the most useless sort of genius

today's weather: S L I G H T D E P R E S S I O N
anxiety : 1
agitation : 1

One of my largest sources of frustration.

I was mulling over The Parable of the Talents again and thought about I haven't even invested half of my God-entrusted "talent" into something of eternal significance. Sure, I've done some stuff here and there, made some practical contribution to this or that ministry. But I still feel massively unfulfilled because I know there is so much more I can and should do.

This is my obsessive overconscience speaking, If you haven't noticed by now. Constant poking by the coulds and shoulds.

This word haunts me: potential. I just freaking haven't lived up to that potential.

i.e., for someone so intelligent and gifted, I haven't really done much.

Genius. Yeah, I've been called that. IQ tests say that I am. People who used to be over me say that I am. I'd like to believe it's a fitting label. Here I remain an underachiver, an manquee, the most useless sort of genius.

I'm not the stereotypical kind of genius [glasses, an inclination to invent or discover, a penchant for proving mathematical theorem - none of that]. I'm a damn tortured artistic type who can't even produce any worthwhile art. The most useless kind.

I suppose I can stop guilting myself by believing it's alright, I'm still young. ish. But what's the point of being a genius when you can't prove it by some concrete contribution to society before mid-life?

I want to do something. I want to accomplish something proportional to my potential. I want to see my dreams and ideas incarnate. And I want to start soon.

But I don't know how.

chatty chatter that makes the monophobia more monophobic

today's weather: S L I G H T D E P R E S S I O N
anxiety : 1
agitation : 1

I've had to rely on the happy yellow pills to function. They give me a bit of energy. Not too much; just enough to haul myself out of bed and get through the day.

I told the Hubby about the extermination rumination. He hid my craft-knife just to make sure I don't carry anything out. He knows he shouldn't not take it seriously.

I have another one in the art supplies box. A craft-knife, I mean. And a few cutters in the desk drawer.

But like I said previously, I'm not really going to do it. Slitting wrists is for teenagers; I'm neither emo nor cliche.

So I'm going for a stab to the jugular.

Kidding!

Like I said previously, I'm not really going to do it.

On another note, i think the happy yellow pills are side-effecting. I've been warned they're not supposed to be for bipolars, but I need uppers, so spank me.

I think they're making the imaginary chatter more chatty. The imaginary chatter has been getting chattier lately, I thought maybe the happy yellow pills have something to do with that. The chattier is getting chattier, making my monophobia more monophobic. I've been projecting slides in my head about cutting my ear off, wondering if that would make things a bit quieter.

Oh! -- So that's probably why Van Gogh did it. Cut his ear off, I mean. The souvenir bit could've just been a latter addendum.

Maybe it's time to return to the Lithium. :(

Rivaling Narcissus, But In a Different Way.

today's weather: B A S E L I N E
anxiety : 0
agitation : 0

I must confess. I am so obsessed with myself. I have the self-love worthy of the punishment of death, woe is me.

It's not the type of obsession that keeps studying the mirror, preening narcissistic. In fact I rarely enjoy looking at myself in the mirror; I often find too many flaws and disappointingly un-artistic angles.

But when I get bored, I find myself clicking away on my own blogs and reading what I wrote in the past, as if I need to know. And then I praise me for being so clever though I write mostly rubbish.

And when I feel sad, I visit the site where I upload my photography and drawings to cheer myself up. As unimpressive as they are, they lift my spirits because they remind me what an artistic (albeit not at all extraordinary) person I am.

I find that I find my own blogs more interesting than other individuals', even if I don't live a life half as interesting as those photobloggers, travelers, foodies and stay at home moms. How pathetic can I get? I don't really care about not having a gazillion followers at this point; I feel like I am my own best follower.

gotta get me some happy food

today's weather: SLIGHT DYSPHORIA?
anxiety : 1 | agitation : 2

Woke up all bitchy snarky. Had an immense hunger due to eating dinner too early last night and not finding enough ice cream to pig out on while watching the telly. Became overly upset at seeing that there was no food for breakfast, that the toilet cover was up and that someone left the laptop on while signed in to Facebook.

