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Reflection from February 24th, 2008 @ Age 26



You should see the amount of pills I am taking.  I took pictures of my pillbox after I filled it this morning because I am amazed at how many fucking pills I take just to feel lousy and only suicidal sometimes.  It’s unfuckingbelievable. 

I’m further annoyed by this Prozac Nation because this girl keeps distinguishing herself from other people, saying I was the worst, and I had the worse circumstances, and I I I.  It really irritates me, but then I’m wondering if I don’t do the same goddamn thing in my own writing.  I wouldn’t doubt it, I’ll tell you that.

I felt pretty awful last night after my mom knocked on my door at 11:30pm to say goodnight, and I said goodnight, and she asked if I could unlock my locked door and get a goodnight hug, and I huffed and I puffed because I had to stop typing, put my computer down, get off my fucking couch and walk all the way to the door (about 8 feet away), open it and give her a hug.  She said thank you, I could really use a hug about now, and then I completely remembered that I had totally forgotten she just got fired the night before.  I felt terrible and gave her lots and lots of hugs and apologized for those Chase assholes’ arbitrary and completely unreasonable actions and then there really wasn’t a whole lot more I could do.

You know I finally went out to Express Friday after work (when Paul let me go home early a second day in a row!) and got me a pair of those damn skinny pants.  I’ve been so angry ever since those fucking pants came out, thinking that I can’t pull them off because my goddamn thighs are so huge and whatnot, and then Friday I was wearing my Express jeans to work (Paul lets me dress down on Fridays now!  Yeahhhh!) and I noticed looking in the mirror that those jeans didn’t make my thighs look big.  In fact, those jeans made my thighs look pretty damn cute.  So I figured well if these Express pants work so well for me, maybe their skinny jeans will too.  So I went and I found a dark blue pair that worked, and I bought them for $60.  I prolly shouldn’ta spent the money on clothes, but it felt fucking good to finally fit my ass into a pair of these goddamn jeans that I couldn’t help myself.  And plus I can wear them to work and all, and they really weren’t that expensive after I used my $15 off coupon.  So there! 

But then, okay I have to go eat breakfast but I’ll be back hither to finish my Express story of the black spandex tank top.


Alright well it’s not all that interesting a story, but I just got completely furious last night because I bought this stupid spandex tank top, black, to go underneath work clothes, the fronts of which steep down a little too closely to my breasts, and I got it home and took off the tag and tried it on with my clothes.  Anyways, what made me so furious is that, even though I’ve been wanting a black tank for the above mentioned purposes, I’ve already bought a spandex tank top before and ended up giving it to goodwill because I didn’t like it.  So what made me so fucking furious is that I did the same goddamn thing this time, somehow thinking I would feel differently, or just not thinking at all.  Who fucking knows?  Anyways, I still have the tag, albeit not attached to the tank, but since I’ve not worn it or anything, and I just bought it last Friday, I’m just going to try to return it, problem solved.

Well back to Prozac Nation, another thing that really irritates me is that this girl goes on and on about how the main cause of her depressive illness, as she understands it, is her parents separation and subsequent inability to get along, and their use of her as a ploy, their manipulation of her as a ploy to get what they wanted.  Now that’s bad, of course, and my irritation is not with her at all.  I guess it just irritates me that it might make it seem like the situation would be so much better if a given set of parents stayed together for the sake of the child, or if one or both of the parents remained physically present. 

What’s more difficult to explain, I think, is the negative impact upon a child when parents who are on the borderline of divorce decide to stay together for the sake of the children, but because of their problems, end up mentally absent from the present.  Here I am distinguishing my circumstances from hers, which may or may not be annoying to others.  But nonetheless, I think it’s just as difficult on a child having two parents who are physically present in their lives but nonetheless mentally absent. 

I mean, when one or both parents physically leave, it’s easy to point out that their physical absence in the child’s life automatically results in their additional mental absence in the child’s life.  I think, however, that when you have to explain how a child has been negatively impacted by her parents, despite their physical presence, and despite the lack of incest or rape or physical beatings beyond spanking, I just think it’s a very difficult thing to explain to another is all.  It’s just far less obvious I think, to others, how difficult it can be for a child who, although her parents are physically present, are fundamentally incapable of being mentally and emotionally present for their children because they have too many pressures and problems and stressors of their own to deal with.  When no matter if they tried, no matter the voluntary or involuntary absence of mind, the child subject to the behavior is nevertheless severely impacted in a destructive and obviously negative way.

