Up at 3 AM because the pain in my head has reached another beautiful climaxing crescendo (redundancy = hyperbole) — and I'm hoping my theory is right.
I am a sufferer of SEVERE migraines. One of my attacks once lasted 10 days. I shit you not.
Now, my first migraine occurred when I was thirteen years old. At that time, I was going through some VERY serious mental health issues (depression, suicidal ideation, self-harm, the whole nine-yards) and suddenly, during a time when I was spending a few days with a good friend, BAM! Worst headache I'd ever experienced. It got to a point where I had to sit down because I literally could no longer stand up (redundancy = hyperbole = necessary). With each breath, each pounding thud of my heart, my head began to feel like a thousand-tonne dragon was throwing a tantrum inside it. It was a pain I would classify as a 23 on the 1-10 scale. I was praying I would pass out and eventually die so that the hurty-hurty would stop and I could breath again (... yes. I read that sentence and am satisfied with it.)
A few years later, I was on anti-psychotic medication. At that same time, Massive Headache (MH) numero dos attacked without warning — the night before my then-boyfriend's birthday party. I threw up, went to the emergency room, got some WONDERFUL make-feel-good-nice medicine and I was up and kicking on day two. I don't remember what those massive blue pills were; they had me on Cloud Nine.
From then on, the MH-debacle was on a steady incline (no, seriously, I graphed it) and the attacks became more frequent with each passing month. I can't put it down to how many days a month but I know I have an attack at least once a week ranging from a few hours to several days.
Now, I've scoured the Journals my University library pass-code gives me access to (peer-reviewed proper medicine journals, yes. I like to stay informed and WebMD can go fuck itself) and have come up with the prevailing theory: Serotonin level drops are the cause of my distress.
Going back down the graph, it seems to make sense. I am currently eating well and exercising but my moods are going South faster than (insert witty reference here). The link to my depressive episodes and my migraines are undeniable. My logic is undeniable. (<---- iRobot reference because when last did you watch that movie?)
So... where was I going with this?
Guess it doesn't matter. Just wanted to share a theory and vent some steam because my drugs are wearing off and my nausea/head pain/icky-stupid-head-butt-burn-brain-meh is returning with alarming alacrity. (Ha! Just made you look in a dictionary. You're welcome.)
Eh... I need some tea... and then sleep... then...
... fuck it, I'm going back to bed.
^_^
Monday 17 October 2016
Thursday 6 October 2016
When Existentialism Keeps You Up At Night (Part One)
WARNING: Arbitrary foul language!
It's 1:00 AM right now and I am once again writing down my thoughts for the internet at large because I can't keep them in any more and my journal is offering me jack-squat in the relief department.
I often have existential crises. I will lie awake or stare into space or drop what I'm holding and become obsessed with the very nature (and purpose) of my own existence. It begins with a simple thought: Why the fuck am I here?
So, like a good scholar, I decided to get on to the good ol' inter-webs and try to decipher exactly what I feel so hopeless about and what I can do about it.
In my search for something to pass the time before my head smacks into my keyboard, this is what I found:
Wikipedia
Upon perusing the article, I see much that I already know:
Wiki How
Wiki How articles are always fun. There is often a whole lot of information on this website that I laugh at. Really, it's ball-bouncingly funny. This time, however, I found some genuinely interesting things that I decided to pursue for my own interest's sake.
There was this Norwegian dude (see Philosopher) called Peter Wessel Zapffe (He was 91 when he died. I would be pissed off if I got that close to 100) who said that human self-conscious is actively engaged in the "repression of its damaging surplus of consciousness."
What this basically means is that we are fighting to not think about the "WHY" of it all. Zapffe suggests the following options to helping us silly humans get through this sort of shit.
1. Isolation
This is the good old "leave it in the back of the fridge until you forget about it" method of dealing with our own existence. The only problem is that no matter how long you deny it, the smell of last year's mac and cheese is eventually going to get to you.
