So Borred

So, had a partially successful afternoon. Found major bookstores in NY, haven't planned the route to visit them all, but have found them. Printed several copies of my bookstore resume.

Now what?

Extended therapy

The psychologist had a great idea.

See when I leave the office I burry my head in my book and tune out. Maybe I do something to extend my post-therapy motivation by meditating and writing about what just happened.

And I realized I want a few things. I want to feel employable. I want a retail job, just to make ends come close to meeting.

And I don't want to be in such a zombie state. I want to be awake--not like I am now, with the haze from sleeping too much and starving myself.

And I don't want to have to check with social services and look into living like a disabled person. As a disabled person.

the thought of it makes me cringe. To have to do that. Register as disabled. Have someone check in on me. Live in a group home. I know I don't want to live that way.

Just have to wake up to reality.

But I feel so hazy. Yet happy. It's like nothing is sinking in. Like the reality of the situation is just not sinking in.

But I do feel less of a desire to live behind the screen, wasting my life on video games. That's no way to live.

That's not living but living death. Sucking time away.

Yet the lure of escape. I talked about it yesterday. Just the lure of living life without thinking of all my problems... Not taking care of myself--wallowing in my own crapulence.

But ultimately I don't want that. And the video games aren't going anywhere. I don't need to worry about that.

They'll still be there once I've made an effort to live.

But it makes me scared to live. To want to live. What if I can't do it.

I know I have been able to do it in the past. Have a life where I was able to take good care of myself and pay my bills and like my life and keep trying to improve it.

I have been that person. I want to be it again. I want to say I will it.

I will will it, if that makes any sense. I just need to start. And then let the feeling come again.

This makes me feel better, writing like this, even as it makes me sad and scared. At least it's active. At least it's engaged. Thinking and not escaping from my problems. It makes the idea of escape less seductive. It makes me feel motivated.

It struck me yesterday that I've had a lot of therapy. And in the right mind I can do a lot of work on myself all by myself.

I know some of my patterns and I know I don't want to repete them. I want out.

I want the next chapter. The next adventure. The little steps of improvement that lead to a life I enjoy living.

I want something new. I want to wake up and not feel the desire to escape my life. I want something to be proud of.

I want to take responsibility for my life.

feeling terrible

I don't even know why I'm writing this.

I know what i do, and I don't need to tell the therapist about it, I just need to stop doing it.

I get out of therapy, eager for change. I take the train home and read on it. I get home and fire up the computer and waste time either playing juvenile games or interweb pornography.

Hours go by then days go by and I haven't done anything. Left the house, eaten, showered, anything.

It makes me paranoid, it makes me crazy.

Sometimes, like yesterday, I even go off of the drugs.

Why defies me.

So I can take them again and feel like I'm doing something good for me?

I just cut my fingernails. It feels so good, to type without having nails in the way and they were so dirty--been rolling cigarettes from the snubbed out butts in the trashcan. Makes the hands dirty. But why do I deny myself the pleasure of having clean hands, which is a pleasure. Makes typing easier.

Why?

For those few moments when I'm playing my games or surfing the pornography, I'm not myself. I don't have my own problems and I don't feel the way I usually do. I'm not afraid. And the lure of escaping, even for a moment, even when I know that I'll only feel more depressed when I come back and see how much time I've wasted--even that escape is preferable to the pain, I suppose, I'm feeling right now.

I'm trying to be honest here without beating myself up, because that is another escape. Blaming myself into inaction.

Things are difficult right now.

And I'm not helping them.

Just sitting here, trying to do a sustained thing is hurting me. I'm out of practice.

This is going to ramble.

I know no one is going to read it, but it helps, somehow, to write it out in public. I've never been terribly good at journaling. I feel like I've got nothing to say. But I know I can say it well. Sometimes.

Maybe having something to say, or feeling that way, is better than saying something well, if you want to say anything at all.

Last summer, I was so low. I starved myself and lost a great deal of weight for someone who weighs as little as I do.

Now I weigh too much. Inactivity with poor eating habits. Poor habits all together. I smoke too much, spend too much time wasting time. I'm trying to gear myself up to shower and shave.

I have to go out today.

Showered, shaved, cut the fingernails and toenails. I feel slightly human again. If only I did this every morning. Yet when you do, you no longer notice the lift it gives you. But that lift's still there, like the lift I feel from taking my medication. It allows me to do this.

But I'm afraid to stop typing. Afraid that if I do, then all will stop again--that I'll just sink into a morass of inaction once again. Evolution, not revolution.

Still the urge, it comes again, to ... not procrastinate, escape. That's the word. Instead, let my fingers crawl like spiders across the keyboard. Let the meaningful and meaningless come through as they like, meaningless and meaningful as each likes. Let good and bad be good and bad, let each have its time and each have its way.

But not escape. Let's face it, escape is an addiction. I'm addicted to escaping. The cause of and solution to all life's problems.

The easy stuff done--drugs, food (peanut butter by the spoonful) and grooming; it only gets harder from here.

Logging, web longing. Weblonger.

Not quite sure I'm up for taking down the recycling, yet. Took out the trash and that's a good start. Maybe dishes.

In a way, I wish I weren't going out today. So I can work piecemeal on these little home projects. Feels good. Taking care of little things, clutter, dishes, grooming. I feel like a human again, but the problems don't go away. Still have to work, still have to look for work.

But at least I'm not waiting until I have to go to therapy to work. Doing it a good twenty hours or so before that.

Well, I've reached the limit on my prescription drug coverage. No more free drugs for me.

Random. That's what this post is. Random.

Calling Bristol-Myers Squibb for assistance paying for Abilify. It doesn't sound good. I have had very limited prescription drug coverage, but it seems any amount will disqualify me.

Oh well. It's worth a shot. Shooting for anything these days.

Trying to get up the nerve to RSVP to the Apple hiring event. Or fill out the Abilify form. Probably should take an Ativan, since I seem to be blocked on these fronts.

Well, registered with Apple and downloaded the form for Abilify. That's something, and it's almost time to go out. Just one more cigarette. And if it's not raining, I'm good to go.

And I don't know what to do with myself meantime.

Vulnerability

I remember when my car was broken into in Chicago. I felt ashamed, I felt embarrassed, I knew it was my fault, my carelessness. But then I realized it didn't matter, because I could fix it and no one had to know.