I’m starting to see patterns in my thoughts and behaviors as I go through and type up my old journals.  I’m at the part when I was dating Demian and I kind of feel really bad about the whole ordeal because I was obviously acting in a state of mania; it’s so telling how I completely change views on him just about overnight.  I’m absolutely head over heels in love with him, and then next day I’m just fucking done with him.  I loathe him and I feel completely and utterly opposite of how I felt just days prior.  Something that obviously could happen I think, to a regular person over time, but it’s different when it happens overnight.  I think that indicates the presence of a bipolar illness.  See that’s another thing that’s so difficult to explain.

The difference between bipolar and mentally intact persons, I believe, lies not in the kind of feelings each has, but in the quality, the intensity of feelings that one has, and in the incredible shifting of feelings that take over a bipolar’s mind, when such a person can feel absolutely one way on one particular day, and the very next day feel absolutely and completely opposite from the day before.  It’s like the thing I was describing above about Demian, I mean one day I was just head over heels in love with him, and then next day I couldn’t stand the sight of him.  Hell I couldn’t stand the sound of him, I couldn’t stand to think about him even, and, it’s also telling how he noted to me that it was almost as if I had multiple personalities or something. 

Now, when I think of multiple personalities, I think of Dr. Jeckle and Mr. Hyde, I think of the scenario that when one person takes over, the idea and the recollection of the other identity is completely lost in the transition.  My situation has almost been even more consciously confusing in that I completely and totally can recall that just the day prior I felt entirely opposite of the way I feel today.  I know and can identify that overnight, my views and my positions and my ideas can completely shift from one end of the spectrum to the entirely opposite end of the spectrum.  It’s incredibly frustrating and confusing and devastating to have to live this way. 

I do not choose to live this way.  My body makes that choice for me.  I do not choose to change my beliefs overnight, they just do.  This is not a condition that is chosen.  Believe me, if I had a choice I would surely and undoubtedly choose mental health over constant and never ending mental instability and confusion.  Why wouldn’t I?

That’s what people fundamentally fail to understand, that this illness is not a matter of will, we cannot wish away our bipolar tendencies.  They just are, as we are, they just exist as we exist.  There is no choice in the matter, you can try everything in the book – self medication, prescribed medication, therapy, exercise, education, self-awareness, writing, AA, sobriety, nothing makes this condition go away. 

We are bound to it just as each of us are bound to any of our other god-given characteristics.  We can temporarily hide the condition, we can ignore the condition, we can fuck with the condition, but we cannot escape it.  Bipolar illness is a lifelong sentence.  There is no choice in this type of matter.  We are simply and completely bound to the illness for life. 


Well fuck.  I just lost all my goddamn work from yesterday because I fucking forget to save this file to a new file since I started working off of yesterday’s file for the template.  I guess I should just fucking make a generic template and go off of that since I’ve fucking done this bullshit now several times.  I hate that, that I’ve lost all that shit that I was thinking from yesterday, I think I had about six fucking pages worth…pisses me off.  Well let’s see if I can summarize in a nutshell…

My mom was fired Friday night from her job with Chase which is absolute bullshit since just a couple weeks ago they were telling her she did great work, especially in light of the fact that she was taking on projects that were so messy nobody fucking else would even touch them. 

I found out Danielle got engaged when she sent me a picture of her huge fucking diamond ring via cell phone.  I then wanted to slit my wrists.  I called my psychiatrist and left a message in which I could barely speak that I was going to need more constructive help or else I think I am going to have to impose destructive help upon myself.  I said that everyone I fucking know is having wonderful fucking meaningful, satisfying shit happen in their lives, except for me, and except for my parents upon which rain never ceases to fall (I liked that line).  Umm, I think that’s it, more or less, in a nutshell.  And without fancy schmancy language and all. 

