Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Dizzy's String Theory

I believe in the String Theory, aka, The Theory of Everything. 
In its most basic definition, String theory is A cosmological theory based on the existence of cosmic strings.

HOLD ON FOR A SECOND AND CHECK THIS OUT. 




There are twelve basic building blocks that the Universe is created out of. Six of these are quarks--- they go by the super high-tech names of updowncharmstrangebottom and top. (A proton, for instance, is made of two up quarks and one down quark.) The other six are leptons - electron, the muon and the tauon, as well as three neutrinos.
The four fundamental forces in the Universe are gravityelectromagnetism, and the weak and strong nuclear forces. Each of these is produced by fundamental particles that act as carriers of the force. The photon, a particle of light, is the mediator of electromagnetic forces and is the most well-known of the carriers. The strong forces are carried by eight particles known as gluons. Weak force is transmitted by three particles, the W+, the W- , and the Z
Fantastic.



I love Quantum Physics and am certain it would be my major if I did not have a mathematical learning disorder (diagnosed - I am actually a genius with borderline retardation.) Seeing as it is a mathematical damn theory, I study what I can with the high functioning parts of my brain, and I have been on this topic since I was fifteen. Since I can not do math and explaining String Theory in my own view mathematically would be awfully boring for many of you anyway, I will explain it through my world-view.

Don't run.

I believe that each life, each person, is like a character on a string. We have specific "dots" we have to reach (much like connect-the-dot drawings from school) which are mandated by the Supreme Objective. The Supreme Objective, in my world-view, is God. It could be entirely different to another person but this is about me, now isn't it. Although there are points in the plot we have to get to, our decisions send our character a new string in front to follow, which breaks into more and more strings. Our strings interwoven with the string of everyone we come into contact with, even if for a moment, before it is severed or moves so far away from the other characters resting point where the meeting happened that it becomes nearly irrelevant. 

I also believe in thought projection and multi-verse - each possible outcome has happened or is happening to another form of your character on another string. Let us also realize that strings can bend, loop, and there are both closed and open strings. You, as you sit right now, are leaving your string behind and it is in front of you with each decision - but there is also you in another time and dimension who may have made a very different choice - although not one out of character. How many possible outcomes there are depends on how many multi-verses there are, which is 10, 11, or 26.  Deja Vu happens when the same decision is made by your character in more than one dimension - your strings are synchronized. If you do not believe in multi-verse, Deja Vu can be explained by meeting a point in your character string that was pre-destined. 
Have you ever been in a fight and you thought about just killing the person? Chances are, you did. Once a thought is created, it doesn't die. You have severed that persons string, somewhere, sometime - by killing them. 




You are walking down the hallway and you turn into your room and sit down. You,in the multi-verse theory (10, 11, or 26 depending on school of thought), kept walking into your parents room and set it on fire. This is obviously an example, but it is indeed an example of what our thoughts can do. They may have more power than we like. This may be the very reason that religion focuses so much on purity in thought and not just action

We, as characters (people) do interact, and every action has a reaction, and we don't see all of these reactions. If we could see what we are doing elsewhere - if we could look at the model of the Universe on a screen - we could see the present, past, and future, all at once. We could see what we have done elsewhere, we could see what we did before we on this string, in this dimension, were even born. 





DIZZY


Friday, July 19, 2013

I Turn My Headphones On

[and today, the beautiful Freddie Lounds will helps me explain.]



I am generally, as a person, functional in society as an un-official  therapist and guide. While this may sound funny because I spent early 2013 in jail and the psych ward, it is what I do and I do it well and I enjoy it because it's as close to my future psych career as I can get right now. Some of my people are genuine friends.
But some days I have things to do. Today I cooked a lot, cleaned a lot, had to go to the lawyers office, finished a painting, braided my dolls hair...
And the whole time I hear "bing! bing! bing!" from Facebook and texts from people wanting me to give my "opinion" on their writings or their thoughts or they want to philosophize. As much as I LOVE philosophy, tooday is not the day, and I told ALL of you I'd be busy today.


"Are you still cooking Dizzy? Are you still busy? Look at this link. Are you cooking. What are you doing?"
-I told you, several days ago, I was planning to make homemade-bread, Estonian tomato-cheese soup, and cherry pie. 
CHERRY CHERRY BOOM BOOM. 
So why can't you let Dizzy be Dizzy for a day? Just herself?

