I went to Pittsburgh for the weekend to see my sister's masters concert - she's getting her masters degree in flute performance. I have a serious case of Akasthisia, an obnoxious psychotropic drug symptom that manifests itself as a sort of inner restlessness which causes me to require constant change in stimulation and gives me anxiety if I have to sit still.
There's a lot of potential for some severe issues during Jess' concert, but I'm just so proud of her for doing such an amazing job with school and improving her performance ability so much. She's really got her game together, something I envy. My life has completely fallen apart. I'm comparing myself to her as I sit in her tidy, organized apartment with abundant decorations and I can't help but feel left behind. I'm so tired of having so many issues. I want to feel normal, with normalized anxiety and alleviated depression and none of the symptoms of complex post traumatic stress disorder affecting me. It's overwhelming to be a mental patient, to be legally certifiably insane. I'm going to be certifiable soon, actually, so it's not official yet. I'm not sure how it works but it will help me with getting more medical care and potentially help me get food stamps.
I desperately want a normal life. How did I get to this point? I showed so much promise a year ago, but I was miserable. Yet I was accomplishing so much, and now what am I doing? I don't even know where I'll be tomorrow, much less a few years down the road. Hell, where will I be in an hour, emotionally? Will I make more life changing, mind altering epiphanies?
I need to rest. This is too much.
Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Long day
Today was a long day. I couldn't sleep last night so I did five loads of laundy, blankets and all, and managed about five hours of sleep. I had a few nightmares as always, but it was okay. I got up at 9:20, after hitting the snooze button a dozen times, threw on some freshly washed clothes, looked in the mirror and saw that my hair was like .. insane. I looked mentally challenged, and yes, I was going to a place for the mentally ill anyway, but I didn't need to look the part. So I used a straightener and some gel and rushed out the door. I just barely made in time it to group.
The first half of group was sheer agony. I think the rush in got my blood pumping, because my anxiety was through the roof. People were talking about their families, meds, pot and all sorts of other anxiety triggers for me, and I felt like I was under attack even though they weren't talking to me. I tried to surreptitiously cover this wolf on a magazine cover that was eyeing me, and this lady on the back of vanity fair, and this horrifying picture on the counter that was some hindu design of a black multi-limbed god surrounded by flames and skull-like shapes and dancing scary things. At that point it got less surreptitious so they made me talk about it, and I was so self conscious I couldn't make eye contact. I don't remember what I said but I know I was talking for a while. After the break things were better. Someone was talking about her mother, who seems very comparable to my dad. That was interesting.
Anyway, I had drawing class at 3. I had to buy some supplies - new sketch pad, pencils, etc. I burn through pencils like you wouldn't believe. I think the shopping excursion gave me some confidence, I felt good in class. My first few drawings sucked, but I got into the swing of it, and Gaffney gave a fantastic chalkboard lecture that I found really enlightening. My drawings were immediately much more round and weighty. Also we changed models, which may have helped. We spend the whole class just drawing from a nude, and I draw women better than men. I'm a little averse to looking at the male nudes, it's a little anxiety provoking, which I think contributes to that. Also it was an older guy, and the female model is absolutely gorgeous and fabulously talented. I'll post pictures of my drawings at some point.
Oh, and I got a poster. It's Klimt's "Tree of Life"
It's striking, isn't it? I needed something for my walls, and I've been passing by a gorgeously framed print of this for the past few weeks, at a framing shop nearby. I saw it was gone and went in and talked him down to a decent price on it, sans frame. He had The Kiss too, but I've seen that one in a museum and it's awful to know how much better the real thing is. It also makes me uncomfortable and lonely.
There's something really engaging about The Tree of Life. It's mesmerizing, and there's so much in the details. There's a story in the characters. Klimt is known for the use of the femme fatale, but that's just one interpretation.
The concept of the tree of life is seen in almost every culture, representing the interconnectedness of all things, and in some cases the idea of everything coming from the same root, be that God or whatever. It actually matches my concept of God fairly well, thinking about it. I mentioned my affection for trees in a previous post. It's such an apt symbol.