It’s fucking ridiculous with all this goddamn technology, that you can’t go back and recover temporary saved files, at least from a couple of days ago or something before they automatically delete themselves.  I called John to see if he could help me figure out how to do that, but to no avail.  I was really angry at first, but now I hardly care.  One day’s worth of writing is kind of like a teardrop in the ocean of my misery.  Hah!  I love speaking in ambiguous terms sometimes!  It’s so beautiful!  Well, it’s either absolutely beautiful, or it sounds absolutely ridiculous.  I think I was overreaching yesterday anyways, which is always painful to go back and reread so it’s just as well.

Also, think of all the thoughts that I’ve thought and wanted to write down, but didn’t have the opportunity to do so.  It’s just a drop in the bucket Maris, don’t worry.

Let’s see, I also said…ohh I don’t know.  A drop in the bucket is all.  Well I’m off to work on my goddamn bar application.  Which just irritates me because I guess it’s the best of my options right now, seeing as though I need money to pay off my endless fucking list of bills, but it’s not really what I want to be doing, you see?  I guess that’s pretty much life, though, right?  I mean, unless you are born into money, or inherit money, or somehow fucking come into lots of goddamn money, you’re not really as free as they’d like you to believe.  You may have some choices to make, do I want to do laundry this weekend or cleaning?  Do I want to dream about going on vacation or just look at pictures of beautiful places that I will never get to see?  Do I want to give myself a manicure and pedicure, or do I want to iron my fucking work clothes for this coming week.  Do I want to look at the lives of famous people and feel miserable about my own life, or do I want to talk to all my fucking loved ones who have wonderful fulfilling things happening in their lives and then feel miserable about my own life.  Do I want to feel guilty for not appreciating all that I already have, or rather for not feeling better because of all that I already have, or do I want to continue to feel unsatisfied and unfulfilled.  You know, the options aren’t like, do I want to go vacation in Mexico or in Europe?  Do I want to hang out on the beach today, or take a flight and go skiing?  Do I want to drive around in my convertible or do I want to go to yoga class?  Do I want to drive my convertible to yoga class?  Do I want to have one baby or four babies?  Ahh I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, except that a person absolutely has less freedom when they have less money.  Or maybe that’s only my perspective because I don’t have money.  Maybe I have no idea what I’m talking about and never will have any idea what I am talking about because I am not all knowing.  Does that mean that I shouldn’t talk?  I’m not so sure it doesn’t.

It really makes me laugh that in college, and ten or twelve page paper would be such a huge endeavor, when really that’s only a five or six page paper but double-spaced.  It’s just so funny because I can sit down and write and write and fucking write about all the goddamn things in my mind for hours, for days, without a second thought.  I can go on for four, eight, twelve pages in one day without blinking an eye.  It just irritates me that I lost yesterdays thoughts; it will just take time to get over I guess.  And I guess I’ll just have to set up a generic template so I don’t go deleting prior work, which I have a tendency to do.  I’m irritated because in This Side of Paradise and Prozac Nation, so much of these books are about fucking name dropping, who can talk about the most famous thinkers of all time in one book or something.  Instead of dropping names, instead of comparing their thoughts to the thoughts of those who have come before, why don’t they try to fucking come up with some original thoughts?  Or even if they happen to be thoughts that others have already written about, which at this point probably comprises most thought, why don’t they just record them in their own individual style?  It just annoys me.  And do you know what else annoys me?  Ohhh it was something about fucking Prozac Nation but I really can’t think of it.  I’m just generally, all around irritated with pretty much everything that touches me, everything that enters my mind, everything that gets under my skin, it’s times like these where I really start thinking about slicing my goddamn skin open.  It’s funny how it works, but somehow slicing my skin open with a razor is very appealing; it feels like doing so will relieve all this emotional pressure and pain that I’m obviously not dealing with all that well.  I don’t even like the idea of my insides on the outside, at least physically speaking, but on days like today, it just seems like the best way to deal.  The most effective way to deal.  Either that or smoking pot, but obviously I’m not allowed to do that if I want to live at my parents’ house, and take the fucking bar exam, and not fly completely off into goddamn space.

It just seems like all my time now is shitty, so even if I smoked pot and things got shittier, at least some of my time could be enjoyable.  At least I would not have to live in constant and never ending misery.  At least I would be able to escape once in awhile.  I keep looking for help, but there is none to be found.  What are you supposed to do when the best professionals you can afford cannot afford you any relief?  What are you supposed to do when even the professionals in this specific fucking area cannot help you feel better?  I don’t know what I’m supposed to do at this point.

