GENIUS

I SO WISH I knew who to attribute this to because it is so incredibly perfect in so many ways.  Like... seriously.  This pic just might deserve a badassary award.  It might have originally appeared in deviantart.

I might be a bad person

mandatory Christmas post

As always, couldn't say enough awesomeness about the awesomeness of Doug Savage and his awesome chickens.

manic cleaning...

This badass company is for realzies.  Check them out here.

I doubt most people can appreciate the feeling I have... that overwhelming knowledge and fear that if I start something I might not finish... in which case the vestiges of my failed efforts will lie in horrible disarray around the whole of my living space... but also the antsy-ness.  

I have taken my sleeping meds, now-- at midnight and a half-- but not after a massive cleaning spree.  I have been fighting the urge to blog again... for fear that no one will ever read and simultaneously forgetting that I don't blog for everyone else, I blog for me.

I have a friend who has a blog and gets more than 40 hits and hour... and I feel as though I drown in failure so often, why should it be here, as well.   OMG SO EMO!  lmao

emo emu

I feel horrible because I cannot find the source of this content.  It looks like there is a website written in the bottom right hand corner but I cannot read it.  I believe it is originally from photobucket and unfortunately, even when I go there, it does not show an original source.  So I'd like to HUGELY THANK whoever created this image and I am so sorry that I cannot direct others to see your other work (which is no doubt AWESOME).

it's hard to be sad when you're squealing uncontrollably

Damn you optimism!

I originally found this image here however, I don't think this is where it originated.

*twistedtruth* written 11/07/09

Annie said: you're never fully dressed without a smile

and I've been walking naked for quite awhile.

This empty feeling that corrupts my being

cannot be done away with despite the skills

of doctors and therapist who try to mold my will--

that I might desire to be happy they postulate

that I might accept my lot in life and look forward to fate

but they did not account for the abyss you've provided

and the filthy bed I made to lie in.

I look at what goes on and see good things around me

but the ever enduring factor is feeling lonely

and desiring, ridiculously, a healing salve

but you've all just made me mad

half crazed with promises and suggestions

only to have so many hopes and dreams molested.

And I'm told that I am beautiful in my pain

a twisted beauty that no one is able to explain

but I can quite quickly paint the picture of why:

there is beauty in death and the failing of my life

is both astonishing and strangely robust

at how I once succeeded but ultimately lost

and the idea that I am drenched in potential

but, honestly, know that at good length I shall fail.

But Annie said to smile, and so I will

you can't say that I don't pull off this depression

without crazy tons of skill.

Everybody's just jealous of my awesome is all

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

The Truth thanks to Tumblr

According to The Daily What, this blog is where the picture originated.

it's hard to be sad when you're squealing uncontrollably

Let's keep in mind...

via my[confined]space

Happy is a crime

via Pelfusion.com

The shades of bipolar are mystifying.  It's bad enough to HAVE the emotions, to be in them and make the sordid attempt to deal with them.  Yet what has frustrated me is this: these people didn't know me before... with the moments where I disappeared into psychosis or raged in a manic flux or chased pigeons because the Grate God told me to.  So on one hand I have their opinion that I need to harden the hell up and knowing that MY GOD I have come SO FAR.

But then there is another crux.  Gotta love all the branching variations of the ways happiness is a problem.  When I am doing WELL... it is a boggle to them... it doesn't make sense.  There are a multiple range of responses.  Everything from well why don't you just be this way all the time to if you can be like this why the hell did you act like blah blah at such and such a time.

Then it gets worse.  There are the people that actually care.  That watch helplessly from the water's edge as you drown.  There is nothing they can do.

Then there is the personal turmoil: knowing that invariably we are filled to be emptied again.  That undoubtedly the rug shall be removed from beneath us.  That's just the way it is.

it's hard to be sad when you're squealing uncontrollably

YouTube - A-Bao Dreaming

I have no idea what this little guy is and I don't care!!!

it's hard to be sad when you're squealing uncontrollably

Doctor's Seri-ous Insanity Monologue

I go to medical school ten year! TEN YEAR!