The lone woman on the left is tied to the pair on the right by the sensual curves of the tree, while a blackbird, symbol of death, stands guard between her and the pair. The woman seems to be shying away from the bird while staring at the pair, which brings out a feeling of intense longing, maybe for one of the people, or maybe just for the sense of loving fulfillment they seem to have. They've almost melded into a single form and look at peace, with sumptuous round shapes making up the majority of their design, while the lone woman is all sharp angles and triangles, bringing a sense of anxiety. The inverted triangles, symbols of femininity, are vibrantly colored with horizontal stripes which lessen some of the strong downward direction they would otherwise give and lead more focus parallel to her. They're surrounded by eyes, which could be the eyes of God. The pair especially is covered in eyes, while the lone woman has just a few on her dress, each with round pupils. The eyes on the pair's robe have sharp, snakelike pupils, which evokes the idea of temptation. It's like they're a personified form of the apple of knowledge. That blackbird is so troubling, though. And just the alignment of the focal points is a very distinct inverted triangle, which could reflect klimts views on women.
There's just so much to see, and to appreciate. The blackbird bothers me a lot. I guess I could see it as a non-real threat - like anxiety, it's just a bird. It's not death itself. I may be terrified, but I need to move past it. It reminds me of Shortbus in a way. Actually, thinking about it, the painting is very in tune with the major themes of that film.
I need to get a shortbus poster and put it next to it. I really like that connection.
The first half of group was sheer agony. I think the rush in got my blood pumping, because my anxiety was through the roof. People were talking about their families, meds, pot and all sorts of other anxiety triggers for me, and I felt like I was under attack even though they weren't talking to me. I tried to surreptitiously cover this wolf on a magazine cover that was eyeing me, and this lady on the back of vanity fair, and this horrifying picture on the counter that was some hindu design of a black multi-limbed god surrounded by flames and skull-like shapes and dancing scary things. At that point it got less surreptitious so they made me talk about it, and I was so self conscious I couldn't make eye contact. I don't remember what I said but I know I was talking for a while. After the break things were better. Someone was talking about her mother, who seems very comparable to my dad. That was interesting.
Anyway, I had drawing class at 3. I had to buy some supplies - new sketch pad, pencils, etc. I burn through pencils like you wouldn't believe. I think the shopping excursion gave me some confidence, I felt good in class. My first few drawings sucked, but I got into the swing of it, and Gaffney gave a fantastic chalkboard lecture that I found really enlightening. My drawings were immediately much more round and weighty. Also we changed models, which may have helped. We spend the whole class just drawing from a nude, and I draw women better than men. I'm a little averse to looking at the male nudes, it's a little anxiety provoking, which I think contributes to that. Also it was an older guy, and the female model is absolutely gorgeous and fabulously talented. I'll post pictures of my drawings at some point.
Oh, and I got a poster. It's Klimt's "Tree of Life"
There's something really engaging about The Tree of Life. It's mesmerizing, and there's so much in the details. There's a story in the characters. Klimt is known for the use of the femme fatale, but that's just one interpretation.
The concept of the tree of life is seen in almost every culture, representing the interconnectedness of all things, and in some cases the idea of everything coming from the same root, be that God or whatever. It actually matches my concept of God fairly well, thinking about it. I mentioned my affection for trees in a previous post. It's such an apt symbol.
The lone woman on the left is tied to the pair on the right by the sensual curves of the tree, while a blackbird, symbol of death, stands guard between her and the pair. The woman seems to be shying away from the bird while staring at the pair, which brings out a feeling of intense longing, maybe for one of the people, or maybe just for the sense of loving fulfillment they seem to have. They've almost melded into a single form and look at peace, with sumptuous round shapes making up the majority of their design, while the lone woman is all sharp angles and triangles, bringing a sense of anxiety. The inverted triangles, symbols of femininity, are vibrantly colored with horizontal stripes which lessen some of the strong downward direction they would otherwise give and lead more focus parallel to her. They're surrounded by eyes, which could be the eyes of God. The pair especially is covered in eyes, while the lone woman has just a few on her dress, each with round pupils. The eyes on the pair's robe have sharp, snakelike pupils, which evokes the idea of temptation. It's like they're a personified form of the apple of knowledge. That blackbird is so troubling, though. And just the alignment of the focal points is a very distinct inverted triangle, which could reflect klimts views on women.
