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Phlegma strange word. world.
June 27 I am so lonelyI feel lonely today... :(
I cried a bit but it didn't seem to help.
I know it's pathetic to feel sorry for myself but I just do...
*sniff*
At times like this I just want to crawl into bed and forget to breathe, forget to keep my heart beating.
I just want to go to sleep and never wake up.
Instead of studying for the coming midterm exams I Googled "suicide notes", and some of the notes that I read made me even sadder.
For instance there was this note, written by a father to his son:
This note made me sad because he tries to reassure his son by saying that he will wait for him "in heaven"... and I've been taught that suicides are condemned to hell. I wish God would forgive this man but I've been brought up as a Roman Catholic and I have my doubts... April 08 Someoneis trying to hack into my hotmail account.
Whoever it is, please stop. Otherwise I will have to transfer all my received emails to another account.
I keep getting emails that say:
"We received your request to reset your Windows Live password" though I have never requested such a thing.
Anyway I changed my password to something ridiculously long and difficult. Same with the secret question. You will never guess the answer in a thousand years.
 February 22 DeletedI have deleted the entry that was previously here, as it was just inane (not "insane") blathering. I'm not saying that my other entries are not such, but this particular one was plainly the worst of the worst.
Anyway... it's been a while since I last posted here... months even.
I was in the loony(looney?) bin.. nuthouse... however you call it
If I have to smell the hospital food ever again I will puke.
I believed I'd get out after one week and I thought, "oh, at least the food here is good!"
I'm still there two weeks later and they start feeding me the exact same thing (they rotate every 2 weeks so that if you get ginger pork on October 2, then you get ginger pork on October 16, ginger pork on October 30, etc.)
A month passes by and I've eaten the same tuna sandwich (that they give you as a snack) 21 times.
Another month and now I'm wondering if the psychiatrist will add anorexia to my diagnosis as I am clearly not befriending my meal trays
 And so on....
But the clozapine made me gain so much weight I can't fit into my size 4 pants anymore. It also makes me drool.
Moral of the story:
If you start hearing voices, do not assume that they are aliens. Aliens are busy doing their own thing. They really don't care about you. :(
June 01 my clock brokeI went out in the middle of the night wearing only my bathrobe and rang people's doorbells while carrying a box of my most treasured items and I attempted to give to the strangers these items because I thought my father would burn all my belongings but the people didn't answer the door or when they did, they were angry because I woke them up from sleep and they didn't want to keep my items and rudely shunned me away so I ended up hiding this box outside my house in the dirt but later when I retrieved my box my favourite alarm clock was in the box and the box was handled too roughly while I was carrying it so the clock broke from being moved around too much because it was an old clock, at least twelve years old, but now I have no alarm clock and that's why I will be late for everything but I think people in my neighborhood are rude and obtuse and insensitive; if someone rang my doorbell wearing only their bathrobe at the middle of the night and wanted to give me their favourite things and told me that her father was going to burn all her belongings, I would graciously accept and I would also say thank you, have a nice day. May 12 CT scanHallelujah Today I found that i have a complete absence of a septum pellucidum, a "rare" genetic condition:
"The absence of the septum pellucidum almost always signifies substantial neurological disease, since it is hardly ever an isolated finding.... MRI and CT scans reveal a higher proportion of midline cerebral malformations in schizophrenia, such as cavum septum pellucidum and isolated absence of the septum pellucidum"
This is the best thing that has happened to me all year! Now I can blame all my problems on this septum pellucidum!!
Eyesight: "Oh, let's blame the septum pellucidum."
Schizophrenia: "Oh, blame the septum pellucidum."
Stupidity: "Oh, it's the septum pellucidum."
Hehehehehe!
PS. I don't have schizophrenia.
Does it mean I have schizophrenia when I think aliens and inanimate objects are constantly reading my mind and watching me?
(Because it's like with God; people think He watches them... that's sort of on par with aliens. We don't think Catholic nuns are schizophrenic, and they base their whole life on God.) May 09 I like reading other people's blogs.Blogs are like memoirs, and memoirs are my favourite type of book because the stories are about the writer and they're all true.
I hope this doesn't mean that I am a creepy stalker for poking my nose into other people's lives.
I think I have stalker genes inside me.