I am a highly apathetic person. Apathetic by definition is:
 Apathy is a state of indifference, or the suppression of emotions such as concernexcitementmotivation and passion. An apathetic individual has an absence of interest in or concern about emotional, social, spiritual, philosophical and/or physical life.



While my interests happen to be specialized in social, philosophical  and sometimes spiritual matters, I am totally apathetic to what you do personally. I  view things objectively outside of my code. I don't mind hearing about and [T]hinking about your problems, and I like trying to fix them. But why is this?
Well, I just said it. I like thinking about and fixing problems, using my abstract intelligence and creativity. With my followers, it is usually psychological. 
But in situations where you want *my* personal opinion on the matter, I fail. I will give you the scientific reasons, I'll give you a potential diagnosis, I'll tell you how to get out of your bad state. I like doing these things. A Youtube channel is dedicated to it.



The issue arises when people forget that I am not actually on a throne of knowledge  sitting idly while servant hand me new material to memorize. I am a young female trying to make do with day-to-day activities with atypical Autism, aka Aspergers o the mid-function range. 
Just because I was raised in the South and was taught meticulous manners does not mean I am more than mid-functioning. 
This means I have college, rent, my hobbies [which most fo you consider lame pastimes] as well as a very small social life outside of the internet. I observe and create.



My problem is that I have an issue with relationships and friendships that are all give and no take. I'm usually all give. That is how I feel with 100% of my daily interactions now. 

This isn't bad when it's a "patient," but when it's someone who should be worried about you, then it becomes a slight. 

People are people, and all people are self-centered. Coming from a self-centered person, if you don't WANT to be this way, check yourself, although I do not advocate it.
The more quickly society stop with the niceties and begins blunt-speak, the better. As much as I want to cause havoc for those of you who consider me a warm computer rather than I human, I won't, because I'll turn it off and I won't feel a thing. 
The problem is give-and-take with my patients. Do they want to be my friend or do they want to be my patient?
Most of my patients are lonely, due to a Schiz-Spectrum issue, Aspergers, and sometimes bipolar. 
It doesn't matter.


You go into my research, a nameless number, because in a few years I'm going to have people to show up.

I do independent research. I do it a lot. I guess it gets my rocks off. 

Like my last blog, Derealization and Depersonalization, you can send all of your pain to me, and since my feelings or off, you get an objective  answer. Because I am outside of you entirely - an empath would give a more subjective answer. 

I don't matter to you, which is fine - I don't want to. Just like all you want is my help.  But seeing as I know this is all a lie of society, why do I participate? 
I only partially to win. It's a game.
Everything is a game.


Like my creation Erika, if you call me ugly, I make sure your face is burned off so you're uglier. 
As someone smarter than you, I can fix things, or I can make it a lot worse.


Bottom line, be interesting, or I don't care. End of story.

Your input is important to the psychological advancement of society. 



Sunday, July 14, 2013

Reclusive Reasons.

Most of the time, when I go out, I don't come home thinking "That was a great idea! Can't wait to do that again soon!" No, not at all. I usually am so relieved and then want to punch myself for going to try and be a part of the human world. 
There are reasons for this (other than the good things I can do alone.) 

One reason is that I have no one to actually become friends with. I do not get along with females. I ever have. Not even as a little kid. I still do not and if I do they're 35+. It just doesn't work out but maybe twice in my life. They're very emotional, usually Feelers, often times Extroverted Sensing Feeling Percievers which makes me wants to smash something. I cannot to relate to the world in ONE SINGLE WAY that they also do. Except that we both get periods.Females are long winded as fuck. Get to the point before I get to the tire iron. 
Guys, I can be friends with, very happily, very functionally. They can't be friends with me though. It's their fault, and they try to cross boundaries. I've ended up in stupid situations because of my naiveness being taken advantage of. Or, they are/were my friend, but now they have a girlfriend and aren't allowed to be my friend anymore. Which I understand. Still sucks. 
So I'm left here, part of the population in need of hermaphrodite aesexual friends, and we are largely uncatered to. 

Another reason is that people are stupid. I can  be sitting with a group of people my age (18-23) and it's like being on the short bus. I fail at understanding humor in many cases, or at even noticing it, but I can sometimes tell if something I say is funny by whether or not my therapist or professors would laugh at it. It doesn't matter how funny I am, or anything, because these people don't get it. They're the kind of people who will fight with themselves over their own honeybun. They can be amused by small talk though?
And if small talk is so great, why does everyone talk over me when I try to participate.
And then wonder why I often take on an aggressive demeanor in social settings and revert back to usual one-on-one?

