I Know I Posted Once Already Today...

but can we just talk about the term "liberal elitism?" Where in the FUCK did that come from?

Helloooo, Republicans, when you look at the top 2% of America's wealth, are you seeing a lot of Democrats or other social-justice inclined folk at the top?

NO. YOU DON'T.

You see a lot of cracker-ass white menfolk who get off on controlling most of America's wealth and treading all over women, especially those of color and of lower-income.

FUCK. YOU.

Pennyroyal Tea

Goddamnit, dude.

I've gone through fifteen-odd years of therapy, and not once, once, during that time did anyone stop and think, gee, maybe this girl's got a case of the PTSDs.

-_-

I'll grant that it's a relatively new diagnosis (not disorder, cause I'm sure it's been around for a very long time), but STILL. And I'm even mad at myself a little, for not recognizing that my symptoms so closely align with it.

I think that's why I never ended up doing psychology as a second major...apparently, professors of Abnormal Psych make a point of saying that students should not diagnose themselves because they probably don't have said disorders.

Well, I do.

I finally, FINALLY seen a psychiatrist to get on mood stabilizers, but the whole experience was jarring--it was at a different office than the website online told me, and the office would not PICK UP THEIR GODDAMN PHONE, and the lady at the place I went to that was the wrong place was rude, condescending, and all-around unfeeling. Betch.

So I sat in my car babbling and crying to myself, desperately trying to get a hold of SOMEONE, but everyone in the world wouldn't answer their phone. And honestly, this kind of thing could happen to anyone, but my mental and emotional states are so precarious that the littlest thing is generally the worst thing that has ever happened EVER. And it's frustrating, because I know I come off as melodramatic, but the way I feel and experience things is so goddamn visceral, and that thing in your brain that tells you not to overreact to things is virtually nonexistent in mine.

The psychiatrist man, who I really loved because he seemed like he was definitely a part of 60s counterculture, prescribed me an anti-psychotic. Which made my brain go O.o because I have never considered myself to be psychotic, just excessively unwell. But then he was all, no, it's cool, it's a dumb name, it just means that it will slow your thinking (in a good way) and help stabilize your moods and sleep.

To which I was all, okay.

Problem is that these types of medications take up to two months to kick in. So I says, "Bro, I can't wait that long."

And he says, "Cool, we'll give you this thing that's effective super fast, and then taper you off to the thing that isn't fast but more effective." And then I was irritated that he didn't give me ritalin.

So right now I am spacey as hell, tired for no reason, grumpy, headachey and nauseated, but I'm hoping that all this will magically go away within a week. Getting chemically balanced is something that I've always aspired to, which is an odd thing to say, let alone aspire to, but when you've got the family history I do, just barely scraping by the normal scale is ballin' as shit.

I read back through this and I think it mostly doesn't make sense. And I used the weirdest phrases. -_-

CapitalismSMASH v. Kitten Poster Staring Contest

It's a frustrated thing, this disease, this disorder, because at any given moment I'm at one of two extremes. I can do either ALL the things, or nothing at all. There are days when I can singlehandedly dismantle capitalism, de-institutionalize religion, outlaw patriarchy, read Foucault's "History of Madness" as a backdrop for my comp and run a triathalon; there are also days where my mind and body are so crippled from exhaustion that anything beyond lying in bed and staring at a kitten poster is physically impossible.

Yet there are times of in-between too, times when I am neither crippled nor extraodinary, just average, run-of-the-mill, normal--by my standards, at least. These are the moments I cherish the most, the mundane and everyday. They are also the most hurtful, I think. Hurtful? Painful, I guess, is a better way to describe it. Because I know it will go away and I will be extreme again, I will do everything or nothing, and I will not be a normal girl anymore.

I will be me again.

I will be mad.

And the madness will take its proverbial toll.

Wiggidy Wack

I am expected to care about all the things that I don't have the capacity to care about anymore.

D:

Just the Flax

Recently, I disclosed to a friend that I was diagnosed with Bipolar...which, as it turns out, she is diagnosed with too. In between bouts of Sororityland goings-on, I asked what sort of prescriptions she's taking, because I usually don't comprehend what is and is not a socially appropriate question. And she was all, "St. John's Wort and flax seed."

And I was all, derwhat?

At any given moment in the US, there are approximately eighty bagillion ads brandishing all sorts of new miracle drugs with the quick-fix that's just right for YOU. We're all about the quick fixes, us Americans, because our society is so face-paced...we've got drive-thru food, banks, coffee and hell, even car washes.

I soaked all that shit up for the past twenty-one years.

Part of it is maybe the illness, but I honest to god have not been able to quiet my mind for more than the thirty or so seconds it takes to begin a meditative breathing. It's so frustrating, because I really believe that if I could just sit and concentrate on my breath like I was doing early on in the year, I could begin to deal with everything that's going on.