Today I've been thinking about food (I mean, aside from thinking over random things I've been obsessing over the past few days such as the Maguindanao Massacre docu on history, the RH Bill and my future [imaginary as of now] new home). I suppose it follows since I was soooo hungry this morning, but even after I had lunch I was thinking of food. Happy food in particular.

I've heard and read that certain food items, when eaten, can affect brain chemicals and in effect make a person feel lighter, maybe even cheerier. Been thinking it'd be a good idea to feast on those thing during the depressed and / or dysphoric phases (like right now).

HAPPY FOOD
chocolate (dark)
spinach
(and other dark green leafy veggies)
turkey
walnuts
eggplant
strawberries
mango
cherries
pineapple
grapefruit
banana
papaya
avocado

FOODS THAT DON'T REALLY INCREASE THE HAPPY HORMONES
BUT MAKE ME FEEL HEALTHY AND THEREFORE GOOD
tomatoes
tomato juice
chilled, natural grape juice
mint leaves
jellyace
cream cheese

FOODS THAT ARE NEITHER HAPPY NOR HEALTHY
BUT MAKE ME FEEL GOOD ANYWAY
ice cream
jellyace
marshmallows

HAPPINESS-INDUCING ACTIVITIES
TO COUPLE WITH EATING HAPPY FOOD
brisk walking / exercise
hanging out with happy people
watching / reading humorous things
getting enough sleep / going to bed early
taking vitamins
playing with the bunnies or dog
keeping skin healthy (because having bad skin can br stressful in itself)
sunbathing in early morning sunshine
little hobbies

zzzz(idea)zz(obsession)zzzz(thawt)zz

today's weather: SLIGHT DYSPHORIA
anxiety : 1 | agitation : 1

I have to give my fingers a break; they look swollen and my nails are chipped from my latest creative rush. But my imagination won't let me rest. Even as I close my eyes to sleep, ideas keep flowing and they tickle my fingers to produce something.

Even after I exceeded my target number of necklaces, I submitted to the creative monster in my head yesterday. Sorry, sore fingers. It's either that or I obsess over the jolting images I saw in the docu about the Maguindanao Massacre on History Channel (footage and info not presented on the local news - quite informative though disturbing). And I'd really rather not replay those grisly images in my head.

Come bedtime, I solved a crossword puzzle as usual (checking and rechecking the items and the spelling, tracing and retracing each letter like a good obsessive should) while I waited for the Benadryl to kick in. I've resolved to not "work" when it's time to sleep so as to ensure I catch a sufficient amount of zees, tempting as it was to continue the necklace I left unfinished. I felt drowsy enough while on my second puzzle. I curled up under the sheets as I submitted to the diphenhydramine.

And then the stuff I'd watched on the Maguindanao Massacre played over and over in my head. Good grief. then sprouted a lot of thoughts and opinions on it that I wanted to blog about, but then i realized that that particular topic won't fit any of my existing blogs.

I remembered that I started blogging in 2004 partly because my head was rich in random musings and obsessions, and it helped me to focus and quiet my mind to write things where I know they might just be read by someone other than myself. Sometime 2008 I made several separate blogs, each assigned a different theme / topic because I couldn't stand how everything was all hodge-podgey in my old site. Now I have thawts that don't go with any of my existing blogs and I don't want to create a new one.

EDIT: I got over the Maguindanao Massacre docu after watching a show on Jack the Ripper, also on History Channel, also with shocking photos of mangled bodies. Those mangled bodies. It wasn't my first time to watch a feature on the infamous Ripper, but it was my first time to see one with uncensored photographs of the victims. Tonight, I should watch something happy and wholesome. Happy and wholesome.

teenage death wish

today's weather: B A S E L I N E
anxiety : 0 | agitation : o
today's unwanted guest: the Benadryl haze

Since last week when somebody confided in me about how she wanted to have an abortion, the subject has been on my mind. I came to recalling all we were taught about it (rather, against it) in those years I went to a strictly Catholic private high school. To this day, I am personally against abortion - I have never had one, and will never have one - but I don't go around picketing or trolling pro-choicers. But I'm not exactly pro-life either. You'll get what I mean in a while.