Also, being asked "are you okay" over and over and over makes me less than okay. "You look like you're spaced out" yeah well I might be because you're boring or because OH YEAH for the last time, I'm not making eye contact and you're trying to move to force me to do so and I have to look all over the room to avoid it. Making assumptions about my well being or even worse, assuming I'm shy and insisting I'm shy after I explain to you that I am not shy, is annoying. 
And don't try to tickle me to make me laugh because you are uneasy about my non-reaction to whatever thing I "totally had to see." 

Fuck you.




Dizzy.


Wednesday, July 10, 2013

I Will Dream About Your Own Dream

Last nights attempt at lucid dreaming and speaking more clearly to my sub-conscience were better than the night before, and by better I mean I knew I was dreaming and remembered to do the awake-check like I do while awake, and realized I was dreaming. I still had no ability to talk (never do in my dreams UNLESS I'm talking directly at my sub-conscience) and had little control over my actions. I did intentionally lean on a door so I could fall though it to escape a scene in the dream. 
The events in the dream, and a lot of my dreams, aren't scary in themselves, but how I feel in the dream is completely terrified. In my waking life, I'm not a particularly scared person - that I am aware of. So, ever since I was a little kid, my dreams have been nightmares, and my body and mind knows that when I go to sleep I'll be sent into fight-or-flight and have severe panic. So I have insomnia. 
I want to know what the deal with the nightmares is, so I can make them go away. 

Meeting sub-conscience in the last extremely lucid dream I had over a year ago living in NY was also terrifying. I've said before that it takes the form of Erika (some peoples take the form of famous actors or composite strangers) but it's also a dream so Erika as my sub-conscience is very...mannequin-ish. So in that first dream, I was walking with a group of (composite) strangers in and out of buildings and parties, but I was a ghost in this dream and they didn't know I was there (except one fat kid.
At one point we walk through a very, very dark area to go to another room and I see the black haired "mannequin"  but notice its eyes following me. That is when that dream became terrifying. She followed me and then later began actually speaking. Then I learned some things about myself and others. 
I stopped practicing lucidity for a few days. 

All I'm saying is that talking to the sub-conscience could make someone crazy. It's probably a good thing it takes work to have good dialogue with it because if you were to bring too much information from your sub-conscience back when you awoke, you might find something tall and fly off it. 

Since everyone has a sub-conscience, the people you interact with are a double-mask. The mask they choose for society/you, and the mask they wear themselves. The sub-conscience isn't a different person living in your mind - but it does keep a lot of things to itself if you don't make an effort to communicate with it. It's like having an indifferent stalker. 

I do find it odd that I fall asleep so quickly when repeating "I will dream about your own dream" like one lucidity method says to do. Cool cool.

Dizzy.

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

A Rare Moment

I see a therapist. I have since I was 14 off and on. This isn't because I have many "issues" as much as I need to be able to talk to a (supposedly) objective third party with knowledge of the mind - someone on my level.
Yes that was cocky.
But it was true.

Anyhow...Since as a teenager, I did have issues, and I've jumped from counselor to counselor looking for intelligence. I have a new one since the one I liked moved on with a job opportunity, and I like this new one she chose for me as well. At first, she was taken aback by how blunt I am and how I do understand what is going on with my own mind. 

My therapist was originally bit surprised that people don't like me. 

Out of all those years, this is the first day I believe any emotion was expressed. Part of the issue with my diagnosis and why I wasn't discovered to have Aspergers Syndrome until I was 20 is that I am female and therefore, the Autistic Spectrum is the last place they look. So they looked to the next closest thing that could make me have a flat-affect - I don't show emotion in my face/look sad, but score low in depression. They're thinking "she looks like she has a mood disorder, but she's not depressed on the test," and then they see that I am not only flat-affect but I'm also weird. Being that I am extremely introverted, socially awkward, and prone to ritual, they come to the conclusion that I have Schizotypal Personality Disorder. 
It's not as bad as it sounds, here, I'll explain, with symptoms I exhibit or exhibited as a teenager bolded:

