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Reflection from February 25th, 2008 @ Age 26


My god today was the longest f@#king workday I think I’ve ever goddamn had.  All f@#king day I had thoughts; I was stopping here and stopping there to write—it’s compulsive I tell you, I feel like if I don’t stop to write I will lose my potentially brilliant thought forever.  Some way to live.  Here’s what I came up with anyways…

At Some Point in the Morning

I had such an awful headache this morning and my stomach has been tied up in knots all day, and I was noticing this morning that I felt completely spent; and I kept ending up staring off into space for long periods of time, lost in a devoid vacuum of slow motion thought.  I thought, thank god I have a window at work to stare out of…it makes the experience so much more aesthetically pleasing than say, starring blankly at a goddamn wall—or even worse, at other people.  My brain just f@#king hurt all day today, and I felt nauseous all day too, my mind just felt overworked and overtired and just plain strung the f@ck out.

Later in the Morning

Ohh this was lovely…I was thinking about how I would like to become the spokeswoman for the American Bipolar Association.  Because of course there must be some sort of association…everything in America has its own association.

Anyways, I was just thinking about how I’d like to spur more research in the area by bringing the issue of bipolar illness out for discussion—by stirring a bit of controversy or whatnot, and in doing so, hopefully help people who suffer from this illness in some actual, palpable way.  I want to break down the stereotype that we’re completely dysfunctional people and I want to increase understanding and research so we can better help individuals who suffer from this illness.

Later Still

I was thinking, maybe they already have a spokesperson though, and what if what I’m doing isn’t really all that relevant at all.  What if I’m being delusional here?  That’s the problem…I can’t tell the difference most of the time between my dreams that are okay to dream, and my dreams that are delusional.  I mean, couldn’t it all merely boil to a matter of probable statistics—a delusion being something that will probably not come true, whereas a dream might be something that also probably won’t come true, but at least there’s some palpable chance that it could?  I don’t know! I don’t know the parameters separating what is okay to dream and what type of dreams make me delusional.

Almost Lunchtime

One good thing, though, is that if I am way off base, and this is really a stupid idea, then at least nobody will publish this collection of writings and I’ll be saved that much humiliation.  Not like it matters much, though, since the humiliation is pretty much an everyday staple to my existence.