Now things are broken, it's my fault, my carelessness and I haven't the means to fix them, without telling other people. Things are so broken I don't know where to start and starting little things, like sorting the mail, means facing not only up to the extent to which I've fucked things up, but to the very real possibility of needing someone to fix them for me.

I'm almost thirty four years old.

Tough Situation

I'm in a bind and need help.

I don't know what to do. I'm already out of money, haven't paid rent this month yet. I owe about a thousand to the credit card company, which isn't much, but they want it now, I fear. My health insurance runs out in about two and a half months, and I'm not sure whether or not I need to front the eight hundred dollars (which I don't have) to get my drugs.

And there's no income on the horizon.

I think my brother can bail me out for the moment, and maybe I can scrape by with that help through the summer, trying to get a last minute teaching position.

But for the summer, brother to the rescue. So I hope.

Therapy the angry way

Been talking to the therapist about things that make me angry.

The list goes on and on. But he says it helps with the paranoia.

So here goes. I'm very angry with the fam. I didn't have one of those happy-go-lucky childhoods even though I appeared happy. It was a mask I felt I had to wear to please those around me upon whom my existence depended.

And my existence seemed precarious. That's what makes me angry. I was never given the illusion of safety. That I could be difficult, could want things, could fuck things up and it wouldn't be the end of the universe.

It always felt that way.

I'm also really angry about the way the sibs continue to treat me. They pick on me in mean spirited ways--make fun of my failures. And things that aren't even failures. Belittle my efforts and small victories.

I remember them making fun of my clothing while my father was dieing. I had given up my job to take care of him. Money was tight. I would have loved new clothes.

I'd want an apology for mean remark. Every injustice put upon me. Every time I was made to feel bad for being different.

Good luck with that one, fellow.

"Hello," He lied.

I'm hung over, withdrawling from nicotine and without medication.

But all will be rectified once I get home. In an hour and a half or so. On the subway. From the Bronx.

Head hurts about five different ways. And i'm having trouble focusing.

And I did it again. I made myself a passanger. I passangered.

What i'm trying to say is this: I gave up control of my life. Because I was angry.

Let me be more concrete. Last night I went out with a girl I told, after great effort, I wasn't romantically atracted to. But I went out with her anyway.

I just hate the idea of people hating me. Or, rather. My desire to please people is ingrained and pathological.

Which is why I kissed her. Because she wanted me to. And I can only resist so many things at once. To wit, one. And last night that one was smoking. So I gave in and kissed her because I could sense that she wanted me to.

And once I did that, well, hell, I might as well just give up and sleep with her. Which I did.

That's what I mean by passangered. I slept with her like I was on the mad hatter ride at Disneyland. Like it was out of my control. Like I am a victim and can't learn to control my desire to please people. Temporarily. Because the real product of this desire is pain.

Patterns. Mistakes. Repetition that end only in tears.

Maybe I'll write her a letter, not explaining these things, but stopping things before they get worse. Before there will be real pain.

Big Push

Trying to get things under control in the old apartment box so I can finally make my system again. Been living, if you can call it that, without the system for too long.

So, hopefully I'll do some posting this weekend to let you know how it goes.

Wish me luck!

Hi Stranger

I've been bad about posting. I know.

But I have something relevant to say now.

Anxiety.

I've been trying to get grades turned in so I can graduate for these bullshit reading classes that I must admit, I didn't make the best effort in.

But I read.

Anyway, it's with two of my frenemy professors, who kind of cock-blocked me, though I should have known better. But that's neither here nor there.

Back to the anxiety. This causes me some. For no good reason.

I tried without taking any ativan, and it was too late. Seems the ativan takes about twenty minutes to kick in, so the heart is still racing, but at least I did it. And the ativan will help with the post-stress anxiety, the residual anxiety.

Now all I need is a diet coke.

It's the Murder that Bothers Me

So, drinkin', watching The Spanish Prisoner, because my copy of Time Bandits I ordered from Netflix broke.

And it's the murder (sorry if you haven't seen it yet) that bothers me. So stop reading now if you want to see it but haven't.

So, back to the murder. In the end we find out that the FBI has been watching him the whole time. So they watched the murder happen. And they allowed it.

That bothers me almost as much as the pro-capitalist, trust the company point of view in the movie.

And another thing that bothers me, not just about this movie but all movies, everyone ends conversations over the phone by just hanging up. They don't say goodbye or anything.

Try that in the world and see how far it gets you.

I'm tired of looking at the same stuff on the interweb.

Sure, I can watch some movies or tv on netflix, but what if I only want to spend a cigarette on the web?

I'm bored because I set the alarm and woke up at six thirty this morning. Even though it's Saturday. Because I think that sleeping so much as I have the last few weeks actually makes me more lethargic. That wasn't the case yesterday when I was running on five hours of sleep.

I guess it turns out I'm not as good at wasting time as I used to be.

Anxiety

Just finished with the third and final bout (for the week) with the therapist. And had a mini anxiety thing as soon as I was out the door.

Anxious today.

Applied for who knows how many jobs. Had to fill out the salary requirement this am. Just thinking about that maked me anxious.

So anxious I just missed the stop for my transfer. But it's all good.

I get to spend more time with you.

I think I'm going to go out by myself tonight. Going to see some Schubert.

It's at eight at the hysterico-ontological theater.

Looking at my application

I just had to fill out an application for a job.

You know the kind where you have to put how much money you've made and how much you'd like to make?

Well, there are big differences between the two for me. And it looks totally crazy. Because I list my stipends from school--which are like half salaries.

But without explaining it includes tuition and the like, it looks like I made less than minimum wage.

Together with the references--I fucked up and put the same people I put for supervisors--I must look totally insane.

Ah, the indignities of looking for employment.

Couple this with my anxiety of asking for the money I think I need, which seems astronomical to me... I couldn't sleep last night thinking about it.

And crazy stress dreams.

It got so bad I went for a run this morning at five. And that was mortifying too. I haven't been running in a year and I smoke close to a pack a day. One and a half miles nearly killed me.

When I was manic, I could run seven miles six times a week and still smoke.

Ah, the joys of mania.