  • Being a loner and lacking close friends outside of the immediate family
  • Incorrect interpretation of events, including feeling that external events have personal meaning
  • Peculiar, eccentric or unusual thinking, beliefs or behavior
  • Dressing in peculiar ways
  • Belief in special powers, such as telepathy
  • Perceptual alterations, in some cases bodily illusions, including phantom pains or other distortions in the sense of touch
  • Persistent and excessive social anxiety
  • Peculiar style of speech, such as loose or vague patterns of speaking or rambling oddly and endlessly during conversations
  • Suspicious or paranoid ideas, hypersensitivity, and constant doubts about the loyalty and fidelity of others
  • Flat emotions, or limited or inappropriate emotional responses
  • Fear of eye contact.
Wow that's a lot. But here's the Aspergers list. Symptoms that I exhibit and are the same as Schizotypal will be bold AND italices, ones that I simply exhibit will be bold:

Speech and language peculiarities
Overformal speech
Taking everything literally
Word repetition (echolalia)
Long monologues
Inappropriate remarks
Inability to take turns talking
Inability to listen to others
Poor eye contact
Speaking without any pitch or tone
Unable to recognize figure of speech or sarcasm
Difficulty initiating conversation
Flat, cheerless demeanor
Loud voice
Doesn’t respond to name very well 
Social withdrawal
Lack of interest in other people
Eccentric personality
Preoccupied with their own agenda
Socially non-adapted personality
Urge to correct people in their speech or behavior
Limited interests
Unusual preoccupations
Need for sameness
Repetitive routines or rituals
Engages in highly repetitive play
Excellent rote memory
Lack of empathy
Single-mindedness
Aloof
Inflexible thinking
Lack of imagination
Indifferent
Rigid thinking
Lack of make-believe or imitative play
Fear of changes 

Look at that. I have most of the symptoms of both, but I have so many Autistic symptoms that if you took away the gender factor, and the diagnosis would be easy. So I am diagnosed with both and technically this is valid because I do exhibit so much of the Schizotypal symptoms, but I have more symptoms that the Schizo-Spectrum cannot account for.

And I find it funny that just now I realized that psychological research was not the intention of this bog entry - something personal was. And that right there verifies my Aspergers more than any neurologist ever has, my officialy documents of being an Aspie and all. 
Hilarious.  

Anyway - the emotion I expressed for maybe 6 seconds today in my therapy session was a distressed one. What was I discussing?
She wanted to know why I can't connect to people. I say it's because they're like filler-lines in a book, like movie extras. This, according to her, is because I don't talk and allow others in. She wonders why I don't talk because I clearly have a lot to say (look at this blog and how much I talk to her plus my youtube) and that's when I had my moment of facial expression and said "Because no one listens." She decided I need to be around intellectuals and get out of this town (I've been told this by other doctors) who will listen to me because, according to her, people should like me for various reasons.

So yeah. This is a blog entry about an Aspie having a 6 second emotional moment about people talking over her and not understanding what she's talking about.

Dizzy.




Monday, July 8, 2013

New York

I find myself missing NYC. I lived there for a bit over a year, ages 19 and 20. I basically ran away - no one knew I was leaving except the person who took me to the airport.

I'm not a big city person because of all the people and whatnot. But I think I would have done so much better had I not been so controlled, I felt like Rapunzel. In a room upstairs, isolated and dreaming.
But when I first got there, it wasn't like that. I was wide eyed and ready to embrace Orthodox Judaism. Something I had wanted my whole life. 
At first, I experienced - or saw and somewhat participated in - family. The concept of family. Each Shabbos [sundown Friday to sundown Saturday when you rest and can't do ANYTHING] we sat around a big table and a lot of special food was made. Everyone made something. I was the salad/desert person really... 
A family sitting together, much less praying and taling to eachother and laughing - was so foreign to me I was in shock. 
I liked tzniut, or modesty, and it was actually very comforting for a while to be so covered up, but it got in the way of my personal expression too much but I did learn the value of modesty in presentation. 



Of course, I was there long enough to see that they had issues, and in the end they all hated me and want me dead, even the ones who liked me for almost a whole year. I cannot be held down. I discovered that through Judaism. But I learned there are families who still value decency, who don't threaten murder when you make them mad, etc.
Of course, I'm a Christian now. 
I also miss being able to walk everywhere - I like nature more, but as a wanderer, sidewalks are fabulous. 

I don't know. I have wanderlust and I miss the big city and the idea of a little unity. 





Dizzy


Candice

Candice is a character I created to be in the original plot of Suicide Hotline Butterfly, she was a main character but not central. When I was given an assignment to write a story with a main character based on me in which the character discovers healthy coping skills, I decided that since Candice is based entirely on me but a little amplified, and S H B was lacking in some realistic interaction, I made Suicide Hotline Butterfly into my assignment. 



