friend" of mine, in response to my post, took me off her myspace, says that she is basically ashamed to be my friend and can't defend me, that I'm my own worst enemy, and that I'm only hurting and embarrassing myself. I personally disagree with all those points. First of all, taking someone off myspace when you're mad at them is juvenile and I'm proud to say I haven't done that since about 2005 (except in the case of Lisa, my ex-roommate/friend who moved out last April, although she may have deleted me first). Secondly, I don't need anyone to defend me. I don't need anyone to be my friend. If someone is my friend, they will accept me as I am and not need or expect me to be like Jesus Christ when I have demonstrated many times the extent of my insanity and vindictiveness in the event of an unjust action being taken against myself or someone I love, especially an action performed heartlessly and without remorse. I feel it is my moral and personal obligation to make the perpetrator suffer in some way even if I cannot make them sorry for anything other than having met me in the first place. I know am not God, but on the other hand, I am God. If I'm not, who the fuck is? Is God going to punish people on his own? No, he allows human beings to do it. If a bunch of racist, rich assholes in wigs and toupees can punish people, so can I. And as far as me being my own worst enemy, I strongly disagree. I believe there is a proper time to fight, and I trust my instincts when assessing people and their behavior toward me. I will not turn the other cheek. I will smack you back so hard you remember to never cross me again (or my wife). And I'm talking about verbal warfare here, but if it comes to the physical I know that both me and my wife are crazy enough to step to anyone (man, woman, or any combination thereof). I have no interest in "being the bigger person." I don't feel the need to "act with grace." Fuck all that. My "friend" asked, "Do you really want someone to remember you forever by the hateful words you said?" "Yes," I replied, "Sometimes I really do." I want them to remember it the way I remember certain things that were said to me. As far as me "only hurting myself," I disagree there also. I felt much better after I posted my messages to these people. It relieved my agitation and I felt very empowered. In the case of JD and me hurting her feelings in this blog, that is different because I like and respect her and want to be her friend. As far as these other people go? I feel the opposite. I entertain no warm feelings or desires for friendship, I only feel the urge to wound them as I was wounded, and to show them that you can't just bury a crime (which I feel was committed against myself), you have to be prepared for the payback. Michelle says some of my ideas reveal a certain grandiosity and that may be true. Sometimes I remind myself of my mother's mother, who was excommunicated from several churches for starting cults and preaching her own ideas and trying to perform miracles and heal people, and who was also prone to fits of rage. I have a memory of her - this large woman in a floral dress and polyester pants underneath, heaving large bags of potatoes onto our porch and yelling at my parents. My grandparents didn't even attend my parent's wedding because they were fighting with the pastor of that particular church. Actually she died of breast cancer after refusing medical treatment for four years because she believed that God would heal her. (I loved Grammie). But I'm not that crazy. And I like myself! And someone who feels that they "can't defend me" and are ashamed to be my friend and feel "scared of me" is not a real friend. All I wanted was to be granted my humanity (with regards to the events that happened years ago), to have it acknowledged that all intimate encounters are complicated especially when they involve intense, complicated people, that this was a friendship rather than an exclusively sexual relationship, and that I had feelings that were disregarded and not even allowed to exist when the affair reached its end. Those feelings are still negated and a different story is spread around Brooklyn, but I'm not allowed to fight back at these ignorant gossip spreaders? Fuck that. But they will never grant me my humanity or look at the affair in any other way. They will always judge me, simplify me, laugh at me and talk shit about me. And I have accepted this but that doesn't mean I can't get upset and try to even the score when I hear they're still talking and trying to turn my "friend" against me (and when my "friend" joins them and judges me also). So I called this tall bitch a "she-male" (on craigslist), so what? She can handle it. My "friend" says I have no empathy, and no, in this situation I don't have any empathy. Why should I? This girl called me a manipulative sociopath and threatened to beat me up a couple years ago! Now I certainly didn't appreciate being misdiagnosed, and the behavior pertaining to myself that she objected to was none of her business not to mention she didn't understand the first thing about it, and finally, her uber-confidence and carelessness in picking a fight with me betrayed a selfish simplicity of character so that she deserved a smack down, even years after the fact. As they say, revenge is a dish best served cold. I personally think my "friend" likes her and that's why she turned on me in favor of her. That's fine. Whenever I am given the choice between speaking out and making or keeping friends, you know what I choose. My "friend" says I'll end up alone, and maybe I will, but I don't think so. I think I will have a small group of friends who don't pee their pants every time they hear my version of the truth.