2. Anchoring
The basis of this method of ensuring you get some sleep one day is to grab on to the State, morality, fate, the laws of life, the people, the future – even God – and never, ever let go. Get out that old Bible and dig your nose in deep. Really inhale that book mould.
Getting in touch with this stuff (be you a Bible-basher, a Satanist or a liberal) can help you stay focused and not allow yourself to give your existence a single thought. As Zapffe says, "build walls around the liquid fray of consciousness."
3. Distraction
Now would be a good time to buy that VPN and finally do some internet "research". You know what I'm talking about.
4. Sublimation
Now, not only am I thinking to myself; finally, a bit of diversity to Zapffe's One-Step system but this is also a method I advocate and practice as often as I can. Get all Airbender-esque with that negative thought and use it to power that guitar-solo you've been wanting to play, or that painting you've never finshed... follow the theories that made Thales of Miletus, Empedocles, Simon Stevinus, Christian Huygens and, of course, Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz household names; conservation of all that darn energy!
That sums up the intelligent part of the article. I shall now quote, in order, the "other methods" this article suggests (with my own suggestions for the author):
1. Understand what caused the problem.
Well, shit, Sherlock. What would we do without you?
2. Try to see life and your place in it as it really is.
Or, "Why giving up LSD led me to suicide."
3. Acknowledge that this is a common problem.
Can't be. I only found 17 forum threads on the subject.
4. Consider how well orchestrated life seems to be.
Tell me more about the rose tint; does it come in different shades?
5. Stop comparing yourself to others.
Tried it. Didn't help. That's why I'm reading your stupid article.
6. Don't be afraid to make up your own rules.
"But officer, I am suffering from an existential crisis!"
7. Try to voice what your problem is.
Or, "How therapy bankrupted me."
8. Imagine several different people you like or respect giving you advice.
I so wish I was joking about this one...
9. Imagine giving advice to someone else in your situation.
"So you're saying that the best way to deal with my son's wetting the bed was for me to stay a virgin just like you? Hmm. Interesting."
10. Problem solve.
See thought 1.
11.Take what you've learned.
See thought 10.
12. Aim to create peace and joy.
No, you fucking aim to create peace and joy, mate.
13. Clean whatever room you're in.
An existential crisis! Quick, to the broom cupboard!
14. Remember that tomorrow is a new day.
See thought 11.
15. Question yourself.
This is how I got into this mess the first place, you stupid, mother–
BuzzFeed
You know that indescribable feeling of nope that passes through you when there's a big spider in the bath?
Quora
Now, there was a lovely long article answering the question about losing all hope that I will link here but I cannot for the life of me remember what I wanted to comment about it because I got distracted in the comment section:
Now, you can't argue with logic like that, can you? (For the first time this morning, I am not being sarcastic.)
I'd love to tell you that it is now 5:30 AM and I am watching a beautiful sun rise over the sleepy African bushveld... but I'm not and it's not.
It's 2:05:47 AM (well, not anymore) and I am no less tired, no less of an insomniac and no less closer to crushing two pan-dimensional hyper-beings with a teapot for building earth as some stupid philosphical class project . I'm merely going to do now what I do every time this happens and watch cute cat videos on the internet until I drown in my own drool.
After all, what else is the internet for?
It's 1:00 AM right now and I am once again writing down my thoughts for the internet at large because I can't keep them in any more and my journal is offering me jack-squat in the relief department.
I often have existential crises. I will lie awake or stare into space or drop what I'm holding and become obsessed with the very nature (and purpose) of my own existence. It begins with a simple thought: Why the fuck am I here?
So, like a good scholar, I decided to get on to the good ol' inter-webs and try to decipher exactly what I feel so hopeless about and what I can do about it.