[Sir, I have been doing this for ten years, also]

For you—patient!--to insist that you know

what I learn at medical school ten year... TEN YEAR!

[well congrats on that degree... you should've also studied English—just a thought]

[have you ever taken zyprexa?]

I have patients on Zyprexa... yes dey have life!

[it only takes 15mgs of Zyprexa to knock out a fully grown horse]

I have patients 30mg Zyprexa! They do not complain!

You do not be fresh with me! I have medical degree!

[you should've gone with English. I'm sorry if me knowing my shit about my illness is being “fresh,” and for the record it is hard to do much personal advocacy when you're shitfaced on anti-psychotics]

You no study! You no get upset!

You just upset I not give you what you want!

[yeah I'm not hardcore on you making me a zombie with your classic 30mgs Zyprexa... caaaalll me crazy]

[I'd take you and give you Zyprexa... starting low to make you think you can handle it]

[Then i'd laugh my ass off as you discover that it is more horrific than you'd ever known anything to be]

[Then I'll lock you away—cuz we all know the more they give you the crazier you actually get]

And God would name it justice and say that it was good.

it's hard to be sad when you're squealing uncontrollably

Poor belly flopping corgi is soooo cute!

One of me

I long for people to be one of me

The “misfits”

The “freaks”

The “enemy”

We could start a colony

It could be anarchy

Or maybe everyone would just worship me

But they wouldn’t worship you

Because you’ve decided

You’re not one of us

You’ve decided to deny our trust

You took our puppy dog love

Took it and then crushed

Me were not happy

Me were hurt but me did not give up

CRAZY CARD!!!!

it's hard to be sad when you're squealing uncontrollably

cute mini pig is sooooo mini!!!

I'm so happy I'm dangerous

d'oh. Yeah I'm that one.

Because no one appreciates my sense of humor

Apparently failbook doesn't like my submission.  I think this is hysterical.  It is wrong on several levels... but funny as all get out.

it's hard to be sad when you're squealing uncontrollably

ADORBZ NO MORE SAD

Four Letter Words July 26, 2009

I cannot catch my breath
and cannot think of anything else
than beating my fists against your chest
and crying until I need rest.
I hate you and you never did me wrong
but I desire distance none the less
and have so much to confess
but you already know what I have to say
the best I can do is go away
and rob myself of today.
In quiet consolation I create hatred
and turn a soft heart to hardest lead
while I grit my teeth dying in bed.
Perhaps the ativan will kick in
and I can spend life numb instead
indifferent to this shit in my head.
I hate you for these feelings you've stirred.
Y-O-U is my new favorite four letter word.

via this awesome page My[confined]Space

“They deplored any joyful tendencies in me, but I was their Zora never the less.” -Zora Neale Hurston

How fabulous a quote this is sheerly for the way it sculptures every person who someone may see as “odd.” Zora talked about being set apart for the color of her skin, but I talk about the color of the soul. I talk of the color MAD CREATIVITY.

Plato referred to himself as “a gadfly” and Emily Dickenson tried to test her sanity with pigment to parchment. They were “deplored” for their “tendencies?” but it is those same characteristics that now endear artists like Georgia O’Keefe, Lord Byron, and William Blake eternally to humanity. Their fits of creativity rendered them sometimes cast off by society until the final workings of their art were presented, digested, and sought after.

Not to compare myself to Picasso, Van Gogh, or Wordsworth, but I believe that the stamp of my being bears the same creed as these artists. We are colored the same hue deep beneathe the skin, our own race of majestic insanity.

They call me odd (I hear them gawk sometimes in disbelief). My race is few and hard to recognize at times- especially when it tries to change for fear of realizing, as Zora did, how different an individual is when stuck against the backdrop of another race.

Daily I experience the racism. I hear “Tolerance for all colors!” yet I see no one looking at the colors deep within that really make up who a person is. The color of skin creates prejudices against a mortal, physical body that will pass away. But the racism I experience is against the color of creativity that paints an eternal, immortal soul.