Unemployed Man's Blues

This job stuff sucks.

I just figured out that, with loans, I need to make about 40k per year, figuring on 35% tax, which might be low, considering I live in the city.

Who on earth is going to pay me that. Maybe I can move into some sort of shared-apartment. Pay less rent. Maybe $500 less? I pay almost $1200 for my studio. Find some living situation to share and pay something like $750--seems possible. I'd save lots of money.

Then there's the thing like requirements--adobe suite. I know nothing of this, yet I must pretend to.

What if I asked for $42,000-$45,ooo.

I don't even know why I'm thinking about these things. It's not even like they're going to give me an interview.

And if I ever do find a job that pays me enough to live, I'll probably fuck it up due to general incompetence.

Looking for a job

So let me know if you have one. I'll take it.

I've been sending out resumes over the interweb, and I've gotten so that I don't get nervous when I send them.

That part's down, mostly since I figure I'll never hear from these people again.

The automated applications are the worst--takes forever to fill out and you can be sure that a machine will almost certainly eliminate you before a human being sees your resume.

Anyway, I've gotten two responses today, which makes me nervous. Shaking. Talking on the telephone is not easy for me.

I guess it's a good thing.

Still, don't get hopes up.

Intimacy

Meet with the therapist for our wednesday session. I brought up something that surprised me.

I remember him being very direct about how I would be really disapointed if I left school without the doctorate.

I brought this up.

I'm not good at conflict. Even imagined conflict. Was very afraid I'd hurt him.

Not the case. Not at all. He was glad I brought it up. Seems like he wants to know these things. Wants to work on them with me.

Made me feel vulnerable. Was afraid he'd lash out at me in anger. I suppose my paranoia knows no bounds.

But it was good to get things out. Was a good experience.

Ativan helps

Even just that little bit.

I was frantic about this tiny post I had to make for the art-blog I said I'd write for, it was anxiety provoking.

But then I popped my magic little pill, 1/2 mg of peace and quiet. Was able to write.

Two things: one--why don't they give this out like candy. Two--what must it felt like to take 20 mg like my dad did during his death-bed panic attacks?

Unless I eat a whole prescription at once, I suppose I'll never know.

Neither plesant nor fun

What a day for the head. Double dose. Psychotherapy and psychiatry.

Who I both just saw on wednesday.

But I didn't tell the psychiatrist how down I really am.

Because I don't often know myself. I just feel numb and sleep a lot.

I feel guilty going back so soon. Under reporting how I'm doing.

But I did the right thing going back.

And it feels good to open up more to the psychiatrist. He's a good man. Understanding.

But I still feel bad and am disapointed he didn't do more. I suppose we can later. But for now just a bump on the abilify.

I suppose it was more an excercise in truth telling than anything else.

Better than expected

Met with the psychiatrist.

What a guy. I'm really lucky. So supportive.

He says that since i'm not going for the academic life, no reason to complete the ph.d.

I agree.

I guess dometimes kenedy is right. Fear fear itself

Started writing for an arts blog

Well, I sent my introduction post. Tried to be funny. Made me laugh.

I always feel anxious when I post like this. Don't know why. It's not like it really matters anyway. Not letting down all my adoring fans--not that I mind when people stumble across this and look.

But I feel so self-conscious. I was hoping that being anonymous would make it easier, and I suppose writing is possible because it's anonymous, yet it's not as easy as I hoped. I feel anxious.

Dredding going to the psychiatrist

I feel bad about almost everything.

Haven't been working, haven't been studying. Drinking too much. Not making enough of an effort in general.

School's the worst part. Just don't know if I have it in me anymore, which seems weak.

Oh well, face the music.

Adwords and Paranoia

Hi.

I think that I'm going to start blogging on this arts website. I know--I haven't been too consistent posting here, but they require a certain number of posts a week, and maybe having homework will get me into better habits here and there.

The thing that gets me is the guy who runs the blog wants me to set-up an Adwords account. Fine. But he wants my password, which makes me nervous.

Do you think that's sketchy?

Psychosis

Words follow words for minutes on end

A momentary stop and it all goes down

Just the empty semblance of thought

And the endless straying of sound

Life is waiting and things done in place of waiting

A train or death

Moments of revelation--a distraction

From the soft whispering of life

That goes one without us

prepping for therapy

Do you do this?

I feel like I need an hour of things to say, so I think about what the therapist and I are going to talk about.

Which is difficult when you haven't done anything.

I didn't even go to class yesterday.

I know I'm not making enough of an effort.

I just don't feel like it. Which is a horrible excuse.

I feel like I'm already ready to leave school.

Anxious

Money's going to be tight from now on. And no meds.

None.

My health insurance lapsed because I didn't register on time.

It will come back but right now I'm running on natural and it doesn't feel good.

Anxious. Edgy. Energetic.

I told myself last time I wouldn't do this again. And here I am again on my own.

Can't wait to see the therapist and have him guilt trip me.

i can't tell you how down i feel

it's not like a normal down.

it's like there's nothing there. no drive to do anything, no pleasure in life. aside from butter, which always provides pleasure--though momentary.

but everything else--reading, writing, seeing friends--all for naught.

so what. that's what i think, so what. and i can feel the gears grind to a hault. if i just stop for a minute, it turns into hours.

alcohol helps, helps break me free, for a moment. but i know there's a price to pay.

depression.

maybe the psychopharmacologists don't take the opposite of inhibition--habition, maybe--seriously. maybe it's a condition that drugs could help.

all about drugs these days, why the fuck not, i'm a drug addict. just my drugs are more expensive.

angry, yes.

still and all, there's very little pleasure in this life.

feel bad, thinking of drinking

Against the recommendation of the therapist, I'm thinking of drinking tonight.

Haven't done it in a while, and I'm off the abilify--ran out. Feels bad, man.

It's like quiting smoking but smoking doesn't feel better when I do it.

I know, I have lots of bad habits.

Maybe I'll drink for a bit and tell y0u how it's going. I fear it won't go well, but I miss it.

off ativan and other difficulties

I screwed up my insurance, because I didn't register until just yesterday.

An emergency loan I thought I'd paid came back to haunt me. But I only had to go three places before I found the right one, and they let me differ the loan until my student loan comes in. Soon, I hope.

