A Closed Mouth Don’t Get Fed

There was one person in class tonight who didn’t talk.

. . .

. .

.

And it WASN’T ME, BITCHES!

I was pretty much forced to, but whatever, I did it and this time I had stuff written down and I probably still sounded ridiculous and you know what? I’m done caring how I sounded. The main focus is that I did it, I spoke, I gave my opinion, I did an analysis in words (partially) and even though I left out half of the analysis, I did something.

That’s an accomplishment for someone who rarely ever does so.

Even after I said my piece and the professor picked up another part of the story and said a few words that I didn’t cover, I kept thinking I was wrong in what I said just because he said something else about a different half of the story. That’s bad habit, you see? People think that’s their anxiety–it’s a result of being hyper-aware and anxious, yes, but it’s a bad habit. And bad habits can be broken with good habits. These are good things to recognize. Once I realized it, I kept telling myself in my head that yo, just because he also found something else in the story doesn’t mean you’re wrong and doesn’t mean you should be embarrassed that you didn’t say every little detail in the book. I mean, hell, I don’t even remember what I said: my memory is that blank when I’m talking in front of people. Basically my words have less than a tenth of a millisecond to form and get out of my mouth or else anxiety pounces on them and they never escape. So I talk fast and about whatever the fuck until I feel my mouth is dry enough to stop. Don’t know what I said, don’t know if it made sense, don’t know how many times I repeated myself; whatever. I talked, didn’t I? One step at a time, what do you people want from me?

Do you want me to talk or do you want me to analyze? Choose one, damnit.

So tonight was a major success. I’ve been worried about it since last week when I learned we’d be doing a Socratic seminar.

The reason I hated the ones in high school was because they gave each of us two note cards and said you were only allowed to talk twice. Each time you spoke, you had to toss a card in the middle of the circle and once both of your cards were in the circle, you were out. It was a way to try and force people into talking. Did I ever talk? Nope, not once. Another big middle finger to people who think quietness and introvertedness is a bad thing. It’s not. Fuck you.

Even this spellcheck thinks introvertedness means “disinterestedness”. I get “introvertedness” isn’t a word, but an introvert isn’t someone disinterested in things, it’s someone who is focused in their head and thinks quite a lot, perhaps better and longer than people who can’t seem to ever shut their fucking mouth.

So many anxiety plays a major part in my life and I think to an extent it always will. But I’m learning a lot. I’m learning I am the master, not he. Like I’ve mentioned in a past post: don’t play the victim card. I could blame every issue in my life on my mental health and I could blame all of my mental health on my past, and I could get away with it too, and people would feel sympathetic and look upon me with pity.They’d also probably get pretty annoyed. But I don’t want their pity and I don’t want their scrutiny. I want them to see how hard I have to fight  so they can see the struggle that exists. Once they see the struggle for what it is, terms like “lazy” won’t ever again describe a depressive disorder and people won’t confuse “shy” with social anxiety disorder.

The physical symptoms piss me off sometimes though. I get an insatiable urge to yawn. Does anyone else, or am I cast alone on a banana leaf raft in a raging ocean with that? I just keep yawning and yawning . . . people probably think wow, does she not sleep? Is she bored? Or I’ll get some weird air bubbles trapped in my throat muscles (I’m assuming because they spasm so much) and they kind of ricochet off my windpipe and make some weird internal gurgling noise, like your stomach is rumbling . . . but in your throat. Then I get the customary shakes, although they come off more like violent, brief Tourettes-type twitches. My face flushes, but not as often as it used too, and I break out in a cold sweat. It’s all a nasty experience that quits instantaneously once I’ve bypassed the anxious situation.

That level of heightened awareness is what causes my memory lapses. It’s surging through my brain and surging through my body and sometimes I feel like I can’t control it. You know, the common “your amygdala gets hijacked” sensation.

Everyone feels like they can’t control it but you know, like I said, honesty is the best policy and if you tell yourself that every day than you’ve been lying to yourself, my friend. There will always be ways for you to control your body. Even people with neurological disorders who learn coping mechanisms that ease their tension, their anxiety, and their stress gain better control over their disorders.

Don’t ever lie to yourself because you’ll start believing it.

I’ve been lying to myself before I even knew what lying meant.

Now I have to learn how not to lie.

I know that I read facial expressions differently than people. Hell, I thought an axe murderer was following me on his bike in the woods: it’s an understatement to say I exaggerate things. But I do. I exaggerate people and I exaggerate faces. I always see them negatively. I’ve known this for awhile now and I tend not to believe everything I see. If my brain tells me “that person is giving you a dirty look, they hate you”, well then I’m more inclined to believe it’s the opposite.

Maybe they are giving me a dirty look. But the point here is not everyone is. And that’s what I fail to see.

Not everyone has a sarcastic or disapproving tone in their voice, not everyone thinks what I say is stupid. And if my brain tells me that, well then liar, liar pants on fire, shut the fuck up; you’re not my sire.

Like my Rhyme? Yeah I made that shit up. *Brushes off shoulders*

And it’s not my sire, it’s not my king; my thoughts are independent of how my brain makes me feel. That’s one of the most important lesson I’ve learned so far in my short life. Once you can separate who you are and what you want from that evil thing that wants your soul for hire, than you’re on the right path. No one’s going to give you your life back, no one’s going to give you happiness, and a pill sure as hell ain’t going to do it, not to the extent you want it to. Take responsibility for who you are and what you think and admit that you have a problem.

Don’t admit that you’re helpless, admit that you have a problem.

