mowing through the rain

Do the next right thing.

2010-02-18T19:19:00.000-08:00

Four years ago I was wandering my uncles' house aimlessly by day, curled fetal-style scream-crying because of unbearable emotional/mental anguish, or sleeping far too much. Quite vividly I remember wondering how my uncle could do something as complex as fill out a check. I kid you not. Now, I am in my final semester of college and don't remember my last breakdown. Yes, you heard me correctly -- I don't remember my last breakdown.

What is the secret to my success?

I don't want it to be a secret. That is the new direction this blog is taking. I resume my proverbial pen and will somehow figure out how to make this blog easier to find for those in need of proof that

SUCCESS IS POSSIBLE!

I have a story that I want to share. There is hope.

An update on my life:

Besides being in my last semester of college, I am even more actively the president of our Gay/Straight Alliance. In fact, the other officers and I set out to Madison tomorrow right after we finish our last classes for the Midwest Bisexual Lesbian Gay Transgender Ally College Conference 2010 (MBLGTACC 2010)! One of the workshops is called "In Our Own Voices: Living With Mental Illness." I really hope to report on this one here for you all.

I've stepped back from the madness of the Department and have decided this semester to focus on securing my graduation (!!!) and health. This semester is focused on health, graduation, activism, and preparation for the future. This mindset had gotten me here:

Just do the next right thing.

The only hope you have to influence your future is the actions you take in the present. Overwhelming, it may seem. Merely READING this idea would make me nervous if I didn't adhere to the basis: Don't worry about the series of "right things." Just focus on making the next one.

Simple concept. Not so simple to carry out.

The key is applying this in all areas of life: food intake, sleep patterns, time management.

My dear friend and psychology professor helped me realize the place of medication:

Medication merely levels the playing field, gives you a fair baseline. Anything beyond mediocrity is up to you.

This is achieved through applying the above as I've suggested.

Now, adhering to my own suggestions, it's time to take that dubious Geodon (which I still haven't reached a conclusion on past years' wonderings) which I must thank in part for my success. I am taking minimal medication: 80mg Geodon at night, 10mg generic Adderal/10mg Lexapro/150mg generic Lamictal in the morning. You must counter-balance Geodon with an anti-depressant.

I could go on and on ... but that's what following days are for. I can't wait to recount this weekend's adventures Sunday when I get back!

I think I've coined this phrase:

"Be well and do good."

Love all ways always,

-k

Shame

2009-05-06T14:03:00.000-07:00

This must be short for I should be doing other things. Time's running out quickly...

I would like to talk about shame. Perhaps not the best topic for a quick post...or is it the perfect topic?

The first two and a half years after my diagnosis, I didn't understand the shame that is attached to mental illness. I do now. I believe I mentioned it sometime during the fall/winter. I know this blog is about honesty and education, but I find myself experiencing crippling shame at any sign of weakness. I constantly compare myself to others, to the best, and find faults in myself. I don't think I focus too much on them...but perhaps a little.

I guess after three and a half years of dealing with this/these disorders, I've run out of patience with myself; I feel that I should have a better grip. I realize in typing these words that I'm wrong and I do focus too much on my faults, for I have come such a long way. Impatience coupled with a few intolerant people telling me I make excuses when I can't do something...that it's my fault...leave me doubting myself.

It will get better. I'll continue moving forward and working as diligently as possible to carry on in the best form despite the odds. I admit, sometimes I wish I didn't have these things to deal with. But then I remind myself...everyone has some struggle, some challenge. I'm not the only one and things could be so much worse.

Perhaps I'll open up soon and talk about the week-long series of breakdowns I experienced ending last week. I feel that I could now, but I promised myself I'd keep it short(ish).

It's raining and I hear thunder grumbling. What beautiful music; I love storms. :)

Until next time,

K.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes

2009-04-27T15:28:00.000-07:00

Our theater flooded.

Yes, flooded. For half an hour. Not by rain, but water gushing from a broken sprinkler head that activated all the others (I'll spare you the details...but will say it was due to misweighed fly system). 30' worth of a sprinkler system. All over our set pieces and backdrops I assisted the designer in painting. The show--the largest show (musical) of the year, showcasing the seniors--was scheduled to go up on Thursday. This coming Thursday. Yeah, not happening...

This is a huge theater for a college. 30' wide acting area? A very important space not only for the theatre department, but those we rent to and any other presentations we host with our incredible number of seats.

The water seeped into the design studio and storage, too.