In my search for something to pass the time before my head smacks into my keyboard, this is what I found:
Wikipedia
Upon perusing the article, I see much that I already know:
"An existential crisis is a moment at which an individual questions the very foundations of their life: whether this life has any meaning, purpose, or value. This issue of the meaning and purpose of existence is the topic of the philosophical school of existentialism."The article then goes on to state (in the description) that an existential crisis may be misdiagnosed or co-morbid with a number of psychological and neurological disorders... but there was a citation needed so fuck that. I already know I am depressed.
Wiki How
Wiki How articles are always fun. There is often a whole lot of information on this website that I laugh at. Really, it's ball-bouncingly funny. This time, however, I found some genuinely interesting things that I decided to pursue for my own interest's sake.
There was this Norwegian dude (see Philosopher) called Peter Wessel Zapffe (He was 91 when he died. I would be pissed off if I got that close to 100) who said that human self-conscious is actively engaged in the "repression of its damaging surplus of consciousness."
What this basically means is that we are fighting to not think about the "WHY" of it all. Zapffe suggests the following options to helping us silly humans get through this sort of shit.
1. Isolation
This is the good old "leave it in the back of the fridge until you forget about it" method of dealing with our own existence. The only problem is that no matter how long you deny it, the smell of last year's mac and cheese is eventually going to get to you.
2. Anchoring
The basis of this method of ensuring you get some sleep one day is to grab on to the State, morality, fate, the laws of life, the people, the future – even God – and never, ever let go. Get out that old Bible and dig your nose in deep. Really inhale that book mould.
Getting in touch with this stuff (be you a Bible-basher, a Satanist or a liberal) can help you stay focused and not allow yourself to give your existence a single thought. As Zapffe says, "build walls around the liquid fray of consciousness."
3. Distraction
Now would be a good time to buy that VPN and finally do some internet "research". You know what I'm talking about.
4. Sublimation
Now, not only am I thinking to myself; finally, a bit of diversity to Zapffe's One-Step system but this is also a method I advocate and practice as often as I can. Get all Airbender-esque with that negative thought and use it to power that guitar-solo you've been wanting to play, or that painting you've never finshed... follow the theories that made Thales of Miletus, Empedocles, Simon Stevinus, Christian Huygens and, of course, Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz household names; conservation of all that darn energy!
That sums up the intelligent part of the article. I shall now quote, in order, the "other methods" this article suggests (with my own suggestions for the author):
1. Understand what caused the problem.
Well, shit, Sherlock. What would we do without you?
2. Try to see life and your place in it as it really is.
Or, "Why giving up LSD led me to suicide."
3. Acknowledge that this is a common problem.
Can't be. I only found 17 forum threads on the subject.
4. Consider how well orchestrated life seems to be.
Tell me more about the rose tint; does it come in different shades?
5. Stop comparing yourself to others.
Tried it. Didn't help. That's why I'm reading your stupid article.
6. Don't be afraid to make up your own rules.
"But officer, I am suffering from an existential crisis!"
7. Try to voice what your problem is.
Or, "How therapy bankrupted me."
8. Imagine several different people you like or respect giving you advice.
I so wish I was joking about this one...
9. Imagine giving advice to someone else in your situation.
"So you're saying that the best way to deal with my son's wetting the bed was for me to stay a virgin just like you? Hmm. Interesting."
10. Problem solve.
See thought 1.
11.Take what you've learned.
See thought 10.
12. Aim to create peace and joy.
No, you fucking aim to create peace and joy, mate.
13. Clean whatever room you're in.
An existential crisis! Quick, to the broom cupboard!
14. Remember that tomorrow is a new day.
See thought 11.
15. Question yourself.
This is how I got into this mess the first place, you stupid, mother–
BuzzFeed
You know that indescribable feeling of nope that passes through you when there's a big spider in the bath?
Quora
Now, there was a lovely long article answering the question about losing all hope that I will link here but I cannot for the life of me remember what I wanted to comment about it because I got distracted in the comment section:
"Go out and have an Ice-cream."