I am bouncing back from difficulties earlier, trying to tackle things early. With limited success.

Facing demons--it's useful, I suppose just from a practical point of view, but it does make life easier, but it doesn't make me feel better, only worse.

I'm getting the picture of how fracked-up my life is. All the things I've ignored and screwed up for so long.

I'm beginning to see how it's been years I've struggled with myself. Years I've lost just trying to get back to where I was before I was diagnosed.

It really took a lot out of me and I should be honest about it.

Grad school and bipolar have been like a one-two hit--a combination that's really put me back.

Staggering now, I hope there's still time left in this fight to win. But I've lost too many rounds.

And I feel ambivalent about this post, though I am beginning to realize things about myself.

bored

I've decided to take today off from work. Seems to go better the earlier I start.

I don't know, just not into it. And when you're working for yourself, it's easy to give yourself a day off.

So bored. Don't know what to do with myself.

I wish I felt inspired to write something, but I don't.

No reading, no writing make Coward go crazy.

Absence

Doesn't always make the heart grow fonder.

Sorry I haven't posted in a while. What can I say--I could say I've been busy, but that'd be a lie.

I went away with the family around Christmas and it was surprisingly stress free--aside from the travel.

Schoolwork is going better. I've been reading in blocks. Twenty to thirty minutes on and then a break. Got it from The Now Habit--a pretty good book on procrastination.

My system is in shambles. Haven't gotten back on that horse in a while. Been concentrating on schoolwork and school admin stuff. What a pain.

Sorry this post sucks. Just trying to get back into the habit.

Working

This dividing hours into twenty minute blocks seems to be working. Tuesday, I got 2:20, Wednesday 2:40, and already today I've logged 2:20.

If I can push it out another couple of blocks, I can hit three hours, my goal for today.

Knot

I've been drinking, and I feel that's ok to say because it's one of my concerns here.

It is what it is. Now I'm closing my eyes. And just typing as it comes out. Feeels good man.

I feel tight, and not in the nineteen fifties way of tight as drunk. Tight as my chest is tight... Over what? Posting on a blog? Anonymously?

Tight. As in pain. As in a knot. sitting in the middle of my chest. When it tightens up, it keeps me from doing the kinds of things I know I can do. This damned knot. Gordion. Or gordian. Knot sure.

Dreams of cutting. Others of cutting the knot. But it seems like unwinding is best. But how to?

Mail anxiety

I don't know why it causes me so much anxiety, but after a few days away, I can't bear to check the mail.

Have whole piles of it.

Ugh.

Ativan, take me away.

New thing

So, i'm trying this old trick I learned in a procrastination book.

Twenty minutes on, uninterrupted. Mark them. Ten minutes off.

Did two and a half hours yesterday. Got twenty minutes today.

at least i'm moving.

Small steps.

Let's get moving, after this cigarette

I need to change up. Move faster.

I'm tired of this but afraid to go on.

Therapist says the demons will be there, procrastination or not.

Well, at least I'm not alone.

A little bit every day

I'm frustrated and scared, but I'll bet that beats being bored.

I'm trying to do some things every day in three areas: health, money and school.

Health: refilling my meds today

Money: paying rent

School: return library books

Then, maybe I'll pay a fine and register soon.

It sucks cleaning up your own messes, but better now than later.

If I can attack these three fronts, maybe things will get better.

entering the new year, no system, feeling lethargic

I don't feel like doing anything. Not a thing. Not even writing this.

Running or review would be nice. Wonder if they'll happen.

I suppose this doesn't make for good reading.

Last night, the liquor store guy wished me a happy new year and I was surprised how touching it was.

Maybe because he's the only one who did.

I need to make new friends.

Cut-ups

The question is: where to put one's foot?

At such moments

I heard in myself something

Like a tocsin, a strange admonition:

``In this world, progress is for our descendants alone.''

In myself, I began reproducing the person I wanted to see.

Gray is all Theory

Unless perhaps in dreams

In the rhythmics of slumber

Where words by turns spurr on conversation

And symptoms of technology are not accepted

Everything had changed by effect of a single conviction

And their contempt for us will have no end on the worlds to come

Who begins to write with me

The great dice game of existence?

Men could enter, but air could not

Men had replaced the prehistoric water

Where violence organizes itself into a scene

And shades of erotic meaning in a woman's hat are virtually incalculable

The spontaneous impulses of the individual sensiblility

Bores the ordinary man more than the cosmos

Which is the emphatic and aligned

Business knows how to make use of the threshold

With the aid of electric light

So good so far

Today has been at least as productive as yesterday.

It was all I could do to clean the bathroom and straighten up. But that made it easier to mop and clean the kitchen this morning. And I've read a tiny bit.

If this keeps up, I may even do a clean system sweep, and then I'll be able to log the painful details.

Maybe it will be inspiring.

One thing I'm thinking of doing is keeping discipline over my projects list. Only keeping the things that actually need doing on it, for this week. Then keeping the some-day list big and reviewing it weekly, so that I (hopefully) move things over when I've accomplished something.

Wish me luck!

Tips and Tricks

What do you do to get going?

For me, I find that I frequently can't leave the house if it's a wreck. Cleaning, ironically enough, helps me get out of the apartment. Maybe it's something about coming back to a less depressing place, like I experience every time it's out of shape.

Telling myself repeatedly that it doesn't have to be perfect. Just better. Helps when I'm working on a project that I've been getting obsessive about, like writing.

Have to do a distasteful task? Set a time. Give yourself 20 minutes and then take a 5 or 10 minute break. Go shorter on the timer, if you need to. A little bit at a time is better than nothing. Just accept the small steps.

Accept that you cycle. This one I'm not so good at. I want revolution, to move from nothing to tackling everything all at once. Sometimes small steps are all I can take. Just accept it. And learn to shorten the oscillations.

What do you do?

Lethargy

I feel really lazy. But relaxed.

Just got back from a vacation with the family and it was really fun. No talk of school. No Christmas fight.

My system is so out of whack.

Maybe if I clean the apartment.

Most of all, I feel lonely.

a kind of freezing dread

There's a certain feeling I get.

And I'm getting it right now.

I haven't taken my medication today, and that usually makes it go away.