So, everything's being rescheduled. This huge, tiring show is set to go up the Thursday-Saturday before the week of finals. I heard the most powerful professor laughed at other faculty protestations at a highly stressful idea (and all the other repercussions of such an idea) for students. He laughed and said it just eliminates our time to procrastinate. This said to seniors carrying 20+ credit hour loads (18 is considered an overload) also, trying to graduate on time due to an advisor's poor planning. The official e-mail letting us know the changes is the title of this blog and my best friend pointed out the irony of the lyrics to that Bowie song:

And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're going through

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-Changes
Don't tell t hem to grow up and out of it
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-Changes
Where's your shame
You've left us up to our necks in it
Time may change me
But you can't trace time

And I have papers and work, models and homework, classes and meetings--and had a rather epic breakdown last Thursday night which results in a doctor's visit Wednesday and a couple of extensions; I'm starting to swing into a depression after a minor mania managed magnificently. (Sorry, couldn't resist.) But I'm at the point where sometimes I have a lot of trouble making decisions. But I'm not just a painter for this show...I have to work the fly system during the show. Yeah, the one that got out of control. Wee! :-\

My best friend is one of those 20+ cred-carrying seniors, who is Assistant Stage Managing the show and works in the costume shop...(those of us who work in the shops aren't getting this extra week to study--we're expected to help reconstruct the theatre AND work on the show...I work the scene shop, where there was damage. Luckily, my boss is reasonable. Her boss is the laugher.). We decided it was a good idea to go for a hike in the woods separating our school from a park while the weather was nice because my classes were done and hers got canceled.

We got lost looking for a specific bridge, but decided to sit on a felled tree on the shore next to some standing water in a low point of the huge park. The water was deep enough for us to spy a duck bathing. In the taller grass, I spotted a mama duck and SEVERAL baby ducks. They swam into sight and I noticed that last little duck kept getting distracted and lagging behind, but swimming super fast to catch up until it inevitably happened again. I decided it is a he and his name is Zoom Zoom. We witnessed daddy duck bite an intruding male duck and watched him to continue securing the premise while his family crawled onto our "shore" to dry off and play.

We agreed that life is good.

Title: 1_45a on the fifteenth of abril 2009 A.D.

2009-04-15T17:37:00.000-07:00

My pores sit among the day's work on my skin,
My tongue skims across the day's skin on my teeth.
I feel dirty.
So I washed them.
And it was simple.

Clean, but water under my ribbon necklace,
Clean, but water under Her car-part ring.
I feel uncomfortable.
So I dried myself.
And it was simple.

My thoughts scamper anxiously through dirtballs,
My mind holds stead-fast for control.
I feel worried.
So I think of Her.
And it is simple.

There is a specific attempt at structure. I'll let you diagram that out for yourself. I feel moved to explain the process, however. This poem was active; it was an exercise in simplifying. The first two lines reflect my over-analytic, cumbersomely complex --"frilly"-- thoughts followed by my conscious effort to simplify them through simplifying my perception of my feelings, which is why they're written in present tense. Then, after writing that, I "fixed" the "problems," which were then past tense when I returned to write them. The last line of the first two stanzas is the seal, the point of the exercise. The last stanza is different in that the problem is my main concern--thoughts/inside my head. I was putting the solution to action at the time I wrote it, therefor the tense remains present. This experimentation may not be "correct"...but I think there is ultimately no measure of "correctness" in creativity and art.

As always, I'm interested in YOUR response(s). Thanks for reading--and Happy Tax Day! Hah. ;)

Rough

2009-04-12T16:53:00.000-07:00

Adhesive never sticks to these walls for long. Duct tape, even--and especially. The heavier the tape...the more effort and desire I have to stick something...the faster it falls. It's around this time of the semester that things really start falling. Well, the tape's losing it's grip...but I'm not allowing myself. Even though I sense personal tape possibly failing in my life. This part of the semester is also when I stop caring about having those images, albeit meaningful, stuck to my walls; other things take precedence.

I have cramps. I didn't take anything for it.

I have no time to think of images falling or relationships failing or anything but what needs to be done. I'm so wound up (bad caffeine choices made today) that I can't physically write in my journal...my hand--which never cramps--cramps at the speed of my thoughts. This is the first time in a long time that I'm genuinely grateful for a keyboard.

But, the last thing I'd like to point out there is this:

The dark circles under my eyes no longer look like I've taken a couple of blows from fighting life. And that? Is a real smile.

Happy Bunny Day/Easter/Sunday--enjoy those you love. Few things matter more.

Tweet on Blogger

2009-04-11T14:28:00.001-07:00

...just sayin'...I can't WAIT to work this blog--layout, etc. etc., start selling things, start working a LOT, and start all of these projects reserved for lazy summertime...because it'll be summer vacation in 4(!!!!!!!) weeks.

This is good and bad news, for those of you who understand.

So, basically, this is a Tweet on Blogger. The ayyyynd! :)

PS, the sad truth:
Twoble with Twitter: SuperNews!

Connect the Dots

2009-04-08T18:27:00.000-07:00

You know what I realized tonight? Because that's how I realize things...like a light switch. I realized tonight that I'm ready. I am ready to grow up.

What a loaded statement. But it's so true.

I am ready to begin life...I am ready to assume responsibility, learn how to put things in perspective, ready to fully master mySelf--my situations, my career(s), my outlook, my Life.

I feel as though I am blossoming...and the realizations come from others. Small things others have said, small gestures others have made in general--that trigger things. Small things not even meant for me, not even necessarily meant for inspiration. Truths.

It's not about you, or me, or one person--the picture is very large, and I find that if I let myself focus too intensely for too long and unnecessarily on myself--I become sad. Depressed. As long as I'm caring for myself, being aware of my needs and wants, I must also be aware of the brilliance of a life outside of myself...the world is so full of magnificent people to meet and form relationships with and enjoy and influence and grow and share. Love.