Now, you can't argue with logic like that, can you? (For the first time this morning, I am not being sarcastic.)
I'd love to tell you that it is now 5:30 AM and I am watching a beautiful sun rise over the sleepy African bushveld... but I'm not and it's not.
It's 2:05:47 AM (well, not anymore) and I am no less tired, no less of an insomniac and no less closer to crushing two pan-dimensional hyper-beings with a teapot for building earth as some stupid philosphical class project . I'm merely going to do now what I do every time this happens and watch cute cat videos on the internet until I drown in my own drool.
After all, what else is the internet for?
Sunday 25 September 2016
1:30 AM Thoughts
It's either very late or very early. I haven't decided yet.
I can't sleep... although I suppose that's obvious from this post's title.
I'm at my desk, sharing my chair with a goat, refreshing the twitter feed of the newest socio-political hashtag that my University's student populace has occupied themselves with, trying to determine whether or not there will be class tomorrow...
... and I can't sleep.
In a few minutes I will lie in bed and scroll through my phone's menu, maybe play the Einstein game for a few minutes before concluding that I actually AM tired and drift off to sleep.
I'm tired... but I can't sleep.
It's taken me 4 minutes to write this post. This post has said nothing.
I have to sleep.
I can't sleep... although I suppose that's obvious from this post's title.
I'm at my desk, sharing my chair with a goat, refreshing the twitter feed of the newest socio-political hashtag that my University's student populace has occupied themselves with, trying to determine whether or not there will be class tomorrow...
... and I can't sleep.
In a few minutes I will lie in bed and scroll through my phone's menu, maybe play the Einstein game for a few minutes before concluding that I actually AM tired and drift off to sleep.
I'm tired... but I can't sleep.
It's taken me 4 minutes to write this post. This post has said nothing.
I have to sleep.
Thursday 8 September 2016
Why I hate Summer
"Oh, God. Look at her. She must be boiling in that."
"Why doesn't she wear a dress? She looks like a man."
"Doesn't she know it's Summer?"
Technically, projected voices in my head, it's Spring. That being said, I realise that it is almost 30 degrees outside and that I am wearing jeans, takkies and a hoodie. I realise that all you beautiful girls with your long blonde hair are wearing shirts as dresses and don't seem to understand that that's the reason the boys are whistling at you.
Still, I digress. Has it not perhaps occurred to you, projected voices in my head, that the reason I chose to cover as much of my skin as possible is because it's mine and I don't like people staring at it?
The chance of you seeing my feet in anything but boots, trainers or sneakers is due to the fact that I have very small toes. Not only that; whatever being decided to create me, be it God or Mother Nature, thought it would be funny to put a little bundle of hairs on my big toe. Not peach fluff like the stuff that grows on my upper lip but long, black hair.
Moving upwards, we find shins that haven't been shaved since my boyfriend left the country because I DO NOT HAVE THE EMOTIONAL STRENGTH TO SHAVE THEM. So fuck you.
My thighs are nice and round, with the perfect amount of cellulite and stretch marks - perfect, that is, for ridicule.
My stomach is a little pudgy from days where I can only find bread in the house to eat. (Well, that or cabbage and I can tell you now which one I prefer). Also, there's that damn scar that runs from my bellybutton to my waistband, the one that left a half-inch dent in my abdomen because the scar tissue has got stuck to my abdominal lining. But that one's the surgeon's fault. Stupid fucker put saving my life over aesthetic pleasantries. Bastard.
Then there is the fine layer of fuzz on my forearms and the noodle-like shaping of my upper arms. Those don't need to see the light of day. They have enough freckles on them already.
So that, projected voices in my head, is why I feel more comfortable in my jeans, takkies and hoodie. That, my friends, is why I won't be joining you in Summer.
"Why doesn't she wear a dress? She looks like a man."
"Doesn't she know it's Summer?"