It's a kind of paralysis. A kind of dread and embarrassment for my life.

I really don't know why I keep postponing taking my drugs.

Sometimes I'm afraid they'll work too well.

Sometimes I'm afraid they won't work at all.

Sometimes I like feeling depressed.

Time

Well, I wasted another day yesterday.

And am trying to make up for it today.

Who knows. Maybe I'll even go to the library, see the concrete lions.

God knows, I have enough to do.

This sucks

I feel so terrible.

In some ways, worse than when I lost the job.

But really, I should be happy.

I tried.

Both the job and getting it back. Really, I did nothing wrong. If someone else did what I did, I'd be happy for them.

But I feel so ashamed of myself. And so guilty.

I feel like someone hit me.

Not a good experience when I'm about to go and disclose my madness to my advisor.

Grievance denied

Well, a while back I filed a greivance for loosing my job without warning.

I lost.

Should have prepaired myself for opening that letter. Shouldn't have read as much as I did.

I never had much hope. But it still hurts.

Looks like I'll quit drinking another day.

Where to begin

I frequently feel this way.

I've updated the system and now I'm directionless.

What to do now.

It's all laid out for me, but anxiety about a beginning.

Well, I suppose I should just start.

Support

Hi all.

I went to a bipolar support group in Manhattan.

Wow.

My head was spinning after I left.

Good people. Both supportive and scary. If that's the future, I'm in trouble.

But it was nice to hear other people's problems. And nice to hear I wasn't alone with my own problems.

Some were very intense.

I feel a little awkward talking about specifics, because it's other people's lives here. Maybe I'll just leave it alone.

Hey

Know I haven't updated in a while.

Stay tuned.

Hey

Know I haven't updated in a while.

Stay tuned.

How much of this is on me

You know how alcoholism and obesity have genetic components.

But behavior--i mean, if you never drink, you're not an alcoholic, no matter your genes?

And if you make a real effort, your weight problem will not be as bad as if you have the same genes and eat at mcdonalds all your life.

Does bipolar work the same way?

If I had tried earlier to have better mental health. Had not taken acid. Worked harder in therapy.

I don't know... Not acted as crazy, would I be where I am today?

Freegan smoking--the problem of papers

It can be a problem.

If you're like me, you hold onto each left-over pack of papers from your favorite handroll.

but say you don't. Or say you ran out (like I did today). Or say you want a totally free smoke.

Bible pages.

I'm totally serious. One, the pages are really thin. And the ink is likely non-toxic. And you look like a bad ass with paul's epistol to the romans hanging out the corner of your mouth.

And bibles are free. Just call the gideons.

Any other thin paper is good too. Right now, i'm smoking the collected works of plato. But shakespear works as well.

Cut the pages into 1" * 2.5". 3hen roll with quite a bit of saliva. Like you're rolling a blunt.

And you'll feel like a cowboy.

Fear of menus

This is an odd one that I forgot about the depression: paranoia.

Sometimes, when the depression's at it's worst... Well, all to frequently, paranoia rears its ugly head.

I grow fearful of everything but one world government and black helecopters.

I guess I don't wear tinfoil hats, but I do begin to think about strong crypto, which is similar.

What can I say. It's my own agression I see as persecution.

And it sucks.

depression

I'm sure we all have our own ways of being depressed. Here are a few of mine:

lethargy

numbness

doubt

isolation

insulation

procrastination

playing stupid video games

melancholia

And here are my ways of getting out of it:

medication

movement

seeing friends

cleaning

getting angry at things

The therapist is always saying that depression is anger turned inward. And I believe it. That's one of the things I have to do, stop doing that.

But anger sure can be scary--my own and other peoples.

Blogs blogs blogs

I now see this has turned into a diary, sort of.

It wasn't really my intention to do so.

I'm not sure everyone wants to read every detail of my rather boring life.

There were a few things I wanted to share--my experiences with gtd (which i hope to get back on, today or tomorrow--expect a post about that, or maybe not), drinking and other drugs, and bipolar.

I suppose, in some ways, the journal tracks the ups and (mostly) the downs, but maybe it's better to be specific about them than to trace events.

Anyway, at the doctor's recommendation, I've been looking at some blogs and sites that talk about abilify.

It's a little scary-- akasthenia (i.e. shaking, tightness of muscles, affects about 25% of people), possible death, hallucinations. Good stuff.

I sometimes wonder if reading about side effects makes you feel them

Some good, some bad

Been spending money like I have it. But I honestly don't.

if you don't count that sack of tobacco I bought on keith's dime, it's been all family obligations.

And been getting shit for it.

Shit for borrowing money I don't want to do things for others.

On a positive note, getting some poems published.

first ones I ever sent out.

Well, I know the editor.

Sometimes therapy sucks

So. I was frustrated. Brought in all this stuff I wanted help with.

And he's always offering to help me with little stupid things.

and I thought if I brought them he'd help me.

And we could't even get through the list. He wanted to talk about what they mean.

And he hammered at me.

Everyone wants to remind me what my role in creating these things is.

Which, if unsympathetic is probably more important than what I want--hand holding.

well. Everything else is going my way today. Even the trains.

Total luck

found 7 smokes in box on street. And with plenty of time to get to therapy.

On top of that, was able to get up at a reasonable hour after good sleep with odd dreams. Must be stressed ones.

Wonder what freud would make of them.

On top of all this, found my train ticket (7 rides left), a penny, and my MTA card still works.

Small things, to be sure, but i'm greatful. Maybe things are beginning to break both ways.

Maybe i'm making better decisions.

May my good luck continue and rub off on you.

not much doing

went out with cousins for my cousin's batchlor party. very tame, which was fine with me.

actually, a lot of fun. spoke with this little kid, son of my cousin--i know this means something like second cousin, or removed cousin or something, but i've never been good at this sort of thing.

and had lots of brazillian meat.

and today, kind of wasted it. for some reason, stayed up till five last night/morning. i could do it tonight, but that's always easier with five liters of beer. had some last night. first in a week.

hope things get better, but not holding my breath. ten cents short of a pound of flower. maybe one package of pasta. not much else.

see therapist tomorrow.

mom emailed me. apparently, it's over--in a good way. news to me.

wants me to go on vacation. feel pressure. hate taking things, but who am i.

already borrowed money from him. which is odd, but whatever.

took my seroquel and drinking coffee, so should be asleep soon.

