Happy Drunk New Year

The first post of 1/1/2017, and it will be done through tipsy fingers.

*Burps gracefully*

Suffering the weird muscle/body shocks of Effexor withdrawal, and insomnia, prompted me to get a little happy new years eve, hoping drunkeness could knock me out. So far it has not. So far all I’ve done is get jiggy to some Tyga’s Faded, snuggle my kitten until she meows and bites at me, and overreact to losing some boardgames.

And I don’t

Give a

FUUUUUUUUCK.

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But the point of this post was to not babble drunkenly. My point was to babble drunkenly ABOUT something specific.

I haven’t been on WordPress often recently, at least I haven’t been looking through everyone’s posts lately, and I miss doing that. I miss reading about people’s lives–not to be a fucking weirdo, but to see how everyone is doing, good or bad. I like communicating with ya’ll and I love meeting new people.

It makes me sad that we’re not a society that likes to know what happened to people. From what I’ve experienced, at least in the places I’ve been, we’re more of a society that takes something at face value. We see someone talking to themselves on the street, so they’re crazy. We see someone hugging their child in the supermarket and think they’re a wonderful parent. We love categories. It’s really weird. It’s like we have this love affair with this wack organization system that isn’t very good at organizing as it is.

Not that I’m one to know what organization is.

But I do know a thing or two about humans, given I’ve observed them silently, in the shadows, waiting to reveal my Reptilian face for so long.

I don’t think I can reasonably claim to be human.

Anyone seen that fucking show on TBS, People Of Earth? My God. These. Are. My. People. Don’t know what I’m talking about? Check this:

Anyway, the hell was I talking about?

Oh yeah. Someone walking down the street talking to themselves may very well be struggling mentally. But how do you know what they’ve been through? Who are you to judge anything about them? What gives you the right to put a label? You don’t know how they grew up. You don’t know what pain they’ve suffered and still suffer. You don’t even know their fucking name. You know what happens when you do that?

You create a disconnect. You separate yourself from another human who could very well benefit from a connection. I’m not saying walk up to random people on the street and force friendship down their throat in some kind of weirdly violent-erotic way, life isn’t a freaky porn shoot.

I’m just saying don’t be so quick to exercise your Associates degree in psychology. Your little piece of paper means nothing, and neither does your google search, stop acting like it. It means you can learn and go to school, congratulations. A lot of people do that. A LOT. Doesn’t mean you’re any good at being a human. This is coming from someone pursuing a Medical Degree. I might be smart in academics, but I’ll tell you I’m not very good at blending in or connecting with humans.

Someone hugging their child could be beating them at home.

My point is: you don’t know someone’s story until you know them as a person, and your quick judgement isn’t knowing them as a person.

Everyone faults. Everyone judges at some point in their life, it’s human. But to do it consistently, to do it on purpose because you don’t know how else to act–that disturbs me.

In 2017, don’t avoid the chance to learn someone’s story. It’s not just for their benefit, it’s for your benefit too. It’s for the benefit of the relationship. Because something in their story might relate to your story and the pain you’ve been hiding might be similar to the pain they’ve been hiding. Magical things can come from that sort of interaction. Not cures. But magical things.

My current playlist tonight, to drunk-sleep to:

Mystery Blogger Award

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Thanks yourenotaloneinthisworld for nominating me.

I haven’t participated in one of these things in a while, mostly because I live under what some people call “a rock”. I prefer to call them “small, safe spaces under which people never look because they’re afraid a snake or spider may live there”. I live there because I am both a snake and a spider. Jokes on you if you thought I was human.

Anyway, with chain blogging awards come rules. With rules, comes anarchy. With anarchy, comes me. So I will follow the guidelines in my own style. As you can tell.

If you’re wondering what a mystery blogger award is, you’re not alone. Apparently the creator of this is Okoto Enigma. Kind of jealous of the name. Check out their blog here. Their definition of their award is as follows:

“Mystery Blogger Award” is an award for amazing bloggers with ingenious posts. Their blog not only captivates, it inspires and motivates. They are one of the best out there, and they deserve any recognition they get. The award is also for bloggers who find fun and inspiration in blogging, and they do it with so much love and passion.

-Okoto Enigma

If you support anarchy, of which flows through my veins adamantly, do not follow these set of rules:

  • Put the award logo/image on your blog.
  • List the rules.
  • Thank whoever nominated you and provide a link to their blog.
  • Mention the creator of the award and provide a link to their blog as well.
  • Tell your readers 3 things about yourself.
  • Nominate 10-20 people.
  • Notify each of your nominees by commenting on their blog.
  • Ask your nominees any 5 questions of your choice; with one weird or funny question (specify).
  • Share your link to your best post(s).