I'm ready to learn and prepare and be RESPONSIBLE. I'm ready to be stable and loving and joyful and interesting...and Happy. I know there will be tough times...but there will be so much joy for me. I am a Lucky Girl: I have love, and I have drive, and I have what it takes. I know it. I believe in myself. Finally, I believe in myself Despite.

I have many dreams...dreams turning to goals...and goals are for looking forward to. And I so look forward to what lies ahead of me, whatever it may be. The best part is that I don't KNOW exactly where I'll be going--no SET PATH. I have ideas, I have plans...but I'm staying flexible. And I believe that is the key. Rolling with the punches, as it were.

I am ready to succeed. I am ready. :)

Beautiful day

2009-04-03T17:37:00.000-07:00

What a beautiful day I had today, and what a sweet relief...just for something "different." I wonder if everybody somehow carries on, looking forward to a break in routine, a break in even monotony...

Well, perhaps my day won't sound as gorgeous as it feels, maybe you don't enjoy the things I do or understand WHY I enjoy them so much...but maybe you can understand the feeling by remembering your own joy-causers...

I woke up later than expected this morning...I was going for 7:40, but got 9:50. That made me a little sad for myself because I thought I wouldn't some things done. But a class was cancelled...so I went to breakfast and had an asiago cheese bagel with sundried tomato cream cheese and a caramel latte. An upgrade to my new every-morning plain wheat with plain cream cheese and black coffee with a shot of vanilla. Interesting that I choose so. I didn't for any apparent reason.

Then, I had a bit of time and went shoe shopping. My old shoes I need to turn into paint shoes as my current ones are SHOT...and I really want a pair of Vans...like, the Dickie's slip-on kind or Chucks of an obnoxious color. I think I've decided on medium blue. Ah...listen to a painter describe a color as "medium blue"!

PS-- My guru wrote me a LoR and officially called me an "artist" in it. ...just for that small written bit, I feel as though I've graduated or something. Like someone just gave me a degree with a title for my identity...or making my title-hopeful a title-official. ...it just feels good that I'm an artist, not just a student, in his eyes. Brilliant.

Also, today I got to wear a skirt. YES! Wear a SKIRT! My scars from working in the shop and being just clumsy otherwise have faded almost away so I can wear them! Well...today I had the scholarship interview and I tried to look "like a million bucks"...as someone described it. I found a tweed jacket...geniune vintage...@ the Goodwill close to our school for $5.82. It matches the skirt that NOTHING ELSE MATCHES perfectly--it's pleated silk. I had a white cami under and (although I don't in this picture) I was wearing nylons...and they died today, but they fought the good fight. And the shoes look authentic vintage. Here, a picture:

How vain!, you might think. But sometimes a girl's just gotta be a girl. Today was only special b/c I had the scholarship interview--a reason to dress up after wearing exclusively paint-clothes and not doing your hair. ...I guess I've still got a little performer in me.

I saw my uncle and laid down a groundplan sketch for my second design...

Then the interview. I'm not sure how it went. I was able to answer all of their questions but it didn't take very long. It was a panel of three men, all a bit difficult to read.

So, I headed over to have my Design meeting with Noel...he was a little busy, so I talked to the new Acting/Directing director at the school about the project I had just proposed...I wish I'd have said some of the things we had discussed then at the interview itself. Ah, well...if it's meant to be... Anyway, we talked for a long time and it was productive. Honestly, I wanted to show her that I clean up well... b/c acting directors actually really care about something like that...especially from one who floats between performance and technical/design...so always is in old, crappy clothes with messy hair. Anyway, I know she saw me in a new light after that--a better one.

Then I met with Noel and design meetings with him are so great. He's my yoda, seriously, and he knows me so well and I know there's so much to learn...and because I'm the only one studying under him his exact profession at the moment, it's like I'm an apprentice. I work alongside him, take lessons from him, learn from him--not just academic/design things, but life things, too. We're always in the same building, so we see each other a Lot. Anyway, that went well. We pondered over my new design and I did some things right!

Then I decided to work a little. I lowered the 42' backdrop I sewed and flew (put it on a pipe and raised it into the same position it's used for in performance when not in view) the day before and found an mended the parts of the actual canvas that needed mending b/c the cloth's ancient. The canvas is a tanned color...and the muslin (which makes up the lower half/extension) is cream...and I did this on-stage, so it was under stage lights...it's almost as if I were in costume, really, and I sat on the floor delicately, lady-like, as I hand-sewed that color of fabric...it really looks like the sail of a ship. It would have made such an interesting picture...the first seam I sewed was in the muslin itself. It was the most beautiful stitch I've ever stitched. So even and constant. (There's a special stitch to mend theatre curtains and fabric scenery) The other three weren't as great...but I think I used all of my abilities. This is the thing...on the other side of the fabric, there were 4 upright pianos and to the left there was a baby grand. I listened to them each be tuned in my 1.5 hour sewing session...and it was like music to me, though it was just noise. So...almost like a little dada mixed with improv jazz. He was an old man, and he answered his phone at one point...he was talking music, talking business. And I thought about how extraordinary someone's life work being some sort of art. I'm so used to hearing about corporate America and the arts seem so far away...or did as I was growing up. Confined to a monitor or Chicago...anywhere else than where I was...somewhere beyond me. And now it's around me...and soon I'll be submerged in it...and soon, "someday soon!", that will be me. I won't just be an art student, I'll be an artist. I love it. I probably love it so much because it's a dream of mine come true.