For example... I began work at Safeway as a cashier a while ago. Yesterday I was standing beside a co-worker who was writing someting down on a piece of paper, and I happened to glance at this paper.
I saw my name.
I saw my phone number.
I saw my employee number.
Then I saw a familiar name, near mine.... it was the son of my former math teacher...
Oh dear God, what else could I do.... Hastily I glanced at the paper again and I was able to memorize his phone number.
This teacher was my absolute favourite person in the whole school, during the last painful year of high school when I would write poetry on the walls of bathroom stalls and get replies such as "You're so emo." (which I'm not)
I used to stay after school just so that I could have conversations with this math teacher; I was initially getting 100% in his class, but I purposely did poorly on exams so that I could stay after school and get the help that I didn't need.
If he didn't exist I would have never met any counsellor or psychiatrist; I owe him my life, though he probably doesn't remember me anymore.
I used to wish that I could meet this teacher's son so that I could marry the son and therefore I would become my teacher's daughter. If I was his daugher-in-law, we would celebrate Christmas and Thanksgiving Day together and discuss calculus problems in his living room, and I would finally get a chance to tell him that I actually got 100% on the math provincial exam re-test and he wouldn't think I'm stupid anymore.
But I got his phone number (I would never dream of looking in the Yellow Pages) and, well, ......I just have it.
I would never call him but it feels comforting to have his number... Maybe one day I could find the courage to talk to this son of my teacher, over lunch break maybe, and that'd be my wish.
I hope that doesn't make me a stalker. May 05 Dear BlogMy head is empty.
It's as if I've had a lobotomy
or electroshock therapy
anything that kills off my brain cells
My most treasured possessions, my brain cells
And to think, I would have gone to school, brushed my teeth, and ridden the bus while wearing a helmet my whole life to protect my head.... if only I wouldn't have attracted unwanted attention.
But now there's no point in wearing a helmet because there's nothing left to protect.
Well, that will be all for today. April 20 that was pointlessTwo weeks ago I did something rather stupid, actually something v e r y stupid and my mother found me on the floor of my room, unconscious but certainly not yet dead.
Needless to say, I woke up in the emergency room of the nearest hospital, attached to some strange things.
My arms were also tied down to the bed, because they tell me I was trying to take the tubes off, which I don't remember doing. I don't remember anything that happened for a long while.
One thing that I do remember is that the psychiatrist who came to my hospital bed was someone I recognized... OHhhh it's YOU!
The doctor: Yes it's me.
I remember you.
Yes, yes you do. But tell me, why are you here??
Because.. Eight is my lucky number. I don't understand.
Eight is my lucky number so eighty is my lucky number too so I thought eighty pills would do the thing that my parents probably wanted me to do because I am a burden on them and I make their lives miserable with my miserable existence.
The doctor's head bends down as he writes down notes. I stare at his bald spot.
(But I just want to forever admire the bald spot on your intelligent head and the twitch of your mouth when you smile and stare into your resplendent eyes and tell you that I was infatuated with you last year and I wanted to be your second wife or even your maidservant or your shoe-shiner, but I don't say this. To do that would prove to you I'm crazy.)
Nevertheless, he put me in the psych ward again.... a place where they do absolutely nothing for the patients, except distribute medication and take away your clothes and shoes so you can't escape. Well, you can escape, but there's no point in leaving if you are weariing a blue hospital gown and paper shoes. People on the streets would stare at this anomaly, and there'd be no place to run to. But the nurses give you back your clothes if you've been there a long time.
I guess I was pretty sane this year because I was discharged yesterday, which was not even a month-long stay.
Some people can stay for up to a month or become re-certified to stay longer, or get sent to Riverview Psychiatric Hospital.
I just came home, deflated and constipated, like a zombie. I think the medication causes all this, it sucks.
Another of the worse things about this psych ward is that there are no computers for patient use. So I was unable to write on my blog or go on the internet to look up "akathisia", "Clozapine", and "solipsism" when the dictionary would not suffice.
During my last few days, I found myself walking along the hallway, back and forth and back and forth.
Many of the other inpatients were doing this too: pacing the hallway, back and forth and back and forth and back and forth...
No one really did anything. No one really could do anything.