Ahh one other thing I spoke about yesterday was that I started crying at work last week.  I’ve done that before, but usually only once every six months or a year, never multiple times, multiple days in one week.  I’m usually very good at hiding all this bullshit from the “real world” where we’re expected to be perfect and professional and completely wound just right, but not this past week.  This past week, I started to bubble over.  I don’t know how much longer I can stop the flow.

Ahh yes, now I remember, about Prozac Nation, what kind of really irritates me about Wertzel’s book is that she’s trying after the fact to go back and recreate her depression.  I just don’t think that method is the best method for which to accurately portray the condition to others.  I mean what the hell do I know?  I didn’t go to Harvard for god’s sake, so what the hell do I know?  But nevertheless, it just seems like portraying the “waves of blackness”, as she calls them, I just think it’s much more effectively done when the portrayal is created during the moment of darkness.  That’s all.  Off to the fucking bar application, but I think before that I will just type up a couple more prior works.  I think I feel better now too, that at least I have six more pages today, to make up for the six pages of writing I lost from yesterday.  Nothing much more I can do about it now.  Damn Microsoft Windows!!!


It’s really difficult reading through what I’ve written in the past.  I feel really fucking bad for most of the people who have come into my path.  I feel like I do destroy everything I touch, whether I mean to or not, and usually I do not which makes it all the more frustrating.  Thing is, if I knew a person like me as well as I know me, I don’t think I’d want to have anyfuckingthing to do with them.  I do wonder if this isn’t how most people with mental illnesses feel.  No wonder why this breeds all the self-loathing behavior.  Maybe there is something to loathe about ourselves, even if we cannot help ourselves, even if we were born this way. 

I know I keep coming back to this, but I really do think it’s quite important.  Like I’ve said before, I don’t think mentally intact people can understand what it’s like to live with a bipolar mind.  The most difficult part to explain is the endless mental and emotional suffering bipolar individuals must endure.  And what’s more, it’s very difficult to explain that kind of suffering to others who have never experienced it, to others who have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.  Thing is, we most certainly do feel the same kind of emotions.  The painful part of the illness is the extent to which we feel each of these emotions, not just the experience of emotion itself, and what’s interesting is that I see this distinction clearly expressed in my prior entries.  I believe that bipolar individuals experience even just daily emotions to a far greater extent than the most potent feelings of emotion felt by the mentally intact compounded over a lifetime.  You can call it whatever you want, a lot of people say we are more sensitive, which may be the case, but I find that the description is really quite lacking in descriptive quality.  I’m not sure how I can best explain this, but I feel that I’m getting closer to what I’m actually trying to say.  So I guess that’s progress.

And then I thought of another topic I discussed yesterday that I will briefly explain.  I was thinking, in conjunction with my mom’s job loss, that it makes me so fucking angry that there are unbelievable masses of people here in the United States of fucking America that are intelligent, hard-working, focused individuals who want to be working, who want to make a living for themselves and provide for their families and not just leach off the damn system like some others I will not mention, and these people can’t find a motherfucking job.  Like, for instance, both of my parents.  There’s just something so fundamentally wrong with this country when we’re out trying to save the rest of the world (or control the rest of the world, or save our richest citizens’ stake in the oil industry…it’s really whatever interpretation you choose, but anyways…), it just makes me so angry that we’re out and so involved with other countries that nobody seems to fucking notice that our own country is going to hell.  Well, nobody notices except the people who can’t afford healthcare, or who can barely afford healthcare, people who can’t find jobs even though they are completely willing and able to work full-time, people who can’t afford medication that they need, children who aren’t getting the educations they deserve, in short, the people who cannot afford to live above the system and are dying in the wake of the system.  It just fucking makes me sick.  How are we supposed to live like this, the fucking regular people who don’t even get to take fucking vacations, who cannot afford to take time off, who never get their well-deserved break, how are we supposed to live without representation when we cannot afford the money it costs to campaign a representative to an elected position?  The drug companies get their say, the millionaires and billionaires and celebrities get their say, but somehow the people who’re actually counting on support from the governmental system always end up with the most minimally influential opinion.  Those who desperately need the system for support get very little to no say in the system, because surprise surprise, you have to have money these days to have any say.  Goddamn bastards.


