Here we go again, with another update on my life before I get into the meat of my blog.
The update is: since January, when I completely fucking lost my mind, I've been playing with my medications to try and find the right balance. We thought just popping me onto Wellbutrin in the winter, then back off again in the summer would be fine, but as soon as I went off of it, I started getting manic - not happy fun manic, but angry manic, because why should I have anything good in my life? That was mostly a joke.
Anyway, I was super high anxiety, angry at myself and others, and getting these super weird suicidal urges. I have literally never had that before. I've been what I would call suicidal before, but it came from an empty place and wasn't like this. Plus, I figure if I was actually going to do it, there'd be drama. I'd put on opera and light candles and shit. I mean, you don't know for sure, but what I'm saying is, these were not like that, and were super weird. It wasn't like I was dwelling, or had a plan, it was a sudden, very strong urge to whack my head as hard as I could against any hard, smooth thing that I happened to see. Sinks, granite counter-tops, stone railings, etc. WEIRD. Also: CLEARLY A PROBLEM
So I went back to the doctor and she put me back on Wellbutrin and also on a mood stabilizer and now:
I am feeling better than I have in years. I haven't felt this good since I first went on Lamotrigine. I guess I know that my illness is degenerative, which is terrifying, but I had been on the same dose of the same medication for 6 years, and I figured I would be ok if I just kept it up forever. Not so.
I am sleeping normally and have no particular desire to drink/fuck everything, so I'm pretty sure I'm not manic. That's the most frustrating thing about this whole business.
Showing posts with label Mental Health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mental Health. Show all posts
Friday, July 29, 2016
Saturday, January 30, 2016
Poor Old Michael Finnigan, Begin Again
Well, I have settled on my excuse for not writing more lately: I was in the throes of a major depressive episode that I didn't know I was having. Or maybe I talked myself out of thinking I was having it. Because October is always bad, so obviously that was just October. And November, I was getting over October. Then the holidays are always rough, and December is a hectic mess. Then January is for getting over the holidays, so of course I was low, and also, my husband is a huge jerk. It all seemed so rational.
When I finally did figure out that I was too low, I had my reasons, and I just thought it was a slight overreaction to serious provocation. I had a prescheduled check-up with my doctor, and she put me on some Wellbutrin to boost my normal stuff, and I figured it would help a bit. I was really low by this point, crying every night before I went to bed and every morning when I got up, because, you know, I had grievances. Then a few days later, I completely lost my mind. I told Husband that I couldn't remember why I ever thought he'd loved me. I spent the next day in an impenetrable fog, working 8 hours that I mostly don't remember, so low that my coworker could hear it over the phone, so tired that I had trouble moving my body and I kept dropping things and knocking them over because I just couldn't function.
Then the next day, I woke up. I rolled over. I was...fine. Just fine. Not *All better!* Not suddenly happy, just fine. As the day went on, the horror of what I had said to my husband started to dawn on me. I still took issue with some things (we live together, this is inevitable), but none of them seemed to matter as much. Then the next day, I woke up and I was fine again, and he was still there. I told him that I ever said something like that again, he could site this incident as proof that he loved me. I said awful, horrible things to him, but he just sort of waited it out. He was still here when I came back.
I mean, I know he married me and whatever, but seriously.
When I finally did figure out that I was too low, I had my reasons, and I just thought it was a slight overreaction to serious provocation. I had a prescheduled check-up with my doctor, and she put me on some Wellbutrin to boost my normal stuff, and I figured it would help a bit. I was really low by this point, crying every night before I went to bed and every morning when I got up, because, you know, I had grievances. Then a few days later, I completely lost my mind. I told Husband that I couldn't remember why I ever thought he'd loved me. I spent the next day in an impenetrable fog, working 8 hours that I mostly don't remember, so low that my coworker could hear it over the phone, so tired that I had trouble moving my body and I kept dropping things and knocking them over because I just couldn't function.
Then the next day, I woke up. I rolled over. I was...fine. Just fine. Not *All better!* Not suddenly happy, just fine. As the day went on, the horror of what I had said to my husband started to dawn on me. I still took issue with some things (we live together, this is inevitable), but none of them seemed to matter as much. Then the next day, I woke up and I was fine again, and he was still there. I told him that I ever said something like that again, he could site this incident as proof that he loved me. I said awful, horrible things to him, but he just sort of waited it out. He was still here when I came back.
I mean, I know he married me and whatever, but seriously.