Further hints on freegan smoking

So, I've layed out the basics and thought about the variety of butts I've found in my neighborhood.

But here are some other hints:

If you don't want to directly bum a cigarette, pick-up your butts in a conspicuous space. Smokers will feel sorry for you and bum one, almost always.

Have a couple of routs. I've got two or three.

Manhattan, much to my supprise, hasn't panned out for me. Maybe it's the neighborhoods I've been in: mostly midtown. Perhaps the villages are better. But they're mostly conspicuous, and I get embarrased when too many people see what I'm doing. Perhaps the side streets would be better.

Find places where you're likely to find butts. The obvious ones are bars and outside apartment buildings. But there are less obvious ones. For me, the laundromat was a real find. I suppose that someone there smokes alot, but gets called in before he (I assume it's a he) can finish. Perhaps bodegas or Korean groceries work the same way.

Another important thing to consider is timing. It's probably best if scrownging in front of establishments to wait until they close. The exception may be bars, since here in nyc, some bars don't close until 4 am. And with any establishment, they may clean up. Say you hit a bar, perhaps they've emptied the ashtray--you're sol.

I like to hit bars before happy hour (unless you live in `billyburg, when happy hour can go from 11 to 7. It beats the rush, and the alcoholics who've been drinking all afternoon have left plenty of buts.

Another problem is rain. Rain-soaked butts will not yield smokable tobacco. Atleast not at first. I find that microwaving loose tobacdco for 30 seconds seems to dry them out. Another advantage to this is that the tobacco becomes puffier (for lack of a better word), meaning you can roll bigger smokes with less tobacco.

Anyway, I'll share more hints as I find them.

Good luck with your tobacco hunting, and may you find the tobacco of your dreams

food

of all things i think of out in the world that it would be nice to buy. anything, everything.

even at home, food never leaves me:

beer

whiskey

cheese

eggs

steak

chicken

pork

something new

something old

linguine with clam sauce

dark chocolate

i guess i just get sick of the same things: salad and a loaf of bread a day.

this is no way to live.

tired and low

i'm real low right now.

nothing, i mean nothing, seems sweet. either tired of it, or just don't want to do it because it seems worthless. no joy, barely even tolerable.

melancholy.

i don't want to go to therapy. i don't want to read. i don't want to computer. i certainly don't want to go out and pickup cigarette butts, but i do want to smoke.

nothing's working. there seems to be no point in doing anything; i'm fooling myself. about everything.

i do want to run, and not just for the exercise.

i want to run away.

start again.

because nothing seems to be working out for me.

suppose i'm lucky to be alive--i was a mistake. mom told me if i hadn't been born, she'd still be married to my father. well, i guess no longer. he's dead.

try living with that. but i'm sure you've got your own cross to bear and far be it for me to go and compare scars with anyone. we all have them.

and if you're like me or if you suffer depression, than you know what i mean.

looking for good news

but aren't we all.

cut my finger, hell on typing.

no cash, no bank, no loan.

bills from everywhere.

shit, i could be going to court for back rent.

loan check's almost spent before it's come in.

and i said to myself the last time was last time.

am i really that much of an asshole?

what is it with girls breaking up with me--through technology.

first the cousin with the text message (that was worse) but the recent one over the telephone.

at least when i did it to the psycho-girl-i-was-dating, i did it in person. not to brag or anything. i didn't act my best, though the best i felt i could in that situation. looking back on it, i wouldn't have brought the chicken wings.

anyway, this one hurts (don't they all).

and, of course, i have no money to drink.

endless summer

time.

so much of it.

too much. lost my way, i have.

going to meditation would be good, but i'm sure i'll find a reason not to. for instance, i could kid myself into thinking about doing homework.

there's a laugh.

well, atleast i've been cooking and cleaning. and doing a little writing for myself.

now i'm going to nap. hey, gotta be some benefit to being broke and unemployed

A Few

Gazing Upon the Mountain, Contemplating God's Work

Ridge at the mountain's edge:

a filet of rock. I

gaze like Argus from ledge

to ledge and thank, sigh,

and worry clasped to Hetty.

Huck and I

Huck and I used to

cheat corpses--their animal dread

in the gloom right through

the vacant plot, as threads

a needle in the psyche.

The Idle Student

Daises turning in the wind

across Malta. There gazes the

world-worn pupil in sin,

idleness, specifically. And sun be

the world, shining in situ.

Wolf Cub

Calm, they say, before the

blessed break. G-d above sent

a worf cub striking a

raw tendon, a freak accident

and the wound will scar.

Chloroform

But world half broke open,

after fifty-six huffs of chloroform.

And the scion of Hoboken,

stoned on the metro platform,

waiting, the train comes? No.

it's just nice not to have to pick up cigarette butts off the street.

not that i'll stop, just it's nice not to have to.

depression

didn't even know that's what's been happening.

just feel listless. melancholy, they used to call it.

there just ain't no pleasure in this life, and i'm too lazy to go to the other one.

and i'm not really that into pain. not that it has to be painful, but it's got to be at least a little uncomfortable.

feel like watching tv and drinking. but no tv and no beer here.

no tv and no beer make coward go crazy.

speaking of strong crypto

hate long and intricate passwords? after all, the best passwords aren't passwords at all, but random key combinations.

i hate 'em. one way around it, if the length of your password is arbitrarily long, is to use passphrases. you can achieve as many bits of protection as you may want. and a good solution to generating these phrases is diceware (for non-u.s., try this list--it's been internationalized).

i've used it myself, and while i don't know how successful an attacker would be (suppose i keep a low profile, but now that i've mentioned it, murphy's out to get me), but it makes me feel secure.

so, i'm paranoid

clinically so. confirmed by therapist. he's seen me go through it. talked me down some.

i check for the emergency exits. i don't like to sit with my back to the door. i believe in strong crypto, and for the most part, i know how to use it.

i believe in security through obscurity.

i've used tor, though i don't have it configured at the moment.

and lately, i've been working on a project: what would i want with me if i had to go, immediately.

the go bag, i call it.

it comes in two parts: the small and the large.

the small is between a toiletry bag and a tote bag. it contains the essentials that are hard/impossible to replace on the fly.

the large? all i need for urban camping.

here's an incomplete list of things i want. unfortunately, it's not yet separated into small and large.

gobag:

drugs

pens

alcohol

tobacco

coffee

water

cup

food

calling card

$100 cash

$100 visa card

mta card

passport

phone

voice recorder

keys--my own and other peoples

maps

compass

umbrella

clothes

toiletries

sowing kit

small tent

small sleeping bag

train schedules

notebooks

books to read

small, legal knife

medical supplies

shoes and boots

USB drive

GTD stuff

small toolkit

tape

work gloves

mace

winter stuff (hat, gloves, socks, etc)

dice

cards

cards keyed to a secret deck

usb w/ os for strong crypto

mres

gold

water

toughbook

so, what do you think? i know i'm missing things, would like to hear what else you think i may need.