Technically, projected voices in my head, it's Spring. That being said, I realise that it is almost 30 degrees outside and that I am wearing jeans, takkies and a hoodie. I realise that all you beautiful girls with your long blonde hair are wearing shirts as dresses and don't seem to understand that that's the reason the boys are whistling at you.
Still, I digress. Has it not perhaps occurred to you, projected voices in my head, that the reason I chose to cover as much of my skin as possible is because it's mine and I don't like people staring at it?
The chance of you seeing my feet in anything but boots, trainers or sneakers is due to the fact that I have very small toes. Not only that; whatever being decided to create me, be it God or Mother Nature, thought it would be funny to put a little bundle of hairs on my big toe. Not peach fluff like the stuff that grows on my upper lip but long, black hair.
Moving upwards, we find shins that haven't been shaved since my boyfriend left the country because I DO NOT HAVE THE EMOTIONAL STRENGTH TO SHAVE THEM. So fuck you.
My thighs are nice and round, with the perfect amount of cellulite and stretch marks - perfect, that is, for ridicule.
My stomach is a little pudgy from days where I can only find bread in the house to eat. (Well, that or cabbage and I can tell you now which one I prefer). Also, there's that damn scar that runs from my bellybutton to my waistband, the one that left a half-inch dent in my abdomen because the scar tissue has got stuck to my abdominal lining. But that one's the surgeon's fault. Stupid fucker put saving my life over aesthetic pleasantries. Bastard.
Then there is the fine layer of fuzz on my forearms and the noodle-like shaping of my upper arms. Those don't need to see the light of day. They have enough freckles on them already.
So that, projected voices in my head, is why I feel more comfortable in my jeans, takkies and hoodie. That, my friends, is why I won't be joining you in Summer.
Sunday 4 September 2016
WHY
Because it is.
Murphy's law? A bit of bad luck? Did someone drop a fucking mirror over my entire household? Have we been handed empty horseshoes? Did we kill a bunch of puppies and now Karma is demanding the payment?
My 3 week old goat just decided that she wasn't going to have her milk this morning.
Okay. Fine.
My 16 year old dog has a major infection, won't eat and doesn't seem to realise that she ought to be dead by now.
I can handle that. She's not in pain yet.
I scored 0% in a sick test for Psychology that I studied for. Couldn't write the first one due bad influenza and when the time came to write the sick test, I had already been told that day I ought to be admitted into the Mental Health Hospital because I "may be a danger" to myself.
I was advised not to write the test but I did. So that one's on me. I messed up.
But I can't logic my way out of the brain chemistry at the moment. I'm done.
I'm going to go lie down now.
Murphy's law? A bit of bad luck? Did someone drop a fucking mirror over my entire household? Have we been handed empty horseshoes? Did we kill a bunch of puppies and now Karma is demanding the payment?
My 3 week old goat just decided that she wasn't going to have her milk this morning.
Okay. Fine.
My 16 year old dog has a major infection, won't eat and doesn't seem to realise that she ought to be dead by now.
I can handle that. She's not in pain yet.
I scored 0% in a sick test for Psychology that I studied for. Couldn't write the first one due bad influenza and when the time came to write the sick test, I had already been told that day I ought to be admitted into the Mental Health Hospital because I "may be a danger" to myself.
I was advised not to write the test but I did. So that one's on me. I messed up.
But I can't logic my way out of the brain chemistry at the moment. I'm done.
I'm going to go lie down now.
Saturday 3 September 2016
A Pain In The Heart
Some of my thoughts have been causing me physical pain. It's a deep, cold tightness that grips my heart like a vice. It makes my stomach feel raw and empty. It feels like something is trying to rip my soul from my chest.
My exhaustion will not wane. The pain just gets worse. It's loss. Loss of a thing that I still possess.
But why? Why is this chemical reaction in my brain causing this physical ache in my heart - an ache caused by no more than an emotion? Why do I have to suffer this phantom pain from something that hasn't happened? What purpose does this serve?
