Archive for insanity

Apparently me thinking I´m psychotic again, but most definitely a whole lot of confusion

Posted in health, mental health, personal with tags , , , , , on December 1, 2013 by theweirdphilosopher

I do okay for several days, or maybe experience some moments when I´m really down, but it´s all within reason. Literally. Until suddenly my cognitive functioning breaks down.

Most of the time when I´m down I can describe how I feel and what happens. During a breakdown like this one I can´t. It´s like my mind is cannibalizing itself. I ruminate about myself, then my self ruminates about me, and written down like this it sounds like a witty pun, but in reality I am lying on the bed sobbing pointlessly, unable to put into words or even thoughts what is wrong with me and what I´d need to feel better. This, however, makes me completely helpless. It´s a mental breakdown without any real content; a breakdown of functioning. I cry and cry, and simultaneously I want to dance because there´s a song on the radio that I like; and I´m at a loss to explain where my tears are gone or why they are still streaming down my face while my mind is singing along to Waka Waka. This inability to understand myself or to stay in one emotion for thirty seconds at a time is driving me nuts. Verbalizing is the only real weapon I have against my moods and my mean inner voices, and during those breakdowns it gets knocked out completely.

The only constant during a breakdown is a bizarre sense of guilt. I keep on wondering sincerely how it is possible to reliably do everything wrong all of the time. To be unable to even stay depressed for five minutes. On the one hand, a cheerful song can kick me straight forward into a different mood, and on the other hand, the simple fact that this is so makes me want to kill myself, so what mood am I truly in? I don´t know. It is a circle that perpetuates itself. If I´m actually still depressive, than knowing this should make the unbearable tension go away, but it doesn´t, because the song is still making me happy. I don´t even know how you can have all those affects simultaneoulsy.  And again: How emotional and desperate can I truly be, if I take the time to put the word “have” in italics? Those are questions which, to me, are absolutely condemning, and I don´t even know why. It just seems to me like I am absolutely inconsistent as a person and I cannot cope with that. Maybe according to identity theory (identity as constructs which need to be consistent in order to work) I cannot cope with being inconsistent because it makes it impossible for me to have any kind of self-conception on the basis of which I could try to understand myself or categorize my feelings, assign meaning to what happens inside of me.

I think if the Holy Inquisition still existed I´d go see them and ask if they can save my soul. Now, at the (hopefully) end of one of those breakdowns, I still feel like I desperately need to have all that falseness and absurdity in me eradicated; carved out of my body. I wouldn´t even want it to hurt, though I would want to feel something – the kind of relief you feel when you can at last scratch an itch, or when you finally breach the surface of the water and breathe.

Maybe it is single-mindedness in its literal meaning that I´m looking for. One mood, one line of thought, one emotion. Not all channels open at once. And maybe pain can grant a bit of that. Pain caused by someone else. Get my focus that sharp, fix me there, eliminate. I think my pain perception was a bit dulled during this breakdown.

Oh god, I´d better try to go to sleep now that I have a trace of my usual sarcasm back. Maybe I´m just having that breakdown because I have to study, anyway. Or well…I guess it started because I felt like I´m a complete loser and it just went on from there. Never mind. Never mind, forget it, move on or die trying. Goodnight.

 

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When I blog instead of sleeping

Posted in health, mental health, personal with tags , , on November 7, 2013 by theweirdphilosopher

There is a lot on this blog I no longer identify with, a lot I no longer want to be part of. Such as scrutinizing my parents´ behavior, or blaming them for my troubles. Or maybe not so much this, as everyone makes mistakes or does unfortunate things and I´m sure so did my parents. What I have recognized as fundamentally wrong now, though, is the idea that they had deep-seated hostile intentions towards me. I´m sure there were negative feelings at times, but what I had in my head was some kind of conspiracy theory.

What those years have left in me is the feeling that just by trying to tell the story of my life, I can bring huge guilt upon me. I could tell it wrong. I could say something that isn´t true, and all of a sudden I have compromised innocent people. I frame them just by internally writing my autobiography. I always feel like I should be more wary of what I say than I am right now. I feel like, with each assertation I make, with each entry I write, I´m doing something bad – for purely selfish reasons. For entertainment. For having something to say. So many everyday life actions are associated with feelings of guilt for me.