Then I went to the cafeteria...and dinner was actually pretty good. And there was a waffle-cone ice cream after. :)! I love waffle cones too much.

Then I spent about an hour in relaxed company with two of my best friends...just--relaxed. Because today is Friday.

Now I'm here...getting worried that my lady won't answer...so I'm going to try again. I'm here, writing things out, about to do some productive things, and listening to Radiohead and the like.

Ah, what a beautiful day. :)

Weird Fishes

2009-04-02T21:05:00.000-07:00

My life is insanely busy and hectic now...compared to before. I'm not complaining; no, I hope to be reminded of how fortunate I am when I start whining. It's just that after a long, long day of non-stop going...the night is a harbor for whirling energy and emotion. Oh, how I wish I was truly eloquent. I feel so awkward in words tonight.

Tomorrow I have a scholarship application interview. This scholarship may be the very thing that allows me to complete my degree next year. It entails a community service project of the candidate's choice...mine being theater-related, naturally. I proposed creating, producing, and directing a traveling show for the surrounding middle-schools about bullying with a talk-back after. Here's the thing: I have a script in the works for the head of the psychology department on this very issue...but I'm at a standstill; I feel that I'm giving the characters of this age a dated, fabricated voice. Probably because it's TRUE! It seems so contrived. So, here's my plan: I'm taking another playwriting workshop over the summer and doing more research. There is a play our new Acting/Directing professor presented to me promptly: The Secret Life of Girls. I propose that after I read this and I feel that I can't produce better and this is the show I'm looking for, I will use The Secret Life of Girls as my script.

I became the president of my school's Gay/Straight Alliance (GSA). We're hosting an acoustic night/fundraiser/raffle for About Face Theatre, a leading LGBTQ theater in Chicago which may very well close its doors due to lack of funding. Hopefully we can do our part to help! And have fun, of course. :) I must admit...I really want to have official Gay Movie Nights all the time. I think it'll be fun. The membership fluctuates drastically, I hear. We shall see. In hindsight, I should not have logically jumped in to save this ship...but I'm glad I did. The staple members and I have fun...which makes it worthwhile. For the time being. I just need to organize/delegate for this big show! We're being co-sponsored by Student Activities and I think we're going to try and draw in the theatre club.

Tonight I went to another meeting...a Democrats club. I've not had time for it and have been avoiding it, but I really had to go tonight. I'm designing the shirt at the very least. Across the back it's going to read: "IT'S A BIG [insert my adaptation of a donkey's rear] PARTY." Yeah, we like to keep it classy. ;) The front looks official--the logo and my adaptation of a donkey's face. Probably a cartoon'd version of a vintage Dem symbol. Sweet.

And I have homework. Oh, do I have homework. And have to secure a place to live over the summer. And find a place to store the loft I built: 7' tall, fit for a queen-sized bed with 1' space on two sides. And secure a job...luckily, I have a few options.

They cut down on hours in the theatre. ...if it weren't for this Phoneathon I agreed to work and the FINAL arrival of a loan, I'd be so fucked. So, over the summer I'm lookin' to work @ a call center and focus on my designs...I'm designing two shows next year. They'll both be fun, but if I get them worked out...life will be much easier.

See? Lots to do, but little room to complain. I guess the only thing I'm complaining about is having to analyze some Faulkner for tomorrow morning...not just some Faulkner, no, Absolom, Absolom! I need to have a little something prepared about the most complex character, Quentin, because my prof thinks I can handle it. Compliment taken, but...apparently it's one of Faulkner's most difficult/best pieces and you shouldn't start out with it. But here I go! Headlong, folks.

Oh, I'm also designing. Always. There are successes--and I'm out to prove a coupla people wrong! My, what fuel that.

And now, my lady is here after not seeing her in a week...we're both so busy. Some day, we'll have the same homebase. Until then, we con't to grow and manage...

Ah, my life is good. Don't let me forget that.

True Life: Diary of a College Stage Manager

2009-02-18T09:20:00.001-08:00

Yes. I'm stage managing The Diary of Anne Frank at my college. In the end, I'm sure it will be wonderful; it already is. But, as always, there are complications. Not only am I stage manager, but I'm light board operator, as well. My head of props dropped the class (and her Theatre major!) yesterday and the show goes up a week from tomorrow. This was more of a relief and I have an incredible replacement...everything's going to be just fine, but as far as student responsibility/involvement in a show, stage management is the most stressful and all-consuming. I have a great team, though, and I'm incredibly lucky.

How has this affected my health?

As with the last show, The Vagina Monologues, I've relied a bit on medication. Not so much Ambien this time...I'm so exhausted after my 5 hr rehearsals 6 days/wk and 16 hour days every day that it hasn't always been necessary. But I have refilled a prescription for anxiety, just in case. It seems to help. Also, there are other natural supplements that assist in relaxation. I am grateful for the opportunity and this subculture really brings people closer. More on that later, I suppose.