Transference

Recently someone said about me that I am a black and white thinker. It was my sister’s friend’s dad, who I met over a nice Easter dinner. I think his assessment is not true, but I know what he’s getting at… it has to do with how I state things – as if I know. Maybe if I were a man my statements would be more acceptable. Women are supposed to say, “I feel like…” or “Maybe, perhaps such and such might be an idea to consider…” But I think it’s better to make your statement and be prepared for disagreement and also willing to alter your belief, but to make it all the same. That is how men communicate, for the most part. Some people like the way I state things, some people do not. Michelle is ambivalent. I think it reminds her of her father, one handsome, charismatic economics professor who always knows, and who makes grand, bold statements of belief throughout dinner conversation. I like him a lot. I like her mom too, and I like having dinner with her family. There is (in my opinion) the external reality of extreme manners and intellect while underneath I sense aggression.

The main concepts discussed in class last night were as follows (as related to Freud): infantile dependency, repression, and transference. Infantile dependency is a universal human experience due to the extended period of care required by babies. It is such a painful experience (for all, more or less) than we repress these memories. We push them out of our consciousness, but they exist in our pre-conscious, a storehouse of ideas, thoughts, feelings, and all the memories we have.

The price of repression is transference, wherein we recreate wherever possible the pain of dependency. This concept is usually discussed in a clinical context, which is interesting because I really do not think I experience transference with my therapist, which is a good and a bad thing. But after our class discussion I saw my transference everywhere, in all the intimate relationships I’ve ever had, in my relationships with professors and employers, with friends, everywhere! We actively seek out transference. Nobody can make another person feel anything, they can only trigger an emotion, which is increasingly likely the less conscious any given person is of this dynamic. We convince ourselves our feelings are related to the present rather than the past. We have more choices than we realize! Why do we seek to recreate the pain of dependency? Two reasons – the (unconscious) fantasy of fixing the past in the present (other psychologists would not call this a fantasy but assert the possibility of emotionally corrective experiences) and masochism, the belief that we suffered while dependent on our parents because we did something wrong, and if we suffer enough in the present, we might eventually deserve something better. Finally, and this last concept resonates so strongly with me that I am totally won over to Freud – his theory of psychopathology, that symptoms are the result of the repression of sexual and aggressive feelings, conflicts, and ambivalence that we perceive as intolerable. Repressed sexuality and aggression express themselves in ways other than pathological symptoms: dreams, jokes and sarcasm, slips, mistakes and accidents.

Michelle was awake when I got home, so I was talking to her about all this, especially as my eyes are being opened to my own passive aggression – although actually in our relationship I’ve been “able” to express straight up aggressive aggression, for whatever reason. Interestingly, Michelle says she is not an angry person and does not perceive herself as passive aggressive in the examples I came up with when asked for examples. Certainly, I have to respect the way that she experiences and perceives herself in this context. To disregard her beliefs would be very unloving and invalidating, but we may have to agree to disagree. I am realizing so many ways that we have recreated our parental/dependency relationships with each other, and I don’t think it’s a bad thing but rather is inevitable and that the drive to do this largely constitutes attraction and intimacy. The key is to be aware. If you keep “ending up” with the same type of person and feel victimized by life or God, be aware that you chose those people. In my case, I’m accepting the choices I’ve made and am looking for emotionally corrective experiences, haha. I am attracted to people with problems. I even think that I chose to live with my old roommate because of her anger and rage, which my mother expressed intermittently and especially when depressed. And let's be honest, I not only am attracted to people with these traits but I have them too, although they exist in a more subtle, manageable way than when I was younger and less aware of what might be going on besides my own misery.

Hi

Hello readers. After much highly charged deliberation, I have decided to continue writing here. It is complicated by the knowledge that I have readers who know me personally, and might not only be offended by what I write, but that I could hurt feelings. Also, you may note that two posts in particular were deleted, and that was because my wife requested it, but I feel a sense of loss in their deletion and should have at least kept them as unpublished drafts. The point is, I am not a news reporter and what is written here is not an unbiased, 100% accurate reflection of events, but is filtered through my perception and mood. I have wanted to display the inner workings of my mind like a prostitute in a confessional booth, naked and with candour, but this desire is now complicated by knowledge of my priest's identity. Real people (other than Michelle) can compare my confessions and even fabrications of personality as stated here to my real self as perceived in the real world. This blog is not "me." It presents parts of me, it is a construction of ideas about the world and myself. But if you actually knew me, or if you do, you would probably note a gap in how I portray myself here versus my personality in real life. I always wanted to be a fiction writer, but I am not one. I consider some of my writing here to be fiction in that I am taking liberties, and some of it is real because my stream of consciousness is also real. To create myself as a somewhat fictional character is something I can do. But in any case, what is the true self? Is it what we present to others, is it to be found in our dreams, can we ever be aware of the truth and is an outside perspective or an inside perspective more truthful? I would like to be granted the freedom to remain in denial about my readers, and hope for the mercy of that audience in granting to me the difference I'm trying to articulate. I am writing to discover myself and don't want to be pinned down by the process as here documented. Initially I planned to start a new blog and keep it anonymous, but then I considered the commenter who wrote that she had a girlfriend with BPD, addiction issues, and a Bipolar II diagnosis, and I thought, how can I abandon her?