What I got for 18 bucks

Letus, romain.
Tobacco, amsterdam shag, peter stokkebye.
A green pepper.
Yeast, 3 pack.
5 pork chops.
beans 1 lb.
Coffee 10 oz.

City's a harsh mistress.

how much protein can 59 cents buy you

not much. at least, not in this city.

thought i could get some beans or something. got to have something like ninety cents.

guess it's just a rich man's world.

at least i have enough to make some bread tomorrow.

Broken

It's tough, having no cash. You can't replace things.

Out without your tissues, your drugs, clean clothes, food, tobacco, your book... Well, that's too damn bad.

not really sure why i haven't been posting

i guess i feel like i don't have much to say.

which isn't exactly so. i'm the kind of asshole that could talk for years on a deserted island. even if there were no smoke monster.

and something humiliating but interesting did happen on monday. therapist lent me some cash, because i'm out.

and it sucks.

again.

and i thought we both wanted me to start the new meds--abilify. needed thirty bucks to get it. and we talked for a long time about it. made me feel better then, but not so good now.

then there's the procrastination. fear compounded, at this point. maybe finish up with the novel i'm reading for the nth time. then work? cleaning? baking?

we'll see.

Abilify

So, I finally started on abilify.

But the dose is low: 5 mg. I was hoping I'd feel different right away, but it's hard to tell. Maybe once I have my blood levels up. Maybe when we up the dose.

Still, the promise of no more seroquel by some point in November is exciting. I'm done with seroquel. The stuff knocks you out. And it's not quite the right drug for my condition, though not so unusual.

But, to be off it, that's the dream.

Confluence of money and love

Yes, can't buy love. Legally. Or, as a direct finantial transaction.

But there's always money involved. Needs must be.

and that's one of the most frustrating things about recurrant cycles of poverty.

Difficult to maintain romantic relationships.

sorry i dropped the ball a little bit

haven't been posting lately.

been busy. had that interview for my grievance. remember when i lost my job? well, it went pretty well, but don't have much hope.

well, gotta run. gotta see this girl i'm dating. it's going pretty well. and good god damn she's sexy.

see you on the flipside.

Ugh

So i'm dating in another secret relationship. First the cousin. Now this. Makes me wonder. Will I ever have a normal, as far as any relationship can be, ewlationship?

or must it always be doubly occulted.

feels good man

so, i got re-ups on my tobacco, coffee, food, beer, cash, phone.

that first pull on bud, that first pull on the peter stokkebye, that first text from the phone... starting to feel human again.

reminds me, once heard from a grey beard re:fucking up while teaching, "it humanizes ya"

well, the humiliation of being in a capitalist world, walking up and down the isles of plenty, having a few nickles to scratch together, but amounting to nothing... it humanizes ya. humiliates ya. it's between the two deaths--yes, you're alive, but for all intents and purposes, you're dead.

sort of the inverse of the soviet system.

i found a stash of drugs. kept me like human. only went a couple of days off the meds.

maybe doc and i can talk about abilify.

imagine i will before that hearing friday.

haven't been hitting the ativan, things have cooled since the summer. and it will feel good not to sleep as long as humanly possible.

shit, i could sleep right now.

i know this post's all over the place.

but i got things to do.

can't believe i was that careless

lost a week to worrying.

but the money's clear.

and i'm spending it as fast as i can.

but things build up. imagine going a week without any money.

it's amaizing i could do it.

of course, it involved a lot of scrownging. picking up cigarettes was the worst.

so it really wasn't that bad

stupidity compounded

so i been waiting on funds to clear my bank.

thought i had deposited it over a week ago.

and i had. on the 10th, in fact.

shit should have cleared on the 14th.

but i never checked the on-line statement.

so i should have been on their case over a week ago.

so it's both my bad and my banks. but... well, i think there's enough blame to go around for everyone.

new to me tobacco

bond street? top (pre-rolled, not rolling top)? this plus?

what the hell are these cigarettes?

dieing, one day at a time

but aren't we all.

still, a drink would make it easier.

not that i'm an alcoholic. yet.

but i haven't had one for five or six days. and i'm stressed.

but who isn't.

on the smoking habbits of queens

if you look hard, are lucky and patient, you can find the cigarette butts of your favorite kind of tobacco. i don't mean brand--that's too much to ask for, but menthol or regular.

and the variety of brands surprised me. malboro lights i expected, but parlerments? and of course reds, camels, newports, the usual characters

and that's not even the improbable ones: american spirit, lucky strike filters (haven't seen those in years), kents (what my therapist smokes), djarums, merits, benson & hedges, rollies, malboro menthol, the odd european or russian, just to name a few.

and as long as no one says anything to me, i don't feel the burn of shame.

but what it leaves me with, besides the odd smoke, is sorrow.

another day

as usual, the therapist gave me some things to think about. says i don't deserve this--rings true, no one deserves this. but all to many people live it.

i'm playing games with poverty. i don't have to live like this. resources are available. if i feel like i deserve it.

i wonder when i'll turn it around.

i think a lot about my case on friday. want to say something like:

i'm grateful i even got a chance. but in the grand scheme of things, this is barely a speed bump. i'll get by with or without your help. and you can make this waste of time meaningful by helping me out. the ball's in your court.

i've got nothing but time. and if this road doesn't take me where i want to go, i'll look into other options. i've got the time and it'll be well worth it to feel i've made my best effort. but the real deal is to live well. and i'm already half way there. i've got no ill will towards you people.

never had.

a new thought, and not a pleasant one

maybe momster stopped payment on that check.

which would put me back to square zero

freegan smoking

so, as you may know, out of my own tobacco.

been almost 24 hours since i ran out (and days ago ran out of alcohol).

so i'm left with a difficulty: how to smoke for free (since I've had $.88 for most of the week).

so, i've figured out a variant to hobo shorts.

still working with rerolling shorts, but this time i find them out in the streets.

now, if you can't roll (and i strongly recommend picking up this skill. you're sure to find a mentor when you go to jail, but some say it's not worth it.