Candice is in her early 20's but looks much younger, like most others with Aspergers Syndrome. She grew up in an unstable environment (I changed up the family so people can't be hating) and now she's on her own. Candice doesn't know how to go through many of the basic movements of day to day life, but she is exceptionally intelligent and spend much of her time researching and charting the movements of serial killers based on moon cycles, giving her the ability to predict the next kill due to Male Menstrual Cycle. She is too unstable to be allowed into the police force and the police won't listen to her "out there" theory. 
Her best friend is a Narcissist named Daniel. He is quite a bit older than Candice, and she acts as his insider friend and he as hers. Their relationship is turbulent and he is the one speaking to her when she is taken to the psych ward. 
Candice is constantly trying to one-up her therapists and therefore never keeps one for long. Dr. Toby Tibideaux specifically requested to be her therapist at the ward and she finds comfort in the fact that she can't one-up him. Toby knew Candice was at the ward because he requested the ambulance - something Candice realizes later when she's trying to figure out where she heard his voice before. She was scheduled to call Suicide Hotline Butterfly that night, like she had been for two weeks, and failed to - Dr. Tibideaux wanted her under his care because of her specialization.


Robin White has not been introduced yet, but is only slightly older than Candice and often descends into delirium. He enters their lives later on. 

So yeah, that's Candice. I haven't developed any healthy coping skills for her to use yet because let's be honest, healthy coping skills = boring novel. But I'm only on chapter 3. 



Dizzy.


On Erika Being My Sub-conscience

Erika Cohen is the central character in the Euthanasia trilogy, a series of books I wrote beginning in 2007. It revolves around Erika and her best friend Lewis, and a suicide pact she created. Plot aside, Erika exists outside of Euthanasia, Two Hearts, and Appleseeds.

As I have said, I do practices to converse with my subconscious mind, and one of these practices is to make myself use my less dominant hand. I have noticed when drawing Erika, playing with my doll, or writing on any Euthanasia book, that I stim more with my left hand and I also tend to type more with my left hand. But only when writing and drawing Euthanasia. 
But I "created" Erika at age 15, with no character design. She just happened. 15 was a rough age for me. 

So my thoughts are that my subconscience took the form of Erika when I was 15, around the time when I became intensely self-aware and my suppression of what pain I felt from my outer-life was overflowing, I sat down one day and wrote a journal entry as my sub-conscience. And then Euthanasia happened. But the idea of Erika stuck.
If I look around at my belongings right now, it is heavily Erika-influenced.

Then there's Lewis, who is an empath and the opposite of me, which I formulated to work with and against what appears to be my sub-conscience, by using morality to rationalize his thoughts but also accepting the logic Erika presents. He recognizes a degree things the rest of the cast does not.  



To back up my sub-conscience theory even further, Erika is almost always in my lucid dreams, and it's the only time I can speak in my dreams.

People who have read my book don't be afraid.
That's all plot.

Dizzy.