So. Catholic high school. Since our freshman year, we were taught sex education on a foundation of morality and ethics. It was so ethical that our teachers refused to entertain questions that used slang terms - so we never did hear what Mrs. Dizon thought about finger f***ing. In tandem with our "religious sex ed", we were made to watch a very graphic documentary on the evils of abortion. Very graphic. Indelible. As an extra-curricular activity, our advisers dragged us to an anti-abortion rally outside our school, bearing the heat and smoke just to be ignored by most of those who drove by. Our little rally made it to the front page of a minor newspaper by the way; to our dismay our school's name was grossly misspelled.

Aside from "a fetus is a human being", and "no one but God has the right to take away life," I often heard the argument "it is unfair / unjust to an innocent unborn baby," and "everyone deserves to live". There is even the good old argumentum ad misericordiam, "What if your mother decided not to keep you?".

But even as a teenager, I managed to find something fallacious with the whole anti-abortion argument. I did not disagree that a fetus is human, or that abortion is murder. But I just had some controversial ideas that I knew my teachers and classmates would stone me for, so I mostly kept my musings to myself.

One of those ideas was a defense against the "unfair / unjust" argument. I strongly believed that it was more unfair and unjust to keep a child alive without being able to provide a good life for him. For example, I believe a self-absorbed teenage crackwhore would do wiser by terminating the life of her baby than to let it live retarded, unwanted, fatherless, hungry, underpriviledged and so on. In extreme instances like those, I believed that killing a fetus would be an act of mercy toward it; it would be better to just send it straight to Heaven.

I'm one of those positivists who believe unborn children go to Heaven, by the way. There's no definite scripture on it, but I just keep thiking about the nature of God. In second grade in Catholic school , were taught that unborn babies go to a state called Limbo, which was somewhere around the neighborhood of Purgatory. It was our Language teacher who taught us that (that's how it is in Catholic schools: every subject is a religion subject, every teacher is a religion teacher) - the same teacher who attempted to scare us into being good girls by telling a detailed story of how naughty kids get dragged to Hell by their feet. Years later when I was a high school sophomore, I had a problem with the whole concept of Limbo and Purgatory when we learned in Chursh History that those places were just assumed and capitalized on with the sale of indulgences. When I was indoctrinated in Evangelical Christianity, I got this notion that the unborn went to Hell because "only people who receive Jesus as Lord and savior will be saved". Of course that whole idea is inconsistent with a loving God. But that's just my opinion. I stick with the belief that babies who die go to Heaven.

Anyway.

"What if your mother decided not to keep you?", we have been asked rhetorically in those anti-abortion seminars as an atempt to create an emotional impact. While most of the other girls shuddered and/or gushed at being so blessed to be alive, the touchy-feely tactics were lost on me, a fifteen year-old misfit with a death wish. Disturbed weirdo that I was, I did not consider my own life to be a blessing and preferred to have never been born. You know how unnecessarily emotive teenagers can get. I imagined it would have been better to have been snuffed out and first opened my eyes in the presence of God.

I often thought, What's the big deal about life on earth? It's squalid. Nature is deteriorating. Society is detiorirating. What's so "blessed" about being alive? I tended to think that some mothers who killed their unwanted spawn in utero were doing both themselves and their would-have-been-offspring a favor.

I remember trying to share those sentiments with friends but it just went flying past their heads. Morbid, my friends called me, not knowing that I thought of it as a very delicious compliment.

Death was a secret obsession - it wasn't mainly about suicide, but more like wishing I was never born. I was not the kind of person who obstentatiously and pretentiously dressed goth (except for fun), drank blood or slept in a coffin. I was always too cool for poseurism. My thing though, was curling up in a fetal position whenever I was alone. I heard some psychobabble interpretation that it was my body's way of trying to remember the last time I felt safe. But really, I just thought it was a compact, space-saving but comfortable way of stowing myself away.

I don't remember the last time I went on one of my fetal-pose retreats; it must have been that long ago since I got over it.