There's just so much to see, and to appreciate. The blackbird bothers me a lot. I guess I could see it as a non-real threat - like anxiety, it's just a bird. It's not death itself. I may be terrified, but I need to move past it. It reminds me of Shortbus in a way. Actually, thinking about it, the painting is very in tune with the major themes of that film.
I need to get a shortbus poster and put it next to it. I really like that connection.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
My Computer
I've been thinking seriously about getting rid of my computer, or maybe leaving it at my parents' house for a while once I get the courage up to go back.
I know that sounds strange, considering anyone who reads this blog likely only hears from me through this keyboard, but I'm beginning to recognize the negative affect it's been having on my life.
These last few months the vast majority of my time has been spent on my bed, typing and clicking. It's so easy to lose myself in it, to let my eyes go out of focus yet feel like I'm accomplishing something. If anything says to me that I truly am an addict, it's my behavior here.
On the one hand, information is so easily available. I'm fantastic at finding and sharing things online - I use facebook, twitter, aim, blogger, vuze, netflix, youtube, gmail, wikipedia, notcot, stumbleupon, webmd, livemocha and google every day. Google is my calculator, translator, dictionary, map, phone book, encyclopedia and thesaurus. Everything is so easy, and when you use these tools enough you learn tricks to finding what you want, like searching site indexes for specific filetypes and the various techniques that increase your likelihood of getting what you want. I use Kayak for flight searches because I can find and compare different days of travel and get the best deals. Bing has a great comparison engine too, and is better for tracking the ups and downs and predicting when is best to buy tickets. I like knowing when there are good travel deals, despite knowing that I can't actually buy them. Occasionally I'll roll the dice and hit up priceline's travel bidding service, I'll lowball a ticket to Paris, Milan, Orlando, Rome, Brussels, Berlin, Madrid or wherever, just to see if I land it.
It's all just escapism, yet ultimately I'm not escaping anywhere. In fact, I'm hardly moving.
I think about the things I value in myself, and the top of that list is my ability to express my feelings through words and art. Yet, picking up a pencil attracts that ever present cloud of anxiety, and in shallow breaths I let it build up inside of me until I spontaneously toss the pencil across the room and crumple up my paper.
Lately I've been having an exceptionally hard time maintaining interest in anything for more than a few moments. My thoughts wander immediately after they crystalize. I try to catch things that I think might spark a long, meaningful and thought provoking entry in this blog, and I end up scrapping many more than I post. I think I've erased more than I've written on here. If a post isn't going anywhere, and I look at it and realize it never was to start with, I just cmd+a and hit delete. Sometimes I'll save it as a draft and walk away, without a real intention to return to it.
It's not that I'm overly critical of my writing or my art. I just recognize when something doesn't matter, when it doesn't say what I want it to or doesn't say anything at all. Sometimes a blank canvas says more than one filled with marks.
I think that knowing my computer is there for me to turn to for a quick fix, a quick distraction, a quick 'update', is bad for my concentration. Maybe I should just convince myself to go to the park more, I always appreciate it when I do, but it's so hard just to get dressed sometimes.
Today's day 31. I've passed the 30 day mark. And I want pot. I want alcohol. I want oxy, I want benzos. I want hallucinogens even though I know they're an awful idea. As a friend said, if you find yourself wanting to claw your eyes out when you're sober, you really will if you do acid. Mushrooms are safer, though. I just want to escape my head, it's weighing me down too much. My neck hurts. I could really use a massage.
I know that sounds strange, considering anyone who reads this blog likely only hears from me through this keyboard, but I'm beginning to recognize the negative affect it's been having on my life.
These last few months the vast majority of my time has been spent on my bed, typing and clicking. It's so easy to lose myself in it, to let my eyes go out of focus yet feel like I'm accomplishing something. If anything says to me that I truly am an addict, it's my behavior here.