Anyway, if you don't roll, you're limited to shorts from bigger cigarettes. and the little ones really do add up, because they're much more plentiful.

But there's another disadvantage to pulling shorts found on the ground: you're putting your mouth where someone else's was. And while you won't get the bug this way, there is something disgusting about it.

well, gotta roll. got to enjoy the fruits of my labor.

went for a little jog

been leafing through James Fixx's book on running.

sure, it's from the 70's, but a lot of the information is still good. and he's a good writer, whenever i look through it, it makes me want to run again.

so, getting back on that horse, smoking over a pack a day, which is a smallish handicap. and the effort was weak. around 1.5 miles.

but i do know that if you keep it up, time and distance take care of themselves.

it wasn't so long ago that i was running 6 or 7 miles, usually daily.

and i'm sure i can push it harder, but later, much later.

found some cool blogs

was searching for some good blogs.

found some new to me:

wild abandon

bipolar supporter blog

bipolar happens

bipolar connect (this one seems more technical/advicey)

pendulum.com

let me know if you know other ones.

little help

hey gmail gurus.

having a little trouble with gmail.

i finished a draft of an email, sent it along, now i'm having trouble removing that email from drafts.

i'd like to archive it. failing that, remove it from drafts. failing that i'd like to contact someone at google that can help me out.

no luck.

if you have any advice, i'd greatly appreciate it.

my contact info

i've noticed a couple of people have searched for my contact info, so i put my email to the right. just below medication and the search box.

i've tried to disguise it a little, writing ``AT'' instead of @, which i hope people can figure out and will trick the spam.

if the inbox gets too spammy, will have to find some other way.

but, if you like, feel free to contact me. i'll respect your privacy.

and if you want to remain anomymous, there are several remailers around the interweb:

Anonymous speach

My trash mail

Anonymous email

Anonymous

Trashmail

Mailinator

i've never gotten mailinator to work, but i've had good luck with my trash mail. the others, i've never tried. for most of these, you can set-up a password so you can check and see if i've replied yet.

i haven't set-up pgp yet for this account, so i can't cryptographically sign or encrypt. if this becomes an issue, i'll gladly set it up (if you're posting from outside the US, there's international pgp, which pretty much works the same way).

another lonely night

left for a minute, twice, actually.

scavenged for tobac, which i spoke of a few minutes ago.

then, down to the mailbox to send my girl in maryland a postcard.

was good, saw my bodega guy.

for all the difficulties, do love this life.

somedays, i think i'm only posting to get something in my inbox

maybe i should send myself letters.

god knows i have enough postage. if only it were money. wouldn't be rolling other people's butts. and if that ain't a double entendre, well, i need to brush up on my poetics.

most of all, i remember the quiet

washington heights, about two years ago.

drugged out of my mind on geodone. eighty mg, twice a day.

new psychiatrist did a double-take when i told him that one.

and up there, above the street--something like 130th and broadway.

it was dark but the lights from the street, bright.

and the reggaton--didn't get to me.

just smoking, out on the fire escape, not thinking a god damn thing.

i could almost see the river.

and the days. see, i had the bed bugs.

so most my stuff--trashed.

pure white addedas, blue jeans, white shirt.

looked like a b-boy. and the folks treated me that way--always asking if i was holding, or if i wanted some smoke. course, i thought i looked like a mental patient. and i suppose someone kicking that style in 2007, well, they'd have to be a mental patient. at least in that hood.

but me, i was just cold, distant, and quiet

pretty tricky, no

so, no smoke.

but i roll. so all i need is some tobac. and where do you find it?

the streets, of course.

outside bars is good. hotels too, but none to close to me.

and main drags also be good.

people putting out tobac all over. no need to even pull shorts--just reroll.

and if anybody asks--you're cleanin' up the hood.

scoring

so walked down to the atm to make sure i had no money.

and i don't.

but found three longish butts. now i ain't going to pull shorts from them. naw, that's nasty.

going to break 'em up and roll the shit

ain't got a pot to piss in

if only i lived in a hood that sold loosies.

now that'd be something.

as it is, all or nothing neighborhood. that's what you get for moving up in this world.

so down to my last smoke, and regus already burned all my lifelines.

well, serves me.

life sucks sometimes

i finally got a time and date for my grievance hearing.

but it's impossible to go and to make my psychiatry appointment, which is a little later that afternoon.

why must things suck like this.

it's almost like i'm cursed.

it makes me feel like giving up.

anxiety of procrastination

so last night it hits me.

being off the lamictal doesn't help.

probably should have bought it yesterday, when i still seemed to be covered by empire.

now that i haven't been paid, i'm pretty sure that empire is over.

so back to paying for drugs and holding my breath while i wait for them to reimburse me.

which, of course, sucks.

so, tommorrow about $450 bucks will clear the bank, but it's already spent. $200 to at&t (need phone) $150 to utilities (need power). And now I'm going to have to lay out something like $200 to get the lamictal.

if only i had that $5 a few days ago.

of course i had it, but two things--one, took too many by mistake, so short, so insurance wouldn't pick it up for a few days. two, had it again, but wanted to see lara, so blew what little money i had ($10) on food to make her dinner.

should have picked up the meds and gotten something cheaper, smaller.

why do things have to suck so much.

whew

wow. did that take forever.

but i'm glad i did it now, before it got totally out of control.

now, everything is labeled and the labels work. though they add quite a bit of visual clutter.

too many one-offs.

well, in attempts to ballance this new clutter, i've tried to pare down the things on the left--blogs that I really don't read, reference material that's no that useful, that sort of thing.

hope the new design works better.

let me know