Two very different things.

As for now, here’s a picture I took of a candle flame.

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You Are The Light In The Darkness Of Your Own Mind

Decisions, Decisions . . . Cookies. I’ll Just Eat Some Cookies.

Remember, Remember, the fifth of November

Anywhoooo .  .  . I went for a walk this morning for two reasons: 1) To test out my new camera and 2) To think. I’ve recently had something major happen and I’m pretty freaked out about it. I don’t want to say what it is because I have’t made any decisions yet and I know some of my options might be offensive to people. Not that I give a shit about your feelings.

Of course I give a shit about your feelings.

So you’ll all have to suffer while I huddle in secrecy and horror and an odd excitement and keep this to myself. The walk just made me more confused however, and I guess the only thing good out of it was that I see the limitations of my camera and the lens. Mostly the lens. I’m going to need a new one to do what I want. It was definitely worth the money, I’m not regretting my purchase, and it works flawlessly to the average person . . . but I see flaws in the flawless, so I’m going to need a new one. Like a 70-300mm.

But um, Best Buy, I’m not paying 499.99 dollars for it. Ebay, here I come.

Sure hope I get called for that job soon.

I went for a stroll on the beach first and saw some awesome cranes, but I couldn’t get close enough without freaking them out and my lens couldn’t zoom enough for the shot I wanted, so I said fuckk ’em and headed out to the water. Besides, a lady walked past with her stupid loud mouth dog and scared them all to hell.

The water was nice.

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I can see that with any art you have to define yourself. Nature is easy to take pictures of, it’s naturally beautiful and people always swoon over it. I’m still getting used to this camera and thinking visually instead of . . . in words . . . so bare with me on this journey. Today was more like me pressing buttons and hoping I don’t break it. Some people read manuals; I don’t have the attention span or the memory space for all that.

It took me a couple weeks to figure out what kind of mental health blogger I wanted to be; you know, sarcastic, hilarious, amazingly informative, and in your face. It’s going to take me much longer to figure out what kind of photographer I am, what I really suck at (mostly everything) and what I’m alright at, and what I want to put my energy into.

Learning! Yay!

It’s really cold. My hands are numb on this keyboard. All you people who live around snow are probably laughing and calling this Californian chick a wimp, but shut up, November is cold and my circulation sucks. I need to exercise, alright?

Anyway, I went into this forest area.

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Someone Dropped Their Coke

I tried to get a photo of a squirrel but it raced up the tree, then I saw this dude on his bike in the shadows staring at me. Scared the fuck out of me, not to mention it was slightly embarrassing because I’d been talking to myself. Anyway, he was staring. It was weird. So as relaxed as I wanted to be among the silent musings of the trees, and as confident as I am in my fighting skills (try me, bitch), I spent the majority of my walk paranoid as fuck.

I swear I heard his bike tires in the trees. I heard him get on it behind me too and he rode in the opposite direction I walked: there are two paths and they meet at the same place. I figured he went down the other way just so he could meet me in the brush and potentially murder me.

If you don’t have woods in your area, and you’ve never walked through a forest where you can hear the patter of Chickadee steps across the dirt, than you wouldn’t understand how the environment only added to my hyper-awareness. Every crack of a branch or tweet of a bird or rustle of a leaf in the wind I readied my fist to punch that dude in the teeth. Whenever I turned my back to the path to take a picture, I envisioned that fucker leaping out of the bushes at me and hitting me in the back of the head before I even had a chance to hit him in the nuts. If you’re going to come after me, at least let me have a chance to hit you in the nuts.

A lot of druggies hang out around this path because there’s a drain where they can take shelter for the night. I was the only other person walking the paths. I have a camera worth a good 400 dollars in my hand (although, I didn’t pay that). It’s not as if my paranoia was unjustified.

However, spinning on my heels every five seconds because a bird slammed into a leaf somewhere is a little exhausting.

If I wouldn’t have seen that guy, would I have been thinking those thoughts? Most likely. He just made it worse. I’ve recently learned I have safety issues; I don’t feel safe anywhere, it contributes to why I hate going outside. There’s a lot of thick bushes back there, anyone could be hiding–even a mountain lion–and there aren’t any houses around so no one would hear me screaming. After all the examples I’ve seen of The Bystander Effect, even if someone did hear me scream, they probably wouldn’t waste their breath picking up the phone and dialing emergency services.

Towards the end of my walk I kind of jogged because the noises in the bushes were getting louder. I’d walk really fast, see a picture, snap it as quick as possible, spin around and check the bushes, then walk/jog until I came to another picture. So I’m pretty sure I looked like I was on crack. I’m kind of glad no one else was around.

Crack is Wack, Yo.

She Knows What I’m Talkin’ About

As I reached the end, a branch snapped off and fell in the path behind me and I almost screamed. A stupid squirrel scrambled along another branch after having saved itself from plummeting to the ground with the one it broke. Damn squirrels man, always messing with me. If they’re not staring at me like weirdos, they’re causing a bunch of ruckus. Just like a toddler.

I’m ready to go back to sleep. Too bad I have class later tonight. Ugh.

Just to let you know, I fought for two hours with my phone and my internet to get these pictures up. Two hours consisting of a lot of cursing and a lot of slapping and a lot of promising to rip someones eyeballs out and feed them to the cranes on the beach.

I tend to make general threats to nobody in particular when I get angry at technology.

If only I videoed myself.

Fuck, could you imagine how long it would take a video to load?

The thought makes my skin crawl.