Through the years I've discovered that the best antidote against a death wish is a reason for living - a destiny, a purpose. A real solid one that only God can reveal. I don't think I'm halfway to halfway to realizing my purpose in life, but I've at least got a loose framework that invigorates me every now and then. Apparently I managed to stay alive and productive.

The first step to finding your purpose in life and realizing your destiny is to contact your Manufacturer. He can take calls about your questions and complaints too, if you have any. You might have some difficulty adjusting the settings (and there is no "restore factory settings" option by the way), but you'll get the hang of it.

flaky-crust zombie

Where I'm at today: S L I G H T E L E V A T I O N
anxiety : 0 | agitation : 0


At this moment (I mean this time that I am now writing), I feel like a zombie with flaky pastry crust and a tender, chunky stewed center. I had but a few hours of sleep this morning. I'm trying not to nap so that it would be easy to fall asleep come bedtime.

Imagine this. After I'd already re-html'd my blogsites and re-designed them again, I did it all over, with other new designs this time. Aside from the fact that I've been feeling a bit more energetic these days, I can't help obsessing. I kept thinking that there was just something about the previous designs that could still be done better. So I did them better. And it took me two whole daylights.

And now though I am very satisfied with the outcome, I still have that it could still be better feeling. Dangit, it's Holy Week, I ought to be taking a break.

Speaking of, I'm kinda disappointed that we cant take a trip out of town this summer. :( Big boo.

Anyway, back to the obsessing business.

By the time I'd finished, I decided to experiment with some code to see if I could make a background that was easy to install. Not for me - for someone else, in case someone needed one. You never know when someone would need an emergency easy-install site background. I didn't really have to do it, but my obsessive compulsions got the best of me. All the what ifs and what not. For some twisted reason, I was enjoying the mental torture.

Luckily there was a power failure around 10 pm, or I would have stayed up all night working on my little creative projects. The outage was just at our house - a freak accident precipitated by unknown factors which resulted in a cable breakage.

Waiting for the power company guys took four disconnected phone calls and a few hours - which wasn't entirely bad, since the Hubby and I spent the time chatting under the clouded-over night sky. It seemed like those Meralco guys really took their time; it must have been past 1 a.m. when they arrived with their unassuming little utility truck.

After the power was reconnected, I tried putting myself to sleep, but I was fully awake despite the diphenhydramine. As a result I stayed awake all night in bed again. But at least I did not work or write or create or anything until my eyes popped out . I just lied there. Yeah. I know when it's time for rest. It's those power company people who don't.

Secretly I was wishing the roosters would start crowing. I was excited to go into the day and continue my creative projects that were interrupted by the power outage. I felt so antsy and I had so many things in my head that I wanted to discuss them with someone.

Knowing it was still a long stretch to daylight and that I didn't feel the least bit drowsy, I decided to have a chat with God. Or rather, to throw my obsessive ideas toward Him. If I was awake by myself and feeling chatty, He was the best One to talk to. He wouldn't fall asleep on me. So on and on I rambled about various things that might have bored another person into a coma. I was hoping this would help put me to sleep, but it just managed to pump me up even more, and before I knew it the Hubby's alarm clock was ringing, telling me it was five a.m. and it time to get up.

By the time the Hubby was up and ready to do some chores (we had decided to do some cleaning around the house while everyone else was away for the Holiday), my consciousness was shimmering out. Shimmering out. The next thing I was conscious of was the fact that it was 9 in the morning and the Hubby was asking me to move to another room because he needed to use the bug spray.

Twelve boring hours later, I find myself tired and wishing for a soft, cozy bed but not wanting to sleep just yet because nothing has happened to my day yet.

trigger-drought, trigger-drought

severely elevated | very elevated | moderately elevated | slightly elevated | BASELINE | slightly depressed | moderately depressed | deeply depressed | severe depressed || anx :1 | agit:0

I'm really on the upswing - been really creative these days, been feeling so on edge to do something and go out and do stuff, been tempted every night not to sleep. I'm sooooooo thankful for those little blue diphenhydramine pills that effectively put me to sleep within an hour after taking.

So. Slight upswing.

While unmedicated. Dangerous ground, I know, but I want to see how long I can go without the meds.