Sunday, September 13, 2015
On Memory, Inevitability, and Healing from Wounds You Didn't Know You Had
(Consider this a warning, both for the length of this post, and for triggering material)
If I could go back in time, there are not many things I'd change. Mostly because you can't know how little changes might affect you, and in making changes to my past, I'd be killing myself. Which is all nonsense, as every time I see sci-fi shows where someone is faced with helping the heroes put back the past, they struggle with the knowledge that they will kill themselves in the process, and I think, "Well that's dumb. Don't they know it's better this way?" But that's not the point. Better or not, at the end, you become a new person, and whoever you would have become down that alternate timeline, whether they liked themselves or not, whether they were a good person or not, they are dead. Chances are, it was not so straightforward - everyone is a mix of good and bad, everyone likes and dislikes themselves or part of themselves at times. Maybe weathering this battle made them better and stronger, and although the whole world is better because the battle never happened, something will be missing from this version of that one person. They are dead.
If I could go back in time, I've said before that there were things about my wedding I would change. Certain things that I had fixed in my head that were unnecessary, because at the time, I was a staunch traditionalist. I still am, in my way. I debated for a long time whether to have my mom or my step-dad walk me down the aisle. My mom has been there for me forever. She's always been my primary parent. At the same time, my step-dad and I had formed a close bond, and he had been my dad for 20 years. I chose him, in my own way symbolically adopting him. I chose him.
When he walked me down the aisle, he was already cheating on my mom. He was already in the process of ruining everything. When it all came out, the world fell down around my ears - the narratives I'd built up about second chances, about religious conversion, about all kinds of things. For those reasons, I would go back and not choose him. For a while, I thought I should have chosen my mom. Now, I think, I would choose no one.
If I could go back in time, there are not many things I'd change. Mostly because you can't know how little changes might affect you, and in making changes to my past, I'd be killing myself. Which is all nonsense, as every time I see sci-fi shows where someone is faced with helping the heroes put back the past, they struggle with the knowledge that they will kill themselves in the process, and I think, "Well that's dumb. Don't they know it's better this way?" But that's not the point. Better or not, at the end, you become a new person, and whoever you would have become down that alternate timeline, whether they liked themselves or not, whether they were a good person or not, they are dead. Chances are, it was not so straightforward - everyone is a mix of good and bad, everyone likes and dislikes themselves or part of themselves at times. Maybe weathering this battle made them better and stronger, and although the whole world is better because the battle never happened, something will be missing from this version of that one person. They are dead.
If I could go back in time, I've said before that there were things about my wedding I would change. Certain things that I had fixed in my head that were unnecessary, because at the time, I was a staunch traditionalist. I still am, in my way. I debated for a long time whether to have my mom or my step-dad walk me down the aisle. My mom has been there for me forever. She's always been my primary parent. At the same time, my step-dad and I had formed a close bond, and he had been my dad for 20 years. I chose him, in my own way symbolically adopting him. I chose him.
When he walked me down the aisle, he was already cheating on my mom. He was already in the process of ruining everything. When it all came out, the world fell down around my ears - the narratives I'd built up about second chances, about religious conversion, about all kinds of things. For those reasons, I would go back and not choose him. For a while, I thought I should have chosen my mom. Now, I think, I would choose no one.
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
Once Upon a Time, My Life
I really should have known that adjusting to a new position would hinder my ability to write as often as I'd like. However, I'm getting better at the job and just adjusting in general - not that the job is that hard or that stressful, just that things need adjusted to, I guess, so I've been coming home for 3 months with no desire to cook or write or interact with humans or do anything other than watch tv or play video games. And that's ok.
I sometimes worry that being ok with my own laziness will carry me away. My mom always complains that I'm not "ambitious," but I do like to always be looking for that "next thing" - graduated HS, next is college; out of college, next is job; have husband, next is baby; have job, next is promotion; have degree, next is grad school - and on and on ad infinitum. It is so. gorram. hard. for me to just enjoy life at the point it is now. It's partially Adventure! and partially Anxiety! and partially Boredom! - no, wait, just boredom. Stillness is not in my nature. So to sit and chill seems like a great concession for me.
At the same time, movement for the sake of movement hardly counts as anything. That's what I feel like I'm doing. The next thing, the next thing, the next thing - what is that thing? Doesn't matter. It's Next. New. Different. Sometimes I feel like a hamster on a wheel. And when a hamster climbs off the wheel and chills with his water bottle in his little blue plastic hut, has he deserved his rest?
IDK, MAN!