On the one hand, information is so easily available. I'm fantastic at finding and sharing things online - I use facebook, twitter, aim, blogger, vuze, netflix, youtube, gmail, wikipedia, notcot, stumbleupon, webmd, livemocha and google every day. Google is my calculator, translator, dictionary, map, phone book, encyclopedia and thesaurus. Everything is so easy, and when you use these tools enough you learn tricks to finding what you want, like searching site indexes for specific filetypes and the various techniques that increase your likelihood of getting what you want. I use Kayak for flight searches because I can find and compare different days of travel and get the best deals. Bing has a great comparison engine too, and is better for tracking the ups and downs and predicting when is best to buy tickets. I like knowing when there are good travel deals, despite knowing that I can't actually buy them. Occasionally I'll roll the dice and hit up priceline's travel bidding service, I'll lowball a ticket to Paris, Milan, Orlando, Rome, Brussels, Berlin, Madrid or wherever, just to see if I land it.
It's all just escapism, yet ultimately I'm not escaping anywhere. In fact, I'm hardly moving.
I think about the things I value in myself, and the top of that list is my ability to express my feelings through words and art. Yet, picking up a pencil attracts that ever present cloud of anxiety, and in shallow breaths I let it build up inside of me until I spontaneously toss the pencil across the room and crumple up my paper.
Lately I've been having an exceptionally hard time maintaining interest in anything for more than a few moments. My thoughts wander immediately after they crystalize. I try to catch things that I think might spark a long, meaningful and thought provoking entry in this blog, and I end up scrapping many more than I post. I think I've erased more than I've written on here. If a post isn't going anywhere, and I look at it and realize it never was to start with, I just cmd+a and hit delete. Sometimes I'll save it as a draft and walk away, without a real intention to return to it.
It's not that I'm overly critical of my writing or my art. I just recognize when something doesn't matter, when it doesn't say what I want it to or doesn't say anything at all. Sometimes a blank canvas says more than one filled with marks.
I think that knowing my computer is there for me to turn to for a quick fix, a quick distraction, a quick 'update', is bad for my concentration. Maybe I should just convince myself to go to the park more, I always appreciate it when I do, but it's so hard just to get dressed sometimes.
Today's day 31. I've passed the 30 day mark. And I want pot. I want alcohol. I want oxy, I want benzos. I want hallucinogens even though I know they're an awful idea. As a friend said, if you find yourself wanting to claw your eyes out when you're sober, you really will if you do acid. Mushrooms are safer, though. I just want to escape my head, it's weighing me down too much. My neck hurts. I could really use a massage.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Chelmsford
Going home is such a challenge for me. Every Friday I try to convince myself it's worthwhile and I fail. It's paralyzing, the idea of it. I'm honestly terrified of Chelmsford, my old home town. Before I had that life-changing hospitalization I would go back mostly to work, and the occasional family function. I'd drink, distract myself with work, friends and drugs, and try my best to connect with my family.
But without those distractions there's a palpable wave of anxiety constantly washing through me that brings an absolute certainty that at any moment something monumentally awful is going to happen. Every corner of every room is a trap. Every moment I'm forgetting something vitally important and trying to figure out what it could be. Every word I say, every opinion I have and every action I take is under close scrutiny and assumed to be wrong. When I'm there, I know this like I know my hand is my own: there is no possible way to doubt it, and the longer something bad doesn't happen the more the anticipation builds. I think that's among the reasons why my nightmares are always so much worse there.
I can't handle those feelings, they're too much for me, way too much. It feels absurd, looking at what I wrote in that last paragraph. I recognize how crazy it is. Generally the only way I can handle it is if I dissociate or derealize. The last time I went home I lost my ability to remember anything over a couple years past. I couldn't remember my grandpa's name, I couldn't remember my teachers when Lauren talked about them, I couldn't remember the names of the sidestreets next to where I lived for 20 years. Everything seemed new and surreal, like it wasn't my life, like people had confused me for someone else. There was a funny little fear in the back of my head that there had been some sort of weird mix up a couple years ago and I had usurped someone else's life and never realized it.
It wasn't so bad originally, even when I was fresh out of the hospital and staying sober. It was when I had my major dissociative episode and people tried to convince me to go back to Chelmsford. They made me feel guilty for being in New York because they were so worried for me, and they would feel so much better if I went back to safe old suburbia, where they could keep closer tabs on me. It was one friend in particular who brought this out, but I got it from a number of people back there. I didn't want them to worry, and I felt sick, that people were afraid to let me live on my own. It made me feel claustrophobic. I had images of them digging into me with their claws, grasping at me, dragging me toward them and swaddling me in their secure nest in the suburbs. It was for my own safety, they were trying to take care of me, because they believed I couldn't take care of myself. I felt like I deserved more respect than that, that I deserved more trust.
