Tuesday, 22 November 2011
Huh!
Huh! Well there doesn't seem much point to this if nobody reads it, does there? Maybe I should go on an English site....
Friday, 18 November 2011
Wholesome
So I have had a look at other blogs on here and am gonna follow a couple of them. You are all so American and wholesome. There is so much here about God, and happy families, and cooking good healthy food, and being vergetarian, and sewing, and growing your own food. Nothing wrong with any of it. Highly desirable. Somethng to aspire to. But very American.
I used to think we were getting Americanised over here. Oh- did I forget to tell you I live in England? And that is not Scotland or Wales...all those together with Ireland are the British Isles, and all that without Eire (or Southern Ireland) is the United Kingdom. I am British, which is not the same as being English. But I am English too.
Anyway, I thought we were getting Americanised. I visited America for the first time earlier this year. It was an eye opener. In all the places I visited, the people, the culture, the outlook, the degree of sincerity varied. I loved visiting you. But with MacDonald's and Cocoa Cola and 'fries'm, I thought that good old GB was losing it's identity. Having see some of your blogs, I can see profound differences. I don't know how representative of America and American culture the blogs are on here, but I do know that they have absolutely no connection with the lives of the majority of people in this country.
There is stuff we could learn from each other. Our young people are so into weed it is well into the mainstream and practically normal. They go out with the intentin of getting drunk. They do not thnk they have had a good time unles someone has taken a pic of them passed out on the street, and if you are a girl it is almost compulsory to wear 6 inch heels and a skirt that barely covers your knickers, if you are wearing any. They go around looking like whores.
There are a few kids who are not like this- like mine for example. Generally they are not like this, but it has been hard work keeping them, or sometimes getting them back onto, the straight and narrow. So we could learn something from you I think.
You could maybe learn to lighten up a bit. Everything feels so so sincere and while it often is, it can sometimes feel so fake. Like, 'have a nice day'. If you say it to everyone, even strangers, it feels like you have been programmed to sday it and have forgotten what it means. Doctor in the A&E ( you call it the ER). 'OK, so you have a major fracture to both lower bones in your leg, we will plaster it for now but you are likely to require surgery at some point and you may lose it. Do you have any questions? No? Well then, here are the details of your follow up appointment. Have a nice day!' You see how it feels insincere?
Us, on the other hand, barely engage with each other. If 2 guys look at each other- or their eyes just happen to meet accidentally, one is likely to go up to the other and say 'what the fuck are you starin' at?' and punch him. And cos the youngsters are all drunk, they go over like flies, get knocked out and end up dead or brain damaged. Thank goodness we don't have guns like you do.
Anyway, I am not knocking you. Not at all. Although our TV is swamped with American programmes, we retain our own identity- just. And anyway as you know by now I am a little bonkers, but I am just using this to help me get stuff out of my head.
Hah! Pizza has arrived! Ha ha :)
I used to think we were getting Americanised over here. Oh- did I forget to tell you I live in England? And that is not Scotland or Wales...all those together with Ireland are the British Isles, and all that without Eire (or Southern Ireland) is the United Kingdom. I am British, which is not the same as being English. But I am English too.
Anyway, I thought we were getting Americanised. I visited America for the first time earlier this year. It was an eye opener. In all the places I visited, the people, the culture, the outlook, the degree of sincerity varied. I loved visiting you. But with MacDonald's and Cocoa Cola and 'fries'm, I thought that good old GB was losing it's identity. Having see some of your blogs, I can see profound differences. I don't know how representative of America and American culture the blogs are on here, but I do know that they have absolutely no connection with the lives of the majority of people in this country.
There is stuff we could learn from each other. Our young people are so into weed it is well into the mainstream and practically normal. They go out with the intentin of getting drunk. They do not thnk they have had a good time unles someone has taken a pic of them passed out on the street, and if you are a girl it is almost compulsory to wear 6 inch heels and a skirt that barely covers your knickers, if you are wearing any. They go around looking like whores.
There are a few kids who are not like this- like mine for example. Generally they are not like this, but it has been hard work keeping them, or sometimes getting them back onto, the straight and narrow. So we could learn something from you I think.
You could maybe learn to lighten up a bit. Everything feels so so sincere and while it often is, it can sometimes feel so fake. Like, 'have a nice day'. If you say it to everyone, even strangers, it feels like you have been programmed to sday it and have forgotten what it means. Doctor in the A&E ( you call it the ER). 'OK, so you have a major fracture to both lower bones in your leg, we will plaster it for now but you are likely to require surgery at some point and you may lose it. Do you have any questions? No? Well then, here are the details of your follow up appointment. Have a nice day!' You see how it feels insincere?