I fear that I am too careful with myself. Since finding out about my mental illness, since I started getting migraines, I give myself permission to rest. I let myself rely on Husband for things that stress me out (like leaving the house - I go to work, I come home. He does the shopping, he runs the errands, etc.). I give myself permission to flake out on plans when having friends is just too much for me. It's true that I have some conditions, and it's true that I work hard, and it's true that I have been perhaps too self-reliant for too long, but I worry that if I give myself enough leeway, I'll collapse into a pile of useless mush or something. (That happens to people, right?)
THEN AGAIN, I got a new job, then a year later, got a promotion. I'm only 3 months in. I'm just now getting to the point of comfortableness, and I'm coming back out of my shell a little. Adjustment is hard, and it's been a busy year-or-so for adjustments. Maybe I need to lay off myself.
Anyway, here's my latest slew of quarter-life crises for your enjoyment:
I sometimes worry that being ok with my own laziness will carry me away. My mom always complains that I'm not "ambitious," but I do like to always be looking for that "next thing" - graduated HS, next is college; out of college, next is job; have husband, next is baby; have job, next is promotion; have degree, next is grad school - and on and on ad infinitum. It is so. gorram. hard. for me to just enjoy life at the point it is now. It's partially Adventure! and partially Anxiety! and partially Boredom! - no, wait, just boredom. Stillness is not in my nature. So to sit and chill seems like a great concession for me.
At the same time, movement for the sake of movement hardly counts as anything. That's what I feel like I'm doing. The next thing, the next thing, the next thing - what is that thing? Doesn't matter. It's Next. New. Different. Sometimes I feel like a hamster on a wheel. And when a hamster climbs off the wheel and chills with his water bottle in his little blue plastic hut, has he deserved his rest?
IDK, MAN!
I fear that I am too careful with myself. Since finding out about my mental illness, since I started getting migraines, I give myself permission to rest. I let myself rely on Husband for things that stress me out (like leaving the house - I go to work, I come home. He does the shopping, he runs the errands, etc.). I give myself permission to flake out on plans when having friends is just too much for me. It's true that I have some conditions, and it's true that I work hard, and it's true that I have been perhaps too self-reliant for too long, but I worry that if I give myself enough leeway, I'll collapse into a pile of useless mush or something. (That happens to people, right?)
THEN AGAIN, I got a new job, then a year later, got a promotion. I'm only 3 months in. I'm just now getting to the point of comfortableness, and I'm coming back out of my shell a little. Adjustment is hard, and it's been a busy year-or-so for adjustments. Maybe I need to lay off myself.
Anyway, here's my latest slew of quarter-life crises for your enjoyment:
Sunday, June 22, 2014
Grief, Anger, Prayer
Here's one that's been mulling a while as well. Another big one, like the forgiveness thing. It comes from places very personal to people close to me.
My mom is going through a very painful (and biblically sanctioned) divorce right now - after 20 years of marriage. It's a difficult process anyway, but made all the more difficult by an unsupportive pastor, a soon-to-be-ex-husband who continues to disrespect her, and a community of fellow Christians who judge her for being angry.
At the same time, I have friends who recently found out that they can't have children. Perhaps they'll adopt or take some other option, but for now, I imagine it hits like a betrayal. A betrayal of one's own body, and even a betrayal by the One who made those bodies. A strong Christian couple, who I have no doubt would be awesome parents - how can He do this to them? Here again, there are people - fellow Christians - who want to say, "You shouldn't be angry."
Now honestly, I have no real clue what the people in either of my stories is going through. I haven't had to go through anything like that myself. But I know grief, and that's what this is. People talk about grief in situations of death, but it can (obviously, I would think) be relevant to other situations as well. It's still death, of a sort - death of a marriage, of a dream, whathaveyou. The Bible certainly takes such things seriously - barrenness and adultery are used frequently as illustrations and examples of bad things in the Bible.
Now, I've got 3 things all tangled together in my mind as a result of this - Grief, Prayer, and and Anger. What is grief? Is grief different for a Christian? How do grief and anger affect prayer? Is it ok to be angry? Is it ok to be angry at God?
My mom is going through a very painful (and biblically sanctioned) divorce right now - after 20 years of marriage. It's a difficult process anyway, but made all the more difficult by an unsupportive pastor, a soon-to-be-ex-husband who continues to disrespect her, and a community of fellow Christians who judge her for being angry.