The fear that I cannot speak without telling a lie lead me towards being unable to get out a straight sentence. Large parts of my former diaries are essentially incomprehensible. And to this day, what is incomprehensible to me is how I could be in mental treatment at the time and yet my therapist did not notice what was going on. I must have appeared more collected than I felt, or maybe the fact that my confusion itself disabled me from communicating the extent of it got in the way. Or maybe he was just an incompetent twat, but that belongs elsewhere.

I don´t know if anything I write now sounds clear and easy to comprehend. Often my blog sounds like to me like the ramblings of a lunatic. I forget most of the time that my readers cannot feel the sense of wrongness I feel when I post here, making statements about myself as if I was sure of them. Reading this must feel quite different from writing this.

 

Work and mood issues

Posted in health, mental health, personal with tags , , , , on September 26, 2013 by theweirdphilosopher

Maybe I should keep a diary of my inner tensions and my self-perception. I cannot really tell what has happened to me between my last post and now, but I feel like it happens to me very often. I do know what happened today. I was stuck in angry inner dialogues again. They were extremely vicious. Even visions of people which are normally on my side were attacking me and I started to judge myself very harshly. Now, though, I´m comparatively relaxed (or I would be if I wasn´t down with a stomach bug). It´s like some kind of positive aftereffect. I didn´t do anything to alleviate the tensions, aside from, maybe, getting dressed and putting on make-up. Maybe that´s all there is to it, really. Get dressed. Or take a shower. Or wash the dishes, just anything. Maybe, though, the tensions simply follow a pattern of their own which I cannot decipher. At least not without major observation.

My hypothesis, right now, is that the pattern goes:

Hero

Hero

Hero

Just me

Zero———————

Being in this “hero” state of mind is incredibly exhausting. It´s like I´m a magnet for ideas and projects and ambitions and ideals, and they all add up along with the dirty dishes and at some point I realize I haven´t done anything at all for days and I don´t have the slightest clue how to, either. I´m bursting with ideas but I can´t put pen to paper. I know what to say in my nobel prize speech, but I compared to what I believe I am capable of I have achieved fuck all.

In “zero” state I get hit by all the shame of how out of proportion my ambitions are, and much more than that. It is extremely exhausting, too. Just like I´m stuck in megalomanical fantasies in “hero” state, now I´m stuck in angry dialogues. When they get as bad as they do today, absolutely every thought I identify as mine (I cannot perceive “the voices” as my own thoughts then) is met with such a scathing reply that I either freeze or punch myself.

Weirdly enough, though, now that I´m in “just me” land, I wonder if this breakdown is necessary for me to come down from the manic high which leaves me completely unproductive. I feel like I´m only ever productive over any length of time with a boot firmly on my neck holding me down. I was at my most productive during my recent work when I had an entire hierarchy on top of me making sure I didn´t get ahead of myself. I think, though, as much shame as those bouts of mania cause me, they go beyond a simply character flaw. Even when I realize what is happening I can´t stop it. And I do realize it. It happens mostly when I think about stories I want to write. I know it will give me writer´s block, but I can´t stop my head from spinning into more and more dizzying heights.

I want to stay the way I am right now. Just me. Alone in my head. My thoughts just about quiet enough to allow me to be as productive as writing this blog entry. I sometimes simply don´t want any more ideas. I don´t think I ever suffered from a lack of ideas, really. I often feel like my life is fully planned already and I can´t pursue any wildly different path. Maybe my lack of spontaneity has some roots in this. I always feel like my day is already packed, even when I don´t have to leave the house or make any calls. I cannot take the time to fall in love with an idea and work on it. I cannot put any time and effort into a novel. I should have written it yesterday. If I can´t write it in one night, it will never get done. Maybe that´s why I tended to put off writing my essays until there was just one or two nights left.