After coming to grips with the idea that I might be forced to live in Chelmsford, I haven't felt at all safe there. It will take a while before any sense of security there comes back.
The next thing I need to talk about is my relationship with my family.
But without those distractions there's a palpable wave of anxiety constantly washing through me that brings an absolute certainty that at any moment something monumentally awful is going to happen. Every corner of every room is a trap. Every moment I'm forgetting something vitally important and trying to figure out what it could be. Every word I say, every opinion I have and every action I take is under close scrutiny and assumed to be wrong. When I'm there, I know this like I know my hand is my own: there is no possible way to doubt it, and the longer something bad doesn't happen the more the anticipation builds. I think that's among the reasons why my nightmares are always so much worse there.
I can't handle those feelings, they're too much for me, way too much. It feels absurd, looking at what I wrote in that last paragraph. I recognize how crazy it is. Generally the only way I can handle it is if I dissociate or derealize. The last time I went home I lost my ability to remember anything over a couple years past. I couldn't remember my grandpa's name, I couldn't remember my teachers when Lauren talked about them, I couldn't remember the names of the sidestreets next to where I lived for 20 years. Everything seemed new and surreal, like it wasn't my life, like people had confused me for someone else. There was a funny little fear in the back of my head that there had been some sort of weird mix up a couple years ago and I had usurped someone else's life and never realized it.
It wasn't so bad originally, even when I was fresh out of the hospital and staying sober. It was when I had my major dissociative episode and people tried to convince me to go back to Chelmsford. They made me feel guilty for being in New York because they were so worried for me, and they would feel so much better if I went back to safe old suburbia, where they could keep closer tabs on me. It was one friend in particular who brought this out, but I got it from a number of people back there. I didn't want them to worry, and I felt sick, that people were afraid to let me live on my own. It made me feel claustrophobic. I had images of them digging into me with their claws, grasping at me, dragging me toward them and swaddling me in their secure nest in the suburbs. It was for my own safety, they were trying to take care of me, because they believed I couldn't take care of myself. I felt like I deserved more respect than that, that I deserved more trust.
After coming to grips with the idea that I might be forced to live in Chelmsford, I haven't felt at all safe there. It will take a while before any sense of security there comes back.
The next thing I need to talk about is my relationship with my family.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
New Life
I've set up an entire new life for myself.
Two classes, Animation and Life Drawing, on Monday and Tuesday 3-9pm.
Five days a week of group therapy.
Also, Wednesday nights I attend an NA meeting. Well, I attended one last week, and I intend to attend one tonight. The people there are really great. I'm just .. well, super freaked out by it all.
The upside of all this treatment is that it's all free to me. My therapist is paid by the school, and she's also a great help as a social worker, setting things up for me. The Columbia University Day Treatment Program is paid in full with no deductible by Aetna Student Health, which happens to be the only insurance they take. And NA is free, clearly. With the classes, that's all done in loans.
I'm way too busy now, though. I can't really deal with the fact that I have to be on a train every weekday at 9. It's like having a 9 to 5 job, and as worthwhile as it is, it's mentally exhausting to me. And they're trying to make me change my diet up, which is costing a lot more because apparently peanut butter as my only protein isn't healthy, and they think that my diet of mostly carbohydrates is contributing to my poor mental stability.
It's very overwhelming. I can't even recognize my life anymore. NA? Day program? Where is this coming from? Seriously, I've had my life uprooted again, and it's hardly recognizable, again. This is too much change in too little time, just like the hospital was. I have a hard enough time accepting the fact that I have any form of addiction much less mental illness - it's surreal to apply those words to myself. It somehow doesn't seem honest, like people are all rushing to judge me or help me and in doing so I've lost my sense of who I am once again, so I'm just going with it. I'm not able to own any of those words yet; I've been close, there have been moments where I have reached a sense of acceptance, radical or not. But right now I just feel too exhausted by all these new responsibilities, and I want to go to a bar and get drunk instead of going to the NA meeting tonight. No one will check up on me if I don't go. Lucia might be disappointed, but not really. The little crowd I played poker with last week might wonder where I am since I said I'd be at the meeting, and they seemed to want to play again.