At the same time, I have friends who recently found out that they can't have children. Perhaps they'll adopt or take some other option, but for now, I imagine it hits like a betrayal. A betrayal of one's own body, and even a betrayal by the One who made those bodies. A strong Christian couple, who I have no doubt would be awesome parents - how can He do this to them? Here again, there are people - fellow Christians - who want to say, "You shouldn't be angry."
Now honestly, I have no real clue what the people in either of my stories is going through. I haven't had to go through anything like that myself. But I know grief, and that's what this is. People talk about grief in situations of death, but it can (obviously, I would think) be relevant to other situations as well. It's still death, of a sort - death of a marriage, of a dream, whathaveyou. The Bible certainly takes such things seriously - barrenness and adultery are used frequently as illustrations and examples of bad things in the Bible.
Now, I've got 3 things all tangled together in my mind as a result of this - Grief, Prayer, and and Anger. What is grief? Is grief different for a Christian? How do grief and anger affect prayer? Is it ok to be angry? Is it ok to be angry at God?
Sunday, April 27, 2014
In Which I Completely Freak Out, But It's Really All Okay...Mostly
I had to switch psychiatrists when I changed insurance (which I had to do because my company cut health insurance, and claimed it was Obamacare's fault, even though we all know that's bull*).
My previous one was very gentle with medications. She put me on the lowest effective dose of my medication, and even though I still had a few highs and lows - some days I'd wake up, start 5 projects, not finish any, take a nap, and then be normal; some days I'd be cycling negative thoughts all day, then take a nap and be normal - I was able to function and was doing ok. I've said it before: medication changed my life. It's good for me.
I chose my new psychiatrist based on how I only had a month left of pills and she was the only one in the whole Aurora system who would see me without a referral from an Aurora psychologist, despite how I've been on these pills for 3 freaking years and only 3 total doctors' visits are covered by my insurance so I don't have time or money for your shit, Aurora! (My last psychiatrist saw me every 6 months or less, so I didn't think the "3 dr visits/yr" thing would be too too terrible - 1 physical, 2 psych, done. Sure, there are emergencies to cover, but I'm poor, and I had to weigh the monthly cost vs the possible cost of an extra dr visit or two, and it came down to: sometimes we run out of food between paychecks, so bigger monthly cost is just not going to work for us.) This new psychiatrist is not averse to medication, and doesn't seem to care how many of them she prescribes. The first thing she said to me after looking at my papers was, "Did your previous doctor ever tell you why she didn't raise your prescription? This isn't a therapeutic dose. This isn't safe. Those little highs and lows can build up and trigger a larger episode." Cue freakout #1.
My previous one was very gentle with medications. She put me on the lowest effective dose of my medication, and even though I still had a few highs and lows - some days I'd wake up, start 5 projects, not finish any, take a nap, and then be normal; some days I'd be cycling negative thoughts all day, then take a nap and be normal - I was able to function and was doing ok. I've said it before: medication changed my life. It's good for me.
I chose my new psychiatrist based on how I only had a month left of pills and she was the only one in the whole Aurora system who would see me without a referral from an Aurora psychologist, despite how I've been on these pills for 3 freaking years and only 3 total doctors' visits are covered by my insurance so I don't have time or money for your shit, Aurora! (My last psychiatrist saw me every 6 months or less, so I didn't think the "3 dr visits/yr" thing would be too too terrible - 1 physical, 2 psych, done. Sure, there are emergencies to cover, but I'm poor, and I had to weigh the monthly cost vs the possible cost of an extra dr visit or two, and it came down to: sometimes we run out of food between paychecks, so bigger monthly cost is just not going to work for us.) This new psychiatrist is not averse to medication, and doesn't seem to care how many of them she prescribes. The first thing she said to me after looking at my papers was, "Did your previous doctor ever tell you why she didn't raise your prescription? This isn't a therapeutic dose. This isn't safe. Those little highs and lows can build up and trigger a larger episode." Cue freakout #1.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
Stories of Mental Illness
Lately, I've realized that as much as I go on about fighting the stigma of "mental illness," I mostly only post about depression - even though I'm bipolar, which is technically different, but I'm Bipolar II which is kinda the same...whatever. Anyway, that's mainly because that's the one I can talk most easily about. I've been there. I've experienced it enough to know what I'm talking about. And honestly it's comfortable, in its way (see below). I don't talk about being manic because it doesn't happen to me often, and when it does, it's scary and weird, so it's hard to talk about because I don't get myself at those times.