I just wanted to take a minute to list some of the seemingly odd characteristics I have possessed most of my life, that may or may not set me aside from others.  Most of them occur in waves, but have consistently reoccurred throughout periods in my life.

1. Lack of motivation to shower (which particularly comes to mind now that I haven’t showered from last Thursday, but am quite excited at the present moment to shower)

2. Incessant list writing

3. Incessant thought production – especially of the type I think are so important that I need to get them down into writing

4. Repetition – of songs, foods, people, whatever – I can’t get enough and then I can’t stand it any longer

5. Attention to details in an extreme, compulsive sort of way

6. Perfectionism

7. Not feeling good enough

No no this is stupid, I can’t fucking stop writing today.  I can’t stop and I am going to force myself to stop because at this point, I really don’t think that it’s healthy.  My parents are talking about what could have happened at my mom’s work to have led to her lay off.  I can hear them speaking downstairs from my room, with my door open.


Alright this is the last fucking thing I’m going to say, and then I’m done until I get some other work done, and I don’t care what I think in between then and when I write next because I’m sick of fucking writing about my crazy thoughts.  I think I’m manic right now, the thoughts flowing incessantly, my stomach feels all in knots like when you do coke or ecstasy and eating is just the last thing you feel like doing, I can’t stop writing, obviously, blah blah blah. 

It’s difficult even talking to a psychiatrist about this shit that goes on in my head because most of the time I can’t even believe what’s fucking going on, and I distinctly feel like other people will assume I am lying because it’s all so phantasmical and whatnot.  There’s just so much insane back and forthness, crazy up and downness, I just feel like I am absolutely fucking insane.  But as unpleasant as it is to describe to others, it’s light years more awful to have to feel.  That’s it really.  That’s all I need to say. 


Alright I showered so at least that’s something right?  One more quick thought, observation really…I’ve been incredibly stressed out this past week because my final loans are coming into repayment in April and I barely have enough money to cover them at the lowest repayment rate, and I don’t even think I can afford all my other bills in light of them.   I’ll paste my budget in here to give a better idea, but what I really wanted to convey is that I’ve been incredibly stressed lately, more so than I’m usually stressed.  I mean, I’ve been stressed my entire fucking life, every waking moment and probably my unconscious moments as well, but the stress has piqued right now to a point beyond all prior comparison.  Anyways, I’ve got three lumps that have grown on my head, two behind my left ear, one behind my right, and I’ve been rapid cycling like mad, as you can probably tell, so I’m really thinking that this additional stressor is perhaps the cause of the additional cycling and lump growing on my goddamn head.  So I’ma call Dr. Restuccio on Monday and get in ASAP to inform him about the psychiatrist bit and also to see what the fuck these lumps are doing.  A lump grew right after my last visit with Dr. R at the left base of my neck, and then it went away after a week or so, but it concerns me that I now have more lumps appearing as if from nowhere, and especially since now there are three instead of just the one.  Ohh man. 