You can´t imagine how content I was when I was still being ordered around all day and people wanted me to be in three places at once. I could finally work according to my preferred speed. Working against the clock is the only real remedy against my perfectionism. It gets my focus and creativity up ten notches. Expecting guests is the only thing that can make me clean up my apartment, but then I can do it in three hours. Working against the clock makes use of my mania, and if you have to complete an essay within a day without knowing what you´re talking about, you will need all the megalomania you can get in order not to give up and cry.

But if you´re trying to write a novel? For me, they´d have to invent the national novel writing week. Fifteen days is the longest my discipline has ever lasted, but at least I wrote five pages a day. I doubt, however, it will ever work again.

It´s beside the point, though. I´m bragging. I´m psyching myself up into a state of mania again. And I´m no longer alone in my head. But who says it´s bad? Stop policing me, you traitor!

And so on. It´s okay, I´m not a traitor. As long as I´m alone in my head self-criticism is not self-betrayal. But who am I trying to tell this, really? It gets so bizarre when I start talking to voices in my head. I can´t believe I´m really doing this. I mean – I know there´s no one there, but I feel so different. The “just me” thing is gone and I feel like I could have stopped it from happening, like I could still stop it if only I erased the paragraph above – but my urge to show how crazy I am is stronger and I despair wondering why. Why is that so important to me? Important enough for me to ruin a potentially constructive line of thought?

I´m at a complete loss to describe what is happening to me. Okay. What is different to where I just was? There is something. A feeling. A tendency to become enraged which wasn´t there a moment ago. Thoughts which I could simply have a moment ago are now some kind of personal judgment that enrages me. I feel inferior. I shouldn´t need to, because I´d be feeling inferior because of traits which I objectively have, they just subjectively seem to belong to someone else. I know that objectively I am well capable of self-criticism, but right now I am angry and ashamed because I do not feel like I´m capable of it while – well, who?? – is.

Good. Rage. There is rage, and with rage come the voices or vice versa. I was trying to stay away from certain forums in order to reduce rage and voices. Remember the reality checklist. Nothing changes by winning arguments with the voices. You don´t prevent any real life evil from happening. The problem is, at this point I don´t care about reason. There is just pure vitriolic rage. But why would I care? Why would I listen to you? You are the traitor (and stop appropriating my voice for getting your hypotheses confirmed)! It´s true. I really had the thought that for the voice, my reality checklist was written from the traitor´s point of view, so I kind of put that sentence into her mouth. It was true to her beliefs, but immediately she called me out on this. Just – where in all this does my own agency begin? Where in all this could I put a stop to it but don´t?

I´m getting distracted damn easily here. What I was on about is: I appear to be in two minds and they have very different ideas of a desired outcome of the situation. The lists that I write, like the reality checklist, are written from the point of view of sanity. They make very much sense to anyone other than madness. Madness doesn´t really deny it´s mad, it just says that being mad is good because the world is a bad place. It´s the only way to be rebellious, the only way to not be sucked in. The only way to really be me, the only way to have anything worthwhile to say. And it has a point. The world really is a not such a terrifically good place. There are things to lose your mind about, plenty of them. And maybe it feels like the most integer thing to do, but unfortunately it doesn´t tend to be very effective in terms of changing anything.

But that´s not all there is to it. The reason why my sane half wants to be more effective is not noble, altruistic motives. It wants fame and recognition. And that´s where her treason lies. She´s not merely the mask of sanity on the face of a scheeming rebel. She wants to be successful in an allegedly bad world and she´s just using the rebel´s ideas for that. How embarrassing! What a disgrace!

She can´t be relied on. When she actually gets recognition and power, she suddenly isn´t so adamant about righting the wrongs anymore. She can suddenly see the point of view of the enemy. Feels mature doing so. Realizes it has been sour grapes all along. Feels mature admitting so. How bloody corrupt do you get.

Where in all this am I? Nowhere. I am either one or the other. I either perceive myself as a sane person trying to battle her near-psychotic anger and paranoia, or I perceive myself as a desperate underdog trying to maintain her pride and integrity while threatening to be betrayed by weakness and desires. Betrayed to my therapists, society, family, ex-friends, anyone.