Suicide Hotline Butterfly

Chapter 1

Chapter 1


Candice blinked hard waking up underneath the florescent light of the hospital room she was in. She had blacked out in the ambulance and she felt the stinging ache on her thigh – the reason she was there. It had been bandaged and doctored, she was sure. Not yet changed into hospital garments, those ugly paper gowns, Candice was still in her short pink slip and her long blonde hair was tied to the side. I don't remember calling them, she thought. She had been in her room alone; she was on the phone with her best, Daniel, and she was having...trouble...
She heard a nurse scurry by her room. She collected herself and tried to remember what had happened.
“I feel nothing,” she had said into the phone to Daniel. “When something good happens, I just brace myself and wait for everything to collapse into shards.” She took another gulp out of a bottle of cheap vodka. Even with no chaser, she didn't have the energy to wince.
“I don't really feel anything either! You know that...” came the somewhat feminine male voice from the other line. Daniel breathed deeply to begin his soliloquy. Candice sighed and shifted her thoughts to her thighs. Already a few little cat scratches over the old scars... “I don't have any friends. I mean, except you. I would still rather trade places with you, I would rather have my youth and beauty. Being thirty-five is a curse...” Candice began playing with the razor a bit, thinking and half listening. “Maybe even if I did have to endure a brother like Max...of course I have no brothers... but being brought up in your teens by a jail-bird probably isn't fun. Neither is sitting around alone being this me person...” Max was her brother, and he was a drug dealer, mostly of Angel-Dust. When he was home, he was violent, and when he wasn't home, he was in jail. They were half-siblings who lost both parents; Max's father died of a heart attack when Candice was three, and their mother died slowly when Candice was eleven and Max was twenty-one. He didn't really seem to mind having to watch after Candice, mostly because he didn't. And then, a drug deal went bad. Max lost his temper and shot a man. After three bullets, he was dead; Max is going to be in a cell for a long, long time.
Daniel was still talking. “I can't seem to get any sex appeal, I will never have what I wanted in life and it's just not fair that they drugged me...”
“Shut the fuck up. Just shut the fuck up.” Candice took another gulp and gripped the blade in her palm, making it bleed. “I'm tired of taking Klonopin and blood-pressure pills to be your friend. I called you because I feel I would want to die if I weren't already dead...and you're talking about your same social-status driven idiocy, you little shit.” Spoke in a flat voice, with a very strong Southern drawl like Daniel.
“You're the self-centered one, and all you've talked about doing is ruining your appearance even more with those nasty scars...Your anxiety isn't my fault so don't blame it on me.”
“I am fixin' to be homeless, my brother is in prison for murder, I only border-line function in college, and I don't care. I should care.”
“Well you said you don't feel anything.”
“You should be re-purposed.” Candice ended the phone-call without saying goodbye. She scribbled a shattered heart in her diary and put three Klonopin beneath her tongue. Dissolve them, they'll work faster. If you're going to feel detached from reality, you may as well feel calm while doing so, Candice...” She could hear her iPhone vibrating beside her.
And now she was in the hospital. She looked at the bracelet on her arm. The bracelet identified Candice Kraus as a patient of Dr. Rita Rao, her psychiatrist of nearly six years. Candice's disdain for her was immense, but something more important than her bracelet caught her attention. An IV had been placed in her left arm, a bandage over it. They're filling me with fluids, she thought. Right?
A nurse came in to check on Candice. She had chin-length brown hair and was a little chubby, not really the kind of face one remembers easily.
“You're awake, that's good!” she exclaimed quietly. Candice shifter her eyes to the sheet covering her body. She hated eye-contact. She often kept one eye covered with hair to help hide this quirk.
“What's going on?” Candice asked flatly.
“The ambulance was called to your address. You're really lucky they showed up when they did. You were bleeding profusely, and you ingested a very bad combination of pills and alcohol. You're severely dehydrated, young lady.” Her tone was one of slight irritation. Candice had encountered plenty of people who rolled their eyes at suicidal gestures and poor coping skills, and she didn't have the patience to debate with this rolly-polly about it.
“Is that was the IV is for.”
“Yes.” She lifted the blanket to check on my bandage. “How bad is the pain.”
“I feel nothing. Can't you give me water instead of an IV? I really don't like needles in me...”
“The IV is faster, we'll keep in the IV. Doctor ordered it. You're not scared of needles, you have a tattoo on your back,” she smiled.
“There is quite a difference in a phobia of injections and withdrawals versus the experience of touching a needle.” Candice shifted uncomfortably in the bed, the intense knowledge of the IV in her vein distracting her. “Who called the ambulance?”
“No clue sweety. Press the button if you need anything.” The nurse left the room quickly, leaving Candice alone with her IV. She looked at it. She pulled at the thick white tape a bit. Ow. Ouch. She pulled a bit at all corners and heard a knock at the door. She collapsed, faking sleep. No one came in after several moment and Candice continued to pull at the tape until it was removed, and she could see the wretched needle pieced through the layers of her skin and into her blue vein showing brightly through her pale skin. She squirmed in discomfort.
“Fuck...this...” she put a finger on the needle o the fluid IV to test the sensitivity. Some. She breathed in deeply and tilted her head to move her blonde hair from her eyes. She held her breath and pulled gently upward with two fingers on the needle, and it was removed.
The machine she was hooked up to began beeping. Beep. Beep. Beep. And then one long, flat beep. It was so loud Candice wanted to retreat into a ball and cover her ears. I can't have a nervous breakdown and a a meltdown in the same night, she thought. She slid out of the bed in her pink slip and ran towards the door. The nurses certainly heard the sound, that sound everyone knows means someone has flat-lined. I flat-lined a long time ago, bitches! Candice thought as she turned and an clumsily down the white hallways of Hell; she didn't know where she was going but she needed to get there fast. She barely noticed the five nurses and orderlies closing in behind and in front of her. She was invincible, she could walk through these fuckers, she would get out of this hospital via fifth-story window and a beautiful star-lit free-fall.
She wasn't running anymore. Everything swirled, everything turned blue. She stood unsteadily, not knowing she was being held up by a black male nurse, holding her still even though she was too dehydrated to move anymore. He did this so a nurse could quickly inject Candice with Valium. She continued to swipe at the air for a moment, the orderly pulling her slip back down into place after her escapades.
Candice's wrists were strapped a bit too tightly to the wheelchair as she was pushed to the Psychiatric and Behavioral Unit of St. Christina Hospital. She was being cooperative now, but was standard procedure. Her clothing had been replaces with the light-blue paper gown that made Candice feel increasingly aware of the temperature in the room. Unbind me, she thought aggressively. In the hallways, people walked back and forth from one day-room to another, and down the hall there were doors on either side of the wall. One tall, pale man dressed in regular clothing was leaning against one of the doors talking enthusiastically to someone Candice couldn't see.
“Alright, you'll be seeing Dr. Rao shortly to discuss what we'll do,” said the voice from above and behind Candice. The owner of the voice walked away and a short male nurse with red hair freed her from her restraints. She crossed her arms and pulled her knees up to her in the chair.
Dr. Rao was a short Indian woman with a harsh, loud voice and strong accent, and she startled Candice out of her dreamworld when she spoke her named from the doorway nearest to Candice.
“Candice Kraus. Candice come in.” Candice blinked harshly and removed herself from the wheelchair, walking with a hesitant stride into the office where Dr. Rao sat in a brown chair and flipped through a tan folder. She sat in a smaller chair opposite Rao and waited.
“Candice, you were not suicidal two weeks ago,” she said sharply, keeping her eyes on the notes in the folders. Candice wonder what all had been written about her over the years and bit her lip. “What happened?”
“I just got into a fight with my best friend...” she said quietly, looking at everything in the room except for Dr. Rao.
“What else happened?”
“My brother is in prison and I'm going to have nowhere to go soon. I got stressed.”
“You drank a lot.”
“Tends to happen when I want to forget things.”
“I thought you stopped self-injuring yourself last year,” she said as she turned the page in her notes.
“I did. It happened again. It was just a small relapse, I'm fine.”
“I have a therapist who specifically wants to work with you, given your interesting history of diagnosis’s. His name is Dr. Tibideaux. You'll be seeing him in the morning.”
“When can I get out of here?”
“When you're doing better. That is what the continuation of your Klonopin and Risperidone will do with the help of Dr. Tibideaux.” She doesn't know I stopped taking the Risperidone, thought Candice. Dr. Rao closed up the file and began pulling out the file for her next patient. Candice stood and walked out of the room. So that's it, she thought. I'm stuck here until this psychologist says I can leave. He doesn't know what he's gotten into.
After a very disappointing hospital meal, medicine time, and an embarrassing shower in which Candice had to be watched by a female night-staff worker so she could shave because that was something that was required by Candice, she was taken to her room to go to sleep. Two narrow hospital beds were side by side. The room was a dull yellow and the beds were gray and white. She turned off the light and curled up with the crunchy pillow wrapped in her arms rather than under her head. I can't believe Daniel did this to me, she thought. What a backstabber. She sighed and stretched her legs. But Daniel doesn't know my address. Who knew I needed an ambulance?