Written Junior year of High School as prompted by Mrs. Richardville in AP Composition

______________________________________________________________

So I've been thinking a lot today about the concept of family. There is a root that makes you what you are. And that root is comprised of greater reaching root system that tie you to others and help you "name who you are." Without an intrinsic grounding provided by knowing my extended family I have been forced to create a nameless bond with the only thing that has stuck with me for so many years. That being my status as different. Yeah, I don't think like everybody else--and that is ok--however I have been naming myself according to my mental illness.

So I'm sitting here thinking about what family means, as this weekend I had an opportunity to spend time with extended family in another state. I seek to find a grounding outside of the unstable nature of my mental illness.

There seems to be a theme here...

Was filling out a questionnaire for seeing a new pdoc... and while filling out the many pages with the requested information I felt as though I had accomplished something at the end. I had a bingo. Now that is a little moment of win. Heck yeah it made my day.

that's right I did this all by myself

Feel free to add your own in comments

the savage chicken... he knows

Check out all of Doug Savage's Chickens

*wicked witch* (written today)

You are the wicked witch in whom the devil is well pleased

You shoot us full of geodon and send us to our knees.

If ever there were happy times they certainly are not now:

As we are assaulted with your frustration and beaten at our brow.

Your ego is immense and second only to your philosophy

that the mentally ill are inferior and should be dealt with accordingly.

There is no yellow brick road with a happy promise at the end--

After a diagnosis, there's no point in hoping you'll ever return home again

neurotic... a little tooooo neurotic yeah I really do think

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z_NrOpl6h5Y

So I'm sitting here after having a crappy ass friggin' day and can't seem to cease these moronic neurotic thoughts. Thoughts about people not caring, about me not finding help, thoughts about giving up fighting this whole fight thing that happens everyday. So, instead... I thought in case someone ever actually READ this blog... I'd take the slight chance that they'd find a prompt interesting. The prompt? Re-write Alanis Morisette's "ironic" using neurotic :-)

The Truth thanks to Tumblr

Oxymoron

June 9,2001

A particularly irksome oxymoron: self-evaluation. For both are undeniably skew. Self has been ravaged by disease and perception for an “evaluation” are completely run-amok. Yet this all relies completely on me in my horrid state to evaluate my condition and seek help accordingly. Sounds more like a sick joke than proper instruction.

So I'm sitting here desperately trying to figure out how to put up old poems and simultaneously write blog entries. The above piece is dated in 2001 and it seems that through out the day I think about old pieces. This is the one that comes to me now. I am slightly manic... ok: pretty manic if I'm being honest. It's almost 1:30 AM and I am wide awake. So basically I have self evaluated to come to this conclusion.

I am struggling with this idea that SO MANY of my friends are struggling right now. I feel bad even asking for an ear to listen to my feelings. So--here with the anonymity of a screen name I will share what is going on.

I have yet to post a truly funny entry. Hopefully one of those is soon to come as these emo thoughts do not really get a lot of readership.

I keep thinking that I need to write something... it would have to be brief-- to describe the things I feel. I keep hearing repeated phrases and even lectures born of ignorance in relation to how my head works. Per the quote at the top of the page it is relatively evident that I have been made aware that I do not think like the rest of this world. This has been evident for a very long time.

This November will be the 10 year anniversary of my diagnosis-- or as Angelina Jolie referred to it in "Girl, Interrupted" my diagnonsense. And quite frankly I don't know what to think about that. And with that? I pass.

So it has been one freaking long day

Things I learned today:

1) know it alls tend to know social skills LEAST OF ALL

2) know-it-alls don't have a lot of friends

3) bossy people will often be stuck doing just about everything by themselves cuz heck if I'm going to do something and you're going to nitpick over how I did it? Congratulations... you just won yourself more work

4) people who masquerade as being humble and needing your help? maybe I should add about that they constantly use excuses and complain as to why they can't handle something themselves? Well quite frankly that *is* often true BUT when you use the same blasted excuse for over a year... it's up to you to fix it. If you don't have a bio-chemical or physical ailment... if it is an EXTERNAL factor... divorce that factor from your life. Then stop whining to everybody about why your life sucks.