Last night I had a dream that I was in some third world country and they were rounding up the Americans and killing them. It was like Nazi Germany and as if I were Anne Frank, but the country was more like India or Pakistan. They were hunting us out of our hiding spots and I had to flee. There were two men I recognized in flight, one of them was Jesse, a very quirky and sweet, gay gentleman who was my friend at Razor and Tie, LLC., my first real job in NYC. Both men had bicycles and were going to travel that way, so I was searching desperately for a bicycle to ride also. Jesse disappeared and I was left with the other man. In the next part of the dream we stopped at a gas station for food and I insisted on a can of beans and chicken with cheese over a box of cookies because I knew we needed the protein to stay strong on our journey. I asked, "So we will be safe if we can just get to Bombay, right?" And someone said, "But there are thousands of you and you have to prove that you can work there and get a visa, and it's almost impossible to book a flight." Then I was in a small Midwestern town with my sister Cary and I was complaining that the town was so small there were no guys to date and how could I marry? Then I was in a car and lighting a cigarette with the car-lighter thing that you push in and it heats up. I woke up from this dream and grew increasingly agitated and couldn't go back to sleep for an hour until I took a Xanax. I was thinking about all the people in horrible, violent political situations, refugees who have no freedom, rights, money, means of escape, and all those who finally make it to America.

Then I was thinking that I understand somewhat the point of pain and suffering as a test and an opportunity to become truly human or even Godlike. It seems that human nature is naturally ungrateful, characterized by a victim mentality, and prone to complaining and blaming others for their troubles. We can only appreciate what we have if we have to work and fight for it, if we dream of something better and then we achieve it or at least make strides in the ideal direction. If we are born into privilege, safety, health and wealth, it means almost nothing to us. We all want to avoid suffering, we want to stop working, we want things to be easy. In easy circumstances, we do not have to fight and we do not grow. Just a couple thoughts. I made the mistake of calling someone lazy when so many of us, myself including, are lazy in some respects. What does it mean to even be lazy? Isn't laziness usually rooted in fear? Perhaps those are two separate states of mind though.

I had to do a lot of reading on and by Freud yesterday for my class. Unfortunately, his views on female sexuality and identity development (the Electra complex) are so ridiculously ignorant and inaccurate that it's offensive and makes it difficult to take the other parts of his theories seriously. However, oddly enough, I can somewhat relate to the Oedipus complex. I wish a psychologist would extend that theory in light of the idea that homosexuality and gender identity are largely genetic. That perhaps, instead of homosexuality and queer gender identities being the result of an unsatisfactory completion of the stages (oral, anal, phallic, latency, genital) those factors influence or change the tasks demanded by the phases. I truly think that I may have desired my mother and definitely dreamed of usurping my father's place and to this end even wished for his death in an abstract way. And I know that I never, ever wished for a penis although I didn't have brothers so wasn't in a position to observe them or unconsciously make a connection between their bodies and power or patriarchy. But during so called "latency," which spans the ages 6-11, according to Freud (I don't believe in latency, as I recall playing a lot of very sexual games with my girlfriends during that age), I was made aware of the penis, and I felt very lucky to have my lady parts tucked neatly into a little purse rather than hanging out like a turkey gobbler. In fact I felt sorry for boys, as I thought it must be very uncomfortable and also shameful to be exposed like that.

Lastly, I am happy to report that Michelle and I are back on peaceful, intimate terms. She has been lucid, energetic, and extremely caring towards me ever since our talk on Friday evening of last week. The level of anger that was expressed by me and her extremely defensive maneuvers may have been in part due to the fact that our cycles are almost completely in sync - we began to flow within 24 hours of each other over the weekend - and also, there was that full moon last week.