I think I was the only person who was reading or painting or doing calculus problems for fun.
To give them some credit, I managed to play games with some of them and have conversations (something I can't do in the outside world), and they were all very nice, interesting people. All or most of the inpatients were older than me, and a huge percentage of them were the elderly, deaf and possibly senile.
It was disheartening to see a friendly old grandfather, like my own, tell me : "I don't belong in here. I want to get out and get on with my life goddamit!"
He was practically deaf and I had to say the word "eighteen" at least three times when he asked me how old I was.
It was disheartening because I knew, I knew his family was going to put him in a nursing home soon, and the nursing home would be just like the psych ward. That's all a psychiatric ward is, a nursing home: it's a home where you eat and sleep and the nurses act like it is their house.
And it was pointless to be put in there, because the doctors didn't fix anything.
How can they fix anything, when there's nothing wrong with me...
April 05 she said it was ugly...T h e W o r d s I n Y e l l o w
You did not realize the implications
of your daggers piercing MY weeping aorta
draining out the dewy claret in my WRISTS
contributing to my melancholic aura
WERE you aware, dear stranger
that you CUT me WITH your words, by design
like GLASS impelled at the ebbing nose of a leper
a cavalier smirk drawn on that face you think fine
AND Jesus the pain, the pain is surreal
even THE BLOOD shrieks in agony, I will die of a fit
no doubt you WON'T come to my funeral
though there be none for a friendless hermit
The rain will not STOP, it sobs out its woe
it dampens my ashes, with wind I will roam
Quando fiam uti chelidon --O swallow swallow
I leave you on land diseased with your venom.
--I wrote this today... just for you.
You have no idea how much you hurt me with that comment....
Nor did you explain why it was ugly. ugly...ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly ugly...Myself, even uglier.... ugly...My blog... it is most ugly... April 03 Hair has outlived its evolutionary purpose.I haven't combed my hair in weeks, perhaps months. (I usually use my fingers)
This evening I was overcome by sudden vanity and I decided to brush my hair. I am a girl, after all.
But Ahhh the horror!.... My hair was so tangled that the brush wouldn't go through.
I tried water, I tried untangling it with my fingers, I tried Infusium 23, all to no avail.
I tried to think of what geniuses like Euler and Goethe and Marie Curie would have done.
Then I realized, they all have short hair.
Einstein has short hair.
 Schopenhauer has even shorter hair.
 So I took a pair of scissors and I snipped away.
I think, at the time, I was under the illusion that I was a genius and I needed to make my genius seen.
But an hour later, now I feel uglier than ever and I don't feel that short hair has made me a genius. :(
photos under "The Day I cut my hair" April 01 Mental illness does not existIt's a small world.... Today I saw this woman, Clara, whom i had expected to never see again. I saw her coming towards me in a motorized scooter, and after some good squinting, there she was, with her prosthetic legs (she lost both her legs following a suicide attempt) and same friendly smile. She couldn't remember my name, so I reminded her that we used to play games in the hospital and once she accused me of cheating in a game of chinese checkers, so I got upset and screamed at everybody to fuck off and the nurses had to put me in the seclusion room and give me two needles. She chuckled and said, "You were so far gone out then, you wouldn't talk to anyone." That was really surprising, because I thought I was more "far gone out" now than ever before. But she was much more "gone" than I was... her speech was extremely slurred because of her medication, and when I had hugged her, I realized that she hadn't showered in ages. And I felt so bad for her because she didn't get better. She will never be what society considers "normal", not with her fake legs and slurred speech and (extremely)disheveled appearance..... and the dead look in her eyes, the look that people have when they're far gone out and dead in the inside. Mental illness can do that to you... little by little, you deteriorate and lose your grip on life.... that is, IF mental illness existed. At least that's what everyone seems to think, that mental illness does not exist. My parents think mental illness doesn't exist. My mom thinks people who have mental illness are acting out, that they create their own illness. This is what she said to me yesterday, in the kitchen. In our kitchen we have these tiles, and I have always had a habit of stepping on only every second tile, ever since we moved in to this house. It's like a checkerboard where I can only step on the black squares, although in our kitchen the tiles are all one colour. My mom saw me do this, and when she realized what I was doing, she got angry at me. She said I was acting like the Jack Nicholson character (who had Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder) in the movie "As Good As it Gets", and told me to stop looking at the floor. Equally angry, I said I don't do this on purpose, it's a habit, and that I'm NOT like the Jack Nicholson character (Marvin or Melvin or whatever his name was), because unlike him, I can step on cracks on the sidewalk. And I said I don't do the tile thing on purpose because I sometimes do it when I'm at the mall, too. Then she asked me if i'm doing this because I wanted help. If this was a plea for help. What a ridiculous idea. She doesn't realize that I don't need help because EVERYONE on this earth has a problem, worse than mine. In fact, every human being could be diagnosed with a mental illness. Everyone gets depressed, everyone gets anxious, everyone has strange quirks and beliefs that would be seen as odd by others. And perhaps that's why mental illness really does not exist. If everyone has it, everyone is mentally ill, and if everyone is ill, then it is normal to be ill, and when you are normal, you do not have an illness. It's such flawless logic that I kick myself. March 29 scaryI removed most of the pictures from my album because I think it might scare anyone who accidently stumbles into my site.