I think right now I need to just get up and go, while I can convince myself it's worth the trip.
Two classes, Animation and Life Drawing, on Monday and Tuesday 3-9pm.
Five days a week of group therapy.
- 'A' Group every morning, 10-1230, which is 7-10 people my age, male and female, who have similar issues to me. They have addiction problems, trauma, depression, anxiety, and seem like they're really able to understand some of the things I'm going through.
- 'Anxiety Management' once a week, 2-430, which teaches bunches of ways to cope with anxiety, including breathing exercises and stretches, nutrition, exercise and various skills
- DBT Group (Dialectical Behavioral Therapy) twice a week, 2-430, which I haven't been to yet. I do like DBT though, it's essentially a toolbox that helps you reconfigure the way your mind handles various situations and help you to approach occurances in a healthier way.
- Substance Abuse Group, which I haven't been to yet but likely will have to attend. I have to speak with my sponsor/coordinator to figure that out. It's strange that Jack uses the term 'sponsor', which is so clearly related to AA/NA. If I do have to go to that group they urine test me and apparently administer breathalyzers, and if you get a positive they do a swab test. Not sure what happens if you're back on the wagon, but I know there are two groups, one for people with less than 90 days and one for more. I don't think they'll have as bad consequences as there were at the Realization Center, which yanks you out of all your other groups and tosses you into all Relapse Recovery groups full of court ordered wife abusing 45 year old assholes.
Also, Wednesday nights I attend an NA meeting. Well, I attended one last week, and I intend to attend one tonight. The people there are really great. I'm just .. well, super freaked out by it all.
The upside of all this treatment is that it's all free to me. My therapist is paid by the school, and she's also a great help as a social worker, setting things up for me. The Columbia University Day Treatment Program is paid in full with no deductible by Aetna Student Health, which happens to be the only insurance they take. And NA is free, clearly. With the classes, that's all done in loans.
I'm way too busy now, though. I can't really deal with the fact that I have to be on a train every weekday at 9. It's like having a 9 to 5 job, and as worthwhile as it is, it's mentally exhausting to me. And they're trying to make me change my diet up, which is costing a lot more because apparently peanut butter as my only protein isn't healthy, and they think that my diet of mostly carbohydrates is contributing to my poor mental stability.
It's very overwhelming. I can't even recognize my life anymore. NA? Day program? Where is this coming from? Seriously, I've had my life uprooted again, and it's hardly recognizable, again. This is too much change in too little time, just like the hospital was. I have a hard enough time accepting the fact that I have any form of addiction much less mental illness - it's surreal to apply those words to myself. It somehow doesn't seem honest, like people are all rushing to judge me or help me and in doing so I've lost my sense of who I am once again, so I'm just going with it. I'm not able to own any of those words yet; I've been close, there have been moments where I have reached a sense of acceptance, radical or not. But right now I just feel too exhausted by all these new responsibilities, and I want to go to a bar and get drunk instead of going to the NA meeting tonight. No one will check up on me if I don't go. Lucia might be disappointed, but not really. The little crowd I played poker with last week might wonder where I am since I said I'd be at the meeting, and they seemed to want to play again.
I think right now I need to just get up and go, while I can convince myself it's worth the trip.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
New blog, new everything
Today I start at the Columbia University Day Treatment Program, I'm not sure what group I'm going to first, but in the afternoon I'll be going to an anxiety management group I think. Or that might be starting next week. I got a phone call yesterday that outlined the rough treatment schedule but it was too confusing to follow, since I think they wanted to get me in early and then stabilize the schedule as groups become available over the next two weeks.
I'll be going five days a week, which is a lot. Like, a lot a lot. But that might be good; structure can be.