For now, I just found out my group in "Dirt and Desire in the South: Seminar in Literature" received an A- on our A Streetcar Named Desire project...I was very lucky there, too. I was in a group with a fellow Theatre major and the third student is a senior English major who has only two classes-- so she volunteered to put all of our research together. We were the first group to go and had much less time than the others, so our professor said she'd be more lenient but was surprised about the volume we turned out. Yesss! A big chunk of this grade is already high. Fabulous news!

Soon I will write about how I've managed the pressures of stage management...which does include breaking down a little and crying...but pulling it together for rehearsal. As I was breathing deeply and putting things into perspective during my escape from rehearsal...I was thinking of how I must write this in an entry here. And I will. But now, I must go to a production meeting with the design staff and print rehearsal reports, etc., on my way in the lab. ...I need a printer, but I'm holding off until I can get a nice one with a scanner; the cheap ones just aren't worth it.

Be well!

xo

Soular divine

2009-01-16T18:49:00.000-08:00

The world appears in the blown glass of her eyes
Set squarely in her handsome face
Atop commanding cheekbones, calling for respect.
If you could tear your gaze from the depths of her soul,
Should you find yourself gorged on the intense wisdom from beyond,
you would be captivated by a mouth so full of character
you should wish to look upon no other with such curiousity.
And you won't.
It is said that the ownership of all wisdom is inborn, then
Lost with the shush of the lips by an angel,
leaving an earthly quest before us to recover ourselves.
Recently past heartache has worn a map on her forehead,
Heartache and worry and despair,
and though I cannot permanently Botox past deficit--
would I want to? For all occurrences serve a natural purpose--
I shan't add.
I hope to continue my journey with such a brilliant sun;
Basking in this warmth is a driving force.

Master or Slave?

2009-01-11T09:59:00.000-08:00

Yesterday "morning" at 1:05a I started a 2.64 mile trek home in the thick of a 7.2" total snowfall-storm atop the dangerous ice and existing banks in 10 degree weather. A trip that takes 8 minutes by car took 64 minutes on black-sneakered foot with two scarves, a very old coat, and a backpack almost bursting with laptop and books. I'm glad I was wearing my "nice" jeans, not the pair with the accidentally-trendy, meaningful rips in the right knee and thigh. I didn't fall this time, thankfully, but I was followed by a pack of heckling "men" at the beginning, until I ducked into a back-road I'd taken the opposite journey on once. The passing cars slowing next to me was too frightening for a while; I preferred more difficult hiking through untouched snow to the heightened possibility of interaction. The wind ripping through the barren branches sounded eerily like the crunching of tires on fresh snow and prodded further mindfulness of my surroundings, yet I could not tell you the names of the streets though I tried to remember. I jammed my left hand into my coat pocket and my right into the lining for I still need to finish reconstructing the lost pocket; I'm expanding. My hands stayed remarkably warm and I hung up the display and false sense of security called my cell phone to keep them that way.

Why?

Geodon.

I'd forgotten the very medicine I contemplated in the last post at home. Forgetfulness is not uncommon in my world, yet this was irritating because this time I had been so careful to pack the usual three days' worth. I must have been interrupted en route to depositing them safely in the lining of my coat.

For 64 minutes, I paid very close attention in my head for an earth-shattering epiphany, but if your revelations occur as mine do you realize that was futile. They never come when they're called. Perhaps that's part of the wonder.

All those 64 minutes revealed to me was the question: Why? Why are you doing this? Simply, I wanted to sleep. The day had been draining, though life seems renewed and full of possibility in general right now, thanks to a few breaks. The day had been tough, though. Lying exhausted, painfully awake, experiencing withdrawal symptoms next to someone snoring fervently is my hell. Why not call someone for a ride? ...that's complicated. Trust me, it was better to walk. I've been walking a lot recently and am feeling the physical invincibility of youth, yet am reliant upon one small blue and while pill for something as simple and essential as sleep. I care hard and need to offset that energy expenditure with a reprieve every 18 hours or so.

So, really, there was no adrenaline-rush euphoria after an orgasmic insight born of this experience. Only the resounding question:

Are you Master or Slave?

However...I would like to acknowledge that this very drug may make my current success and ease of life possible. I may be questioning the drugs because I feel fine--because they're working. My "psychiatric nurse" warns that when one goes off of these drugs and has a relapse, the second round of drugs are not as effective.

Hmm.

The quickest post readysetgo

2009-01-03T19:02:00.000-08:00

Hello, small world. I hope 2009 is the best year yet for you!

This is the quickest post before I disappear into a temporary land without a cell, cable, the internet...etc.

Here's the thing...

I just started doing some serious research about Geodon withdrawl ... and there are some scary stories out there. I wish I could conduct my own ESP survey at the speed of light and reach ALL Geodon-takers in the world and magically compute everyone's results ... because: what is the representation of online forums? Are patients generally happy with their results less likely to jump on a forum and sing praises? ...or what about those who are just satisfied. Probably not motivation enough to spread info. Realistically, we're dealing with people AT LARGE NOT ALTOGETHER who rely on prescription drugs to get through the day-to-day...or is that inaccurate?

What I'm finding, in sum, is generally scary crap about a lot of engineered chemicals that are now completely physically necessary for me to sleep. If not--if I don't take Geodon for one night--I experience severe withdrawal...insomnia, lightheadedness, chills, etc.