What is true, no matter which version is correct? Here we go:

  • All thoughts in my head are mine. I don´t have all those thoughts intentionally, but there´s no other, real, physical person who can read my thoughts or access my head.
  • There are people out there who act just like my voices. Plenty of them. Their ideas are worth refuting and their style of arguing should be criticized.
  • The people in front of whom I´d feel most humiliated if they could see me can´t see me because to 95% they are no longer part of my life. If they could see me, they might feel it confirms their view of me, but that doesn´t make it right.
  • I actually am achieving something by winning arguments against those voices, but I shouldn´t have to do this in the first place. I should be left alone in my own head.
  • I may not be a victim in the sense I sometimes feel I am when the voices plague me (like in: I´ve been bullied and abused all my life), but I didn´t choose to go mad, either, so dear sane part of me, please cut me some slack if I don´t always confirm to your standards of how a sane person should behave and/or think about herself and the world. Please don´t demand that I act sane 24/7 just to…battle the voices who say you need therapy. You´re just as crazy as I am.
  • This blog is the last place in which I need to appear sane. It´s a safe place to throw away everything I have achieved in terms of stability and apparent control of my life.

Good. So much for my sanity, “just me” and my potential productivity. I don´t feel productive when I ramble like this. I don´t feel productive when I don´t stay in the same mood while writing a blog entry. I don´t feel productive when I drift into meta-writing.

I feel like I get flooded with an ocean of detailed observations, especially about myself and everything I do, and that kills me. I can´t pin it all down. I can´t think straight anymore. I sit there feeling unproductive. It´s what I get when I write and suddenly have a million ideas. It´s what I get when I build up an argument and get filibustered by mysterious voices in my head. There´s a common thread in all this. Maybe I´m not entirely crazy after all. Maybe I should worry more about the structure than about the content of my thoughts. A very comforting idea.

How to know when I go wrong is simple. I recognize a flood of ideas, thoughts and observations when it happens. I just don´t know how to stop it. It goes with a great deal of impatience and a sense of urgency. I don´t know if I can make myself stop working on what I want to do because it seems terribly important. And the vicious voices? I might even have a better shot at getting rid of these. I can try to write a calm and structured argument, or I can just give in and say: “Yes, I´m just what you say I am. You are right. I´ve actually been ashamed of myself all the time, I just didn´t want to admit it.”

Or maybe I just need some mood stabilizers or ritalin and everything will be okay. Just because it feels unthinkable doesn´t mean it can´t be true.

Defragmentation

Posted in health, mental health, morbid, personal with tags , , , , , on February 27, 2013 by theweirdphilosopher

I´m having this terrible feeling again, the feeling that some inescapable truth will destroy me. I feel disturbed when I do normal stuff like chat with an Internet friend. We´re working on a horror story and I´m much more sensitive to the material than usually.

I feel disturbed when I do normal stuff. This should tell me something important. Because, even though the narrative of my life was broken and my sense of normalcy heavily attacked, over the last few years a new normalcy has developed. Probably not completely new, but at any rate a sense of normalcy. Part of that normalcy is that I write my Internet friend. If I suddenly feel disturbed by the fact that I do this, then something is happening to me that undermines my sense of normalcy.

I wouldn´t want this to happen again. I have a sense of urgency that seems to forbid me to be normal, that demands something should happen. This sense of urgency is part of the crazy states. I had when I was desperate to find out if I had amnesia and what had happened to me. This feeling that I cannot continue with life until something important has happened or until I´ve had a major insight.

I have that feeling all the time on some level. Sometimes I really get important insights or so I believe. Still, it is a dangerous feeling. It threatens my sense of normalcy.

It´s quite natural that I have this feeling. Yesterday´s insights were frightening. What could undermine your sense of normalcy more than coming to the conclusion that you are crazy?

I´m still rewriting the past. While I do not invent events, I interpret them and I try to find out what happened inside of me and what caused these events. I´m trying to repair my narrative, and by doing so I´m constantly fucking with my sense of who I am.

Some of my old personality has always stayed with me or at least returned. Such as sense of humor, dark and dadaistic. Or that I love puns, but if they´re too stupid they make me physically cringe. Both not terrifically original, but as long as I´m joking I know I´m sane.