SO I've decided to try to expand my repertoire a bit. (PS. repertoire is hard to spell). And since I've had a stressful week that is just the lead-up to another stressful week (I get to work over 12 hours/shift twice this week! Joy), I haven't got a lot of creative energy, so this is mostly links. But they're important links, and good links, so you should read them and be amazed.
SO I've decided to try to expand my repertoire a bit. (PS. repertoire is hard to spell). And since I've had a stressful week that is just the lead-up to another stressful week (I get to work over 12 hours/shift twice this week! Joy), I haven't got a lot of creative energy, so this is mostly links. But they're important links, and good links, so you should read them and be amazed.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Oh, It's You Again...
I titled this post and started writing in ages ago, then never came back. Here I am again, deleting what was and starting over. Same topic.
I had kind of a relapse a bit ago with my depression. It made a lot of sense, what with the newlywededness and the thesis writing and the work stress and so forth. My psych increased my meds a bit, which scared me. I don't want to have to keep increasing them, you know? But she said that it was temporary, and that if my illness is exacerbated by stress (just like my eczema), there's no shame in boosting the meds for just a bit. I suppose she's right, and I needed the pep talk.
The newlyweddedness is much more stressful than I'd thought it would be. My mom and my friend Jenny warned me that the first 2 years of marriage are the worst, because while you're getting used to each other, you fight all the time. I can understand that with my mom, she has a very strong personality, and clear notions of how things ought to be.
Our problem hasn't been that. We haven't fought at all, yet. I think the trouble is that I'm an introvert sharing a 500-sq ft house with another person (and 2 cats). Husband's presence is never irritating to me, I never consciously want him to go away, but my body recharges by being alone. Since I'm rarely alone now, I feel like I can never quite catch up, as it were. Like everything that would have stressed me out this much now stresses me out THIS much, because it builds up. I feel like I have no control, because there is no place in the house (besides my side of the bed) to be alone.
I had kind of a relapse a bit ago with my depression. It made a lot of sense, what with the newlywededness and the thesis writing and the work stress and so forth. My psych increased my meds a bit, which scared me. I don't want to have to keep increasing them, you know? But she said that it was temporary, and that if my illness is exacerbated by stress (just like my eczema), there's no shame in boosting the meds for just a bit. I suppose she's right, and I needed the pep talk.
The newlyweddedness is much more stressful than I'd thought it would be. My mom and my friend Jenny warned me that the first 2 years of marriage are the worst, because while you're getting used to each other, you fight all the time. I can understand that with my mom, she has a very strong personality, and clear notions of how things ought to be.
Our problem hasn't been that. We haven't fought at all, yet. I think the trouble is that I'm an introvert sharing a 500-sq ft house with another person (and 2 cats). Husband's presence is never irritating to me, I never consciously want him to go away, but my body recharges by being alone. Since I'm rarely alone now, I feel like I can never quite catch up, as it were. Like everything that would have stressed me out this much now stresses me out THIS much, because it builds up. I feel like I have no control, because there is no place in the house (besides my side of the bed) to be alone.
Monday, February 25, 2013
I have the Worst problems
OMG, my life. It's almost as bad as Julia Roberts' in the beginning of Eat, Pray, Love.
For anyone who doesn't know, I'm working full-time and going to school part-time. It's sweet, because working full-time at school means I get free tuition to this private college. I don't particularly love my job (it's not remotely in my field, but I like the people I work with), and I'm getting paid peanuts if you don't factor in the tuition. If you do factor in the tuition, I make a ton. Sometimes it bothers me, because no one really pays for the tuition, they lose nothing by offering it to me, so shouldn't I get a raise? Then I think: "What? So my income only matters if someone else is suffering for it?" Beyond that, the fact that I have a job at all is quite the blessing in this economy, and I've been there for 5 years now. I started when I was 19, and they've helped me, nurtured me, and let me make mistakes (sometimes bad ones) and haven't fired me. It was too much responsibility for me at first, and I was too immature for it. Sometimes I still am. So it's not the job I wish I had - I am the worst person ever.
I dropped out of this school a while back because I was struggling with depression and found the atmosphere stifling. I still hold a lot of that resentment, and I still find the atmosphere stifling. I think, "How much does picking someone off the ground matter if you're the one that pushed them down in the first place?" This school is great for a certain type of person, and I'm not really that type of person. Still, I chose to come here, and I also know that my depression (still unmedicated at the time) had a ton to do with it. So the problem is really mine. Not that the school doesn't have it's problems, but I've been given an extraordinary chance to go back. I'm going to graduate (in 7 years, but still, graduate), and I'm not paying for it. I made a major mistake that could have messed up my life big time, and I've been given the opportunity to fix it. That's incredible. It's huge. I am the worst person ever.