My dream (and I know it is not advisable and is in-line with other bipolar "delusions"):

One day... I will find a place in this world where I can first...detox. Flush all of these ultimately harmful chemicals from my system and then-- I know I can't return to American society. Not what I'm used to. I want to find a place in life where the going's a little...easier. Maybe that place only exists in my dreams... but, if that place doesn't exist here, I dream next of simply BEING, living, as chemically-free and organically as possible.

One day... I hope I don't end up with tardive.

The Vagina Monologues__baby's first set

2008-11-30T13:21:00.000-08:00

I just reread my last post (before the one I posted a few seconds ago) and realized I said I'd maybe post some pictures of the set I poured my heart, soul, sweat, tears, (maybe a little blood...) into:

First, this is the draft. I said I was writing from the drafting studio. Well, here's what I was doing:

...technically, it's just a groundplan, but I used this final draft as a little of everything...

Here is the real thing. It may look as though it's on a slant... because it is! This type of stage is called a "rake" stage, and is basically one big wedge. Yes...that blue thing in the uterus is a blue Illinois. Dang straight, people. Best believe this show went up the Friday after elections... a gamble. But I knew it would turn out juuuussstttt fiiinnnneeee...

Yes. It is anatomically correct. Yes, it is a blueprint. Yes, it is twisted perspective. Yes, it fades to human as one nears the edges... I can't wait to get the official photos. Will post those upon request, as well.

Just a little more about me... Not sure how personal I want to get, but welcome to my world. At least a little bit. :)

PS-- I've decided upon my major finally. BA in Theater with an emphasis on set design/scenic art. So...maybe this justifies more time spent in the theater than with my books? ...starting next semester, my gen ed's will be mostly done, so I really will never leave the theater. Hmm. ...can't say I could be any happier. :)

Fuck sensibility in career choice. It's depressing, repressing, and you won't maximally benefit yourself, your health, or those around you-- no matter how noble the logical profession-- if you're not truly happy.

I know things will work out. They always do. And now I'm big enough, old enough, strong enough, and wise enough to make my own decisions...in the face of adversity. Even when that face takes the form of those I love and respect most.

xo

L a g g g g . . .

2008-11-30T13:02:00.000-08:00

Thank you, S., for prompting me to write once again. :)

It is Sunday. Tomorrow begins the first day of the last week of classes for this horrid semester...which I hope explains part of the reason I've not been writing. The following week is finals. Auditions for the straight play for next semester are tomorrow, Tuesday, and Thursday...silly timing. It comes down to: I'm not auditioning because the time is too crazy-- I have too much to finish. I feel bad for those in the dep't who're studying abroad this semester...I think the timing will upset at least one of them a lot. Baahhh!

So, anyway. I finished gathering info for this psych paper I'm writing on the difference in cognition for those with bipolar. What I'm finding is a difference in memory... hm. More to follow when I finish it. I believe I'll be posting the paper (or at least some findings) Wednesday or Thursday...it's due Wednesday.

As far as my mental health amidst chaos, I can say this: a careful self-ration (I'm sure we've all heard of easy addiction) of Ambien has probably been my saving grace. I did some research about addiction and it scared me. I used it every night for about 2- 2 1/2 wks while I put up/painted my set and was afraid I might not be able to sleep without it. But, I am not addicted. Woo! A good friend of mine was telling me about a tea that serves the same purpose and I'll look that up/give it a try/report...hopefully there are more natural alternatives for sleep insurance. Sleep=sanity. For many...if not everyone. Remember that. It's the best advice I can give.

This winter, I swear there will be a launch of information. I found I can hook up to someone's wireless here @ my g-rents'...yesss. And so...let the blogging truly begin.

Until then: good luck for those of you closing up your semesters. And warm thoughts to all!

Talk soon. xo

Update from the Drafting Studio

2008-10-29T10:36:00.000-07:00

Hello, friends. And sorry for the hiatus.

Thanks to Sarah Musick for the encouraging comment about my intentions with this blog. In the madness that is college and bills and work and relationships and and and...I've kind of put this on the back burner. Again, struggling with the idea that thoughts aren't good enough to publish.

Sorry there hasn't been a lot of research just yet. However! My short paper topic has been approved-- the difference in cognition for those with bipolar disorder! So, there's something to look forward to.

But, I'm designing the set for a production of The Vagina Monologues and am filling the role of scenic artist, as well-- a passion of mine. I never thought I'd be able to design a legitimate set...but this process has been amazing. I'm working with an incredible team and I believe it's beyond any student show I've experienced in my years at this school. Perhaps I'll post pictures of my work after it's finished?

Just a quick update. All the best! ...I'll update again soon.