Here’s my goddamn budget…see for yourself…


March 2008 – January 2009


Rent -> $0

Electricity / Utilities / Gas -> $0

Food / Toiletries -> $100 to M&D + $150

Cleaners / Laundry / Shoe Repair -> $15

Internet / Landline -> $0

Cable -> $0

Cell Phone -> $0

Car Insurance -> $70

Renter’s Insurance -> $0

Health Insurance Premiums -> Paul to Pay

Health Insurance Co-Payments -> $15

Remaining Medical / Prescription Payments -> $60

Dental Insurance / Copay -> $40

Eye Insurance / Contacts -> $15

Retirement -> $0

Savings / Emergencies -> $0

Car Payment -> $225

Car Maintenance / Gasoline / AAA -> $160

Direct School Loans -> $5

Access School Loans -> $643

ESCI School Loans -> $195

Social Activities -> $0

Netflix -> $20

Gym Pass -> $0

Clothes -> $0

Physical Maintenance (Pedicures / Haircuts) -> $15

Credit Card Bill -> $150



And mind you, that doesn’t include the approximately $800 I’ll owe in taxes from last year, $2,500 I’ll owe for my BARBRI bar review course, the $900 I’ll need to apply to take the motherfucking bar exam, the payment of my prescriptions after my insurance is maxed out, which it undoubtedly will be due to the amount of drugs I’m being prescribed to whack me the fuck back into place where I’m naturally supposed to be.  I mean you fucking tell me, what the fuck am I supposed to do here?  I’ve done all the supposed right things, I’ve worked hard and studied and gotten good grades and gotten an extensive higher education, I’ve sought help from professionals and been compliant with their theories of healing, I’ve tried to be good and to be giving and to be self-aware so that I can improve myself, and look where it’s gotten me.  This is why I want to fucking kill myself.  When nothing works, when the professionals can’t even help, when you do the very fucking best that you can and it’s never enough to make ends meet, what in the world are you supposed to do then?  Please please tell me, because I haven’t a goddamn clue.


I told you I couldn’t stop writing today.  And that’s not nearly the worst part; the worst part is that my mind will not stop racing with thoughts and ideas.  It’s difficult to deal with, especially when they all seem so important I need to write them down.  Anyways, to add on before, I might have forgotten to say, it doesn’t even matter if a pleasant feeling is at stake…no feeling feels good when you are bipolar.  Every feeling is just too intense to ever feel good, and the “good” emotions are usually accompanied by mania which makes me feel completely out of control and insane.  It’s just the complete lack of proportion between the reality of circumstance and the mental experience that is so maddening and so devastating and so exhausting and confusing

Well anyways, I’m showered and lotioned up, I smell good again and my hair is clean and conditioned, I have laundry in the washer and dryer, and now I’ma gonna work on my bar application.  I might be at an impasse though, I mean I might need to talk to all these goddamn doctors to see what they’re going to write about me so I can phrase my part correctly.  I’ll fill the app out as best I can right now I guess, and get a list together of what else I can accomplish in the meantime, and that will be some progress.  I want to iron and do some stitching today as well; I think I’ll put on a favorite movie while I do those latter chores.  Sounds like fun, huh?  I just love being me.


I feel awful.  I’ve just been laying in bed reading a book and my heart is racing.  I just had my mom take my heart rate and it’s 108 beats per minute.  My stomach is tied up in knots.  I feel absolutely exhausted.  My brain feels fucking fried.  I think this is full out mania today, and the four days prior were full out depression.  I am rapid cycling and I have lumps growing on the back of my fucking head.  I gotta see my docs tomorrow…this is not good.  I can’t live like this.  I need some fucking goddamn help and if they can’t help me already, I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do.


Ohh I’m having trouble sleeping.  I’ve been reading this Prozac Nation and it’s really annoying me, though I must admit I won’t stop reading it (although I do have a compulsive tendency to finish books that I’ve started, even if I don’t exactly like them).  This chick’s such an intellectual snob!  She keeps throwing out names and places and dates every fucking which way and it irritates me to no end. 

Anyways, Bella Mae sent me pictures of her house today and I’m feeling so much better now about her engagement and wedding and house and all that.  I mean, I’m so excited to hear about all the wedding details, the date, the place, the time, the dress, the bridal party, the bridesmaid gowns, all that jazz!  And I’m really looking forward to seeing her ring, and I’m looking forward to hearing how Mike went about proposing.  And as for the house, it’s really cute, but it’s not really all that special.  I mean it’s special because it’s Danielle’s and I love my Daniella and it’s her first house and all that.  But I don’t know why I have all these glamorous thoughts in my head; I mean it looks like a starter home with starter appliances and starter furniture and starter stuff, you know.  It’s not some glammed up, all done out brilliant party pad or something.  Her porch is adorable though, her front porch, and I will eagerly await sitting on that goddamn porch in the summers, smoking away and playing Palace with my JenJen and Bella Mae. 

Do you see how this is all so confusing though?  Last night I find out about her engagement through a picture text on my celly and I want to slit my wrists.  I call her and congratulate her and have to get off the goddamn phone right away because I can’t stop crying…and not tears of joy.  And today I’m super excited about all the goddamn details and I want to hear all about it, and these back and forth rides are fucking wearing me out.  I feel strung out and worn out and so tired of the grind.  Anyways, I’m gonna type up some more old journal entries.  Good night love!