Us, on the other hand, barely engage with each other. If 2 guys look at each other- or their eyes just happen to meet accidentally, one is likely to go up to the other and say 'what the fuck are you starin' at?' and punch him. And cos the youngsters are all drunk, they go over like flies, get knocked out and end up dead or brain damaged. Thank goodness we don't have guns like you do.
Anyway, I am not knocking you. Not at all. Although our TV is swamped with American programmes, we retain our own identity- just. And anyway as you know by now I am a little bonkers, but I am just using this to help me get stuff out of my head.
Hah! Pizza has arrived! Ha ha :)
Starting out
Hi
So, I've never done this before. I have been searching the internet for something about whether the intense boredom I feel is to do with my recent come down from a brilliant manic episode. There is nothing. The boredom is more intense than I have ever experienced in my life, and it is absolutely nothing to do with having nothing to do. I spend a lot of my time writing, trying to get the thoughts that constantly crowd my mind out of there so I can think of something else. So I just thought, hey!- I will do it on line, and maybe if I get some followers it will help me, and maybe help them, too. So that's why I am doing this.
As I write my brain is screaming at me. It wants me to tell you about my wonderful family, especially my kids, how I have struggled and overcome adversity, how I have achieved things I would never have thought possible, my experience of severe depression, the hypersexuality and self-harm that I experience in a manic phase, my fear of telling people about this for fear of rejection. All these things are screaming at me to tell you about them, and I just have to think where to start. Probably the best thng is just to start where I am now, and then as things come up that relate to the past, I wll tell you and you can piece my story together bit by bit.
My bi polar is a gift. When it was just depression with no highs, it was a living hell and a curse. Now I get highs, it is a gift. It is a gift because, now it is being treated for what it is, there is hopefully a chance that I won't get the depression again, or maybe not so bad. It is a gift because I know I see things, feel things, hear things, perceive things that ordinary people do not. I wake up (if I have slept at all) and the sun shines more colourfully and brightly than I have ever seen; the green of the grass and trees is vivid, intense, and I notice all the different shades and the patterns of light dancing on the leaves of the trees, even though they are so high up that I would not have seen them before. Flowers look happy. I feel happy, ecstatic, elated, on fire, so full of energy that I could burst and I cannot wait to start the day and see what it brings. My skin is super sensitive to touch. I notice intensely the feel of fabric against it, choose soft things to wear, feel it warm to the sun, get goose bumps to the touch of the wind or rain, and I delight in it. I know that I am the most desirable being on earth, kind of like a sex version of the Ga'ould in Stargate, and I know everybody wants me. I take care of my clothes, hair, makeup, skin, exfoliate and depilate all the time so that I am always ready should the opportunity arise.
Time has no meaning for me. I go super-fast, my mind quick and creative, reaching patently obvious conclusions in seconds, way before everyone else around me, and then I struggle because I have to stay in a meeting that I have already concluded in my head. I have to move...pace about, take fag breaks, print things off at printers away from my office just for an excuse to get up and move. If I have to sit, I fidget, wobble my leg, tap my foot, drum my nails, tap my pen, pick my nails, wring my hands, put lip balm on, draw pictures. Anything to move. And sometimes I just leave the meeting for a while and come back a bit later when I have moved about a bit and had a walk.
My manic episode has been brought under control now, though I am generally a little high and I have had a couple of weeks where I have been much higher again. Now I am bored. Incredibly bored. I think it is because ordinariness cannot compare to the highs. Being manic is like taking speed without the come down. If you have had speed, you will know what that could be like...and really, why would you not want it? I listen to fast music, full of percussion and bass, R&B, dance stuff, dubstep and move about as much as I can. I clean the house when I can be bothered, just for a justifiable reason for me to move around. My driving license has been taken off me. Just as well really, because I did once nearly get out of the car on the motorway, strip off and run up and down. Instead, I just laughed and laughed and laughed at the thought. That was a couple of days before I was diagnosed. Even now I wish I had done it. Sometimes I think I should just not impose these ridiculous boundaries on me, because now if I want to do something outrageous, something I would never have done before, something dangerous, I have a reason, and excuse, and part of me has no regard to the consequences. But then I get the little bit of me that remains sensible- sane?-just reminding me that I really shouldn't. Part of me wants to lose that sane part completely and just enjoy the mania. I resent having to be 'normal', or least pretending to be 'normal'.
There have been some dark, troubling things that have happened, or had the potential to happen, when I was very high. I don't know if I can tell you of these things, because they are sexual and violent, and I am not sure if I am allowed to post such things. I will check and let you know.