Paying With Your Last Do$$ar: to experience this success:

2008-10-09T19:11:00.000-07:00

"real quick"__i feel sick. physically ill. to my stomach. the space in the back of my throat is wide... like when singers are trying to produce a rounder sound... or like when you're about to heave. But my food is solidly sticking to the bottom of my stomach...magnetized... back in the throat, there's something heavy back there even though it's open. feels like crying might be a possibility... but i don't really feel it. or want it.

everything was fine until i stood up.

my balloon-head drifted gaily trailing a spun string and my eyes burned but wouldn't stay shut and i was clumsy... but i was floating. i felt legit high. except w/o the focus. tried to go over notes...skim them...no possible way. words that i would otherwise use daily are too big...so i climb up into bed and release myself into the sheets...allow them to coddle my strange body...

not feeling better.

not feeling tired.

continuing to "ruminate"__reference later...maybe a change in title...don't forget, self__ and think:

How dirty am i. How fucking dirty am i. I take these meds...and they force sleep. falling asleep this way is strange... like you're being lowered with gentle, even hands in a baby's bathtowel...you're nauseous. eyes burning, slowly getting heavier. thank. god. passed the am-i-sleepy? eye test. you could cry. sometimes you do. just let a little steam out. always a grab bag with that, though. sometimes you force the energy out and there are little tears. sometimes you want to release a little and uncontrollable sobs attend. how dirty am i.

take more meds to wake up. it takes literal hours to ease into functioning. hours. and then you never look like you're fully awake. your grandma asks you six hours after she saw you if you just got up from a nap... when you've been working on a paper. or trying. hard. ... nice. but you felt fine for a span. ... and now that span is waning...irritability with coherence...

early evening--functioning difficult-- nausea, chills, more irritability less coherence, exhaustion... take the meds to sleep... and there, my friends, we have come full circle.

For me. With Mania.

This is the cost of surviving college during midterms.

O, neurotransmitters...how rapid thou fire

2008-10-08T19:59:00.000-07:00

It is 10:46p ... and I can't imagine sleeping. I took the increased dose of Geodon and Ambien and know it is possible ... yet at this moment? The thought that I will sleep sometime soon is foreign to me.

I am manic.

It is the first couple of weeks in October. It is also midterms. The seasons are changing here in northern Illinois. There are lots of factors. What I've come to know is this: almost to the day, my mood changes drastically within these first couple of weeks. This autumn... it is mania. Last autumn ... it was deep depression. Usually it is depression... but things are so different this year ... not to be unduly vague.

It all came crashing down in the cafeteria last night. Over the smallest thing, of course. You see, I've been trying the vegan lifestyle and the food service at school offered to prepare meals for me. Honestly, it makes me feel awfully high-maintenance ... but I'm not feeling guilty anymore. There are only a handful of vegetables and fruits they serve me and I'm not getting the nutrition I need. For example, today for lunch I had a veggie burger with onions, tomatoes, and lettuce on wheat toast with melon and pineapple. For dinner I was served a veggie burger wrap with tomatoes and lettuce and melon. Anyway, there are established times for me to pick up the food. I've slipped into the habit of coming later because the food is generally not done in time. Last night I arrived at half past five (half an hour later than the scheduled pick-up time) to pick up the food on my way to my night class, Advanced Rhetoric @ 6p. I didn't understand until the food was up, but they were training a new girl. That's why it wasn't ready this time.

As I waited, everything compacted onto me and I started to cry twice. Not completely uncontrollable, no sobbing, no vocals ... but the silent tears. I have a vivid childhood memory of watching some crime show with my mother and the interrogator is a woman. At the end of the episode, the camera focuses on the woman as the others exit, and two tears stream down her face. Her face is devoid of emotion. ... I couldn't fathom this. I had never experienced such pain there was no hysteria. I only knew sobbing until my throat was raw with all of the childhood melodrama. As I became a performer, I realized those tears are the mark of a great actor. As an individual, they are my favorite. When I'm crying silent tears, everything is calm. I am numb. I have past the point of hysteria ... and for a moment, everything is alright... except there are tears streaming down my face.

I was under the illusion I could stop crying. I realized this mistake as soon as I walked into the building I needed to be in.

I started hyperventilating and sobbing and found a corner I could attempt to release these uncontrollable emotions with some shred of dignity. As soon as I thought I had it together, I continued down the corridor, nearing the classroom. Planning to sit in the back in the corner so that if I lost it again, I would draw the least focus -- but what about the seat closest to the door, I wondered, in case I need to escape? ... I didn't want to give myself that option. I've already missed my fair share of classes.

I ran into one of the Education professors and learned that she knows my name. Within the past few months, I've developed the deep sense of shame I'd read and heard about that plagues those with mental disorders ... meaning, I hate talking about it. I hate having to do things differently to reach the same ending as others. I'm sure I'll discuss that more later but the point is: it all came tumbling out. "Oh, it's just that I've got an exam tomorrow that's worth 25% of my grade and I'm nervous and... uh... I've got bipolar, OCD, and ADHD and stress is really difficult for me to deal with... not that it's not difficult for everyone else, but it is especially for me." When I told her it was for Cognitive Psych, she laughed nicely and said I wouldn't want her taking that exam for me. It did make me feel better.

It's 11:07p ... and I've officially grown weary. I was originally going to discuss-- ugh, I can't even finish that thought. It's too much work. I'm wired and exhausted. With the heightened energy and expenditure... I'm not used to this. It's been years since a true mania. During the day, I couldn't be better... endless amounts of energy, etc. I don't even want to explain this shit again right now. I did once earlier to my girlfriend ... I suppose this is what teaching the same grade every year will be like. Every person that doesn't understand, you have to start from the basics ... something you learned eons ago, when you were first discovering what your disorders might look like and entail. But now, it takes a lot of brainpower to sort through the complexities and reach a baseline. A starting block. A foundation. The fundamentals. And that's what I can't do right now.