In my unmedicated elevations in the past, I could get more annoying than a toddler with ADHD. I know I could get real excitable and excited and tactless and hurtful and violent and aggressive and intrusive. But right now I feel hunky-dory because there's been a trigger drought, hallelujah. And I say hallelujah with utmost heartfelt sincerity, I am not just using it as an expression.

Trigger-drought, trigger-drought.
I'm so happy for this trigger-drought.
I'm so glad I left the trigger-place,
I'm on my way to better days.

I've been using my extra creativity and energy on dressing up my blogs. And dressing them up again. And dressing them up again. Once I'm done with one project, I find a reason to start over. OCB right there.

Right now I have this incredible itch to start over with my Happy Thawts Blog which I have just finished making over, because I decided I don't like the menu bar and I can't find the older posts button.
I am right now restraining myself from doing it over.
And succeeding.
So far.
I made a deal with myself not to touch that Edit HTML button - at least until next Saturday.
I hope I'll be successful. Good grief.

Funny thing: Speaking of OCB, I notice that I've been entering this post in this manner:

Type phrase.
Backspace to erase.
Reconsider
Re-phrase.
Erase again.
Re-type.

Ain't I a piece of work?

sky

severe elev. | high elev.| moderate elev.| slight elev. || BASELINE || slight dep.| moderate dep. | deep dep. | severe dep. || anx: 0 | agit: 1


I look out and observe that the sky is a flat, pale, dirty blue. As I was about to remark that "The sky is a flat, pale dirty blue," I consider that there really is no sky. What we call "sky" is an imaginary field superimposed on the atmosphere as viewed from the earth's surface . It's an illusionary perception of color and form effected by reflected and refracted light, defined differently by observers from their respective perspectives.

So I might as well say "The sky is a vibrant pink with flaming orange stripes," or "The sky is scumbled with a neon lightshow," or "The sky is the blue-black of the deep sea, accentuated with crushed pearlescent shell," -- because I'm sure it is true, as viewed from some other latitude or longitude. It's still much more romantic than saying"The sky is a flat, pale, dirty blue," though that is what I perceive right now.

a practice in figures of speech

severe elev. | high elev.| moderate elev.| slight elev. || BASELINE || slight dep.| moderate dep. | deep dep. | severe dep. || anx: 0 | agit: 1


DISCLAIMER: Though the notions expressed herein seem overly sentimental (of the hopeless variety), I'm not actually that depressed. Cheers!


Chiasmus:

Rhetorical Question:
What happened in the past ten years?

Aporia:
I really can't say.

Aposiopesis + Metonymy + Personification:
What the -- ? I met with the real world and suddenly I find myself old yet unfulfilled.

Personification + Hyperbole + Correctio + Epanalepsis + Antimetabole:
The whole past decade swept by without my taking notice. Or rather -- I never took notice while the past decade swept by.

Metonymy + Hyperbole + Parenthesis + Paradox:
I slaved to work to earn (to invest in my future) but still have nothing.

Occupatio + Rhetorical Question + Synecdoche + Metalepsis + Juxtaposition + Irony + Periphrasis + Alliteration-Consonance + Parenthesis + Antisthecon + Polyptoton:
I'd hate to admit it - but I laid down my laurels - worldly wisdom, wonderments, wanton wonderlust - for this wonderful plan for my life?

Congeries:
The case renders me hopeless, trapped, despondent, devoid of will.

Tautology:
My simplicity made me foolish.

Paradox:
I changed my direction but still ended up in the same place.

Oxymoron + Anthimeria:
Insightful ignorant that I am.

Adynaton + Pleonasm + Paragoge + Periphrasis:
I can't even begin to describe how idiotically imbecillic, how sordidly wretched this is.

Anapodoton+ Metaphor + Litote + Metonymy + Polysemy + Metalepsis:
Ever the sophomore, never the graduate from the University of Life.

Metonymy + Personification + Understatement:
Responsible adulthood has overworked and underpaid me.