Please forgive me J.D

I am so sorry for what I wrote about you. I like you SO much. I have incredible respect for you, always love talking to you, have been enjoying our friendship so much. I had no idea that anyone I know ever read this blog. I judged you, and took my anger out on you because I felt you didn't have my back and were making me be the bad guy. Also I still don't understand why you asked that question. But I don't think you're lazy or that you don't have anger. I don't even know you that well. I have been so stressed out with this... I thought I was venting and processing in a harmless way. I hope someday you forgive me. I don't think I can write in here anymore now that I know people read it who know me. I have a problem with anger and control. Sometimes I lash out viciously. I'm sorry I hurt you. I probably made you very angry too. I know you love Michelle and she loves you too. I hope someday you would want me in your life again.

The God of War

Last night I had a dream about Terry. We were in a social group and my sisters were there. Like other versions of this dream, we were just chatting and flirting, but this dream was longer and more elaborate. Many parts are lost, but I remember telling her that I wasn’t singing anymore, and asking when Triple Crème was playing next. I think we were kissing, and later I realized I was dating Michelle, and that Terry was still dating Mari. I decided not to tell Michelle about the kissing because I knew it was a contained event and I wanted to be with Mishy and T belonged with Mari. Then I was with my sisters, and both of my younger sisters said that they had crushes on Terry too, and they thought she liked them also. I was jealous, but I realized it was possible, but I was very angry too. I remember looking closely at Joanna and seeing her voluptuousness and femininity and realizing Terry would like that. My mom was there too and we were in a car.

I woke up on Saturday feeling wrath, aggression, ready for combat, ready for war, irritable, horrible. It hasn’t fully gone away yet, despite my having unleashed it on several people already. I need to do anger. Sometimes it is dormant for a long time. It has really only come up with Michelle when her drug-related behavior (even just pills and alcohol) feels scary and out of control to me. I think Michelle’s anger is actually way stronger and deeper than mine. She won’t go there either, but she won’t abandon me. It’s not a good idea to go there. Why do I want to? Why do I need to? I wanted to break everything in the apartment last night especially since Michelle hurt me by telling me her ex girlfriend questioned whether she were happy with me as if I’m not good enough to her. Oh! I’m possibly supposed to work this out in therapy? How long will it take? I wish I had time to take some martial arts classes and probably yoga would help too. The weed helps, but I can’t afford it right now and have no reliable connection.

The Line

I am the line
I hold you near
There is no burden left to bear
I can see clear
You're in suspension
You know no love
There is no story left to tell
You have no wisdom to pass on
I am the soul of absolution
No man can hide his own illusion
My hands are crippled from the pain
You are the splinter in my vein
You put your head between your hands
and understand nothing it adds
I feel the answers keep you scared
I've put the harm inside myself

I am the line
I hold you near
There is no burden left to bear
I can see clear
I am perfected
I know no void
I have no conscience to keep clear
I understand there's nothing more
You try to kid yourself with questions
Pleading inside for some correction
I found you tied unto the cross
Your judgement owns your every thought
You know my words all mean the same
You're begging to isolate
into this prison in your mind
Well, you were born without a spine

When did you stop caring? When did you stop caring?

-Black Rebel Motorcyle Club

ulcer?

I have to have a procedure next week where they put me under anesthesia and put a microscope down my throat to see if there is a little worm called H. Pylori in there. We are going to find out about my chronic stomach pains. At this particular juncture in time I am feeling torn over how I should behave regarding my wife’s status as an addict and her behaviors and consumption of certain things and also my own. I’m in the process of getting another script for either Vicoden or Percocet, which I’ve done several times and I give these pills to my therapist to hold so that I can ration them and try to only use them to treat painful menses cramps. But then Michelle pointed out it isn’t fair for her to suffer and she’s wants what I have. But now she’s being somewhat pushy about it, reminding me several times today and yesterday to ask about the cost and whatnot from my connection, and so my conscience is bothering me. Michelle isn’t on the methadone program anymore so she can have a little of this and that, but I’m not willing to give her half a script of painkillers to use at her own discretion. “I’m an adult!” she screams, but she always says that. I can’t give that to her. I can hold it for her and give her two at a time a couple times a month. But is that sick for me to be in control of that? Everything seems fucked up right now. And it even seems unreal. Like I want to drop out of everything and kill myself, although dead bodies are so disgusting I never ever want to die. I just want to feel happy. I hate this fucking place right now! Work. I’m a boring person and I want to go home to bed. Plus Michelle was so hyper last night and actually stayed up past me, so it makes me wonder if she’s on something, even though she isn't, but it's hard to trust her when it comes to drugs. I can’t control her and I can't watch her every little move. What can I do? She’s got a drawer full of pills as usual, mostly sleep aids. She keeps a lot of things to herself though. In some ways she presents as so emotional and open but in other subtle ways I think parts of her are dead and cold; nothing real gets in, nothing real comes out.

