I'm still apathetic it seems. I respond to things with thoughts, or words, but not emotionally. Like "oh, that's terrible" or "how adorable" or "that's annoying" but I don't feel sad, happy, angry or anything. It's like I'm trying to tell myself what to feel. I hardly even complain nowadays. It's all just brief statements. And what's up with the short sentences?
If I do feel something, it's just briefly. A few seconds smile, if I get angry it's over so fast my heartbeats don't even increase. Sadness that never creates tears. It's just snap shots.
Yes, I might be a bit over medicated, but usually I can just barely keep my wild emotions in check even with all those drugs. So this isn't because of them. Unless they just suddenly increased massively in strength all by themselves, which is of course highly unlikely, which is my point.
It's weird being back at my parents' place, even though it's just for the weekend. And I slept through all of yesterday, so it feels like I've been here shorter than I actually have. I keep no circadian rhythm, just wake up and go to bed whenever I feel like it. No pressure. Cause I need to stop worry about things that don't matter.
My sleeping pattern really doesn't, you know. Why? Cause it really shouldn't be such a big deal when I sleep or not or for how long. As long as I do sometimes. It's not like I have a schedule to keep up with or something.
Showing posts with label calm. Show all posts
Showing posts with label calm. Show all posts
Saturday, 14 December 2013
Saturday, 23 November 2013
Green fingers
I'm cold, but not on the outside. Cause it's 22 degrees in here and I'm wearing more fabric than an astronaut in outer space would wear. I'm trying to heat up a coldness that lies beyond skin and flesh, reaches deeper than internal organs, blood and bones. Somewhere in my mind I am being told that I'm not warm enough no matter what I do.
My ivy is just getting bigger and greener every day it seems. I gave it a name and I'm talking it to it as if the plant was a pet. "Muriz", and no it has no particular gender. It is a plant after all. I even stroke its leaves and carefully hug it sometimes. I think maybe my love and care somehow affects it, cause I've never seen ivy's grow and shine like this one before, with leaves bigger than my palms. I've only had it a few months and it's at least twice as big now, and every single leaf is fresh and vividly green.
It doesn't seem to be at all bothered by the cigarette smoke either, which I find rather remarkable, since it can get pretty damn smoky in here sometimes and it almost looks like I'm suddenly in Silent Hill: foggy with ash swirling around.
I suppose me not being able to have pets on my own kinda sparked an interest in plants, as I feel comfort knowing I'm not the only thing alive in this solitude.
So at least I have some form of company, if you could call it that. And I don't feel so alone when I just turn around from the computer and talk to my green, rather quiet room mate. Now I do realise the level of craziness to this, but it almost kinda feels like we're actually communicating in a way. Like the way Muriz thrives is like a response to my awkward cuddling with it (no, not that awkward!)
Whilst I was reading and browsing information about Schizophrenia before, I remember finding out that even that is a trait. Talking to one's plants. Now I'm sure they don't mean "here you go, I have some fresh water for you" kinda talk, but believe me when I say my chatting is vastly more complicated than that. I vary from expressing my admiration of its beauty to telling it jokes and talking to it about how my day has been.
No, I've never doubted that I'm utterly insane, but as of lately it's been almost creeping me out just how much that terrible illness fits me. Always finding out that I experience yet another symptom, finding connections from or to other things in my past or present, and seeing as I more and more fall into weird beliefs and losing my grip on reality. It's like the puzzle of my life is finally starting to connect.
My ivy is just getting bigger and greener every day it seems. I gave it a name and I'm talking it to it as if the plant was a pet. "Muriz", and no it has no particular gender. It is a plant after all. I even stroke its leaves and carefully hug it sometimes. I think maybe my love and care somehow affects it, cause I've never seen ivy's grow and shine like this one before, with leaves bigger than my palms. I've only had it a few months and it's at least twice as big now, and every single leaf is fresh and vividly green.
It doesn't seem to be at all bothered by the cigarette smoke either, which I find rather remarkable, since it can get pretty damn smoky in here sometimes and it almost looks like I'm suddenly in Silent Hill: foggy with ash swirling around.
I suppose me not being able to have pets on my own kinda sparked an interest in plants, as I feel comfort knowing I'm not the only thing alive in this solitude.