I will reiterate my stance on nominees once more: I feel incredibly awkward nominating people. I feel incredibly awkward typing how incredibly awkward that is. That being said, whoever I nominate will probably be people who I see most often moseying around my blog, or people who’s blogs have given me (and others) insight to a different perspective. However, if you feel compelled to completely ignore my nomination, I won’t take it personally. If anything, I just want to list the blogs so others can click on them.

For those who are still wondering who I even am, or why exist in this world–well, I’ve been wondering that as well. But I probably have a little more insight on me than you have on me, so here are three things about myself:

  1. Giving fucks is not a characteristic of mine. This means, as I’ve stated in many posts, my fucks generally reside on the curb outside of my apartment. Still confused? Stay turned for a post I write later today on how I teamed up (I was on a team, guys!) with three men in line behind me to create a force-field around our line from, as one guy put it, “a bunch of rude motherfuckers”.
  2. I am not human. I come from the stars. If you look out on a clear sky in places where light pollution doesn’t exist to the extent it does in main-land America, you will see my homeland arching across the sky: the arm of the Milky Way. I descended on Earth with no purpose, and have instead found many purposes. Looking forward to the day I return to the stars.220px-milky_way_night_sky_black_rock_desert_nevada
  3. After many years of confusion, after many years of hopping from professional to professional,  after much anger, exhaustion, and hopelessness, I will be seeing soon yet another professional for a possible autism spectrum diagnosis. After many concluding opinions from those doubtful and those convinced, I’ve decided to launch down that rabbit hole. Diagnosis in general means nothing to me, but the implications of understanding my infancy, toddler-hood, childhood, and now adulthood, kind of means something to me for some reason.

As you can tell, I often spew words from my head with no end in sight. I’ll try and keep my answers to these next questions short:

  1. If you could switch lives with one famous person for one day each year, who would it be and why? This is kind of tough for me, as I don’t recognize many celebrities or famous people. If we’re talking about the years 1856-1943,I’d switch lives with Nikola Tesla, just to be inside of his brain. Then I’d time travel back to the present day, switch lives with Elon Musk, and re-create everything Tesla dreamed of.
  2. What would be the best present you could find under your tree this year? Anything with a processing system i7 or greater.
  3. Let’s say you just won the lottery and are now the richest person in the world. What are the first three things you will do? 1) I’d buy out all the electric companies to shut them down, so when I switch lives with Elon Musk and recreate Wardenclyffe, everyone will have free energy. In case you’re wondering, all those jobs will be replaced with jobs to run the free energy sites. 2) I’d buy out psychiatric hospitals across the globe and turn them into peer respites, some of which will offer similar hospital services, but only if you want that. 3) I’d buy a lot of chocolate.
  4. What’s your personal opinion of social media? Social media disturbs me. I use Facebook for science articles. To use it to put blurbs about your life seems like a waste of a learning opportunity.
  5. If you had to loose all of your senses except for one, which would you keep? Even though it gives me a lot of frustration, I would keep my hearing for the sake of music. Music is creation, and it’s all around us, even in the rotation of car tires against the road. Sound is also vibration, and vibrations are the universe, as Tesla says.

Nominees:

If anything, click on these links, you’ll find some great blogs. There’s a huge other list on my blog homepage. It shuffles every few times you refresh the page, so you can find new faces.

If you choose to do the nomination, my questions for you, I suppose, are:

1)If you had any supernatural power, what would it be?

2) What’s your greatest accomplishment and deepest regret?

3)Who or what, or  both, inspires you?

4)What would be your ideal fantasy world?

5)Describe yourself in five words.

Feel free to answer, regardless of whether you participate or not, or whether your blog is listed above or not. I think questions can be a great way to fuel a new blog post if you’ve been stuck in a writer’s block.

A Testament Towards Feeling

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We are all fighters.

Survivors.

Warriors.

And I will never deny that fact.

To deal with whatever pain you experience day after day, minute after minute, hour after hour (physical, mental, terminal) means you have some kind of strength within you to keep going. It means you’re not willing to give your life up to something that wants to take you hostage. The people who have been through your pain, who can share in your pain, know the exhaustion you put yourself though and they smile and they say you’re strong. They say you’re resilient. They say you can make it because you’ve been making it. And all of their words are beautiful and heart felt and you trust them.

A connection makes all the difference.

disconnect-old-phoneSo what of those of us where connection has never been felt? What of those of us who use humor to interject ourselves because we have no other way of communicating? Those of us who get confused on when to say something, what to say, and how to say it? Those of us who consistently misinterpret someones tone of voice or facial expression to be malicious or crippled with ill intent? Those of us who have suddenly come to realization that this issue has caused a pattern of problems throughout their life?