Onomatopoeia + Epizeuxis + Scesis Onomaton + Antanaclasis + Hyperbaton + Prosopopoeia + Synecdoche + Ellipsis + Isocolon + Alliteration-Consonance:
Tick, tick, tick, the clock over my head, ticking me off as it makes ticks on minutes gone. I detest you, clock! Why so impetuous?
I detest you, reality! You drain my youth, douse my passions and dull my dreams.

Metonymy + Personification + Alliteration-Assonance + Apocope + Zeugma:
Year after year ease into its end, I to mine.

Rhetorical Question + Metonymy + Personification:
Where the heck did the past ten years go?

seven sorry squatters in my slee-deprived mind

severe elevation | high elevation | moderate elevation | slight elevation | stable | slight depression | moderate depression | deep depression | severe depression || anx: 2 | agit: 1

I'm not sure where to start.

Fine I'll start anywhere.

1. Enter, sleepless nights, sleepless nights.

I've recently made it my (bad) habit to sleep in the morning. I hate waking up alone and would much rather wake up when the Hubby is already home from work. But I think I already mentioned that in my previous post.


2. Four-letter words are resounding in my head.

Four letter words. Like love, or Lord, or cake or juce -- what did you think?

But seriously, I'm on volatile, rub-me-the-wrong-way-and-I-will-unleash-my-arsenal-of-explicit-cusswords mode, F*ckit.

But I won't do that of course, because I am an educated, well-mannered individual capable of restraining myself from appalling behavior. Ha!

I'd really rather just avoid people right now. But that poses a dilemma ...


3. I'm disintegrating into an overwhelming sense of loneliness.

Like deathly so that I constantly crave worthwhile company and a meaningful conversation. Not sure where I can get either.


3. I realize that my mind hasn't been as sharp as it used to be ever since the last severe depressive episode.

Either that or when i started taking Lithium. Darn you, Lithium.


4. I am wading in an utter sense of nostalgia.

Has-beens and could-have-beens and should-have-beens are go!


5. I have an extreme hate for this depedency.

Dependency goes with Bipolar; in my case more so during depression. Darnit, I hate that I can't do anything or go anywhere without someone right now (there is this hauting paranoia that something wrong will happen when I am alone), and I hate even more that I can't do otherwise.


5. There were so many things i wanted to do and attend this week, but never got to.

Not to a freaking single one. See above.


6. That porn girl on Sen. Jamby Madrigal's blog has fake boobs.

They say it's Maui Taylor, but I think it doesn't look like her. Anyway, I just can't help noticing. They aren't natural.


7. I think I had a nice time at worship today.

Even though it was a bad hair bad skin day and I wanted to be invisible as plankton.


8. I keep seeing myself pulling a Pvt. Pyle.

Every few seconds, various tools. Given that my judgment and my restraint is impaired by my severe lack of sleep, I at this time feel brave and psychotic enough to actually pull it.

But I won't.

Hey. at least it isn't a Jeremy this time.


7. The color i chose for this font, when placed against my site's dark background, would make it look like something from one of those old-skool green-screen monitors. eh.

The O.C. (Obsessive Compulsive)

severe elevation | high elevation | moderate elevation | slight elevation | stable | slight depression | moderate depression | deep depression | severe depression || anx: 0, agit: 0


I've read some articles on how it's actually not uncommon for those with Bipolar Condition to have Obsessive-Compulsive Behavior.

BMD, particularly depression, goes hand-in-hand with OCD. Comorbidity, it's called. I can't sufficiently explain things in technical medicobabble for why or how (thus a link to an article has been provided) but I sort of see the truth in it - at least in the way that it goes on in my life. It's a sort of coping mechanism, I suppose.

Although I don't think I have the obsessive-compulsive disorder, I admit do have obsessive-compulsive behavior, especially when stressed:

• ritualizing
• obsessive thinking
• imagining germs
• semi-rational fears, (I say semi-rational because I don't want to admit they're irrational)
• ruminating
• arranging and rearranging
• triple-checking
• cleansing compulsions (handwashing / toothbrushing)
  
• pack-ratting
• self-poking
• guilt-tripping
• hand-tapping
• out-of place overpraying
• other things regarding my hands

Concrete examples of how I can go all Adrian Monk:

• I could lose sleep over what to wear the following day due to a mental litany of pros and cons of every possible choice.
• When I am alone at home and lunchtime comes, it could take me the whole afternoon to decide what to eat, or whether to eat at all, so I end up not eating until dinner time when someone else decides what he wants to have.
  