So at least I have some form of company, if you could call it that. And I don't feel so alone when I just turn around from the computer and talk to my green, rather quiet room mate. Now I do realise the level of craziness to this, but it almost kinda feels like we're actually communicating in a way. Like the way Muriz thrives is like a response to my awkward cuddling with it (no, not that awkward!)
Whilst I was reading and browsing information about Schizophrenia before, I remember finding out that even that is a trait. Talking to one's plants. Now I'm sure they don't mean "here you go, I have some fresh water for you" kinda talk, but believe me when I say my chatting is vastly more complicated than that. I vary from expressing my admiration of its beauty to telling it jokes and talking to it about how my day has been.
No, I've never doubted that I'm utterly insane, but as of lately it's been almost creeping me out just how much that terrible illness fits me. Always finding out that I experience yet another symptom, finding connections from or to other things in my past or present, and seeing as I more and more fall into weird beliefs and losing my grip on reality. It's like the puzzle of my life is finally starting to connect.
Saturday, 9 November 2013
Emptiness
The pounding emptiness is buried in my heart, and the sun never really came up today. Normally I'd be disappointed or something, but today I just... nothing. But I prefer it this way, it's better than how I usually am, feeling a lot of negative stuff. This emptiness is in its contrast a sombre calm, like a cold, misty street in a ghost town. Thinking back to the novel I will someday actually write. Well, one of them, I have two on going. I have some sort of writer's block now. But even still, I keep visiting the places I've created for this one story, the one taking place in an imaginary ghost town somewhere in England. Sort of an alternate reality thing.
Picturing the empty streets, the thick fog, the old tarnished buildings that had become grey over time. Muddy with dust and rain. It's a calm town, and there are no actual ghosts in it. Or well, not any creepy ones at least. Just this one ghost, but she's nothing like one. I imagine myself as the main character, 37 year old Kian, standing in the window to his apartment, wearing only a bath robe over a pyjamas in the early morning breeze. He's a little like me, or rather how I feel like I am.
So I spend more time thinking about the story than actually writing about it. I want to write, but every time I open up the document and put my hands on the keyboard I just freeze up. Where do I start? Which scene should I write at? Where was I the last time? Should I read it through again? I just can't write, I'm unsynchronised. So I just stare out the window, pretending that I am Kian.
Picturing the empty streets, the thick fog, the old tarnished buildings that had become grey over time. Muddy with dust and rain. It's a calm town, and there are no actual ghosts in it. Or well, not any creepy ones at least. Just this one ghost, but she's nothing like one. I imagine myself as the main character, 37 year old Kian, standing in the window to his apartment, wearing only a bath robe over a pyjamas in the early morning breeze. He's a little like me, or rather how I feel like I am.
So I spend more time thinking about the story than actually writing about it. I want to write, but every time I open up the document and put my hands on the keyboard I just freeze up. Where do I start? Which scene should I write at? Where was I the last time? Should I read it through again? I just can't write, I'm unsynchronised. So I just stare out the window, pretending that I am Kian.
Wednesday, 6 November 2013
A glimpse into my altered world
16:12
This is the longest I've ever been awake for without any sleep or power napping or the like. 73 hours, or 3 days and 3 nights just passed in this, rather undead like state of being. I feel like a zombie, tired but not sleepy. Trying to occupy myself with films, embroidery, music, writing and knitting in varying order and combinations.
It's really starting to take its toll now, feels like my brain is turning into mush or something. Right now about half the world around me isn't real, I presume, cause with some things it's hard to tell. I'm having tactile, visual and auditory hallucinations almost constantly by now. They are weird, but not frightening. Every picture looks to be slowly moving, like an image cut in gif in slow motion. I'm looking at a picture of a woman with one hand on her chest and though it is a still photo, I can see her her hand softly stroking across her collar bone. Like if she touched herself or floated in water. Very graceful indeed.
23:53
It feels like I'm under water, on a sinking ship. The way my floor is unstable, and seems to rock under my feet, the way my vision is blurred and everything is having a slow dance as if I see the world through water. Distorted sounds with weird, misplaced thumping and clonking here and there. Yes, it actually feels a lot like I'm on a sinking ship. Yet I calmly sit here, not the least worried or scared. It's just strange, but still it isn't. It's just a feeling, a likeness, and I don't really believe that I'm literally drowning. It doesn't feel like drowning at all actually, it's soothing somehow.