Helper (help her)

I no longer feel functional and I am getting psychiatric help. This chronic stomach ache, waking up at 5am after staying up till 2am being unable to stop thinking about school or relax, the fluctuations between super excitement and exhaustion/tears, basically I want some Ativan. I don’t just want the scraps of Klonopin that Mishy has shared with me, although it is very generous of her, I want my own. I really need to be successful in school and to become a teacher. I DON’T need any more low-grade, head spinning, paranoia inducing, tired weed that makes it all seem impossible. At night my anxiety stands up to Trazadone, Melatonin, Lunesta, or anything besides Seroquil like a skinny punk knocking out some champion boxer. AAAhh!! I am making a choice to calm down, right now. Awareness and consciousness do make choices possible… this we discussed in class. But I am becoming aware of too much and feeling too much. My brain is a computer that has some wires crossed and they’re burning holes through the system. But the holes are in my stomach and coffee makes it worse. I want to be the best!!! The greatest! I feel like the worst. Human beings can adjust and adapt to anything… I am a worker. I think about my old feminine disguise and the new disguise. Style is fun. What is the essence? You can’t see it. I am overwhelmed because there’s no way to know everyone and everything. Movies are comforting because they contain it and focus the mind on one or two people and problems that can be resolved. My favorite defense is projection. That much I have made clear. I also live in a fantasy world, but I am starting to feel love for everyone. It is this love that is agitating me so much and keeping me awake… does that make any sense?

prongs

My aunt Mary is schizophrenic and was recently evicted from her apartment for hoarding. She’s so sweet though. She mostly talks about “changing and growing” and she sounds like an extreme version of my mother most of the time. She told me that my cousin Electra, who is technically my aunt but was raised by Aunt Mary since my uncle died of a brain aneurysm (I never knew him), was recently diagnosed as having BPD and has entered treatment, both DBT and the eye movement therapy. I thought this is interesting since Mishy was Borderline and my older sister runs DBT groups and it’s just basically all around me trying to get my attention.

I feel confused about my own sanity. On the one hand, I’m totally sane. But I feel like this – say the sane mind is like something with prongs attached to something concrete, like a rock. Well if there are eight prongs, at least three or four of mine are not attached, like they’re bent – and if many more stop gripping the rock I’m going to float off… totally free but it’s somewhat like death and I have things to do here. I have challenges and fears to face. But in so many ways, I want the whole world to open up. I want everything to stop, cataclysm, angels descend by the thousands from the sky, all the trains fly off their tracks, sanity is an enemy, a disguise, illusion. But Mishy says it’s all we have. But routine, going to work, coming home, dealing with insurance, calling a doctor, opening email, staring out the window, walking, waiting, working… ugh.

One area my unattached prongs are affecting me is with dates and appointments. There will be something important I’ve committed to and my mind will scramble the date or actual event. Like a week ago I thought I made a dermatologist appointment and planned for that all week and when I got there it was a podiatrist. And the secretary quoted me as having asked podiatrist related questions and claimed that I never said “I need to get my moles checked,” as I remembered saying on the phone. Also, last night I thought I had a test at school and it turns out class was cancelled 3/4 rather than 2/26 as I had falsely remembered, so I missed class last week for nothing. And I really care about school. Also, this happens less often because I have less friends now, but people (especially ex girlfriends) have quoted me as having said some really crazy, unbelievable things… even cruel and arrogant things... and I really, truly am shocked and have no memory of it. Some of these things I supposedly said are funny, but I can’t believe I said it. It’s really not a big deal, but it’s one more case in which my mind is hiding things from me, which is suspicious. Partly I want to go crazy just because I’m so scared of the challenges I’m facing and the imperfection and mistakes I will make (and have already made). But on the other hand, I feel like if I’m willing to make mistakes, I will suddenly be unstoppable. But at some point, I wish I could stop embarrasing myself like I did yesterday with the email I wrote to the professor about having missed class. It is truly an embarrassment to me. It made me look crazy and revealed way too much about my competitive and judgmental tendencies and may even may have sounded grandiose… ugh just general pathetic insanity… not the kind I want which entails the experience of divine ecstasy.

Mishy Karam