I need something to occupy my brain. This blog, this whole trying to find out what´s wrong with me – is part of “crazy”. When I started this blog I was in the throes of my second abuse mania, I had just learned to be a lot more careful and objective. Maybe there is hope after all, because giving in to my obsession under the strictest rational supervision I was capable of led me here. I do feel a sense of peace with regards to my behavior towards Lola. I just feel a lot of distress regarding what followed, but maybe that, too, will pass.

In my sane state of mind I have no problems having rational opinions on things, even when they´re controversial. I have no problems evaluating arguments and evidence. I sometimes reach the conclusion that I should stop trying to figure myself out and start pouring my mental energy into some entirely different subject, something scientific. There´s something to it, but I don´t think I can look away from myself for the rest of my life. I want to reach a state where I don´t have to be afraid of myself and I´m not sure if suppressing my craziness is going to get me there. Why would I suppress it, after all, if I wasn´t afraid of it? Suppression is different from “keeping in check”.

I´m not sure right now if my craziness is pathologically crazy or if it is normal irrationality. Maybe even what people call feelings. This “feeling in analogies” thing: If I feel through stories I make up in my head, then maybe I am crazy of sorts, and maybe it is no surprise that I come up with crazy ideas which feel real and important. Would it make any sense, though, to analyse this craziness? I don´t think so.

I tried to analyze the pictures and thoughts I came up with. Especially during the abuse mania. I tried to conclude what had happened to me from them, I thought they symbolized something. That was a dangerous way of dealing with them, though apparently it resembles some of Freud´s methods. I should not try to use my daydreams and stories as sources of personal insight. I´m fairly sure I did that on this blog here, too. I guess a lot of my theories here ought to be revised or even deleted. I wonder if I will become more creative again if I stop analyzing my crazy ideas and just let them float by.

I think one thing that contributed to me becoming so troubled was that at some point I started to make myself responsible for the crazy ideas. I was always deeply in touch with the creative chaos in my head, and maybe too deep, but what I came up with wasn´t my fault. Sometimes you have a violent fantasy, or rape fantasies, or whatever else, and the moment you start to believe this says anything about you you´re on the path to madness. You might start to become obsessed with the thought that you are a potential serial killer, or you might feel like unless your fantasies are caused by a history of abuse they mean you are indecent, disrespectful and self-important. I don´t mean sexual rape fantasies, but when you´re making up stories in your head in which you are a rape victim.

This doesn´t sound acceptable to me. It surely must say something about you if you enjoy such stories. Still, reason tells me that it shouldn´t. It must be allowed to relax and let your thoughts run wild without having to feel like a bad person because of the outcome. What, though, if you get the same thoughts over and over again and they intrude into your daily life?

I don´t know. I feel much too vulnerable right now to think about that question. I think that there is a close connection between repulsion and allure. At least in sadism there is. Perversion is, to some extent, being lured by the repulsive. I think some therapies try to exorcise perversion. They look for a human being who can let his thoughts wander without coming up with such things. Other kinds of therapies try to battle obsessive thoughts by prescribing them. You are supposed to consciously think about how you´re going to stab your toddler. I think I, being the person I am, would start to enjoy the thought in a dreadful way. Maybe the solution is to make it less personal. Exorcise it by writing a story about a mother who stabs her toddler, but most definitely someone who isn´t me. Not that I have a baby anyway. Or any definite answers here.

The thing with feelings and craziness is: The moment they set in, it´s like getting drunk. You know that tomorrow you will feel very different about your behavior, but somehow that doesn´t matter because this drunkness is something that feels right and necessary now. Similarly do feelings feel justified and mania true. Both can, in some ways, be intoxicating, and in those cases your rational self can only run along and try to limit the damage. And there can be a similar moment in perversion: Few things are more powerful than the feeling of “I know this is wrong, I know exactly how wrong this is, but somehow this knowledge has lost its power…I´m free!” Free to do absolutely anything. That damn sure is a state of intoxication.

Since I´m just in a process of defragmentation or something the like, this post is horribly incoherent. Never mind. It will get better. Hopefully.