I have gotten used to my supposedly different, or altered, world view cause I know of nothing else. Had I become psychotic over night from living a seemingly normal life until that moment I'd probably be very frightened. I don't even know if my world actually is psychotic, but I doubt that it is normal. Somewhere in between most days, and some days with a little extra spice; and others, very few days thankfully, are nightmarish.
So just how is my world view not "normal"? Because everything, people, events, things, conversations can or may not be real. Some times they are, other times they aren't. I interpret things differently. Read private messages sent specifically to me, masked to be hidden to others, in the strangest places and ways. I can hear the trees cry, the clouds are deciding my mood, water is whispering to me and I know when a certain piece of furniture has something personally against me - to mention a few things. This isn't figuratively speaking, in my world that is real and literally.
01:12
So strange... I don't feel tired or sleepy or drowsy at all. Yet I haven't had a single mg of caffeine in over three hours. It wears off fast for me. Kicks in with full power immediately and then wears off about half an hour to an hour later. I don't know if it's fun or just saddening to count the hours of being awake at this point, but I'm up at 83 hours now. I wonder if I'll reach 100, which is slightly over 4 days. A week is 168 hours. Good to know, and hope I won't go that far... would feel kind of devastated if I go to my psychologist appointment on Friday and tell her I've been awake since two o'clock in the afternoon on Sunday...
This is the longest I've ever been awake for without any sleep or power napping or the like. 73 hours, or 3 days and 3 nights just passed in this, rather undead like state of being. I feel like a zombie, tired but not sleepy. Trying to occupy myself with films, embroidery, music, writing and knitting in varying order and combinations.
It's really starting to take its toll now, feels like my brain is turning into mush or something. Right now about half the world around me isn't real, I presume, cause with some things it's hard to tell. I'm having tactile, visual and auditory hallucinations almost constantly by now. They are weird, but not frightening. Every picture looks to be slowly moving, like an image cut in gif in slow motion. I'm looking at a picture of a woman with one hand on her chest and though it is a still photo, I can see her her hand softly stroking across her collar bone. Like if she touched herself or floated in water. Very graceful indeed.
23:53
It feels like I'm under water, on a sinking ship. The way my floor is unstable, and seems to rock under my feet, the way my vision is blurred and everything is having a slow dance as if I see the world through water. Distorted sounds with weird, misplaced thumping and clonking here and there. Yes, it actually feels a lot like I'm on a sinking ship. Yet I calmly sit here, not the least worried or scared. It's just strange, but still it isn't. It's just a feeling, a likeness, and I don't really believe that I'm literally drowning. It doesn't feel like drowning at all actually, it's soothing somehow.
I have gotten used to my supposedly different, or altered, world view cause I know of nothing else. Had I become psychotic over night from living a seemingly normal life until that moment I'd probably be very frightened. I don't even know if my world actually is psychotic, but I doubt that it is normal. Somewhere in between most days, and some days with a little extra spice; and others, very few days thankfully, are nightmarish.
So just how is my world view not "normal"? Because everything, people, events, things, conversations can or may not be real. Some times they are, other times they aren't. I interpret things differently. Read private messages sent specifically to me, masked to be hidden to others, in the strangest places and ways. I can hear the trees cry, the clouds are deciding my mood, water is whispering to me and I know when a certain piece of furniture has something personally against me - to mention a few things. This isn't figuratively speaking, in my world that is real and literally.
01:12
So strange... I don't feel tired or sleepy or drowsy at all. Yet I haven't had a single mg of caffeine in over three hours. It wears off fast for me. Kicks in with full power immediately and then wears off about half an hour to an hour later. I don't know if it's fun or just saddening to count the hours of being awake at this point, but I'm up at 83 hours now. I wonder if I'll reach 100, which is slightly over 4 days. A week is 168 hours. Good to know, and hope I won't go that far... would feel kind of devastated if I go to my psychologist appointment on Friday and tell her I've been awake since two o'clock in the afternoon on Sunday...
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