You know what it feels like? It feels like guilt. That heavy weight on your chest. A feeling of loss and guilt that has no basis in reality.
Yet it brings me to tears.
Why?
Why?
...
My exhaustion will not wane. The pain just gets worse. It's loss. Loss of a thing that I still possess.
But why? Why is this chemical reaction in my brain causing this physical ache in my heart - an ache caused by no more than an emotion? Why do I have to suffer this phantom pain from something that hasn't happened? What purpose does this serve?
You know what it feels like? It feels like guilt. That heavy weight on your chest. A feeling of loss and guilt that has no basis in reality.
Yet it brings me to tears.
Why?
Why?
...
Friday 2 September 2016
I'm Not Good Enough
Take from this title what you will. I'm not spouting the opinion that I am a victim and that world just doesn't think I live up to expectations of me... this goes far, far deeper than any of that.
I understand my life and live on the basis of a subjective realism. Basically, I have that paranoid feeling that everything outside of my own head might not be real. What if all the people I perceive are figments of my own imagination? What if everything I have ever done has no real meaning because I'm just dreaming all of this whilst being used to power Machine City (extreme example but you get where I'm going with this). This begs the question: why do I feel like I'm not good enough?
Paranoid delusions aside, what do we mean when we say we aren't good enough? What is that feeling that makes us perceive ourselves as failures to the rest of a societal norm?
I'm not going to wander down the philosopher's highway today because I don't have the energy and, quite frankly, I'm not sure it would make a difference.
My point is, I am sitting here, thinking about those nights when I don't want to wake up in the morning and wondering to myself; "What am I trying to prove?"
If I am sitting here in a broken mind, thinking about ending my own life then what does it matter if I have lived up to expectations or not? Why do I care about who likes me, what I look like, where I'm going to live one day, who is judging me... if it doesn't really matter?
This is a phenomenon known as cognitive dissonance, the ability to hold two contradicting points of view at the same time.
Because, for a long, long time, I haven't wanted to carry on. I've wanted to just sink into the sweet darkness and forget. To face that infinite blackness before I become nothing but compost. Some days are better than others and I think that there might just be a reason, some raison d'être to this whole confounded existence...
I cherish those days. I hold them close because I know that if I can feel like that for a day, I can feel like that for a week... and maybe a month... and maybe a year... and maybe one day I will be happy again.
I understand my life and live on the basis of a subjective realism. Basically, I have that paranoid feeling that everything outside of my own head might not be real. What if all the people I perceive are figments of my own imagination? What if everything I have ever done has no real meaning because I'm just dreaming all of this whilst being used to power Machine City (extreme example but you get where I'm going with this). This begs the question: why do I feel like I'm not good enough?
Paranoid delusions aside, what do we mean when we say we aren't good enough? What is that feeling that makes us perceive ourselves as failures to the rest of a societal norm?
I'm not going to wander down the philosopher's highway today because I don't have the energy and, quite frankly, I'm not sure it would make a difference.
My point is, I am sitting here, thinking about those nights when I don't want to wake up in the morning and wondering to myself; "What am I trying to prove?"
If I am sitting here in a broken mind, thinking about ending my own life then what does it matter if I have lived up to expectations or not? Why do I care about who likes me, what I look like, where I'm going to live one day, who is judging me... if it doesn't really matter?
This is a phenomenon known as cognitive dissonance, the ability to hold two contradicting points of view at the same time.
Because, for a long, long time, I haven't wanted to carry on. I've wanted to just sink into the sweet darkness and forget. To face that infinite blackness before I become nothing but compost. Some days are better than others and I think that there might just be a reason, some raison d'être to this whole confounded existence...
I cherish those days. I hold them close because I know that if I can feel like that for a day, I can feel like that for a week... and maybe a month... and maybe a year... and maybe one day I will be happy again.
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