What of those of us who have the crushing feeling that they’ve been copy-catting their way through life?

What does that mean? It probably means different things to different people. To some extent, we all copy someone else. We adopt each others mannerisms and ways of speech when we’re in a group. We see an outfit on someone and want the same. Some people call it being unoriginal, but I call that type of copying admiration–you like the outfit, it’s cute, so you buy it to also look cute.

To me, copying is a way of protecting myself. It’s not done for fun. In fact, I loathe myself for it deeply. In a conversation I copy the answers and mannerisms of the people around me not so they will like me, but so I don’t reveal how completely clueless I am in the rules of the flow of conversation. I don’t care if they like me. But I care if I look like the socially inept fool I am.

In the midst of two other people, I will not speak. Not because I don’t have something to say but because I’m not sure if it’s right to say. I’m particularly not sure when it’s appropriate to interject.

This makes the conversations I do manage to have very artificial. They’re sticking their maxresdefault2feelers out and I’m slapping them down by accident because I’m blind to them. I speak few words because of this issue. I’m brief and speak very quickly and often quietly.

I’m an observer. I watch how people converse, how they joke with each other, and I’ve pretty much analyzed all I can. I’ve got all these stray pieces strewn across the floor and I’m trying to come up with a formula that fits them together nicely. For example, in high school I noticed one big thing in conversation is eye contact. Not making it is weird, making it too much is also weird.

So I come up with an approximate time to stare at someone and an approximate, and appropriate time to look away. A good two or three seconds is alright, more if you’re still thinking of a response. It’s good to keep eye contact with someone while they’re talking because it shows your attention level, but it’s generally average to glance away once or twice while you’re speaking so it doesn’t become this creepy staring contest.

I still stare too long because I’m not sure if looking away makes me look more awkward or not. So it’s something I’ve been trying to understand since I was 16.

The missing link is in the flow. I don’t know how to keep a flow or stay on topic. Someone asks a question, you answer, what comes next? Why does anything have to come next?

I feel people think I’m not interested in them because I don’t ask about them. But I never knew I was supposed to . . .if someone wants me to know something about them, why don’t they just say it?

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I go silent often and people find that rude.

These are things I’ve thought about for the last year or so, things I’ve been recognizing in myself that I feel are the root cause of my social anxiety (next to my mistrust of people’s intentions, which probably stems from the fact that I can’t see anything but malice in their expressions or their words).

It came up today during supervisions. My supervisor asked me what could happen in the house that would integrate me into the team (I could take that one of two ways: 1) she wants to know how to improve communication throughout the team or 2)I’ve been recognized as the outcast I always am). She also asked if I even wanted to be part of the team (but she didn’t say it in a mean way, I don’t think).

I’m going to choose not to be offended, because experience tells me that wasn’t what she was aiming for, but it feels like I’m going through the same thing over and over again with the people back in grade school who constantly said “you’re too quiet, what can we do to make you more involved in the class?” or “can you participate more please?” or the people at one of my old jobs that said “we’re going to work on making you open up and have you work with [enter coworkers name] to make you a little louder on Thursday”.

It triggered me subconsciously I think and I put my guard up automatically.

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I said I did want to be part of the team. And I don’t think I lied. But I see how they operate, everyone is open with each other and it flows nicely and I don’t fit. I’m highly aware of that. I said I didn’t know what anyone could do. I wanted to say I have trouble making connections but I got lost in my speech as I often do, so I don’t really remember what I said.

It was something rehearsed, something I always say in response to these types of things because feelings are hard for me to distinguish when it comes to people. So I recite the feeling that is most common, that I hear most often, that makes the person the most happy, depending on the situation.

But personally, I go blank. The only feeling I’ve ever experienced from people is mistrust and anxiety from not understanding how they operate. So how could I answer a question like the above?

When she asked me whether or not I wanted to be apart of the team, I studied myself carefully. And felt a pull in neither direction. Blank. That was probably really awkward because she had no idea why I was silent.

book-1110648_960_720Anyone from any job could have asked me that, and my reaction would be the same. This is where I feel people misunderstand me: my feeling blank isn’t a testament to who they are as people, it’s a testament to my own feeling.

I don’t see why that is so hard to understand.

These people are not evil. Their not mean or horrible. In fact, they’re the best set of people I’ve met in my short life. But they are human, as most are, and that simple fact keeps me from relating. I’m distanced. Always have been.