Monday, January 7, 2013
Bam! Right in the Gut
So. There was a discussion on the Facebook a while back about how mental health care is one of the programs to be slashed if we go over the "fiscal cliff." One of my friends (who is very nice, and who always means very well, who loves Jesus and her country, but who sometimes comes across as a screaming lunatic) seemed to think that was a great idea and the healthcare system hasn't done much good anyway, since (as I understand her argument) it failed to keep Adam Lanza from shooting up Sandy Hook Elementary.
Now, I realize it's up top in many people's minds right now, but bringing it up there, when no one had mentioned that tragedy, makes it sound like she's saying that this guy is a great example of mental illness, like he is a representative of that group of people. First of all, there's not much evidence supporting the idea of his even having a mental illness. Asperger's is the word that is getting thrown around, but Asperger's has no connection to violence. It's like saying, "Yeah, he was lactose intolerant, that's why he committed that massacre." (Speaking of Asperger's, here's a great article by the Asperger's guru Tony Attwood about the strengths of Aspies. Reading it made me happy.) Still, there is some hope that this shooting will prompt people to think about giving more support to the mental health professions, as USA Today hopes. With 20 to 25% of the homeless population in the United States suffering from some form of severe mental illness, this is something we need. While I'm not happy about the added stigma being attached to these already-stigmatized disorders, perhaps some good can come out of it.
This business about Lanza aside, here's the dreaded comment followed: "I am simply saying that if parents would teach their kids right from wrong like my parents taught me right from wrong, there would be fewer idiots and massacres in the US alone. Oh, I forgot, there is no such thing as absolute truth anymore. Do whatever the hell you want! It's a 'free' country!" See what I mean about "screaming lunatic?" But let's take a moment to cool down. The Bible tells us to be filled with joy and praise (Philippians 4:4; Romans 15:11), right? God tells us that he will provide for us, that he wants what's best for us, and that no hardships in life are beyond his power. So really, being depressed is a sin, right? People should be able to control their emotions, and their parents should teach them how to do this, right?
Now, I realize it's up top in many people's minds right now, but bringing it up there, when no one had mentioned that tragedy, makes it sound like she's saying that this guy is a great example of mental illness, like he is a representative of that group of people. First of all, there's not much evidence supporting the idea of his even having a mental illness. Asperger's is the word that is getting thrown around, but Asperger's has no connection to violence. It's like saying, "Yeah, he was lactose intolerant, that's why he committed that massacre." (Speaking of Asperger's, here's a great article by the Asperger's guru Tony Attwood about the strengths of Aspies. Reading it made me happy.) Still, there is some hope that this shooting will prompt people to think about giving more support to the mental health professions, as USA Today hopes. With 20 to 25% of the homeless population in the United States suffering from some form of severe mental illness, this is something we need. While I'm not happy about the added stigma being attached to these already-stigmatized disorders, perhaps some good can come out of it.
This business about Lanza aside, here's the dreaded comment followed: "I am simply saying that if parents would teach their kids right from wrong like my parents taught me right from wrong, there would be fewer idiots and massacres in the US alone. Oh, I forgot, there is no such thing as absolute truth anymore. Do whatever the hell you want! It's a 'free' country!" See what I mean about "screaming lunatic?" But let's take a moment to cool down. The Bible tells us to be filled with joy and praise (Philippians 4:4; Romans 15:11), right? God tells us that he will provide for us, that he wants what's best for us, and that no hardships in life are beyond his power. So really, being depressed is a sin, right? People should be able to control their emotions, and their parents should teach them how to do this, right?
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Eyes Half Shut
"It's extraordinary how we go through life with eyes half shut, with dull ears, with dormant thoughts. Perhaps it's just as well; and it may be that it is this very dullness that makes life to the incalculable majority so supportable and so welcome" -Lord Jim, by Joseph Conrad
Monday, September 3, 2012
Memory
“No relation of a dream can convey the dream-sensation, that commingling of absurdity, surprise, and bewilderment in a tremor of struggling revolt, that notion of being captured by the incredible which is often the very essence of dreams...it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one's existence,--that which makes its truth, its meaning--its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. No, it is impossible...we live, as we dream, alone” -Heart of Darkness, by Joseph Conrad
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