4a) when you act entitled and EXPECT people to help-- chances are that they won't

4b) failing to show gratitude for those that DO give of their time, money, and emotional resources is a massive catalyst in them not helping you anymore

4c) the people that help you despite these things? YUP YOU ARE WALKING ALL OVER THEM BECAUSE THEY DON'T HAVE THE COURAGE TO TELL YOU NO!

The Misfits of Christianity *December 2006*

The misfits of Christianity give generously

For they remember the time they were without.

Whether it is of their love

For they were without friends

Whether it is of their money or belongings

For they without food or clothes

Whether it is of their patience

For they were without mercy from others.

The misfits of Christianity never judge and forgive graciously

For they remember what it was like

To do the evil things of the sinful nature

That came with the diseases bestowed upon ourselves.

The misfits of God accept anyone and everyone

Whether it is the homeless

The addict

The mentally or physically handicapped

The alcoholic

Or those who prostitute their faith;

For we remember, just as Christ became our Savior

He is their Savior as well.

We often feel alone, abandoned by other church goers

Because we are too wounded to go to church,

Simply because that old song “Great is thy Faithfulness”

Is too hard to hear when God seems so silent,

Or that new song “Give Thanks”

Makes you feel like you have cancer in your throat.

The misfits of Christianity heard:

If you just had enough faith, you’d be healed by now

And

If you prayed more, you wouldn’t get sick.

Yet we know these things are foolish.

The angels to answer our prayers have already been dispatched

But they are detained in a brutal spiritual war

As was with Daniel when he wore sack cloth

And bathed in ashes.

We take one day at a time because we remember that

Today we are healthy

But tomorrow we might have a craving.

Some are completely healed of their disease by the mighty hand of God

We do not envy these people but look to them for guidance

For peace, for comfort and words of wisdom

These people remain among us lest they forget the pain

And the miracle that has occurred in their lives.

For those of us that remain misfits, in the insanity of our addiction

We work the twelve steps, patiently biding our time until God reveals His glory in us.

Linking you to the world!

I wonder if this will post properly... in any event I will write down what it is and what it says: I DON'T HAVE A METH LAB (NEVER EVER) leave me alone.

See now... I am desperately hoping that the guy that wrote this was actually some insightful dude that did this to crack people up--or even a group of teenagers looking to get someone in trouble. Yet, desperate times call for desperate stupidity (well and cuts in the education system call for stupidity...) AT ANY RATE! I find this absolutely hysterical.

And here's something for a real smile... Anything I find is usually from one of the sites at the bottom of each page, HOWEVER sometimes THEY go to even OTHER sites so I will try to do my best to keep up. The Meth-heads up there are via tumbler and my gummy friend is via cheezburger site called "epic win FTW"

u must be KIDDING ME

So I wrote an intro post? Effing hell I clicked the wrong button. I messed up. ARGH! So screw it. This is my first post. Put THAT in your pipe and smoke it!

So... here we go

BWAhahAHHAHA so despite my ineptitude at all this I found that post I accidentally deleted... happy reading.

So... it's totally later than it should be. This blog layout stuff is addictive to me-- I'm fighting going to sleep like anybody's business. I won't lie. This is going to be all about me and my head. I'm not everybody else... no matter how badly I want to be. I get a lot of crap from people about: well if you don't like your life then just CHANGE. But sometimes it's not a simple surgery than changes the way your mind works. Sometimes the "offending limb" can not simply be cut off. I am a massive proponent of grammar but I'll be honest: I'm going to be typing the way the words are going through my head. You may not like that. Poop to you. There will be poetry, fun pictures from my roamings throughout the internet (spell check claims "roamings" is not a word and I don't care), as well as simple long thoughts that I feel the world needs to hear. Truth be told there is hardly any chance anyone will read this, but I will write it in the vague sense that because it is online somehow I am telling someone my feelings. It's a lie. Don't worry I know I'm in denial. SoooOOOO... I'm never going to stop, am I? Rambling Done.