I could be like this: -_-

When I feel like this: :DDDDD !!!@@##$ DDDD:

So what's really been my lifeline the past few weeks is knowing that I have a psychiatrist appointment with a doctor who will prescribe the crazy away. And yes, I have concerns that are typical with bipolar patients--I worry that part of what makes me me is going to be scraped away, that I'll turn into a corporate zombie (a conspiracy theory paranoia of mine), that the side effects of the drug will outweight its benefits, that I'll become dependent and increase the dosage until it's too toxic for my body--but in my current state, I would do just about anything to live in between. So when my friend started talking about warts and wheat (which is what my brain interpreted the herbal remedies she suggested to me into), I was really left-fielded.

Considering it's still about a month until I see the psychiatrist, and I'm desperate, I decided to take my friend's advice. I BOGO'd* the wheat and warts, and I'm taking it for a test run. Obviously, everyone's chemical makeup is different; some people, for instance, do not gulp down half-bottles of Nyquil (and no, it was not of the non-drowsy variety), nor do they have to take more than one Ambien to quiet the manic agitation at three in the morning. So I'm not investing all my hope that this will work, but I'm really trying to not view the 'take three day' directions as a company conspiracy to force you to buy twenty dollar boxes of fucking warts.

:)

*Buy One Get One

She's Not Broken, She's Just a Baby

Things I learned today:

1) Just because chocolate flavored Ex Lax tastes delicious does not mean you should eat twice the recommended dose;

2) There is a scientific approach to how best eat an ice cream sandwich;

3) It's more than me that struggles with bipolar and fibromyalgia;

4) Of the three people I never expected to tell about my disorders, every single one of them has gone out of their way to offer their support;

5) My neuroses, strange paranoias and wild gesticulations are part of my charm;

6) I might just be the luckiest unlucky girl alive.

I Fucken Hate Xmas Music

Around Xmas, I'm usually a grumpus.

Well.

I guess I more extra grump than my usual run-of-the-mill grumpuslikeness, because if there's one thing in the world I hate more than Nickelback and grapefruit, it's hypocrisy.

And guess what? After dictionary.comming hypocrisy, as I am often wont to do because I cannot abide grammatical errors in real life and therefore cannot abide them on the blogosphere, this 'related searches' list came up:

Related Searches
Christian hypocrisy
Hypocrisy in history
Religious hypocrisy
Hypocrisy in religion
Types of hypocrisy
Quotes about hypocris...
Essay on hypocrisy
A writing on hypocris...
Hypocrisy poems
Hypocrisy affects peo...
Hypocrisy in church
Origin of hypocrisy

...are we noticing a trend here?

It is my personal belief that religion stems from anxieties surrounding love and death, and in this sense, I believe religion is a perfectly logical illogical way to resolve this issue.

What makes it illogical, other than the obvious hundreds-of-species-fitting-on-one-boat-and-not-killing-each-other types of things, is that what people take as the "inerrant word of God" is actually a translation of a translation of a translation of a translation that was edited by a bunch of dudes with clear social and political agendas.

People of color? Let's enslave 'em. (lol Ham seen Noah's weiner XD)
Women? All silence and subjection. (let's turn some bitches into salt)
Poor people? Fuck 'em. (no, srsly, sodom fell cuz of buttsecks...swear)
Animals? OM NOM NOM NOM (NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM)
Masturbation? KILLING BABIES (The expense of spirit in a waste of shame D:)

...this by no means is an exhaustive list.

What grinds my gears about Xmas music, and the holiday more generally, is that a hella ton of Xtians are all DERP A DERRRRR CONSUMER CAPITALIST GREED :D :D :D when Jeebus was faaaaairly explicit in his teachings re: Christian charity.

"You lack one thing; go, sell what you have, and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me." (Mark 10:21)

Okay, I'll grant you that one need not give all worldly possessions to believe in the Christian god. But to systematically deny them basic human rights and dignities doesn't sound overly Christian to me, especially with the goddamn propaganda of right-wing thinktanks decrying people as 'unmotivated looking-for-handout' types without considering their OBSCENE amounts of privilege.

I think I am a little off-topic.

What also pisses the living shit outta me is this "Xmas" business.

KEEP THE CHRIST IN CHRISTMAS D: D: D: OR ELSE NO ONE WILL KNOW WHAT X STANDS FOR D:

MLLLRRRGGHHHH. 'X' HAS BEEN USED FOR FUCKEN SERIOUS EVER TO REPRESENT CHRIST. 'X' IS THE GREEK LETTER FOR CHI, FOR MOTHERFUCKLOVINSAKE.

What I am trying to convey here is that I fucking love Jesus. I think he is the bee's knees. He was a cool dude, and he stood for pretty much most of what I stand for today. It's his fucking followers that I can't stand, who take the Bible so wildly out of context that it makes my head full-on Exorcist twist.

50 points if you got that Buffy reference. I am going to stew in my impotent rage and sleep restlessly to gear up for round two of really awkward familial conversations in which I either surpress righteous feminist rage or get disowned.

Blooooop.