• I cannot answer "Where do you want to meet?" Because I can think of a hundred places I would want to be but would greatly inconvenience either me or the other party.
• At random intervals during the day, I feel the need to brush my teeth again.
• Whenever I work or cook, the times I wash my hands or wipe the work-surface cannot be counted.
• I can go out of the house without money, but never without hand sanitizer. It's not just a girl thing. I NEED my hand sanitizer because touching money, hand rails, public table tops or other people's hands drives me bonkers.
  

During episodes, they manifest themselves as the disorder, so fine, maybe I really am far from slightly neurotic; perhaps do have a (slight - I must insist on slight) obsessive-compulsive disorder.

The obsessions and compulsions - although they could drive me (and others) crazy sometimes - in some twisted way generate for me a feeling of unstable security, particularly in times I feel stressed. The behavior helps me to:

(a) Lie to myself that "everything is under control", or
(b) Nonverbally expression of that underlying desire to keep things manageable.

I realize that underneath it all was a fear of missing a step that could quite possibly ruin my life. I suppose that's why it's much worse when I'm depressed.

obsessing and this chain of thought

severe elevation | high elevation | moderate elevation | slight elevation | stable | slight depression | moderate depression |deep depression | severe depression || anx: 1, agit: 1


I'm not quite in the normal zone today. But I faithfully took my Lithium. Honest. In fact, I took it every night for the past ... two days. My mind has been so hyper and my ideas are getting ideas. They aren't always the right kind, though. I have this obsessive need again to grab a felt-tipped pen or charcoal pencil and fill every blank space on the walls. I've often felt that so many times before; I've never actually done it though. Well, I've tried writing or drawing something on the wall but always stopped after around a square meter, upon realizing how messy it'd make a room look. After that I'd be obsessing about an entirely different thing - how to clean up the mess. I have notebooks and journals, yes; but notebooks and journals don't quite fit that need since I will be required to keep things need and orderly in a notebook or journal. Maybe if we go scouting for a new house, we should find one which has an extra room for obsessive-writing needs. Paint the walls white and re-paint them every night as needed. Like Forgetful Lucy's garage wall in 50 First Dates. I love the soundtrack of that movie - Re-made 80's new wave and brit rock. I wonder why she was still living with her parents. I said my mind was hyper today. Hubby asked me to help him come up with additional application ideas to supplement his preaching at youth church later; I came up with two whole preachings and volunteered to preach instead so he can focus on Sunday things. I'll be preaching without notes later. I've always wanted to do that.

Sleepless at Seattle's Best

severe elevation | high elevation | moderate elevation | slight elevation | normal | slight depression | moderate depression | deep depression | severe depression || anx : 0 , agit : 0


Shoot. I realize I haven 't been sleeping much again the past few days. But I'm not at all feeling drowsy or weak or squinty . Either way, sleep-deprived can't be good. I mean, it's WAY normal and very much expected, but I shouldn't be tolerating this. At least , ideally. Whether or not I have good reason to.

Scavenging for good reasons still ...

Because I've decided to take advantage of my excess energy and read voraciously?

And that I have chosen the hours past midnight to do some meditating and ruminating (or sometimes, video-watching)? I'd like people to believe that I 've been up every night praying (ha!) but hey ...

And that the bunny-friends have learned to jump over the 3.5-foot barricade and have decided to drop by my bed every x number of minutes every night since they discovered that they can? The first few nights, I would be awakened every now and then by a soft, furry but compact THUMP on my face as a bunny-friend makes the high jump (either that or somebunny uses my arm as a scratch-post, or tries to bunch my blanket, or scurries by over my resting body) . It would be kinda like watching counting sheep that jump over the fence, but there's no real use counting the bunnies since there's only just two of them going again and again.

And that I' ve been obsessing about rearranging the bedroom, and / or obsessing about finding the perfect apartment?

And i ramble...