Ironically no one ever sees this site, at least no one who knows me.
Hee hee hee!
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 March 26 Diphenhydramine HClIt is 5:48 at night and I can't fall asleep so I took five diphenhydramine hydrochloride tablets all at once. If I end up dead tomorow then at least you will know why.
(Though I don't think only five tablets can kill you, because I once asked the pharmacist if twenty sleeping pills can kill you, and he said yes. So if it takes twenty pills to kill you, then five certainly can't. There is a flaw in this logic somewhere, but i don't know what.. I tried to ask him if ten pills can kill you, but then he said I was being stupid.)
But on the other hand, five pills could be fatal, because yesterday I took four tablets at once, and two days before that I took three at once, and two tablets on the days before that.
Then tomorow I might take six and then seven then eight then nine and then I will have to buy a whole new bottle of these white, bitter-tasting tablets that are so huge, that to swallow five at once left me with an uncomfortable knot in my throat and almost made me throw up.
evilYesterday at lunch we were talking about wanting to eat chicken so I said to my brother that with all chickens they get their head butchered off and the blood squirts out like a fountain, and the chicken runs in circles without its head for ten minutes while the blood keeps squirting out and everything is covered in blood, because the blood squirts out and the chicken flaps its wings in agony while the blood squirts out from its neck.
So Victor said that he doesn't want to eat chicken anymore.
I began to talk about cows and pigs but he got angry and told me to stop. So I did.
Today we had KFC for lunch though, and he really enjoyed his chicken wrap.
I also put a hole through my chemistry textbook.
The hole runs for several hundred pages and afterwards I said to my textbook, "You can't feel a single thing. You don't have feelings and you are not alive."
It was very liberating as I don't want to believe anymore that books had feelings.
But somehow I feel overwhelmed by guilt as I have hurt an innocent textbook, for no reason at all. March 24 todayToday I spent exactly an hour gazing into empty space, while sitting on the floor and blinking involuntarily every couple of minutes. Then I spent another hour at the mall and bought tweezers, because my last one died. Then I spent another hour plucking every single hair from my legs, even my knees, but not my eyebrows, even though this is what tweezers are manufactured for, because my eyebrows are unbelievably bushy right now and they add to my menacing demeanor. I would love it if there is a bratty child in the bus and he is whining, "But mommy, I do NOT want to go to grandma's house!" And I would give him a cold, menacing stare from across the bus and the child starts crying. This child is too spoiled and self-centered to understand that his grandmother eagerly awaits him with homemade cookies, and that she gave up her Bingo Saturday so she could be with her grandchild. March 19 can't think straight anymoreI hate myself and want to die.
I hate myself and want to die.
I hate myself and want to die.
Yesterday I was reading Van Gogh's biography. Apparently he cut off his ear and went to an asylum and later killed himself.
Today I thought about cutting my own ear off, but I'm starting to think it's not a good idea because it wouldn't make me an original, interesting person. Copying Van Gogh would not make me an original, interesting person. Also, I might really be sent to a mental institution, and I will probably cut off my other ear too while I'm in there because of boredom; there is absolutely nothing to do in there except to sleep and watch television. |
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