So where do I go from here? I don’t know. This happens every job I go to, every class I’m in, every group I work with, every casual or focused conversation I have . . . it never changes, and it never has. Perhaps it will one day.

And I believe in order to change things, I need to understand this more clearly. I need another opinion. Even if that means spending 230 dollars on a 90 minute psychiatric opinion.

If you follow me, you know very well I’m not fond of “professionals” because of their lack of experience. But I have lack of experience being human and they have an abundance of it.

I have ideas from past psychologists and my current one. But perhaps it’s time to get a medical opinion as well, just something else in my arsenal of “tools I’m using to find myself”.

 

 

Rambles . . .

*Breathe*

For two days I managed to lift myself from bed and do something productive, so I would say I’m feeling a little better.

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That being said, I believe very thoroughly in having a spiritual connection with the universe and respecting the interconnection we all have with each other, with the stars, the planets, and this realm of reality in general. I’ve known I’ve been needing some money apart from the money I’ll be making at my new job, and this week I believe I’ve been saved once again.

Some people pray, some people obsess, some people believe in luck. My mother often goes crazy over the lottery and buys tickets almost every day, no matter how often I tell her the amount she spends way exceeds the amounts she’s ever won. She spreads the colors red and gold through her room for “good luck”, something I personally don’t believe in.

We all know I have different views on reality, I believe I made an entire post on it. We all know that I see signs and symbols in everything: call it ideas of reference, or call it a creative mind, you choose. All I know is that since I was a child this method has worked for me.

the-secret-book-coverI read that one book “The Secret” because my mother is also obsessed with it and it was trash. All those books are trash.

It’s hard to explain a connection I’ve felt since I was a toddler and could think about these kinds of things, but it’s always been there and it’s always been dependable. This sounds odd to a lot of people, talking to the universe and having it listen to you. Makes it sound like I’m hearing things in my head. I’m not.

I predicted where we would live while we were homeless. I felt it in the air and I wrote it down in an essay in school. My teacher loved it. And after I finished writing it, including my explanation of my connection with the universe, everything I’d written came true. I said we would live in the four different regions of this county (there are about six different regions within the overall city we live in) and I listed the order it would happen, and it did. I said once we finished those four specific regions, we would find another apartment. It wouldn’t be  a house, but it would be an apartment, and it would be across town from my high school. Which is where I still live today.

It wasn’t something I guessed, it was something I felt.

I feel I’ve been sending out distress signals and this afternoon I came home to two checks and a third on the way, in addition to the other two I picked up yesterday. So five checks total in two days, a couple worth three hundred, one worth two hundred, another worth four hundred.

I thought my college account only had $300, and when I looked yesterday it had $1500.

I don’t know where the numbers are coming from, or why they’re coming, but they are.

It’s not about being lazy and manipulating the universe to your every whim. It’s not about not having to work for the rest of your life. It’s about understanding that you will always have what you need if you’re connected in life. This money isn’t something I want just to spend frivolously, it’s something I need to save. It’s something I’m putting to use for other people, not just myself. It’s something I want to use to give experiences to people who have always used their money to give me experiences. There are two birthdays coming up, father’s day, a car that needs fixing, and a trip to L.A this summer, so I’ve got my work cut out for me in terms of budgeting.

I withhold from bragging about these kinds of things because that’s not good natured. If I found a hundred dollar bill on the ground I would text my friend and say “look what I got bitch, suck it”. But I know the checks that I have in my hand that happen to come all at once, some of which have been due to me since 2013. If I win this particular writing competition I’m gunning for, well . . . my life will be complete.

I’m gunning for two, actually. One of which won’t alert me if I won or not until September. One will tell me by July 1st, and that would be perfect before I go to Los Angeles.

I’m going to Compton to find Ice Cube. 

universal20studios20hollywoodAnd by Compton to find Ice Cube, I mean Universal Studios. Seems like a social anxiety nightmare, I know, but I’ve never done it and I’ve never been to L.A, and I’ve let my anxiety hold me back from a lot of things. There are some things, like going to amusement parks, where I suck it up the best I can because I know I can have fun if I would just give myself a chance.

Speaking of having fun, the tickets I wanted for a concert this may were sold out because my dumbass forgot to buy them a month ahead like I usually do: my depression stole my annual concert from me. But it’s alright, I spammed their reservation ticket website with four different email addresses, so the next four tickets are going to me. I’ll resell two of them.

If anyone can figure out what the hell this post is about or why I’m even writing it, feel free to comment below. 

Because I’m pretty sure by today’s standard of being completely disconnected with everything except your Insagram, Facebook and Twitter profiles, I must sound crazy.