I'll finish my story soon, I promise. But I'll leave you with this last, fundamental idea--fundamental to my life experience, anyway:

I have reached the point in the day when I can no longer be awake. Since Fall '05, there comes a point in my day when I literally can no longer stay awake and be "functional." This isn't just tired, this is an overwhelming feeling of fatigue, anxiety, dread, racing irrational thoughts -- and I long for nothing but sleep.

You see, sleep is the key. For me, especially. Sleep is the reset button. I could be having the worst emotional day imaginable ... and I know that when I go to sleep, I will wake up and it will literally be a fresh slate. ... I never understood that phrase, "It's a new day," before. Because it wasn't a new day. ... now it is.

Sleep is sanity.

I no longer long for death. I long for sleep. Because sometimes there comes a point in the day where reality is too harsh. ... I haven't experienced this in months. Just as I hadn't experienced the attack previously mentioned in almost a year. And yet ... here we are.

And so, at 11:18p, I bid you goodnight. Hopefully sleep shall soon follow ... though I know it won't. It will be a couple of hours for the medications to take effect. Yet, still, goodnight. I'll see you in the morning...

Yet more of a preface...

2008-10-03T13:02:00.000-07:00

I have a MySpace page and used to blog on there a lot ... but stopped. I'm not entirely certain why. I know it was partially because no one seemed to care (no comments/feedback) and partially because I realized I was writing about things not a lot of people would care about; the purpose was nothing more than my own narcissistic catharsis. After I officially stopped, I attempted a couple of updates but they were either too long and/or not written well enough for my own rising standards. After wasting upwards of an hour on each of them, I would end up pressing delete. Since discovering my writing is, in fact, NOT as perfect as my then-cocky adolescent ego thought, I've become highly critical of myself and developed some sort of complex about posting unless I deem it “perfect.” Especially on this, a blog of purpose.

Yet I've come to the realization that this blog is about discovery: equally as much a forum (of sorts) for charting scientific progress and sharing information as it is about my own personal developing anecdote ... or case study. Whichever suits your fancy. Hah! However, I will devise a way to navigate this blog so you, the reader, can choose to peruse the research information aspect over my personal information or vice versa, if you so desire. And so ... I shall post. When I find time. I've come to know that life as a full-time undergrad working a patchwork of jobs can be time consuming. But, oh, will I try and make time.

Some things to look forward to:

I'm writing a semester-long rhetorical paper (officially) about the influence of blogging on my chosen field (of study). I'm somewhere within the 88-96% range of certainty (still in the research process...finishing up an annotated bib within the next eight hours...gahd) that the paper will focus on the growing popularity of medicating children in response to diagnosis of mental illness and the rising diagnosis of ADHD and bipolar in children itself. I believe one angle will be the voice blogging gives to alternatives to Western medicine. The class also requires a series of three rhetorical analyses on blogs we discover; perhaps I'll post those, too. The completed project will be posted in the end.

I'm taking Cognitive Psychology this semester as well and we have a three-page “chapter” due on one aspect of cog psych of our choice. I submitted my top five preferences, among the top two: the difference in the process of cognition for those with bipolar (brand new research) and the difference in the process of cognition for those with ADHD (more supportable). We shall see. (Yeah, I did choose those so I could duly work on this blog, as well. Fer serious.)

Enough. Until next time,

K. Free

Mowing through the Rain

2008-09-25T11:14:00.000-07:00

I feel the first post should explain the pseudo-cryptic title before we delve into anything else.

I mow my grandparents' lawn whenever necessary... usually weekly. Whenever my grandfather calls, really. Punk, as I call him, is one of my favorite people in existence and I am Punkette; we have one of Those relationships -- y'know, one where affectionate heckling takes the foreground. We're a dream team and it's great. Spending time with him is one of the biggest reasons I'm still in Rockford.

As you've probably deduced, I got a call one Saturday this past summer asking if I'd like to make $10... which is how he asks. Of course the answer was 'yes.'

It wasn't supposed to rain. Not that I watched the weather that day... I have no trust in forecasts. But Punk did. He was also a weatherman during his days in the USAF. He probably watched the weather, though, too.

The sky was overcast when I got to his house and he asked me if I still wanted to mow because it looked like rain. I decided that I did. During the five minutes it took to get the lawn mower out and ready, it had started drizzling.

I decided to mow anyway.

Punk warned against it-- the rain would probably get heavier and I'd have to stop.

I mowed on.

The rain did get heavier... but only for a little bit. As I mowed, the rain lightened... lightened... lightened... and stopped. And I finished the job in the sun.

As I was mowing, I drew a parallel and conclusion:

You've gotta mow through the rain if you want to get on with your day. Despite what your family tells you, despite what the professionals and authorities tell you... you're going to encounter rain. Just ask yourself:

Do I want to attempt?

Remember... you can stop if it rains too hard and mowing becomes dangerous or too much to handle. But eventually... the sun will appear again. And at least you know you pushed the envelope... and tried.

Until next time,

K. Free

__mowing through the rain__