Yesterday I went to my first drawing studio class of the semester, Advanced Life Drawing. It looks like it will be great, but I couldn't handle it, I dissociated and derealized hardcore when the male nude came out at around 7:30. The class runs from 3-9, so it's going to be tough staying .. well, together, for that entire time. Seeing the male nude model triggered my derealization after having spent the entire class prior to that one foot out the door just trying to convince myself it was worth staying instead of just freaking out. Gaffney, the professor, saw me staring vacantly at the model - I had sort of hyperfocused in on the guy's leg, which had these bizarre muscle movements going on since he was holding a tough 5 minute pose - and he said I could take a break if I wanted, so I did and I sat in the bathroom for a few minutes before coming back and trying to draw again. It was very strange to draw in that state, none of it mattered, I just made lines and didn't care about them at all, didn't care if it was nowhere near accurate. I stopped lifting the pencil when I finished making marks. After a few minutes I stopped even looking at the paper or the model, I don't know what I was even looking at. I just doodled with my eyes unfocused until the model broke pose and I packed up and snuck out of class an hour early.
Today, depending on my Columbia schedule, I may be late for animation class. I don't really care, but Marty, the prof, seems to be a little unsure of himself and I don't want him to think I'm blowing it off. If I'm late it's because of an anxiety management group, which to me seems far more important. I plan to talk to him about maybe working it out so every other week I'm an hour and a half late. It's another six hour class, it shouldn't matter that much.
Those are the only two classes I'm taking this semester, and I'm glad, because I don't think I could handle much more. I'm really, really unstable. It's so awkward to accept that I am at all mentally ill, but a century ago I know I would have been placed in a hysterical women's ward under lock and key. I got close to that when they brought me to bellvue, which was the first time I got to try out handcuffs. What I remember of them wasn't so great, which is too bad. I've always been curious what they'd be like with sex, but the thought of it totally freaks me out now.
That reminds me. Last night I had this song stuck in my head after I left class. It's funny to me now, but last night 'stop freaking out' was like a voice on repeat in my head and I kept trying to change it to something more soothing like, "it's okay" or "calm down" or "bejuyfhakjhdsskjkasfkj" sorry, just started mashing keys there. I hate having to deal with this. If I could just drink it would be so much easier to deal with.
I'll be going five days a week, which is a lot. Like, a lot a lot. But that might be good; structure can be.
Yesterday I went to my first drawing studio class of the semester, Advanced Life Drawing. It looks like it will be great, but I couldn't handle it, I dissociated and derealized hardcore when the male nude came out at around 7:30. The class runs from 3-9, so it's going to be tough staying .. well, together, for that entire time. Seeing the male nude model triggered my derealization after having spent the entire class prior to that one foot out the door just trying to convince myself it was worth staying instead of just freaking out. Gaffney, the professor, saw me staring vacantly at the model - I had sort of hyperfocused in on the guy's leg, which had these bizarre muscle movements going on since he was holding a tough 5 minute pose - and he said I could take a break if I wanted, so I did and I sat in the bathroom for a few minutes before coming back and trying to draw again. It was very strange to draw in that state, none of it mattered, I just made lines and didn't care about them at all, didn't care if it was nowhere near accurate. I stopped lifting the pencil when I finished making marks. After a few minutes I stopped even looking at the paper or the model, I don't know what I was even looking at. I just doodled with my eyes unfocused until the model broke pose and I packed up and snuck out of class an hour early.
Today, depending on my Columbia schedule, I may be late for animation class. I don't really care, but Marty, the prof, seems to be a little unsure of himself and I don't want him to think I'm blowing it off. If I'm late it's because of an anxiety management group, which to me seems far more important. I plan to talk to him about maybe working it out so every other week I'm an hour and a half late. It's another six hour class, it shouldn't matter that much.
Those are the only two classes I'm taking this semester, and I'm glad, because I don't think I could handle much more. I'm really, really unstable. It's so awkward to accept that I am at all mentally ill, but a century ago I know I would have been placed in a hysterical women's ward under lock and key. I got close to that when they brought me to bellvue, which was the first time I got to try out handcuffs. What I remember of them wasn't so great, which is too bad. I've always been curious what they'd be like with sex, but the thought of it totally freaks me out now.
That reminds me. Last night I had this song stuck in my head after I left class. It's funny to me now, but last night 'stop freaking out' was like a voice on repeat in my head and I kept trying to change it to something more soothing like, "it's okay" or "calm down" or "bejuyfhakjhdsskjkasfkj" sorry, just started mashing keys there. I hate having to deal with this. If I could just drink it would be so much easier to deal with.
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