Sunday, July 7, 2013

Aimless Thoughts

I had a good day and I am too full of words and art to go to sleep. Today I spent a lot of time alone, and then went to one of the churches I attend (I have 3) and we had a baptism in the river. I was happy about this due to my connection with that river. I smell like muddy water and Jesus.
Then I did my cleaning and other domestic nonsense.
I watched the new episode of Dexter and I must say they are doing a fabulous job with the psychology, although it's watered down for the laymen, and the new woman is like me when I'm a lot older. I mean really. Just look at my posts on psychopaths and you know I'm going to be an unorthodox therapist.

I don't feel too bad that I have physical injuries and did not fight back like I usually would have, because I know I am the more intelligent opponent and with patience, the most effective.

I tan very easily so if I by chance finish my workout early enough, I can lay out and get very dark. I'm already kind of dark. For someone with Last Unicorn hair.
Alongside my vanity is my health - with encephalitis, I should NOT be working out and doing the things I do. However, with the knowledge that I am now allergic to most food lends itself to my knowing I'm about to have a weight drop, and I want to speed it up. I'm buying diet pills soon.

I want to hide for a few weeks, that is how I feel. I want my injuries to heal and for my weight to fall off and to spend a long time spaced out, thinking, writing. Then I would emerge, prettier and with more understanding and therefore more confidence.
I always feel like I'm tipping over.
In ever sense.