I know this is garbled, it s because I have a scrambled brain at the moment, all ideas and thoughts scrambled together. But I just needed to get them out. Later I will make sense of them for you.
I might even make this a bit prettier for you to look at. But at least I have made a start now. I should go now. But I will be back later to tell you more.
So, I've never done this before. I have been searching the internet for something about whether the intense boredom I feel is to do with my recent come down from a brilliant manic episode. There is nothing. The boredom is more intense than I have ever experienced in my life, and it is absolutely nothing to do with having nothing to do. I spend a lot of my time writing, trying to get the thoughts that constantly crowd my mind out of there so I can think of something else. So I just thought, hey!- I will do it on line, and maybe if I get some followers it will help me, and maybe help them, too. So that's why I am doing this.
As I write my brain is screaming at me. It wants me to tell you about my wonderful family, especially my kids, how I have struggled and overcome adversity, how I have achieved things I would never have thought possible, my experience of severe depression, the hypersexuality and self-harm that I experience in a manic phase, my fear of telling people about this for fear of rejection. All these things are screaming at me to tell you about them, and I just have to think where to start. Probably the best thng is just to start where I am now, and then as things come up that relate to the past, I wll tell you and you can piece my story together bit by bit.
My bi polar is a gift. When it was just depression with no highs, it was a living hell and a curse. Now I get highs, it is a gift. It is a gift because, now it is being treated for what it is, there is hopefully a chance that I won't get the depression again, or maybe not so bad. It is a gift because I know I see things, feel things, hear things, perceive things that ordinary people do not. I wake up (if I have slept at all) and the sun shines more colourfully and brightly than I have ever seen; the green of the grass and trees is vivid, intense, and I notice all the different shades and the patterns of light dancing on the leaves of the trees, even though they are so high up that I would not have seen them before. Flowers look happy. I feel happy, ecstatic, elated, on fire, so full of energy that I could burst and I cannot wait to start the day and see what it brings. My skin is super sensitive to touch. I notice intensely the feel of fabric against it, choose soft things to wear, feel it warm to the sun, get goose bumps to the touch of the wind or rain, and I delight in it. I know that I am the most desirable being on earth, kind of like a sex version of the Ga'ould in Stargate, and I know everybody wants me. I take care of my clothes, hair, makeup, skin, exfoliate and depilate all the time so that I am always ready should the opportunity arise.
Time has no meaning for me. I go super-fast, my mind quick and creative, reaching patently obvious conclusions in seconds, way before everyone else around me, and then I struggle because I have to stay in a meeting that I have already concluded in my head. I have to move...pace about, take fag breaks, print things off at printers away from my office just for an excuse to get up and move. If I have to sit, I fidget, wobble my leg, tap my foot, drum my nails, tap my pen, pick my nails, wring my hands, put lip balm on, draw pictures. Anything to move. And sometimes I just leave the meeting for a while and come back a bit later when I have moved about a bit and had a walk.
My manic episode has been brought under control now, though I am generally a little high and I have had a couple of weeks where I have been much higher again. Now I am bored. Incredibly bored. I think it is because ordinariness cannot compare to the highs. Being manic is like taking speed without the come down. If you have had speed, you will know what that could be like...and really, why would you not want it? I listen to fast music, full of percussion and bass, R&B, dance stuff, dubstep and move about as much as I can. I clean the house when I can be bothered, just for a justifiable reason for me to move around. My driving license has been taken off me. Just as well really, because I did once nearly get out of the car on the motorway, strip off and run up and down. Instead, I just laughed and laughed and laughed at the thought. That was a couple of days before I was diagnosed. Even now I wish I had done it. Sometimes I think I should just not impose these ridiculous boundaries on me, because now if I want to do something outrageous, something I would never have done before, something dangerous, I have a reason, and excuse, and part of me has no regard to the consequences. But then I get the little bit of me that remains sensible- sane?-just reminding me that I really shouldn't. Part of me wants to lose that sane part completely and just enjoy the mania. I resent having to be 'normal', or least pretending to be 'normal'.
There have been some dark, troubling things that have happened, or had the potential to happen, when I was very high. I don't know if I can tell you of these things, because they are sexual and violent, and I am not sure if I am allowed to post such things. I will check and let you know.
I know this is garbled, it s because I have a scrambled brain at the moment, all ideas and thoughts scrambled together. But I just needed to get them out. Later I will make sense of them for you.
I might even make this a bit prettier for you to look at. But at least I have made a start now. I should go now. But I will be back later to tell you more.
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