This is such a pointless, aimless update. My apologies. I have someone talking about feet, someone talking about zombies, and I think my boyfriend is asleep so I've had enough of this.
Off to Wonderland.

Dizzy.  

Isolationist

I have a friend who calls me their isolationist writer. This is often said to contrast my being seemingly comfortable alone if not aggressively in pursuit of being alone to have input-output time, aka research and writing. I think the name is cute, maybe not as catchy as Textbook and Dizzy but cute. Anyway. 

My social life recently changed drastically, and then quickly changed drastically back in a dramatic way. This entire year since I've been back home from NYC has been a social rollercoaster. The fact that I tend to surround myself with thrill-seekers with low-average intelligence may have something to do with that. So I am back to spending tons of time by myself, which I don't mind. 
Because I like my input-output time. 

Outside influence on thought is actually a good thing - to have feedback from real, thinking, dynamic people, not just books. But I believe Western culture has emphasized Extroversion and community so much that people who are not getting their input from other humans are probably seeking it. It's not common practice to stop and think, to let clinical information in so that you can let it out all over again with your own human-ness attached to the information. 
So much more pure this way. 

People would do well to practice bouncing ideas off themselves rather than seeking opinions.


Thursday, July 4, 2013

The Chasm Between Us

Today I feel aware.Over the early part of 2013 and during what I'll call my "celebrity meltdown" I became very intrigued by the separation I feel between myself and other people. They feel it between themselves and me, too - it's not one sided. I'm not going to attribute it to any diagnosis today, I'm just going to call it was it is - a chasm.

Today is the 4th of July and this is a day that America is supposed to socialize with friends and family and party and eat. Get drunk. Pop firecrackers. That kind of thing. This kind of holiday, for me, is a lot like the way I feel towards a sunny day - I feel like the universe is pressuring me to socialize. And when it doesn't happen on holidays, that gap between me and everyone else is much larger.
First of all, I'm alone. I'm inside writing and eating cake frosting, listening to my soundtrack. Family is removed from this picture.
Second of all, patriotism is the hope of the zombies. [and another reason I'm separated from others is that I think this way.] 
Third of all, I don't get it. Something they have, I don't. It's not that I really have a desire nor is it fun for me to participate in a lot of what's going on [although I really want some beer right now] but the knowledge that I don't connect. I was still wired, like any homo-sapien, to be some degree of a social creature. 

Frustrating is what we call this.

Dizzy

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

Baseline You

Something about psychopaths that I find intriguing that repels others (wait isn't that everything about psychopaths) is their lack of a classic baseline "self." Mimicry disturbs people. Mimicry is for acting, it's for displaying emotions one isn't really having by empathizing with the possibility of having that emotion, and displaying it for an audience to empathize with and feel.
Psychopath's do mimicry for real. Everything you see about their personality is something feigned and in all probability, practiced. They can mimic genuine charm, they can mimic depression, they can mimic empathy, they can even mimic victimhood - and they practice these roles while alone. 
Think about that for a moment. Think about how psychopaths spend part of their alone-time. Practicing. That's a bit off-setting for many people. 

But what about the general population. Where does one find a "baseline self" in which they would fall if all else was stripped away? Does that necessarily have to be in the realm of emotion, which, after all, is a chemical and therefore physical process? 

We are all a combination of the organic and the environment, whether we have a high level of empathy or not. The identity can be created, partially, and is, and it always changes slightly, but there's still that baseline.

Evasive like the equator. 


Monday, July 1, 2013

I am Not an Atheist.

Most people find this a bit shocking. I don't know why. Maybe it's all that dark art and apathy I radiate. Maybe it's the obsessive logic and science. Maybe it's because I occasionally grow horns and run around with a pitchfork bad as hell. I don't know.

Anyway. No. I am not an atheist. Youtube followers, you know I'm obsessive about things being logical and having components of reason, not emotion or even hope. I have always believed in God. I was born and raised Jewish. I explored that so far into Orthodoxy that I came out traumatized but decided, after fighting and arguing with it my entire life, to be baptized a age 20. At a Southern Baptist church. If you know me or have read anything or seen anything about me, you know my beliefs are things I concluded entirely on my own and that I will therefore never fit into a denomination. All that weird stuff. But all things being said, I am a Christian. 
I <3 Jesus and all that. 

Always believed in God, somehow comes across as an atheist. 

Dizzy.